Category Archives: Fiction

ANCORA

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Ancora State Mental Hospital, NJ

When I was twenty-one years old, my boyfriend, Jimmy dumped me without any explanation. He just stopped calling me and wouldn’t answer the phone when I called him. I drove over to his apartment numerous times. He never came to the door. I drove to his parent’s house down the shore in Wildwood. Their summer home was right on the bay. Jimmy loved to fish and to sit on the peer and drink beer.

The first time I went out with him, he said, “Kathy, I want to tell you out front that I drink too much. And I got a dishonorable discharge from the military.”

I said, “dishonorable discharge, what does that mean?”

“It means, that I tried to frag my commanding officer, and they threw me out of the Marines.”

I stared at him and finally said, “frag, what does frag mean?”

It means that me and a bunch of my fellow enlisted buddies decided to get rid of him because he didn’t know what he was doing. And he was going to get us all killed, so we tried to kill him first.” One of the guys ratted us out to the commanding officer. And we were thrown out of the Marines.”

“You tried to kill someone?” I said with wide eyes.

“Yeah, that’s right. Now you know, so if you have a problem with me, then now is the time to leave.”

I sat there silently in the front seat of his car, and thought about it for a few minutes, but not too long. “But you didn’t kill him.”

“Yeah, that’s right we didn’t but not for lack of trying. We just weren’t successful at it.”

I looked at him with his big, blue eyes and sandy blond hair and thought, he didn’t do it, so he’s innocent. Yes, I know that doesn’t make any sense. I should have said, bye, good luck, don’t let the door hit you on the but on the way out. But I didn’t. I just said, “alright, do you want to go out and get something to eat or what?’

We went out to a drive-up called Stewards, and we had hamburgers and fries. Then we went to the movies. He never mentioned it again and neither did I. There isn’t any explanation for why I responded in this way. Other than, I just really wanted to have a boyfriend. I wanted someone to love me. I look back on that decision and realize I’m embarrassed by my choices, especially since not too long after that, he dumped me like a bad habit.

After I was dumped, I spent a good seven or eight months depressed. So depressed that I quit my job and stayed in my bedroom and cried and cried until I didn’t have any tears left. I thought my heart was broken. I felt broken. My parents didn’t know what to do with me and so they did nothing. Eventually, I tried to decide what to do with myself. I realized the first thing I had to do was get a new job.

I talked to my older brother, John. “John, I need to get a job. I would like to work with children. Do you know of any jobs?” My brother recently worked as one of the therapists at Ancora, the state mental hospital. He lived on the grounds in a little house.

“Yes, I do, there are always openings at Ancora. You know the state mental hospital where I used to work. They have a children’s ward there. Anyway, I’ll give you her name and phone number if you’re interested.”

Of course, I know that he lived there and worked there. Apparently, he forgot that I used to drive all the way down there and babysit his kids for him. When he and his wife went out for the evening, before they would leave, he always said, “make sure all the doors and windows are locked after we leave. Some of the mental patients escape sometimes and can be dangerous. “

“Oh yeah, sure,” I said and nervously laughed. My brother was always joking around all the time. At least I hope he was joking. But you could never be certain with him. All the same, after they left, I locked all the doors and checked the windows.

When my brother and his wife returned from their night out, he wrote down the woman’s name and phone number who worked at Ancora and her name and number on a scrap of paper and handed it to me. “You can use my name as a reference.”

“Thanks, John, I appreciate your help. See you later.”

The next morning, I called her up. “Hello, Mrs. Coffey, My name is Kathy Bernard. My brother gave me your name and number. My brother’s name is Dr. John Bernard. I’m looking for a new position I want to work with children.”

“Oh, so you’re Dr. Bernard’s sister. We think highly of John. We were sorry when he left. Do you have any experience working with children or mental illness?”

“Well, no not really, but I love kids and would appreciate the opportunity to help kids.”

“Well Miss Bernard, first you will be required to take an aptitude test because Ancora is a state facility, and you will be a state employee. The next available test date is in two weeks, it’s in Trenton. Will that be a problem?  And also, if you pass the test, you will have to take eight weeks of training and be tested at the end of completing the course. If you pass you will be a certified Psychiatric aide. “

“No, it’s not a problem.” Although the idea of driving all the way up to Trenton frightened me as I lack a sense of direction and often get lost, I would have to take the turnpike. The average speed driver on the turnpike is 75mph, and mine is 50mph. As it turned out following the NJ turnpike to Trenton was not that difficult. I found my way to Trenton without any problems. However, once I was in the city limits, I got lost and had to pull over and look at the street map I had brought of Trenton. Luckily, I can read and follow a map and somehow made my way to the state testing facility without any real issues. Of course, I arrived about an hour before the test was due to start. As I allowed myself extra time just in case, I became lost. I decided to wait in the car until I was supposed to sign in for the test.

At 9 am sharp I  walk up to the state-building and through the double doors to the front desk. I sign in and take a seat in the waiting area and observe all the people who begin arriving to take the test. I ‘m shocked to see how many there are. There are people of all ages, male and female. I realize the competition is going to be tough. I try to remain calm.

The test monitor begins calling people by name. I ‘m called in with the first group of people. Everyone is asked for two forms of identification. I provide mine. The man in charge of testing gives us instructions and tells us the test will be timed. And we have to stop when we are told to, not one second later. I finish the competency test. I hope I did well. I really wasn’t sure how I did. I ‘ll just have to wait for the results. First, I have to find my way home.

About two weeks later, I receive a letter stating that I had passed the competency test and can report for training at Ancora State Hospital the following Monday at 9 am.

I arrived one hour early to start my psychiatric aide training. I find the classroom that I was told to go to almost immediately. I’m the first to arrive. Nine people arrive soon after I do. The first person to arrive after me takes one look at me and comes over and sits at the desk next to me. She smiles at me and I smile back. She says “I’m a little nervous about this.”

I respond, “Me too.” And we both laugh. She introduces herself to me, I’m Joan Hall.”

And from that day forward we stick together like glue. On the last day, we take a final test. And Joan and I score the highest grades. Joan scores slightly higher than me because I didn’t know the visiting hours for Ancora. The teacher asks us to stay after class to talk to her. She recommends that we both consider going on to become psychiatric nurses. As we scored high on the IQ test and high on the final test.

The classroom portion of the course isn’t difficult. When we are put on the wards to be trained. I admit I’m a bit nervous. When I was looking for the ward I was assigned to a young woman comes over to me and asks,” Do you know what time it is? I was somewhat taken aback by her appearance. She’s covered in what appeared to be small tumors all over her face and body. She’s young about my age. I look at her and say, I think it is about 8:45 am. Are you alright?’ She says, “do you know what time it is? Do you know what time it is? Do you know what time it is?” I have to admit I was a little shaken by her appearance and what she said. Most of all, I just felt pity for her. And wondering why she had to have the misfortune of being born this way. I feel sad for her.  She walks away from me but keeps asking loudly for the time.

There are other patients walking around, shuffling their feet with seemingly no real purpose or destination in mind. Then I realize that they must be medicated. And the shuffling was some kind of side effect from a drug. I wonder if that is all they do all day—wandering from one hallway to the next. I wave at or said, “hello” to all the patients I pass. Occasionally, one of them responds, “hi,” and keeps walking. I wonder if any of them ever recovered or if they would always live this kind of half-life. As I walk down the hall, I notice there are giant highchairs lined up against the wall. And sitting in the highchairs are adults wearing diapers. They are strapped into the highchairs. They are silent. I can not comprehend what I’m seeing. Some of them have helmets on their heads and keep banging their heads against the wall.  I admit I’m shaken by the sight of these unfortunate souls.

The first day Joan and I are assigned to work in the ward for bedridden patients with dementia. As we come onto the floor, I hear an old woman screaming, “I want my applesauce.” She screams this over and over again at the top of her voice. “I WANT MY APPLESAUCE.”

Joan and I look at each other. I was the first one to start laughing, Joan follows. Finally, I say. “Well, damn I’m going to find this poor woman some applesauce.” We start laughing again. I admit it was out of nervousness.

The dementia patients are either screaming at the top of their lungs or look catatonic. I have never been around anyone who has dementia before so it came as quite a shock. We’re going to spend a week in each one of these wards to find a good fit.

I want to work with children, so I’m sure this isn’t where I want to work. By the end of the week, it’s clear to me that I don’t want to work in the ward with dementia patients. Joan likes it there. She has a calming effect on these patients and decides to stay and work there. I ‘ll miss her, but I’m glad she found her niche.

The next week I ‘m assigned to work in the active psyche ward on the first shift. As soon as I enter the ward, I find the day supervisor. “Hello, I’m Kathy Bernard. I’m new to this ward, here are my papers I was told to report to you first thing.

“Oh good, I’m happy that you’re on time, I can’t tolerate people who are tardy. Your first responsibility in the morning is to supervise the woman’s showers. Here are the people you are to call for the first showers. Let me show you where the showers are located. As she walks with me to the shower room, she explains that I was to stand in the room and watch the patients while they are in the shower room. And make sure that order is maintained and that there isn’t any physical contact allowed between the patients.

