dedalus_1947 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dedalus_1947) wrote2008-02-13 09:37 pm
dedalus_1947) wrote2008-02-13 09:37 pm
Entry tags:
On My Way to You
So often as I wait for sleep
I find myself reciting
The words I've said or should have said
Like scenes that need rewriting
The smiles I never answered
Doors perhaps I should have opened
Songs forgotten in the morning
I relive the roles I've played
The tears I may have squandered
The many pipers I have paid
Along the roads I've wandered
Yet all the time I knew it
Love was somewhere out there waiting
Though I may regret a kiss or two
If I had changed a single day
What went amiss or went astray
I may have never found my way to you
I wouldn't change a thing that happened
On my way to you
(Lyrics by A. Bergman & M. Bergman)
“Nice to meet you, Tony, can I fix you a drink?”
With those words I met Kathleen Mavourneen’s father, the surgeon, as he swept into the family room, dressed in a golf shirt and sweater, and wearing trim khaki slacks. He situated himself on the edge of the sofa chair, which Kathy and her mother said was reserved for him, and awaited my answer. The question surprised, and then quickly seduced me. I had never been offered a drink when meeting the parents of a date for the first time.
“Why sure”, I replied. “I’ll take a scotch and soda”.
The words were out of my mouth without thinking. Scotch and soda; where did that answer come from? I liked the song, but I’d never ordered that drink before. I’d tried it a few times and liked the dry, unaffected taste, but I’d never requested it. Was it the right drink to mention in the home of the parents I wanted to impress?
“Great”, announced the doctor, as he bounced off the sofa and moved quickly to the bar that was cornered at the other end of the family room, “that’s my drink. I’d be happy to fix you one too”.
“Edwaaarrddd”, scolded Mary, his wife, from her position across from Kathy and me. “Kathy and Tony have a dinner reservation. They were just leaving when you arrived, don’t fix a drink now”.
“Nonsense Mary”, he growled back, “I’m sure they have time for ONE drink. I’d like to talk to the boy. What do you say, Tony, can you have a drink with me?”
“A drink would be great. We have plenty of time”, I confessed, knowing that I had given myself more than adequate time to meet Kathy’s parents and make our reservation at the restaurant. But Kathy shot me a wide-eyed look of panic that worried me. It seemed to query, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!
“So Tony, what do you do?” the doctor asked, bending under the counter with two large tumblers in his hands.
“I’m a history teacher at St. Bernard High School,” I replied, curious at the noises emanating from behind the bar, “but I’m starting graduate school next year.” I heard clinking, clanking, banging, and sliding, followed by the sounds of gushing water echoing off metal.
“Really”, he announced, straightening up and placing the two tumblers, heaping with ice cubes, on the counter. “What are you studying?”
“I graduated from UCLA in ’70 with a BA in History, and I’ve been accepted in their Latin American Studies program”. My eyebrows raised in surprise as he filled a fist-sized, copper shot glass from a bottle labeled Johnnie Walker Red. He splashed it, first, into one glass, then refilled it, and splashed it into the second.
“And you’ve been teaching at St. Bernard since then?” he asked, unscrewing a small bottle of soda and sprinkling it in the direction of the two tumblers.
“No, actually, I was in the Air Force for awhile”, I said. “I’ll use the GI Bill for grad school.”
“Oh, you were in the service?” he said, coming out from behind the bar, holding an ice-topped drink in each of his glistening hands.
“Yes, for a year” I replied, looking at his moist hands and water speckled slacks, and wondering how he had gotten so wet. “I was discharged when my father died. My brother and I were both serving when it happened, and they allowed one of us to leave”.
The doctor handed me a glass, raised his slightly and toasted “Up the rebels!”
“Salud”, I replied, lifting my glass in salute.
He took a long drink and resumed his seat across from me, while I took a measured taste. The scotch exploded in my mouth.
“Holy Shit” I thought, “what is in this drink!” It was the strongest mixed drink I’d ever had. Was there any soda in this drink?
Glass in hand, the doctor reclined in his chair and said, “I was a lieutenant j.g. in the war. I served with the 3rd Marine Division as a naval surgeon.”
“Oh, really”, I added, taking another drink, “my father was a Marine in the war”.
“Where did he serve? I was at Iwo Jima.”
“He didn’t see that action. He fought in the Philippines, and was in the Battle of Leyte.” With another swallow, the fumes and liquor began seeping into my body, relaxing my worries about meeting Kathy’s parents for the first time. This scotch was pretty good! I’d never considered the beneficial effects that an extra shot of scotch had on a drink before.
“Ahhh, the Battle of Leyte”, reminisced the doctor, “it was the first battle in the reconquest of the Philippines. The attack was the largest amphibious operation at the time, and Douglas MacArthur was the supreme commander. The Marines didn’t have much use for him, though, they called him Dugout Doug. It was a derisive name”.
“Hmmm”, I responded. I was about to add my own opinion of MacArthur, when a sharp glance from Kathy stopped me from fueling the conversation. I’d heard these facts before, when my father and his brothers spoke of the war and discussed the merits of MacArthur as a general and leader. Contrary to most Marines, my father respected MacArthur, and his ability to keep American casualties low by “attacking where they ain’t”. Most Marines, however, could never forgive Dugout Doug for abandoning his command at Corregidor.
“Iwo Jima was the largest action I saw. The landing and battle lasted from February 19 to March 26, 1945. After 35 days of fighting, we suffered 28, 000 causalities, with about 7,000 killed in action. That’s where I learned to be a surgeon. ‘Meatball surgery’ they call it on the TV show MASH. That’s where I learned my trade, on the beaches of Iwo Jima”.
I nodded my head at the doctor, and noticed that Kathy and her mom were trading apprehensive looks at this extended monologue.
“Lieutenant General Holland Smith was the commanding general”, the doctor continued as he rattled the ice in his glass before finishing the drink. “Howlin Mad Smith’, he was called, and he deserved the name. He was 6 foot, 2 inches, 280 pounds, and the meanest sonofabitch on the island”.
Kathy again caught my eye. This time she began staring, alternately, at my glass and then moving her glance toward the doorway. I finally got the silent message and concentrated my efforts on finishing my drink, and not encouraging the doctor to elaborate further on the story.
“On the second day of the battle” he added, “I was ordered to tell ‘Howlin Mad’ that he was running a fever and should be in bed. I was the most junior medical officer on Iwo Jima, and everyone was afraid to face him. I walked up to him, saluted, and said, ‘My compliments, sir; it is my duty as medical officer to inform you that you are running a temperature of over 103 degrees and need to be placed under a doctor’s care in sickbay, immediately’. Well, he walked right up to my face and screamed, ‘I am not taking orders from a goddamn j.g... No shave tail medical officer is going to tell me that I have a goddamn fever and take away my command. This battle is my moment in history, and you will not take it away from me’. Needless to say, he didn’t go to sickbay.”
He rose from the couch and pointed his empty glass at me, “Would you like another drink?”
“Edward! Dad!” chimed in Mary and Kathy, simultaneously.
“No thank you, doctor”, I said quickly, putting my glass on the coffee table, “we really should leave. That’s quite a story”.
“Well, it’s a shame that you have to leave right now” he grumbled. “We were just starting to get to know each other”.
“I’m sure you’ll have many more opportunities, Edward”, Mary said, as she took my elbow and led me away from the doctor. Kathy joined us, and we walked together to the front door.
“Well let me walk you out, then” the doctor said as he hurried to catch up as we passed through the door and onto the asphalt driveway. “You’ll have to tell me more about your father’s Marine experiences the next time we talk.”
“Sure”, I replied, cognizant that Kathy was walking faster, trying to get us to the car as quickly as possible. I was puzzled by all the haste; what was the hurry? Despite her cautionary warnings to me about her father’s legendary impatience and intolerance as a surgeon, he seemed a very pleasant man, and I thought I had done a good job of being respectful, solicitous, and interesting. I was convinced that I had succeeded in making a very favorable impression.
“So Tony, I didn’t have a chance to ask you before, but what do you think of doctors?”
I don’t know what came over me. Perhaps it was carelessness, the double scotch, or my overconfidence at believing I had already won his approval as a suitor. Whatever the reason, I responded quickly and unthinkingly.
“Well doctor, I believe they killed my father”.
Kathy stopped short, turned and stared at me with a horrified expression.
“What”, choked the doctor in surprise, “do you mean?”
“He died from a myocardial infarction, one year ago, on November 1”, I recited automatically, with an edge of irritation; as though the meaning should be obvious. “My mother and sister took him to the doctor that morning, complaining of chest pains. His doctor examined him, told him to take his medicine, and released him. He had another heart attack later that afternoon and died. As far as I’m concerned, the doctor did such a poor job that he might as well have killed him”.
There was a lonnnggg silence, as we all stood together in the driveway. It slowly dawned on me that I had gone too far with this unanticipated, emotional outburst.
“I’m sorry about the loss of your father, Tony” the doctor said quietly. “I’m not familiar with his case, but I can tell you that doctors aren’t perfect, and they sometimes misjudge the seriousness of symptoms.” His voice had changed from the lofty, professorial tones in the family room, to a softer, bedside manner.
“Doctor, I’m not blaming you”, I explained, trying not to look at Kathy or her mom. “I really should not have brought it up”. How was I going to get out of this? I had a sudden vision of all the goodwill I had secured in the family room slowly sinking into a sea of unconscious issues and hard feelings. My slip of the tongue gave him more than enough reason to dislike me, if he chose to take offense.