I look at her. Perhaps stare with my eyes bulging out of my head at her would be a better description. And I repeat once maybe twice, “supervise the woman’s showers.” Keep in mind that I’m twenty-one years old and have zero experience with naked people or communal showers for that matter. Then I say, “ok.” And follow her to the shower room. It’s one big open space with showers spaced about four feet apart with a drain on the floor and a towel rack between each shower. And a shelf for the patients to place their dry clothes.

“Alright, here we are. And as I said the patients aren’t allowed to have physical contact for any reason.”

I repeat, “no physical contact.”  Inside my head, I’m screaming, run, run, run away Kathy. But don’t. I stay there and wait for further instructions. There aren’t any.

“Alright, get busy; we don’t like to get behind schedule. Go out there and call the first ten patients in, keep it orderly.”

“Alright.” I say, and walk into the next room and yell out, “Alright, ladies, I want the people whose name I call out to go into the shower room and get a shower. Take off your pajamas and wash thoroughly from top to bottom, dry yourself and get dressed, and, most importantly, do not touch anyone else for any reason.”

And unbelievably that is what they do. The patients walk into the shower room and undress and get a shower, dry off, and then put their day clothes on. I only had one patient engage me in any way. She looks about twenty years old and has Downs Syndrome. She comes over and points down at her crotch and tries to hand me the soap. It takes me a moment to realize what she wants. And I calmly said, “What’s your name?” She says, Mary or Marta. I’m not sure which. “I think you know Mary that there isn’t any physical contact allowed in this room. Please return to your shower and then dry off and get dressed.”

She did just that.  I’m shocked that I ‘m able to handle this issue with such calmness. And that I didn’t run away. At that moment, I recognize that I ‘m stronger than I ever knew. I stand in the doorway of the shower room and observe the patients. After they’re finished, I take the next ten women into the shower room, and all goes well. I realize that these are people just like me. They have mental health issues. And that I’m here to help and guide them and learn from them. I don’t know if I’m up to the task, but I’m going to do my best while I’m here.

__________________________________

POCKET

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I franticly pull on my favorite pair of black dress pants and a white silk blouse. I overslept yet again. I have been plagued by insomnia for the past three weeks. I didn’t fall asleep until 2:30 in the morning last night. My head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and so does my mouth. I rush toward the bathroom. And stub my toe on a pile of books I left on the floor yesterday. I scream out an expletive. I have never been able to figure out why it hurts so much when a toe is stubbed. I lean over and hold my toe, hoping it will stop throbbing.

Silver Dollar 2211438-Pixabay

When I finally stop cursing, I hop over to the sink on one foot to wash my face, brush my teeth and gargle mouthwash. I brush my red curly hair into a bun.  I rush to the kitchen and grab my keys off the kitchen table.

I head out the door to the garage. I shove the garage door up. God, how I wish I could afford an electric garage door opener. I back out of the garage. Put the emergency brake on the car and get out and slam the garage door shut.

I jump back in the driver’s seat, and off I go. As I drive down the street, I can see that Route 50 is absolutely packed. I’ll probably have to sit for five or ten minutes just waiting to make a left turn. The traffic on Route 50 is unbelievably crowded if you are heading into the city from the suburbs.

I finally manage to edge my way onto the highway. I‘m off, going ten miles an hour. Why you ask? Because someone has had an accident somewhere ahead of me on Route 50. I’m going to be in hot water if I’m late again. I already had a warning last week.

Oh good, it looks like the accident in front of me is clear. I’m on my way again. I put some music on to calm my nerves. I reach into my purse for my change purse and blindly search through the change for my lucky coin. It never fails me. Whenever I’m under the gun, all I have to do is keep my lucky coin in my pocket and everything turns out perfectly.

My Uncle Pat gave me this silver dollar for my tenth birthday. He promised that it would bring me good luck whenever I really needed it. And it always has from that day forward. Whenever things are difficult. All I do is put the coin in my pocket and rub it. And sure enough, by the end of the day, things will have improved immensely.

My Uncle Pat lived in Philadelphia, and we lived in a small town in Southern New Jersey. I loved it when he came to visit us. He would call ahead and let my mother know what time his bus would arrive at our corner. I would wait until it was almost time for his bus to get to our street, and then I would run as fast as I possibly could down our street to Main Street. And sit down on the bench at the bus stop and wait for his bus to get there.

When the bus pulled over to the curb, I would be waiting there for him with a big smile on my face. “Hi Uncle Pat, I’ve been waiting for you. I missed you.”

“Hello, Jenny, how are you?’

My Uncle Pat always said the same thing to me every time I saw him. He would say,” I have a surprise for you. Guess what it is?”

He always gives me the same thing, a coin. Sometimes it’s a quarter, and other times it was a dime. Either way, I’m happy because as soon as I walked him down the street to my house, then I would run down the street to buy some penny candy at the candy store.

“Come on, Jenny, guess.”

And then I answer, “is it an elephant?”

He looked at me and says,” how do you always know what’s in my pocket? You must be a mind reader.”

Then he hands me a coin, and I smile from ear to ear. Because nothing made me happier than seeing him laugh. My Uncle Pat was tall and had a huge belly that bounced up and down when he laughed. His hair was bright red and wavy. He laughed a lot. He was such fun to be around, always laughing and telling silly jokes.

But that day, he pulled a silver dollar out of his pocket. I’ve never seen one before. I thought it must be worth a fortune. “Uncle Pat, thanks so much. This is the best present anyone has ever given me.”

“You’re welcome, Jenny. But don’t spend this silver dollar because it isn’t an ordinary coin. It’s magic. When you are having a tough time, put it in your pocket and rub it, and soon your problems will be gone. Whatever you don’t lose it. And don’t give it away. It will only work for you, no one else. The magic is just for you, Jenny. We better keep moving, or I’ll be late for lunch, and your mother will have a bird.”

He always says, “your mother will have a bird.” It just means she’ll be upset.

As we walked down the street, my uncle kept stumbling. I began to worry that he’ll fall. And I‘ll never be able to pick him up. He’s really big. By the time we arrive at my house, I‘m a nervous wreck. Because I kept thinking he’s going to fall. But thank goodness, he didn’t.

I yank open our front door and yell at the top of my lungs,” Uncle Pat’s here, Uncle Pat’s here.”

My mother calls out from the kitchen, “dear god, Jenny, are you trying to wake the dead?” Stop yelling. My mother walks into the vestibule and says, “Pat, come in, come in and take a load off. I have the coffee on, and your lunch is almost ready.”

Ever since the day that my Uncle Pat gave me the silver dollar, I always kept it in my pocket. And if I was really having a tough day, I  take it out and rub it. And think about what my Uncle Pat said.

And it never failed by the end of my day; whatever I was worried about would seem small and insignificant. And I would stop worrying about it. As I grew up, I began to understand that  I couldn’t control all the things in my life that didn’t go perfectly. I was able to control most things. While I was still in school, I realized that if I studied and prepared for my classes, I didn’t have to worry about failing. If I planned ahead. I wouldn’t have to worry about something that might happen. Of course, you can’t be prepared for everything that might happen. But I was lucky because I had my lucky coin. Sometimes, I rubbed it so hard for so long that I realized I was wearing it out.

As I grew up, I needed my lucky coinless and less, but I still keep it in my pocket, just in case. I know it will always be there for me if I ever need it. I’m an adult now, and I realize that the magic that coin held for me was self-confidence. That no matter what problem I face in life. I will be able to handle it. And I have. My Uncle Pat was a wise man.

RAIN THEN TEARS

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I barely make it on time to the Greyhound Depot to catch my bus. It starts to rain about five blocks from the depot. I‘m thoroughly soaked through by the time I arrive there. My hair is dripping wet, and rain has somehow found its way inside my jacket.  I run towards the bus depot; my backpack is bouncing up and down on my back like a snare drum. The bouncing has the added effect of inducing a migraine headache. I step onto the bus and hand the bus driver my ticket. “Oh, sorry, I’m sorry. I got a late start. “

Greyhound Bus-Peter Wolf-Pixabay

I take one look at the bus, and I see it is packed to the gills. “Shit, shit, shit,”  I look at the driver and shrug my shoulders. “There aren’t any seats left; I purchased this ticket two weeks ago.”

“Yes, mam, there is. It’s in the second to last row on your left, next to the window.”

“Oh yeah, sorry, I see it. Thanks.”

I make my way halfway down the center aisle and trip over some guy’s foot that’s sticking out. He all but shouts at me, “Hey lady, lookout, are you blind or what?”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see it sticking out. I didn’t expect someone to have their foot sticking out in the aisle so they could trip someone. And I give him one of my biggest smiles and flutter my lashes at him. And walk on. I mutter under my breath, “asshole.”

I notice as I cruise down the center aisle that all the other passengers have their heads down for some reason. Huh, I think what’s this all about? I try and catch someone’s attention, but no one looks my way. Then I think, oh maybe they’re all mad because I was late. Oh well, nothing I can do about that now.

I finally make it down the gauntlet of sad, distracted faces to my empty seat. I hear a weird noise. First, there is a sniffing sound. I think someone has a cold. And then I realize it’s the person in the seat next to mine. Great, now I’m going to catch a cold for crying out loud. I look at her. Tears are streaming down her flushed cheeks. I hear three loud sniffs, and then the crying starts and steadily increases until she is full-out sobbing. I take a step back. I look from left to right. I see no other course of action, no place else to go. I look at the people on the right and the left. Then I do an about-face and look at the passengers in the middle and the front.

About half of them have plugged in their headphones and have their heads down. The rest are staring out the windows. Probably wish they were anywhere but here on this stupid bus ride to hell. I turn back around and look at my seat.

“Excuse me,” I say to the crying young woman. “But this is my seat next to you. Could you move over so I can sit down?”

She slowly raises the armrest and blows her nose a couple of times on a tissue she has tucked up her sweater sleeve. I hear a honk, honk. I think, dear god, what is that noise? Then, I realize it’s the young woman blowing her nose. She slowly gets up, and I mean slowly, and moves over to the window seat. She doesn’t say a word, nada, anything at all. She just slides over and continues crying, with her head hanging low. Her chin is almost resting on her chest.

I pull off my backpack and unsnap one of the side pockets and pull out my headphones. I put my pack on the rack above my head with some difficulty.  I’m not the tallest person in the world, and I have short arms to boot. I finally shove it in and plop down in my seat. It’s only 7:55 am, and I’m exhausted. And there’s a thirteen-hour and fifteen-minute bus trip ahead of me. Oh well, I, think I’ll just take a nap, and that way I can get some rest and kill some time.

And that’s when I realize that I don’t have my migraine medicine with me. And I know that this is going to be the most interminable trip of my life. It was a mistake flopping down in my seat, too, as that has made my migraine pain even worse. I start to feel nauseous. My head is pounding as if it might explode. I begin worrying about how often they clean the bathroom on these Greyhound buses.

Somehow, I manage to fall asleep over the road noises and over the sobbing of my bus companion. As I’m about to drift off, I think, what in the world has happened to this girl to make her cry like this, non-stop and within hearing distance of everyone on the bus? And also, why am I so unlucky? Why did I end up sitting next to this weeping young woman? And then I realize it was my fault for being late leaving and being the last person to get on the bus. And that’s all I remember until I woke up about an hour later.

As I started to wake up, I hear a weird noise. I don’t immediately remember where I am. And then I hear a honking. Honk, honk, honk. It’s my seat companion. Blowing her nose once again. Dear god, is she still crying, I think?  I look over at her. Her eyes are so swollen from crying.   I can hardly see her eyes. Her nose is red. She starts pressing her fisted hands on her eyes and rubbing them back and forth. I stare at her. She seems to have forgotten that I’m sitting next to her. I try and decide what the best course of action is. Short of throwing myself out the window. Or at the very least, getting on a different bus at our first rest stop.

I stare at her red and puffy eyes and think. What would I want someone to do if the circumstances were reversed, and I was the one who couldn’t stop crying? Would I prefer people just ignored me or someone asks me if I’m alright?

“Excuse me; my name is Marilyn Carter. I know it’s none of my business, but you seem so upset. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

She looks over at me with a surprised expression on her face that says, where did you come from? She is still sniffling, and tears are running down her cheeks, but she isn’t sobbing anymore. I see her gulp. And then she clears her throat. “Oh, I didn’t even notice you were sitting there. And the short answer is no; I’m not alright. Four days ago, I was laid off from my job. Well, they called it a layoff]. But I won’t be called back. I loved that job. It was the first job I had where I felt I was making a real difference. I moved away from Raleigh to take the job. A place where I had spent my whole life. All my friends live there, and so does my family.”

As she mentions family, she starts crying again. I wait for her to continue. “And that morning before I got to work, I got a call from my father. He told me that my mother had a heart attack, and passed away. So, today I’m going home for the funeral. And while I’m there, I’m going to decide if I should go back to Philadelphia and look for another job there. Or if I should just go and pack up all my stuff in my apartment in Philly and move back to Raleigh and try to find a job there.”

“What did you say your name was, dear?”

“My name? Oh, of course, I’m sorry. I told you my whole life story, and you don’t even know who I am. My name is Candace Mickleton. I’m not in the habit of crying in public. I know this sounds dramatic, but I feel like my heart is broken. It hurts to keep breathing. Just the very act of breathing is painful. I love my mother so much. I called her every day. She always believed in me even when I struggled for so long, trying to find out what I wanted to do in my life. She was always there for me, telling me she knew I will be successful and not to ever lose faith in myself. And then to lose my job so unexpectedly. It’s too much. I don’t feel like I can go on. I can’t think of a reason why I should go on.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I call you by your first name Candace. Please call me, Marilyn.”

“First, please let me say how sorry I am about your mother passing away. I remember when my mother died and how her loss made me feel broken, empty. I couldn’t imagine going the rest of my life without seeing her. Every day for weeks, the first thing I thought about was my mother and how I would never see her again or hear her voice, how I would never hear her tell me how proud she was of me. And how much she loved me.”

“Over time during the day, I started thinking about how my mother would not have wanted me to feel this bereft because of her. She only wanted the best for me. And whenever I started feeling bad, I thought about how lucky I was to have such a wonderful mother. And I started to do things that made me feel happy; I concentrated on all the good things I had in my life. I moved forward in my life instead of being stuck in that moment of loss. I decided that from that moment forward, I would be happy and successful in my life because that is what my mother would have wanted for me.”

“As for losing your job well, that was bad timing. Perhaps you need this time to heal from your mother’s loss. Take the time to recover and consider what you want your future to be. You said that your job was the first job you loved and were doing well. You could use that experience as a springboard to something even better. While you are in Raleigh, you’ll have the opportunity to talk to all your old friends and relatives. And who knows one of them might be aware of an opportunity in the Raleigh-Durham area. That you aren’t aware since, as you said, you haven’t lived here in quite a while.”

Candace gradually stops crying as she listens to Marilyn. And she realizes she’s right. Her mother wouldn’t have wanted her to stop living her life. She would want her to move forward into her future with her optimism. “Thank you, Marylyn, that is what I needed to hear. I feel like I can breathe again. My mother would want me to go on with my life and be happy and successful. I don’t know what I’m going to do about finding a job. But I will talk to my family and get their advice. I love living in Philadelphia. I have made so many friends there. And there is always something going on downtown. On the other hand, I don’t like the idea of my father living alone. “

“Candace, why don’t you give it a few days and then talk to your father? He is probably in shock right now. You might find that he is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. And wouldn’t want you to give up your life in the North East. Since he knows how happy you are there.”

“Thanks again Marilyn I’m so lucky that you were late getting to the bus station. And that you ended up sitting next to me.”

“Thanks, Candace, life has a way of bringing the right people into our lives when we need them. I think I’m going to take another little nap now. But if you like it at the rest stop what say I buy you a nice lunch. I know I didn’t take time to eat breakfast, and you probably didn’t, either.” And with that, Marilyn’s eyes close, and she falls fast asleep and begins snoring loudly.

Candace looks at Marilyn and smiles. And closes her own eyes and falls fast asleep as well.

THE INCREDIBLE MUTTER MUSEUM IN PHILADELPHIA

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“I‘m about to embark on the ultimate goal of my lifetime. It’s such an incredible opportunity that I’m almost tongue-tied. Tongue-tied, that’s funny. If I were actually tongue-tied, I would no doubt fit into my position on yet another level. Let me explain further.

My name is Henry Aloysius Caldwell, the Third. I’m third in line to inherit all that my grandfather Henry Aloysius Caldwell left to his heirs. Which, even I admit, is considerable. I have amassed a small fortune myself. And so, my grandfather’s inheritance, although a tidy sum, is not something I need or necessarily even desire. But what he has left to me and me only is the opportunity of a lifetime.

Mutter Museum skull collection

The first time I entered the hallowed halls of the Mutter Museum and Library, I was about thirteen years old. Mutter Museum’s location is at 19 South 22nd Street in Philadelphia, Pa. The Mütter Museum of The College of Physicians of Philadelphia was donated by a surgeon Thomas Dent Mütter who was hell-bent on improving and reforming medical education. Mütter made it clear that by accepting his donation of 1,700 objects and $30,000, the College is required to hire a curator, maintain and expand the collection, fund annual lectures, and erect a fireproof building to house the collection.

What collection, you ask? Well, I was just about to explain just that. Basically, the museum is dedicated to the study of human anatomy. The collection includes both normal and abnormal specimens. They’re stored as wet and dry specimens. But, my area of “interest” is the anomalies. Some have called it an obsession, but I, well, I call it passion.

Conjoined twins plaster cast Mutter Museum

Conjoined twins plaster case- Mutter Museum

Why do you ask? Well, it is merely this. I’m an anomaly. Oh, you don’t see anything about me that is odd or peculiar? Some differences are not apparent to the human eye. I may look normal enough at first blush. But I’m attracted to all things different, strange, off the wall, bizarre, weird and eccentric, and unusual. I’m a collector of sorts too.

And since I have the resources, I have spent the entirety of my adult life collecting. I have traveled every nook and cranny of the earth, no matter how remote. I have collected human oddities, not living ones. But those who have passed from this mortal coil. Their final contribution being their human remains. And their families are generously compensated for their contributions. And their hope is at least they will contribute to preventing future generations from suffering the same fate as their loved ones.