“No, no, it’s alright. I know you’re not blaming me”, he said, as we resumed our walk toward the car. “The death of a father is tough, and doctors are supposed to keep them alive”. He paused again, and added “You know Tony, doctors can’t beat death; they can just try to prolong life. They diagnose the illness, treat the symptoms, and operate when they can; but death is outside their control. My parents died in a flash flood; a random and accidental death, with no apparent rhyme or reason. All dying seems that way”.
Kathy and her mother said nothing throughout this exchange. They simply stood there, looking at each other, waiting for something to happen. I took advantage of the next pause to extricate myself from this situation as best I could.
“Well, thank you for understanding, doctor”, I said as I approached my parked car. “I guess I’m still not over my father’s death. I hope I didn’t offend you”.
“Not at all Tony, I admire your honesty. I know how it feels to lose a father”. He extended his hand and said “If you ever feel the need to talk about it, I’d be honored if you called me”.
I shook his hand, and then opened the passenger side door, waiting for Kathy to enter. She quickly kissed her mother and father on the cheek and stepped in.
“Goodbye, now”, I said waving, as Kathy’s parents stood side by side, waving back. I turned on the ignition, put the clutch in gear, and drove off.
“What was that about?” exploded Kathy, with a mixture of concern and wonderment. “Why did you say that?”
“Kathy, I honestly don’t know where that came from”, I confessed, shaking my head. “I am really sorry. Do you think he was mad? Did I really insult him?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t seem angry”, she admitted, sitting back into her seat and staring straight ahead. “I’ll have to check with my mom when I get home”. After a long silence, she added, “I can’t believe he told you about his parents. He even offered to discuss your father’s death with you! What got into him?”
I met Kathy’s parents on our second “official” date. Kathy was so nervous and anxious about this first meeting, that I was confused. I couldn’t figure out what this seemingly fearless maiden could be afraid of. At first I mistook it as a lack of confidence in me, and my ability to charm older people (or at least to make a decent impression). I learned later that the anxiety was a manifestation of her childhood accumulation of remembered embarrassments and frustrations with her father’s words, actions, and attitudes. What she didn’t know during my first encounter with her parents was that I was already falling in love with her, and her father’s idiosyncrasies were inconsequential. I was more curious about him than judgmental. I wanted to learn everything I could about Kathy, her past, her influences, her mother, father, sisters, brothers, and friends. I believed that the more I knew about her, the better my chances at winning her affections; and that was becoming very important to me. My remark about doctors killing my father crystallized that desire, by putting our future in jeopardy.
The story of this first meeting has become somewhat apocryphal in the family (hers, mine, and ours), through countless telling and retellings. Added to that, because of the presence of four people, there are many discrepancies in each of our particular versions (although by virtue of being the first written account, mine may win out). While she lived, Mary acted as the designated arbiter and judge whenever it was told in her presence, reigning in exaggerated details, and deflating the “tall tale” aspects that crept in. The story has always fascinated me, because it stands out as a clear crossroad in our lives - a place in time when the trajectory of four lives intersected, paused, and then intertwined. And it has always raised the nagging question, would our lives be different today, if I had responded in another fashion? What if I had given the “right” answer, the diplomatic response, to this otherwise innocuous question? Would it have changed the direction of our lives? And who was this 22 year old girl, when we met 42 years ago, with the ability to create such a nexus in my life?
Kathleen Mavourneen was (and still is) the whole package; the perfect amalgamation of all the feminine qualities I had seen and admired in different women throughout my life. She was beautiful; a statuesque, clean-limbed maiden, with sun streaked, blonde hair and sparkling, hazel eyes. She was smart, funny, fearless, independent, caring, empathetic, and charismatic. She had a beaming, open face, with a smile that would inspire poets to dream, and singers to croon. She had a way of making people feel that they were the center of her world. Her questions and caring interest in friends and acquaintances were heartfelt and sincere; and her sympathy and advice was always thoughtful and wise. She was the “best friend” to countless people, who felt no jealousy at her equal attention to others (I was probably the most uneasy about this characteristic, because I wanted to be her ONLY boyfriend). She became angry and indignant at meanness, cruelty, and injustice, and would challenge it fearlessly through words, actions, and attitudes. She led with her heart, and backed her actions with brains, will power, and determination. By our third “official” date (after countless phone calls and “spontaneous” visits to Sister Marilyn and Carol’s apartment convent whenever I saw Kathy’s orange Volkswagen parked in front), I knew that I was in LOVE for the first time in my life, and the possibility of marriage entered my consciousness. What was unusual about this sudden development was the fact that I felt no panic or bewilderment at the speed of this realization. Falling in love with Kathy, and accepting the possibility (inevitability?) of marriage was the most natural feeling in the world (like falling off a log). There was a “rightness” about Kathy, our relationship, and the trajectory it was taking. With her in my life, I did not look back.