As I was saying and I hope you will forgive my slight transgression. I tend to go off track. It is one of my little foibles. The first time I visited the Mutter, as I fondly call it, I was about thirteen. And upon entering this bastion of knowledge, I was utterly transfixed. It was as if I had died and gone to heaven. My grandfather brought me there as a surprise for my 13th birthday. He considered age thirteen to be the age when a boy becomes a man. And he knew only too well my love of all things otherworldly, offbeat, strange, alien even.

So, there I was on the precipice of becoming a man. Then I walked through those doors into my version of nirvana. The building from the outside seems small but somehow impressive, carved in stone.

As I stepped inside the exhibition room, I was confronted by a wall. And on that wall were cabinets with glass doors, and within those beautiful Victorian cabinets were human skulls. I was transfixed. Each skull had a description of who the person was, whose head now inhabited the shelf. I read each and every classification. I stepped back from the skulls and took them all in. In my mind, it was the most beautiful sight I had ever beheld. A powerful image that remained in my memory from that moment until this moment.

The next exhibit was so incredible I found it challenging to find the words to describe it.  A physician whose name was Chevalier Jackson was a well-known and respected otolaryngologist. This is a fancy name for a doctor who specializes in ear, nose, and throat problems. He developed methods and tools for removing foreign objects from human airways. Jackson’s collection includes 2,374 inhaled or ingested foreign bodies that were extracted from patients’ throats, esophagi, and lungs during his almost 75-year-long career.

Most of the items are on display. Can you imagine having the compulsion to swallow objects that are not meant to be digested? I saw objects such as buttons, pins, nuts, coins, bones, screws, dentures and bridges, and small toys, among many other items. Can you picture it? How fascinating. Not just the fact that people had the compulsion to swallow these indigestible tidbits but the fact that Dr. Jackson was driven to spend his life keeping painstakingly keeping records of not just the patient but each object that was swallowed. And here it is now for all to see.

And this will blow your mind, just as it blew mine. The Mutter has dissected sections of Einstein’s brain. They studied his brain to try and discover why Einstein’s brain was so advanced. It was found that they were unable to find anything out of the ordinary about his brain. In fact, they discovered his brain was slightly small than the average brain. And yet, he was one of the most brilliant men known up to that time. It goes to show that humans and how our individual brain works is still a mystery.

During my first visit to Mutter with my grandfather, I experienced a revelation. And that was that I could create a life for myself that was both satisfying and engaged my curiosity about people and their inner workings. And that I different as I was from everyone, I ever knew that I could contribute to the world, to science, and to humankind. And in that way, I would not be considered a weirdo or outcast. I would be accepted as “normal.”

And from that moment, I dedicated my life to understanding the true nature of man. I have come to realize that we are all more similar than different. We all have gifts that can benefit the world.

And so here I am, opening these grand old doors at Mutter and embracing the life that I have long dreamed of as President & Chief Executive Officer of the Mutter Museum. Who knows what mysteries will unfold as we hold back the fabric of time. And discover all the secrets of humanity as yet unknown? Please come in, won’t you?

THE NIGHT IS STILL YOUNG

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It’s February 14th, and believe it or not, I’m going on a blind date. I gave up long ago on finding Mr. Right. Now I’m willing to consider Mr. Not That Bad. I recently celebrated my thirty-fifth birthday. Please don’t try telling me I’m not that old. It’s true. I’m too young to apply for Social Security, and I wouldn’t qualify for the Senior Special at my favorite restaurant, that’s for sure. But when I walk into the room, I’m not turning anyone’s head anymore. Unless there trying to look at the twenty-something behind me.

My date asked me to meet him at his favorite restaurant. A Greek Restaurant called “Taziki’s.” I pull my 2003 Mitsubishi Galant into the last parking spot next to a pristine red sports car with wire wheels. I glance at the back of the car as I pass it. And it bore the legend of Alfa Romeo. I don’t know a whole lot about cars, but even I can recognize class and style. “Wow,” I said out loud. I wonder who owns such a car and would be eating at this place.

I’m ten minutes late because I changed my dress five times before I left my apartment. I want to look sexy but not cheap. Available but not free for the taking. If you know what I mean, I wore a touch of mascara and red lipstick. I’ve always thought my hair was my best feature. It’s black and hangs down to the middle of my back. I wearing it down. I finally decide to wear my sleeveless, turquoise silk tunic that hits just above my knees. My date asked me to look for someone who held a red flower; he didn’t say what kind.

As I pull open, the doorbell chimes announcing my arrival.  I notice everyone within hearing distance looks in my direction. For some reason, this makes me feel flustered, and I feel myself blushing—something I hadn’t done since high school. And then I see a man sitting in a booth next to the wall waving at me. I’m not sure how he knows I’m his date.

I walk towards him, and I see him stand and wait by the table. He’s over six and a half feet tall. His hair is jet black and slightly curly. His eyes are green. As I step up to the table, he extends his hand out to me. He’s holding a single red Amaryllis. It is enormous and fragrant. Up close, he looks like a Greek god.

I take the flower and put it up to my nose, and the smell is intoxicating. I feel slightly dizzy. “Thank you, how beautiful, I’ve never seen one as large before, and the fragrance is amazing.

He is not handsome in the traditional way. But he is the most attractive man I ever saw, nonetheless. “I’m hoping that you’re Alexander. I’m Maria Caledonia.”

“Yes, of course, I’m Alexander. Will you have a seat? I have so looked forward to this moment. I hope you don’t mind me ordering for us. It’s somewhat presumptuous, but I know this restaurant so well. I practically grew up here.”

Really, you like Greek food that much?”

“Well, yes, of course, but my family owns this restaurant and several others.”

“Really, I’m sure the food is delicious. I’m curious how my friend Elizabeth knows you. She told me you were old friends, but I don’t remember her mentioning you before.”

“That’s probably because we knew each other as children.  Then when I was about to start high school, my family decided that they wanted me to go back to Greece to continue my education until I was ready to go to University.  When I came back, I decided to continue my studies, and I lived in New York several years ago.

“Oh, and then you reconnected with Elizabeth? Did you and Elizabeth ever date?”

“No, we have always been close but more like brother and sister. I was talking to her about my desire to find that special woman to spend my life with. I know it’s too soon to talk about this. I just wanted you to know that I’m not interested in casual dating.”

“Well, I understand that I’ve dated my share of men. I know the kind of person I would like to spend the rest of my life with. Perhaps we should take this one step at a time. And get to know each other.

“Elizabeth, I see our dinner is about to arrive. I hope you enjoy it. I thought we might take a walk after dinner. If you like?”

“A walk, that would be fine. It’s a beautiful evening for a walk.”

“Sir, Madame, here is your meal. I hope you enjoy it.”

“Thank you, Aleixo. I’m sure it is perfection.”

“Elizabeth, once again, I apologize for ordering for you, but I hope you will love this dish as much as I do. It’s called Spanakopita. It is a spinach pie.

“Try it first, and let me know what you think.”

“Alexander, it smells delicious. Elizabeth takes her first bite. “Oh, this is wonderful. I love the combination of onions and cheese, and seasoned perfectly. And this crust is so light. Wonderful.

“Oh, I’m so pleased. I hope you will enjoy it. And wait until you taste dessert. I ordered the Greek lemon cake.”

“Alexander, the cake was heaven. Thank you, I’m so full, I don’t think I could eat another bite.”

“Oh, would you like some coffee or anything else to drink?”

“Thank you, no. I’m full. But I wouldn’t mind just sitting for a bit before we take that walk. Just to let the meal settle.”

“So, Elizabeth, while we’re sitting here, would you like to tell me a little bit about yourself?”

“Well. I’m afraid it isn’t that exciting. I grew up in a small town in New Jersey called Merchantville. My father was the principal of the public high school. My mother was a stay-at-home mom. I have to admit it was somewhat awkward when I was in high school, my father being the principal. But sometimes, it came in handy.

I have a younger brother. He’s studying for his master’s in psychology. He wants to be a counselor for at-risk kids in the inner city. Probably in Camden or Philadelphia. He’s twelve years younger than I am, so we didn’t really grow up together. He’s really a remarkable young man. I’m proud of him. I don’t get to see him often since he’s busy with school and a part-time job. My parents are still married, happily, I think.

“After college, I got hired as an editor for a book publisher. Nothing glamourous. These weren’t best sellers. They’re scientific journals. I’ve always been interested in science but couldn’t really settle on a field of study. But I love learning about it, so it seemed like a good fit. Since I have a secondary degree in journalism.

“How about you, Alexander? Do you work in the restaurant business with your family?”

“Actually, I’m part-owner. And I did manage several of them in the past, but now I’m more in an advisor capacity. I decided to devote the rest of my working career to trying to promote the changes we need to make to protect our climate. I do spend a great deal of my time in Washington.”

“Really, that’s wonderful. There are a great many scientific journals written about climate change. I hope you are making some positive changes.”

“Right now, it is an uphill battle. But let’s continue this serious conversation for a later time.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea. Would you like to take that walk now? It’s really a beautiful evening.”

“New York is such a beautiful city. I can’t imagine moving to the suburbs. The art museums, the theater, the symphony. If I could, I would spend every day of my life listening to music, and I would be a happy and content woman.

“Elizabeth, I’m so happy you love the symphony. I hold season tickets. And as a matter of fact, I have two tickets to the Matinee on May 20 for the opening of “Singing in The Rain.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. I would so love to attend that. I adore Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds in that movie. Such an extravaganza, the singing, the dancing. Just enthralling and so romantic, don’t you think, Alexander?”

“I do. I’m a romantic at heart. I would be thrilled if you would agree to go with me. I’m sorry it is a matinee, but in the evening, I’m often busy with one of the restaurants or In Washington.”

“Sorry, you have no need to be sorry. I accept. I would be overjoyed to attend the opening matinee concert. Over the moon, really, Alexander.”

“That’s wonderful, Elizabeth. How about we meet here on May 20th at noon for lunch, and then I will escort you to the matinee at 2 pm. Would you like to take that walk now? Would you rather take a walk here in this area, or can we go wherever you like?”

“Oh, you know where I love to walk at night in Times Square. I know it’s what most tourists do, but I love it, the excitement, the lights, people watching.”

“That’s a great idea. Let’s take my car, and when we are finished, I’ll bring you back here to your car. Instead of us taking both cars.”

“Yes, let’s do that.”

As they walk out to the parking lot, Alexander walks towards Elizabeth’s car. She looks over at him and says,” how did you know that was my car.”

“Your car Elizabeth, I don’t know your car. This is my car right here, the Alpha Romeo.”

“You’re kidding. That’s my Mitsubishi right next to it. In fact, I was admiring your car before I came into the restaurant. It’s a classic beauty.”

“As are you, Elizabeth. Allow me to open the door for you.”

“Of course, thank you.”

Elizabeth gets comfortable and puts on her seat belt. Alexander says, “I hope that this day will mark the beginning of the rest of our lives, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth feels her face blushing once again. And touches her cheek.  And smiles her most radiant smile and looks straight into Alexander’s eyes. “I hope so too, Alexander. Let’s begin our journey now.”

THE EBB AND FLOW OF THE TIDE

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Mathew hesitates momentarily before he throws his knapsack down. And steps onto the boat as it sways and gently bumps against the dock. He pushes the oars against the tide and takes his last look back at the house where he had spent his entire life. He stands up in the bow of

Leo Cardelli- Photographer

boat and cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “goodbye” to no one in particular.

There’s nothing keeping him here anymore since his father passed away four months ago from emphysema. Mathew’s family has lived on this island for over a century. His childhood was spent fishing and crabbing. As soon as he was big enough to hold a fishing rod and set a trap.

His father took him by motorboat every day from their small island to the school on the mainland. When Mathew was young, he believed that the island was paradise. As he waited for his father to pick him up on their dock with their small motorboat, Matthew would breathe in the salty sea air and the mist.

But over time, the island became a prison, and he dreamed of his escape. He imagines moving to New York City, of becoming invisible, unknown, and one of eight million.

Everyone in the little island community knows him by first and middle, and last name. They know who attended his birth. And the doctor that cut the cord. There was only one doctor on the island. Doctor Hartman. He had just passed away eight months ago at the age of eighty-eight. The islanders are still seeking a replacement. But so far, they have no takers.

They know when Mathew cut his first tooth, caught his first fish, and kissed his first girl. They have known his family history for over a century.

Mathew longs to be landlocked, with no pounding surf or cry of the seagull.
When Mathew arrives at the mainland, he ties the boat up at the dock. That he knows so well, strides by all the familiar faces, without saying hello or goodbye, he walks swiftly to the bus depot and takes the first bus he finds that will take him closer to New York City and as far away as possible from Harker Island.

As the bus pulls in at the first rest stop, he uses the restroom. And then grabs a sandwich and fries and a cup of coffee. It’ll take at least ten hours to reach his destination. He closes his eyes and thinks of all the new and exciting things he hopes to see and experience in his new life in the big city. He imagines all the strangers that will pass him on the street. They will not know his name or who his parents and grandparents were.

Mathew sleeps on and off until he hears the bus driver announces, “Port Authority, Grand Central Station.”   He rubs his eyes and slowly opens them to an unbelievably huge bus depot. He disembarks from the bus and grabs his backpack, and follows his fellow passengers off the bus. He walks out of the bus depot into a magnificent and huge room. In front of him are three of the largest windows he has ever seen. He’s amazed. He heads outside the Port Authority and onto the street.

There are groups of people standing along a railing, stepping over and between small piles of melting snow. He peers down to see what they’re looking at. Mathew sees the deep blue waters of what he will later learn is the Hudson River. It seems to him as if he can’t get away from the water.

He realizes that his stomach is growling and looks around for a restaurant to get something to eat. A restaurant sits right next door to the Port Authority. It’s a place to eat called Schnipper’s. He walks up to the counter and looks at the menu on the wall, and orders their best burger and fries and a Pepsi.

As he’s eating the last fry, he looks around the dining room for a bathroom. He sees the men’s room sign and walks toward it. As he’s about to walk in, a middle-aged man bumps into him and then walks off without even acknowledging him. Mathew stares at him. “Jerk,” Mathew says under his breath.

After he emerges from the bathroom, Mathew walks up to the cashier to pay for his check.” Hey, how are you doing?”  As he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet. It’s not there. “What the…?” He pats all his other pockets. Nothing. He grabs his backpack and searches all through it and the pockets on the outside. Nothing. He starts hyperventilating. The cashier looks at him and says, “Sir, is there some sort of problem?”

“Yes, some guy bumped me as I was going into the men’s room. And I think he stole my wallet. I had it when I got off the bus at the Port Authority, and now it’s gone.”

“Oh dear, he must have been a pickpocket. That happens all the time around the Port Authority and the rest of the city, too, I guess. You can’t keep things in your back pocket around here. Or somebody will lift it. Do you want me to call the police, or can you do it with your cell phone?”

“The police. Well, I guess so. I don’t have any money since he stole every penny I had. Yes, please call the police. I’ll wait here.”

Mathew stands there, unsure of what his next move should be? He stares out the front window of the restaurant. “Oh my god, there’s the guy. I have to go get my money back.” And he hands the cashier his backpack and dashes out the door.

Mathew blasts out the door slamming the door. It rattles in its frame. He runs as fast as he can toward the pickpocket and tackles him. The guy is yelling, “Help, help. This guy is trying to kill me. Help.”

A few people start to gather and watch Mathew wrestle the man down to the ground. No one interferes. And the next thing Mathew is aware of is two police officers yelling at him. “Hey, buddy, you can stop pummeling this guy. We got you.”

Mathew gets off the guy as the other police officer snaps handcuffs on the pickpocket’s wrist behind his back. Mathew spits out all in one breath. “This guy stole my wallet with every penny I have. I just arrived here by bus. And this guy stole my money. I need it.”

“Alright, I called in for another squad car, and the guy in handcuffs will be on his way to be booked at our precinct. I’m going to need some information from you before you come to the police station.”

“What? I have to go? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Ok, OK, buddy, we’re here to help you. The cashier at the restaurant called us. Try to calm down. You have to come downtown and give a report. And then you’ll get all your money back if it’s still in the wallet.”

“Alright, I’ll try to calm down. But no one ever stole anything from me before.”

“What, where have you been living anyway? Obviously, you aren’t a New Yorker.”

“No, I’m from Harker’s Island off the NC coast. I just arrived at the Port Authority less than an hour ago. And then I stopped at the restaurant next door to the depot, and I got robbed going into the bathroom.”

“Tell me exactly what happened, starting with your name.”

“What? Again? Ok, my name is Mathew Fegundus. I just came here to NYC by train from Harker’s Island off the NC coast. I came here to start over. My parents passed away, and I had no reason to stay there any longer. So, I sold my father’s fishing boat and our house, and I came here. I don’t know a living soul here. I’m starting over. A fresh start, I thought. And I ate at that restaurant right there next to the Port Authority.  Some guy bumped into me as I entered the bathroom. When I went to pay for my meal, my wallet was missing. I was staring out the front window of the restaurant, and I saw the guy that robbed me. I ran out and tackled him. And that’s all she wrote.”

“Ok, Mathew, you’ll have to come to the police station with us and sign an affidavit stating what happened, and then we can return your wallet after you make sure everything is still in. You will have to identify the thief in a line-up.”

“What? Can’t you give me my money now?”

“No, Mathew, it doesn’t work that way. If this goes to court, you will have to testify against him. Do you understand?”

“Understand? Yeah, I understand. I got here less than an hour ago. I got robbed, and now I have to go to the police station and make out a report and sign an affidavit, and then I’ll get my own wallet and money back. But later, I’ll have to testify in court.?”

“Ok, do you want to go with us in our vehicle?”

“Where is the police station?”

“It is in the Midtown South Precinct. Do you know where that is?”

“No. I don’t know where anything is, and I don’t know anyone here. I have to get my wallet back. I don’t have any other money with me. I have money in a bank account in my hometown. But I don’t have any ID, and it’s in my wallet. I guess I’ll have to come with you. I never rode in a police car before.”

“OK, buddy, let’s go. It’s not that long a ride. Sit in the back and keep quiet. I’m Officer Murdoc, by the way. Get in, sit down, and be quiet.”