These thoughts and memories of long ago came to me on the evening of December 30 (New Year’s Adam), 2007, as I listened to Tierney Sutton explain her connection with the song, On My Way to You. Kathy had arranged the evening (dinner and jazz entertainment at Catalina’s Bar and Grill) as her Christmas gift to me (and us). I’d been captivated with Catalina’s ever since our first time there in April of 2003, when I took Kathy to celebrate the 30 year anniversary of our first date. The food, atmosphere, and music had been magical, and the songs sung by Peter Cincotti memorialized the evening. So Catalina’s Jazz Club already had a special place in my heart with its links to Kathy, and our first date (on Holy Saturday, 1973). Now, here was another singer, again highlighting that link, with her interpretation of the lyrics by Allen and Marilyn Bergman. Up until that moment, I had not been particularly impressed with Sutton. Her jazz style and delivery was very technical and she did a lot of “scat singing”, using her voice as a musical instrument to improvise melodies with her piano, bass, and drum accompanists. But I was riveted by her words, because they seemed to hint about the significance of every action and event in our lives, even seemingly negative occurrences. Listening carefully to her song, I finally heard the lyrics that had prompted the thoughtful introduction:
“If I had changed a single day,
What went amiss, or went astray,
I may have never found my way to you.
I wouldn’t change a thing that happened
On my way to you”.
A wave of emotion rose from my neck, covered my mouth and face, and crashed over my head and scalp. I was flooded with a kaleidoscope of pictures from my past: my living quarters at Norton Air Force Base; being told that my father was dead; driving at night from San Bernardino to Venice to be with my family; the wake, funeral, and burial; teaching at St. Bernard High School; breaking up with a girl I was dating; telling Sisters Carol and Marilyn to go ahead and arrange a dinner with a girl named Kathleen; driving to a Farm Worker’s rally in Coachella Valley with Kathy, Carol, and Marilyn, the very next day; taking Kathy to Pieces of Eight restaurant in the Marina del Rey on our first date (then taking her to Holy Saturday services at St. Bernard); standing in the driveway of her home telling her father that doctors killed my father; walking out of the original Godfather movie because Kathy became nauseous at the horse head-in-the-bed scene; and watching Kathy walk toward the front door of her house on Weddington Street, after our third date, and remembering a scene from Tolstoy’s War and Peace, and thinking, “if she turns her head to look back at me, that will be the girl I marry”. I remembered as if it were yesterday: Kathy stopped as she grasped the doorknob, turned her head to look back, and smiled at me before she entered the door and disappeared. The ground quaked beneath my feet, and I knew my life had changed forever.
On that evening at Catalina’s, despite 35 intervening years, I could recall every significant event and encounter leading to our marriage. I was struck by the idea that if my life had progressed “correctly”, I would never have met Kathy, married her, raised a family with her, and spent a life together. My father should not have died. I should have stayed in the Air Force for four years as an information specialist and newspaper correspondent. I should have completed a tour of duty in Vietnam and then been assigned to Spain before being discharged. I should not have returned home to look for a job, living with my mom and 4 siblings. I should not have developed such a close friendship with Eddie and Alex, playing board games, going to parks and beaches, watching TV, and buying comic books. I should not have spoken to a pregnant high school and college friend, who was leaving her teaching position at St Bernard. I should not have become a teacher there. I should not have met Carol and Marilyn, and become friends. I should not have been invited to dinner to be introduced to a girl named Kathleen. We should never have met. It should have been impossible for us to meet; and yet I somehow made my way to her.
Those lyrics by Allen and Marilyn Bergman gave me my moment of clarity. I could suddenly trace my life with Kathy backwards in time, to the point of my father’s death, and realize that I had nothing, and everything, to do with my fate. My life had been a series of external events and personal decisions. I had no control over most events, especially my father’s death, but I could control how I perceived and understood those events, and I could choose how to react to them. I always felt guided toward Kathy, but it was my choices that got me to her. Once I met her, I was overwhelmed by a certainty of rightness that I have never lost. Kathy was the one, the right one, the only one. Until I heard that song and those lyrics, I believed the only sadness in my life was the fact that my father never met or knew Kathy and my two children, Tonito and Prisa. I now saw, for the first time, that his death was a crossroad sign pointing me towards them. Along with my birth, it was the greatest gift he gave me.
As Tierney Sutton ended the song, I squeezed Kathy’s hand, and turning my head sideways to look at her, I whispered “I love you”. She turned to face me and said “I love you too”.
On this Valentine’s Day in 2008, I just want to say, again:
“I Love you, Kathleen Mavourneen, as much today as on the first day I Loved you”.
I find myself reciting
The words I've said or should have said
Like scenes that need rewriting
The smiles I never answered
Doors perhaps I should have opened
Songs forgotten in the morning
I relive the roles I've played
The tears I may have squandered
The many pipers I have paid
Along the roads I've wandered
Yet all the time I knew it
Love was somewhere out there waiting
Though I may regret a kiss or two
If I had changed a single day
What went amiss or went astray
I may have never found my way to you
I wouldn't change a thing that happened
On my way to you
(Lyrics by A. Bergman & M. Bergman)
“Nice to meet you, Tony, can I fix you a drink?”
With those words I met Kathleen Mavourneen’s father, the surgeon, as he swept into the family room, dressed in a golf shirt and sweater, and wearing trim khaki slacks. He situated himself on the edge of the sofa chair, which Kathy and her mother said was reserved for him, and awaited my answer. The question surprised, and then quickly seduced me. I had never been offered a drink when meeting the parents of a date for the first time.
“Why sure”, I replied. “I’ll take a scotch and soda”.
The words were out of my mouth without thinking. Scotch and soda; where did that answer come from? I liked the song, but I’d never ordered that drink before. I’d tried it a few times and liked the dry, unaffected taste, but I’d never requested it. Was it the right drink to mention in the home of the parents I wanted to impress?
“Great”, announced the doctor, as he bounced off the sofa and moved quickly to the bar that was cornered at the other end of the family room, “that’s my drink. I’d be happy to fix you one too”.
“Edwaaarrddd”, scolded Mary, his wife, from her position across from Kathy and me. “Kathy and Tony have a dinner reservation. They were just leaving when you arrived, don’t fix a drink now”.
“Nonsense Mary”, he growled back, “I’m sure they have time for ONE drink. I’d like to talk to the boy. What do you say, Tony, can you have a drink with me?”
“A drink would be great. We have plenty of time”, I confessed, knowing that I had given myself more than adequate time to meet Kathy’s parents and make our reservation at the restaurant. But Kathy shot me a wide-eyed look of panic that worried me. It seemed to query, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!
“So Tony, what do you do?” the doctor asked, bending under the counter with two large tumblers in his hands.
“I’m a history teacher at St. Bernard High School,” I replied, curious at the noises emanating from behind the bar, “but I’m starting graduate school next year.” I heard clinking, clanking, banging, and sliding, followed by the sounds of gushing water echoing off metal.
“Really”, he announced, straightening up and placing the two tumblers, heaping with ice cubes, on the counter. “What are you studying?”
“I graduated from UCLA in ’70 with a BA in History, and I’ve been accepted in their Latin American Studies program”. My eyebrows raised in surprise as he filled a fist-sized, copper shot glass from a bottle labeled Johnnie Walker Red. He splashed it, first, into one glass, then refilled it, and splashed it into the second.
“And you’ve been teaching at St. Bernard since then?” he asked, unscrewing a small bottle of soda and sprinkling it in the direction of the two tumblers.
“No, actually, I was in the Air Force for awhile”, I said. “I’ll use the GI Bill for grad school.”
“Oh, you were in the service?” he said, coming out from behind the bar, holding an ice-topped drink in each of his glistening hands.
“Yes, for a year” I replied, looking at his moist hands and water speckled slacks, and wondering how he had gotten so wet. “I was discharged when my father died. My brother and I were both serving when it happened, and they allowed one of us to leave”.
The doctor handed me a glass, raised his slightly and toasted “Up the rebels!”
“Salud”, I replied, lifting my glass in salute.
He took a long drink and resumed his seat across from me, while I took a measured taste. The scotch exploded in my mouth.
“Holy Shit” I thought, “what is in this drink!” It was the strongest mixed drink I’d ever had. Was there any soda in this drink?
Glass in hand, the doctor reclined in his chair and said, “I was a lieutenant j.g. in the war. I served with the 3rd Marine Division as a naval surgeon.”
“Oh, really”, I added, taking another drink, “my father was a Marine in the war”.
“Where did he serve? I was at Iwo Jima.”
“He didn’t see that action. He fought in the Philippines, and was in the Battle of Leyte.” With another swallow, the fumes and liquor began seeping into my body, relaxing my worries about meeting Kathy’s parents for the first time. This scotch was pretty good! I’d never considered the beneficial effects that an extra shot of scotch had on a drink before.
“Ahhh, the Battle of Leyte”, reminisced the doctor, “it was the first battle in the reconquest of the Philippines. The attack was the largest amphibious operation at the time, and Douglas MacArthur was the supreme commander. The Marines didn’t have much use for him, though, they called him Dugout Doug. It was a derisive name”.