As Mathew sits in the back seat, he looks out the window as the streets of New York City fly by. He has never seen such enormous buildings in his life. The biggest building on Harker’s Island was two stories. It was Kelly’s Fish and Tackle Shop, and the owner lived in an apartment upstairs. It also has a flat roof where Kelly, the owner, used to drink beer and bar-b-que fish and watch the ocean. He often asked Mathew to join him. They would eat and drink in silence while they watched the sun go down over the ocean.

Mathew can’t even see the tops of these skyscrapers from the back seat of the police car. He looks forward to walking all over the downtown section and seeing all the different people. People he never met and might not meet in the future. Who knows?

As they drive toward the police station, Mathew sees more people on one street than lived on the whole island where he grew up. More people than he had ever seen in his entire life. It was a sight he’ll never forget, no, matter how long he lives, even though this wasn’t a great beginning to his new life. He hopes that the future will hold many new adventures, new friends and happiness, and love if he’s lucky.

“Alright, Mathew, here we are. You can exit the car and wait for me. I will escort you inside, and we will get this business over as quickly and painlessly as possible. And you can be on your way.”

As Mathew gets out of the vehicle, he looks around, and he hears a man yelling at the top of his lungs. “Let me go. Get your hands off me. I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m being framed.”

Mathew glances over in that direction, and who does he see doing the yelling? The pickpocket. Mathew wants to go and punch him in the face. All this trouble because of this low-life thief. What a horrible beginning to his new life. Mathew stands there and glares at the guy. And he’s startled by the policeman saying to him,” OK, let’s go. Ignore what’s going on over there.”

“Alright, have a seat, and I will have to ask you the same questions for my report. Let’s get started.”

“Yes, alright, Officer Murdock. I hope this won’t take too long. I have to find a place to stay temporarily until I find a permanent residence.” Mathew puts down his backpack and takes a deep breath, and then exhales.

After fifteen minutes of questions. Another officer steps over to Murdock’s desk and says. “Alright, the lineup is ready. You can bring in the victim.”

“Victim? I never thought of myself as a victim. Jeez.”

“It’s OK, buddy. If you live in New York City long enough, you’re going to get mugged. That’s life in the big city. What can I say?”

“You are going to be behind a one-way mirror. You will be able to see the suspects, but they can’t see you. Take a good look. Did the guy say anything to you? Would you recognize his voice?”

“No, none when he bumped me. But when I saw him outside the restaurant window. I ran out there and jumped him and punched him, he yelled. “Help, help. This guy is trying to kill me. Help.” And that’s when you guys showed up.”

“Alright, we can go in now, and you take your time looking at the guys and if you are absolutely sure you recognize him. Then you tell me his number. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand. Will I get my money then?”

“After you make a statement and sign it. Your property will be returned to you. We will need your contact information, full name, current address, and phone number.”

“I don’t have an address yet. I have a cell phone number. After I get a place to live, I’ll let you know.”

“Alright, here comes number one. Number one, will you face forward, turn right and then left, and then shout, “Help, help this guy is trying to kill me. Help.”

Mathew stands in front of the two-way mirror and looks at the three guys standing up there. They look similar to each other. He listens intently while the three of them each shout,” Help, helps this guy is trying to kill me.”

Mathew stares at them and then remembers that his assailant had a facial scar that ran down the side of his cheek from his hairline down below his earlobe. Mathew tugs on the cop’s sleeve. “Hey, can you ask those guys to turn so I can see their left cheek?”

“What? Sure. Everyone, turn so we can see your left cheek.”

Number one and two turns, but number three hesitates and takes a step back. And shifts his weight back and forth nervously. “Number three, do as your told, now.”

Number three turns his face. “Yeah, that’s him, that’s him. He has a scar running down his cheek from his temple to his earlobe. That’s him.”

“Alright, number one and two, you can leave. Officer Drewitz take number three to the holding cell. He is under arrest. Read him his rights.”

“Alright, Mathew, go over to the Sargent’s desk, and you can claim your property and be on your way. This guy may get out on bail. We don’t know that right now. But he may. Make sure we have your contact information and inform the Sargent when you have an address. You will be informed if your assailant is out on bail. And also, when you’ll have to come to court to testify against him. Do you understand? “

“Yes, I understand. You or someone will inform me if the crook gets out on bail and let me know if there is a court date that I have to testify against him.”

“Ok, then go over there and get your belongings. You will have to sign an affidavit stating that you received all your property. Got it?”

“Yes, I got it, I got it. Good Bye. No offense, but I hope I don’t have to meet all of you anytime in the near future.”

As Mathew steps out the door of the police station, he takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Well, that’s nice. How do you do.” What’s next? I get run down by a bus or something?” Then he realizes that he doesn’t have a clue exactly where he is or where he’s going. He sees a bench down the street next to a sign that says bus stop. He walks over to it and plops down.

He pulls out his cell phone and looks at the time. 11:45. Not even lunchtime, and he had breakfast and got robbed. Went to a police station in New York City. And identified the thief and sign an affidavit. And got his wallet and money back. He still doesn’t know where he should go.

He realizes he should have made more detailed plans before he arrived here. At least he should have found where to look for a place to live. And where he could find a job. He really didn’t put much thought into any of it. He was sick and tired of the same town and the same people. And knowing nothing different was ever going to happen there. And he would never meet anyone new. And the girls in town were like sisters to him. He couldn’t imagine marrying any of them. He needed a fresh start. But he realizes he should have put more thought into the where and the how of it all.

As he sits at the bus stop, an older woman walks over to the bench and sits down. She has two grocery bags in her arms. They look heavy. She sits down and sighs. “Oh, my feet are killing me.”

Mathew looks over at her and says, “are you alright, mam?”
She turns her head and looks at him from head to toe. “Mam, huh? Well, you are obviously not from around here, are you? I’m guessing somewhere down south? North or South Carolina?”

“North Carolina, Mam. I just arrived here today by bus.”

“Really, and how do you like it so far?”

“I haven’t seen too much of it except when I was in the police car. And I couldn’t believe how big the buildings were and how huge New York City was. Even though I’ve only seen a small part of it.”

The woman turns her head and looks at him from head to toe. “Police car, did you get arrested already. What happened?”

“What? No, I didn’t get arrested. I was robbed. When I was going into the bathroom at the restaurant where I ate lunch, some guy bumped into me. I didn’t really think anything about it. Until I went to pay for my lunch and my wallet was missing. Then as I was standing there, I looked out the window, and I saw the guy who bumped into me. I ran outside and tackled him. The cashier called the police, and they came and arrested him. Then, I had to go to the police station and make a statement and identify my assailant. And, here I am.”

“Woah, you have had quite an eventful morning. What are you going to do now?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I didn’t plan this move as well as I should have. I don’t know anyone here. I have some money with me. But I have to have my savings sent from my bank in NC. And I will have to open a bank account here, so my old bank can transfer it to my new account. And I don’t have a place to live or a job yet. I have no idea where to look for a place to live, either. I feel stupid right now. I didn’t really think any of this through.”

“What kind of work did you do before you came here?”

“I grew up on a small island off the coast of NC. My dad was a fisherman, and I became one too. There weren’t too many choices available there.”

“Alright, let me think about this for a few minutes. I don’t ordinarily trust people I just met. But for some reason, I trust you. Let me sit here and think about it for a few minutes. Relax a bit.”

“First of all, what’s your name, and how old are you?”

“Mam?” How old am I?”

“I’m twenty-four. I’ll be twenty-five in two weeks. My name is Mathew Carberry. My father just passed away. I don’t have any other family. So, I thought I needed to make some changes. I hope I haven’t made a big mistake.”

“Well, Mathew, I think it was fate that brought you here. And that you and I have met at this moment in time. The fact is I think I can help you. My son and my grandson own a small tour boat company. They take tourists on trips to the Statue of Liberty. And one of his best Tour Boat Captains decided to retire. And he needs to be replaced. And I think that with your experience being a fisherman. It might just qualify as the experience that could land you this job. I can’t make you any promises. However, my son is just as good a judge of character as I am, and he trusts me. What do you think?”

“I think that although I had decided not to have anything to do with boats anymore that I would be a fool not to take advantage of this opportunity.”

“Alright then, let me give my son a call and see if he has time to meet you today. By the way, my name is Elizabeth Maguire. Now sit tight for a couple of minutes while I speak to my son, Richard.”

“Hello, Thomas, this is your mother.”

“Yes, mom, I recognize your voice. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, Thomas, why do you always ask that? I’m fine, and I can take care of myself. The reason I called is that I met a young man here at the bus stop and he is looking for a job. He had just arrived here from an Island off the coast of North Carolina. And he worked all his life for his father, who was a fisherman.”

“Mother, stop. I know where this conversation is going. You found a lost puppy, and you want me to take him in and adopt him. This isn’t the first time I rode a bronco in the rodeo.”

“Thomas, what in the world are you talking about, lost puppies, and riding in a rodeo?”

“What I’m trying to say is, you can’t save every poor soul you run into every day of your life. Do you remember the homeless man you brought here? And, now, he is working for me as a night security guy.”

“Yes, Thomas, I do. And do you remember he has been working there for eight years and is one of your most trusted employees?

“Alright, alright, I give, I give. Send him here. I’ll talk to him and see if he is a good fit.”

“Thank you, Thomas. We will take the bus over there right now. We should be there shortly. Bye.”