“Hmmm”, I responded. I was about to add my own opinion of MacArthur, when a sharp glance from Kathy stopped me from fueling the conversation. I’d heard these facts before, when my father and his brothers spoke of the war and discussed the merits of MacArthur as a general and leader. Contrary to most Marines, my father respected MacArthur, and his ability to keep American casualties low by “attacking where they ain’t”. Most Marines, however, could never forgive Dugout Doug for abandoning his command at Corregidor.
“Iwo Jima was the largest action I saw. The landing and battle lasted from February 19 to March 26, 1945. After 35 days of fighting, we suffered 28, 000 causalities, with about 7,000 killed in action. That’s where I learned to be a surgeon. ‘Meatball surgery’ they call it on the TV show MASH. That’s where I learned my trade, on the beaches of Iwo Jima”.
I nodded my head at the doctor, and noticed that Kathy and her mom were trading apprehensive looks at this extended monologue.
“Lieutenant General Holland Smith was the commanding general”, the doctor continued as he rattled the ice in his glass before finishing the drink. “Howlin Mad Smith’, he was called, and he deserved the name. He was 6 foot, 2 inches, 280 pounds, and the meanest sonofabitch on the island”.
Kathy again caught my eye. This time she began staring, alternately, at my glass and then moving her glance toward the doorway. I finally got the silent message and concentrated my efforts on finishing my drink, and not encouraging the doctor to elaborate further on the story.
“On the second day of the battle” he added, “I was ordered to tell ‘Howlin Mad’ that he was running a fever and should be in bed. I was the most junior medical officer on Iwo Jima, and everyone was afraid to face him. I walked up to him, saluted, and said, ‘My compliments, sir; it is my duty as medical officer to inform you that you are running a temperature of over 103 degrees and need to be placed under a doctor’s care in sickbay, immediately’. Well, he walked right up to my face and screamed, ‘I am not taking orders from a goddamn j.g... No shave tail medical officer is going to tell me that I have a goddamn fever and take away my command. This battle is my moment in history, and you will not take it away from me’. Needless to say, he didn’t go to sickbay.”
He rose from the couch and pointed his empty glass at me, “Would you like another drink?”
“Edward! Dad!” chimed in Mary and Kathy, simultaneously.
“No thank you, doctor”, I said quickly, putting my glass on the coffee table, “we really should leave. That’s quite a story”.
“Well, it’s a shame that you have to leave right now” he grumbled. “We were just starting to get to know each other”.
“I’m sure you’ll have many more opportunities, Edward”, Mary said, as she took my elbow and led me away from the doctor. Kathy joined us, and we walked together to the front door.
“Well let me walk you out, then” the doctor said as he hurried to catch up as we passed through the door and onto the asphalt driveway. “You’ll have to tell me more about your father’s Marine experiences the next time we talk.”
“Sure”, I replied, cognizant that Kathy was walking faster, trying to get us to the car as quickly as possible. I was puzzled by all the haste; what was the hurry? Despite her cautionary warnings to me about her father’s legendary impatience and intolerance as a surgeon, he seemed a very pleasant man, and I thought I had done a good job of being respectful, solicitous, and interesting. I was convinced that I had succeeded in making a very favorable impression.
“So Tony, I didn’t have a chance to ask you before, but what do you think of doctors?”
I don’t know what came over me. Perhaps it was carelessness, the double scotch, or my overconfidence at believing I had already won his approval as a suitor. Whatever the reason, I responded quickly and unthinkingly.
“Well doctor, I believe they killed my father”.
Kathy stopped short, turned and stared at me with a horrified expression.
“What”, choked the doctor in surprise, “do you mean?”
“He died from a myocardial infarction, one year ago, on November 1”, I recited automatically, with an edge of irritation; as though the meaning should be obvious. “My mother and sister took him to the doctor that morning, complaining of chest pains. His doctor examined him, told him to take his medicine, and released him. He had another heart attack later that afternoon and died. As far as I’m concerned, the doctor did such a poor job that he might as well have killed him”.
There was a lonnnggg silence, as we all stood together in the driveway. It slowly dawned on me that I had gone too far with this unanticipated, emotional outburst.
“I’m sorry about the loss of your father, Tony” the doctor said quietly. “I’m not familiar with his case, but I can tell you that doctors aren’t perfect, and they sometimes misjudge the seriousness of symptoms.” His voice had changed from the lofty, professorial tones in the family room, to a softer, bedside manner.
“Doctor, I’m not blaming you”, I explained, trying not to look at Kathy or her mom. “I really should not have brought it up”. How was I going to get out of this? I had a sudden vision of all the goodwill I had secured in the family room slowly sinking into a sea of unconscious issues and hard feelings. My slip of the tongue gave him more than enough reason to dislike me, if he chose to take offense.
“No, no, it’s alright. I know you’re not blaming me”, he said, as we resumed our walk toward the car. “The death of a father is tough, and doctors are supposed to keep them alive”. He paused again, and added “You know Tony, doctors can’t beat death; they can just try to prolong life. They diagnose the illness, treat the symptoms, and operate when they can; but death is outside their control. My parents died in a flash flood; a random and accidental death, with no apparent rhyme or reason. All dying seems that way”.
Kathy and her mother said nothing throughout this exchange. They simply stood there, looking at each other, waiting for something to happen. I took advantage of the next pause to extricate myself from this situation as best I could.
“Well, thank you for understanding, doctor”, I said as I approached my parked car. “I guess I’m still not over my father’s death. I hope I didn’t offend you”.
“Not at all Tony, I admire your honesty. I know how it feels to lose a father”. He extended his hand and said “If you ever feel the need to talk about it, I’d be honored if you called me”.
I shook his hand, and then opened the passenger side door, waiting for Kathy to enter. She quickly kissed her mother and father on the cheek and stepped in.
“Goodbye, now”, I said waving, as Kathy’s parents stood side by side, waving back. I turned on the ignition, put the clutch in gear, and drove off.
“What was that about?” exploded Kathy, with a mixture of concern and wonderment. “Why did you say that?”
“Kathy, I honestly don’t know where that came from”, I confessed, shaking my head. “I am really sorry. Do you think he was mad? Did I really insult him?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t seem angry”, she admitted, sitting back into her seat and staring straight ahead. “I’ll have to check with my mom when I get home”. After a long silence, she added, “I can’t believe he told you about his parents. He even offered to discuss your father’s death with you! What got into him?”
I met Kathy’s parents on our second “official” date. Kathy was so nervous and anxious about this first meeting, that I was confused. I couldn’t figure out what this seemingly fearless maiden could be afraid of. At first I mistook it as a lack of confidence in me, and my ability to charm older people (or at least to make a decent impression). I learned later that the anxiety was a manifestation of her childhood accumulation of remembered embarrassments and frustrations with her father’s words, actions, and attitudes. What she didn’t know during my first encounter with her parents was that I was already falling in love with her, and her father’s idiosyncrasies were inconsequential. I was more curious about him than judgmental. I wanted to learn everything I could about Kathy, her past, her influences, her mother, father, sisters, brothers, and friends. I believed that the more I knew about her, the better my chances at winning her affections; and that was becoming very important to me. My remark about doctors killing my father crystallized that desire, by putting our future in jeopardy.
The story of this first meeting has become somewhat apocryphal in the family (hers, mine, and ours), through countless telling and retellings. Added to that, because of the presence of four people, there are many discrepancies in each of our particular versions (although by virtue of being the first written account, mine may win out). While she lived, Mary acted as the designated arbiter and judge whenever it was told in her presence, reigning in exaggerated details, and deflating the “tall tale” aspects that crept in. The story has always fascinated me, because it stands out as a clear crossroad in our lives - a place in time when the trajectory of four lives intersected, paused, and then intertwined. And it has always raised the nagging question, would our lives be different today, if I had responded in another fashion? What if I had given the “right” answer, the diplomatic response, to this otherwise innocuous question? Would it have changed the direction of our lives? And who was this 22 year old girl, when we met 42 years ago, with the ability to create such a nexus in my life?
Kathleen Mavourneen was (and still is) the whole package; the perfect amalgamation of all the feminine qualities I had seen and admired in different women throughout my life. She was beautiful; a statuesque, clean-limbed maiden, with sun streaked, blonde hair and sparkling, hazel eyes. She was smart, funny, fearless, independent, caring, empathetic, and charismatic. She had a beaming, open face, with a smile that would inspire poets to dream, and singers to croon. She had a way of making people feel that they were the center of her world. Her questions and caring interest in friends and acquaintances were heartfelt and sincere; and her sympathy and advice was always thoughtful and wise. She was the “best friend” to countless people, who felt no jealousy at her equal attention to others (I was probably the most uneasy about this characteristic, because I wanted to be her ONLY boyfriend). She became angry and indignant at meanness, cruelty, and injustice, and would challenge it fearlessly through words, actions, and attitudes. She led with her heart, and backed her actions with brains, will power, and determination. By our third “official” date (after countless phone calls and “spontaneous” visits to Sister Marilyn and Carol’s apartment convent whenever I saw Kathy’s orange Volkswagen parked in front), I knew that I was in LOVE for the first time in my life, and the possibility of marriage entered my consciousness. What was unusual about this sudden development was the fact that I felt no panic or bewilderment at the speed of this realization. Falling in love with Kathy, and accepting the possibility (inevitability?) of marriage was the most natural feeling in the world (like falling off a log). There was a “rightness” about Kathy, our relationship, and the trajectory it was taking. With her in my life, I did not look back.