“Alright, Mathew, I spoke to my son, Thomas. And he’s willing to meet and talk to you about a job. No promises. But I know he’ll like you just as I do. We have to get on the number 149 Bus and then change buses and get on the 430 bus to the peer. We should be there in less than an hour.

As they sit on the bench waiting for their bus to arrive, Mathew watches the unbelievable amount of traffic going by. The most extraordinary thing is the sheer amount of people walking in every direction. Women in business suits head to work. Men in hard hats working on girders thirty stories above the street level. People of every race and age. It’s extraordinary and overwhelming all at once.

And taxies that whizz by, the drivers leaning on their horns the whole way, not giving in to other cars or trucks just flying by at what seemed an unbelievable speed. But somehow, no cars crash and no one’s run over. It’s amazing and frightening at the same time. Just as Mathew is thinking about the traffic, a bus pulls up, and there is a tremendous swooshing sound emanates from under the bus.

“This is our bus, Mathew. Let’s go. As he steps up into the bus, he realizes that the young woman in front of him handed the bus driver a card, not cash. He begins to sweat a little. He thinks, oh, what am I going to do now? He clears his throat and says quietly, “Miss Maguire, I’m sorry, but I don’t have a ticket to get on this bus, and the sign says, No Cash.”

“Oh yes, but of course, you don’t have a Metro Ticket. Why would you? Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. You can pay me back when you have the money.”

“Thank you so much, Miss Maguire, that is generous of you. I have the money now. I‘ll give it to you as soon as we sit down. I do appreciate your help more than I can say.”

“Mathew, please call me Lizzie. All my friends do.”

“OK, Lizzie, thanks again.”

After they settle in their seats, Mathew sighs and stares out the window. And then he remembers he owes Miss Lizzie money. “Oh, Miss Lizzie, how much do I owe you for the bus ride?”

“Well, why don’t we settle up on the ride home. What do you say?”

“I say that’s just fine. He settles back into his seat and stares at the rushing traffic and the buildings as they whizz by his window. He looks around at all the people sitting near him on the bus. And is amazed again at the sheer variety of people sitting near him. On Harker’s Island, almost everyone was related to someone else who lived on the Island.

He doesn’t know anyone here at all. And then he remembers Miss Lizzy sitting beside him and thinks she’s my first friend. And that’s his last thought because he drifts off to sleep, and he doesn’t wake up until he hears Miss Lizzie say, “Mathew, wake up we here.”

As they pull up to the bus stop, Mathew looks around and sees the landscape, and the street is different from downtown New York City. The traffic isn’t as heavy, and there aren’t as many people in business suits. He waits for Miss Lizzie to step down to the last step, and then he reaches up to take her hand as she goes onto the sidewalk.

“Thank you, Mathew, you’re a gentleman. And that’s something I don’t often see anymore. We have to walk a short distance to the pier and then another five minutes to my son’s dock and his office.

As Mathew walks along the peer, he looks out over the water, and he sees the Statue of Liberty standing tall. “Oh my god, that’s the Statue of Liberty. I saw pictures of it when I was a kid. But I never thought I would ever see it. It’s huge. When I was young, my father used to tell me stories about how his family came to America from Ireland and landed at Ellis Island. They didn’t know a soul in America. But they were escaping the Potato Famine in Ireland. And they hoped to make a new life for themselves in America. And here I am back here again. And I’m hoping that I can make a new life for myself. And just maybe the new beginning for me will be here at the Statue of Liberty.”

“Mathew, it certainly seems as if this is your destiny. Everything that happened up until now has brought you to this moment in time—even being robbed and having to go to the police station. And then sitting down at the bus stop and meeting me. It’s fate, don’t you think?”

“Lizzie, I can’t help but feel it was all meant to be. I can’t tell you how thankful I am for having met you when I was feeling so low. And I began to think I had made a stupid mistake coming here where I didn’t know anyone let alone where to get a job or where I could live. Wait a minute, where am I going to live?”

“Alright, Mathew, calm down a bit. Let’s take this one minute at a time. It will all work out. Let’s go, my son will be waiting for us. And I think my grandson will be getting off for the day right about now. And you can meet him as well. He’s about your age. Let’s walk this way now.”

“Oh, you’re right. Sometimes I get carried away. My father was always telling me to take one thing at a time.”

“Your father gave you good advice. You should take it. Oh, there’s my son now. He must have been on the lookout for us. That’s him waving at us over there. Let’s not make him wait too long. Just be yourself and be honest, and you’ll be in like Flynn.”

“Like who?”

“Never mind, that’s just an old expression. It means everything is going to work out.”

“Oh, Thomas, it’s so nice for you to come out and meet us. This is Mathew Carberry, the young man I told you about.”

“Hello, Mathew. It’s nice to meet you. Why don’t you come into my office and will have a conversation and you can tell me all about yourself? And you can tell me what you can bring to the table.”

“Table, what do you mean?”

“Mathew, don’t try and confuse the young man, he just got here today from North Carolina, and I was lucky enough to meet him. I’m sure you will feel the same way.”

“Alright, mother, let me decide how I’m going to feel.”

“Alright, son, you’re right, and I trust your judgment. Good luck, Mathew. I have a feeling that this will be the beginning of the first step into your new life. Good luck.”

As Mathew walked into the office, he turned back at Lizzie, and she was giving him the universal sign of good luck, thumbs up. He returned her gesture and walked through the door into his future.

OH WHAT A TANGLED WEB WE WEAVE

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I want a car more than anything I ever wanted in my entire life. Last month I turned seventeen, and I took the written driver’s test. I was so nervous that I failed the test the first two times I took it. My dad told me that if I didn’t pass the written test this time, I can’t retake it for a year.

I told him I would die if I couldn’t get my driver’s license. Just die. Can you imagine graduating from high school without their driver’s license? The humiliation alone would kill me. Absolutely everyone I know has their driver’s license. And their parents are buying them a new car for graduation. My father said, “you have to get a job and earn money to  pay one half of the cost of the car.” And can you imagine he said I have to get a used car? A used car, I will be devasted if I have to drive around a hoopty.

Girl learning to drive

I’ve made up my mind that I will pass my written driver’s test and my driving test. Whatever it takes. And by that, I mean WHATEVER. I will beg, bribe, or sleep with someone to get my license.

I have agreed to start looking for a part-time job to earn money. I have made a commitment to myself to accomplish this goal. And I will.

I spent the whole weekend studying the driver’s manual. My friend, Gina, ask me all the questions for the written test twenty times. I’m ready. Today I will be taking the written test for the third and last time. I’m stoked.

“Good news, I passed the test. I only had one question wrong. I couldn’t remember the shape of the road sign for Yield. And now I am going to get my mother to teach me how to drive.”

“Get this, my father said he will be the one teaching me to drive. Can I never catch a break? What’s next, water torture?”

Today my father took me out for my first driving lesson in the parking lot of the Mall. Can you say a living nightmare? So, I get behind the wheel, and the seat is so far back that my feet can’t even touch the peddles. Let’s just say that my father is somewhat “softig.” And by that, I mean he looks like he is going to give birth any day now.

First, he says,” Adjust the mirrors, the side mirrors, and the rear-view mirror.”

“I know Dad, I know. I did take driver’s ed.”

“Make sure your seat is adjusted too, Samantha.”

“I did that already, Dad.”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, young lady.”

After that, I kept my mouth shut, because when my dad says, “don’t roll your eyes at me.” That means he’s not kidding around. And I keep my mouth shut. I just complain in my head.

“Alright, ease your foot off the brake and gently press on the gas pedal.”

I do just that, and the next thing I know, we are shooting forward, and I totally freak out and let go of the steering wheel. My father grabs the wheel and starts screaming at me like a maniac. “Have you lost your mind, never take your hands off the wheel. Are you trying to kill the both of us?”

I begin to silently weep. I have found that my father is very uncomfortable with crying females, and he immediately feels repented. I wipe my eyes repeatedly and then my father looks over at me.

“Alright, alright, stop crying. Take a deep breath. Let’s begin again. Samantha, you must always, always drive with great care. Your life and the other drivers on the road depend on that. A car can become a weapon of death and destruction if we do not learn how to drive responsibly. Our lives and the other driver’s lives on the road depend on responsible driving.”

“Ok, ok, dad I get it. I just freaked out momentarily. I’m a little nervous.”

“Let’s begin again. Take your foot off the brake and depress the gas pedal slowly. Look both ways to the right the left and the rear-view mirror.”

For the next half-hour, my dad has me drive in circles, practice parallel parking. Can you believe it he had two traffic cones in the trunk of the car, god knows where he got those?  Then he had me drive forward and backward.

“That’s it for today, Samantha. Next time we’ll go out on the back roads around town, and you can get some practice in the traffic where the traffic is not as congested as on Route 50 or 40.”

I look over at my dad, and he has sweat dripping down from his forehead. His face is red as a beet. I think he might be having a heart attack or something. “Are you alright, Dad? You look kind of sick.”

“What? Of course, I am. No problem. Let’s change seats.”

“Oh, please, dad, let me drive home.”

“What? NO. I mean not today, honey.”

I moved to the passenger seat; I notice that my dad seems a little unsteady on his feet as he gets out of the car and walks over to the driver’s side. I guess it’s tough getting old.