These thoughts and memories of long ago came to me on the evening of December 30 (New Year’s Adam), 2007, as I listened to Tierney Sutton explain her connection with the song, On My Way to You. Kathy had arranged the evening (dinner and jazz entertainment at Catalina’s Bar and Grill) as her Christmas gift to me (and us). I’d been captivated with Catalina’s ever since our first time there in April of 2003, when I took Kathy to celebrate the 30 year anniversary of our first date. The food, atmosphere, and music had been magical, and the songs sung by Peter Cincotti memorialized the evening. So Catalina’s Jazz Club already had a special place in my heart with its links to Kathy, and our first date (on Holy Saturday, 1973). Now, here was another singer, again highlighting that link, with her interpretation of the lyrics by Allen and Marilyn Bergman. Up until that moment, I had not been particularly impressed with Sutton. Her jazz style and delivery was very technical and she did a lot of “scat singing”, using her voice as a musical instrument to improvise melodies with her piano, bass, and drum accompanists. But I was riveted by her words, because they seemed to hint about the significance of every action and event in our lives, even seemingly negative occurrences. Listening carefully to her song, I finally heard the lyrics that had prompted the thoughtful introduction:
“If I had changed a single day,
What went amiss, or went astray,
I may have never found my way to you.
I wouldn’t change a thing that happened
On my way to you”.
A wave of emotion rose from my neck, covered my mouth and face, and crashed over my head and scalp. I was flooded with a kaleidoscope of pictures from my past: my living quarters at Norton Air Force Base; being told that my father was dead; driving at night from San Bernardino to Venice to be with my family; the wake, funeral, and burial; teaching at St. Bernard High School; breaking up with a girl I was dating; telling Sisters Carol and Marilyn to go ahead and arrange a dinner with a girl named Kathleen; driving to a Farm Worker’s rally in Coachella Valley with Kathy, Carol, and Marilyn, the very next day; taking Kathy to Pieces of Eight restaurant in the Marina del Rey on our first date (then taking her to Holy Saturday services at St. Bernard); standing in the driveway of her home telling her father that doctors killed my father; walking out of the original Godfather movie because Kathy became nauseous at the horse head-in-the-bed scene; and watching Kathy walk toward the front door of her house on Weddington Street, after our third date, and remembering a scene from Tolstoy’s War and Peace, and thinking, “if she turns her head to look back at me, that will be the girl I marry”. I remembered as if it were yesterday: Kathy stopped as she grasped the doorknob, turned her head to look back, and smiled at me before she entered the door and disappeared. The ground quaked beneath my feet, and I knew my life had changed forever.
On that evening at Catalina’s, despite 35 intervening years, I could recall every significant event and encounter leading to our marriage. I was struck by the idea that if my life had progressed “correctly”, I would never have met Kathy, married her, raised a family with her, and spent a life together. My father should not have died. I should have stayed in the Air Force for four years as an information specialist and newspaper correspondent. I should have completed a tour of duty in Vietnam and then been assigned to Spain before being discharged. I should not have returned home to look for a job, living with my mom and 4 siblings. I should not have developed such a close friendship with Eddie and Alex, playing board games, going to parks and beaches, watching TV, and buying comic books. I should not have spoken to a pregnant high school and college friend, who was leaving her teaching position at St Bernard. I should not have become a teacher there. I should not have met Carol and Marilyn, and become friends. I should not have been invited to dinner to be introduced to a girl named Kathleen. We should never have met. It should have been impossible for us to meet; and yet I somehow made my way to her.
Those lyrics by Allen and Marilyn Bergman gave me my moment of clarity. I could suddenly trace my life with Kathy backwards in time, to the point of my father’s death, and realize that I had nothing, and everything, to do with my fate. My life had been a series of external events and personal decisions. I had no control over most events, especially my father’s death, but I could control how I perceived and understood those events, and I could choose how to react to them. I always felt guided toward Kathy, but it was my choices that got me to her. Once I met her, I was overwhelmed by a certainty of rightness that I have never lost. Kathy was the one, the right one, the only one. Until I heard that song and those lyrics, I believed the only sadness in my life was the fact that my father never met or knew Kathy and my two children, Tonito and Prisa. I now saw, for the first time, that his death was a crossroad sign pointing me towards them. Along with my birth, it was the greatest gift he gave me.
As Tierney Sutton ended the song, I squeezed Kathy’s hand, and turning my head sideways to look at her, I whispered “I love you”. She turned to face me and said “I love you too”.
On this Valentine’s Day in 2008, I just want to say, again:
“I Love you, Kathleen Mavourneen, as much today as on the first day I Loved you”.