I start looking at part-time jobs online. I don’t have any work experience except baby-sitting. And god, how I hate taking care of little kids. Absolute torture. “I want this; I want that.” Annoying as hell. I could get a job at the mall, but I would have to take the bus. Taking the bus is so lame, nothing but old and poor people take the bus. What choice do I have? I’ll have to take the bus.

I see there’s an after-school job at the Shop and Stop, which is only about two blocks from my house. I can walk there. The hours are three days a week from 4 until 8 pm. I’ll have to talk to my mother about it. My dad says he wants me to earn money, but he won’t like it if my grades slip.

“Good news, my mom and dad said I can work that job I told you about, but if my grades fall, I’ll have to quit. My grades aren’t great. I can’t really afford my grades dropping, or I might not graduate. And I must get out of high school this year.

Today is my first day on the job. I have to admit I’m a little nervous. Here I go through the Stop and Shop entrance. I see a woman who looks like an employee standing in front of the store. She’s wearing an apron that says Stop and Shop. I walk over to her. “hello, my same is Samantha Miller. I supposed to start working here today.”

“Well, dear, I don’t know nothing about that. Go over to that door that says manager and knock.”

“Ok, thanks.” I knock at the door. It is a very small office. And the man that interviews me is apparently the manager. I don’t remember his name. He is talking on the phone and gestures for me to come in and sit and wait. I do.

After about five minutes, he hangs up.

“Your Samantha, correct?”

“Yes, I’m supposed t start working here today.”

“Well, I think we are going to start you out by teaching you how to restock the shelves. And after you are finished that I’ll have you work with Terri.”

I spent the next four hours stocking shelves. It isn’t hard, but it is boring. But I keep telling myself I will have my car soon. I can’t imagine doing this sort of job for the rest of my life. This makes me start thinking about school and how I need to improve my grades if I want to go to college or some type of technical school after I graduate. I hadn’t really put any thought into it before.

When I get home, I hear my mother calling me from the kitchen.” Samantha, is that you?”

“Yes, Mom, it’s me.”

“How was your first day?”

“Well, it was boring, but I guess it will be worth it. When I get a car.”

“Honey, we all have to work at boring jobs when we first start out and don’t have any experience. When I was in high school, I had a job in a factory where I had to do assembly. I attached one part to another part by soldering it. Over and over again, I thought I would go insane from boredom. But every Friday, when I got my paycheck, it all seemed worth it.”

“Yeah, Mom, you told me that before.”

“Well, I supposed I did, but it’s true none the less. You better get started on your homework. Oh, I put dinner in the oven for you. You’re probably starving.”

“I am starving. What did you make for dinner?”

“Your favorite, lasagna, and, meatballs. I knew you would be hungry.”

“Lasagna, Oh, really, thanks, Mom. You’re the greatest.” I gave my Mom a little hug. And I noticed a tear run down her cheek. It made me realize that sometimes I’m not very nice to her or my dad.

“You go on now, and eat up. I love you, honey.”

“I look at my mom and, I got a lump in my throat. I swallowed it hard. Can’t show weakness. As I turned and walk toward the kitchen, I said really quietly, I love you too. Mom.”

After I eat dinner, I walk into my bathroom and brush my teeth and wash my face and use the toilet. There is no way I’m ever going to use a public toilet and the Stop and Shop. Gross. I go back to my room and open up my laptop and spend about five minutes checking emails. Then I close the laptop and get busy with my homework.  I remember how boring stocking shelves are and how I don’t want to do it for the rest of my life. I make a promise to myself that I will pull up all my grades, even math. I have definitely made the decision today that I want to get Tech training. I’m not sure exactly what I will do, but it won’t be some boring and repetitive job like stocking shelves or cashier.

After I spent a good two hours finishing my homework, I start studying for my history final as I’m reading the history of and the Holocaust. It occurs to me how much I love learning about the past. And how we need to know the past and learn from it. As I’m sitting on the bed, I realize what I really would love doing is teaching. I would love to teach history. I’m going to teach history.

__________________________________

HE’S THERE BY ALAN MAGILL

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Alan Magill is a playwright, poet, short story writer, humorist, and columnist. Some of his writing has been used as a springboard to discuss effective means of relating to people with dementia and Alzheimer’s Disease.

Alan Magill will be a guest writer on my blog: WRITE ON

About nine years ago, I took a writing class taught by Jack Engelhard-He is a writer, known for Indecent Proposal (1993), Indecent Proposal (2007), and My Father, Joe (2010).

HE’S THEREBY- ALAN MAGILL

Anyway, I friended Jack Engelhard on Facebook, and I looked on his list of friends, and I noticed the name of Alan Magill and looked at his description, and he seemed to be an interesting person, and I sent him a friend’s request. And he accepted after asking how I knew about him. And I told him about taking the writing class with his friend Jack Engelhard. Alan asked if I liked to exchange stories based on word prompts, and I agree to do that. It seemed like an interesting activity. Since I love to write, we did this for years and became friends, although we have never met in person. I feel as if I know him well.

Highschool Reunion- picture by Pixabay

Totally out of place.  That’s how Robert felt, ginger ale in hand, as he listed to Jerry, working on his third gin and tonic, regale the crowd about his cross-country hitch-hiking escapade, the summer after college.  Laugh after laugh after laugh from people who had ignored him back in high school and were still ignoring him at this 25-year Sanquan Valley High School reunion.

There was Audrey, who had been class president, still surrounded by about 15 of her pack.  And Bobby, the star fullback, as always surrounded by the pretty ladies.  The only thing Robert was surrounded by was his own misery, made worse when Barry roared by him and knocked over his glass of ginger ale.  A soggy “I’m sorry” was followed by him filling in some of the details that a nearly inebriated Jerry had left out about how Joan had picked him up in Omaha, and by the time they got to Frisco they were engaged.

Nobody cared that Robert had carved out a respectable career as a CPA.  Nobody cared that he probably made more money than half the people in that room.   And no one cared more than Robert himself as we all alone in the world, and the socialization he had eschewed in High School had left him as full of life as a number on a ledger sheet.

Jerry wasn’t finished…not nearly.  He picked Joan up in the air and said, “I’ll always look up to you.”

Seeing all of the couples looking into each other’s eyes was enough for Robert.  How long could you nurse a ginger ale?  He put his drink down on a tray and realized that no one had noticed him come in, and no one would notice him leave.

Out the door, the surprisingly cool May night air mocked his need for any kind of warmth.  He found his Lexus, got in, and started the engine.  It didn’t engage.  He tried it again.  Nothing.  Was he meant to have the absolute worst night of his life?  He would call his service station that stayed open until 9.  No bars on his cell phone.  That’s right.  He had been in such a rush to get to this big social event of the year, that he had forgotten to charge it.

His mechanic’s shop was a mile up the road.   He could walk it….Yeah, that’s what he was going to do.  Then he saw them.  Two happily together, couples walking right toward him on their way to the reunion entrance.  He recognized two of them from 11th-grade science class.

They walked by him like he wasn’t there.

“I am here,” he thought to himself.  “I am here.”  And then he shouted, “I am here!” looking at nobody.  Stunned by his outburst, he knew what he had to do.

He walked up to the road and put his thumb out.  Never had done anything remotely similar to this in his life.  I had never picked up a hitchhiker.  Never had been one.

But nothing would stop him from being one now.

Car after car after car just passed him by, like he wasn’t there.

He kept his thumb out.

Ten minutes later, there was a broken-down car up ahead, so traffic inched forward to go around it.  To his utter shock, a car seemed to move over, and the driver was waving for him to get in.  Robert opened the door and was stunned when the lady behind the wheel said his name.

He looked over to her, and he immediately recognized her.  It was Shelly Radner.  THE Shelly Radner.  “Peter, how are you,” she asked.

“I’m fine, Shelly,” he said.

“Where are you going?”

“My car broke down, and I’m going to my service station up the road.  Louie’s.”

“Oh yeah,” she said.

“My phone is out of power.”

“I’m glad that I could help you.”

At that moment, Peter thought of all the times that Shelly, one year younger than him, had helped him in the school library to find a book, to look up an article.  She was the only one he really talked within school.  Over time, he developed a crush on her, but nothing ever developed.

Peter started to shake. “Oh, you’re chilled,” she said.  “Cold, for May.”

“Yes.”

“There’s a coffee shop right before the service station.  Would you like to go in for a cup?”

“That would be nice,” he said.

What was even nicer, was a year later, Robert and Shelly got married.

Robert never hitchhiked again.  And he never thought that he wasn’t there again.

__________________________________

 

LIFE IS SHORT, MAKE EACH DAY COUNT

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Pitman Theater- Pitman, NJ Photo by Bob Culver

The man skipped, jumped, and ran for short distances as he made his way down the city street. He was on the main thoroughfare, but he could have been anywhere. He seemed to have no real destination in mind. But he was in an awful hurry to get there. Suddenly, he stopped cold and ran to the curb. An old bike was parked on the sidewalk. It was a vintage 1950’s red Schwinn Panther. A girl’s bike with a basket on the handlebars and a knee-action spring fork, whitewall tires, chrome-plated fenders, and a slightly rusty chrome-trimmed tank with a built-in horn that had an American Flag attached to it.

In addition to the Flag, the bike is covered with First Prize ribbons of every color and condition imaginable. It must have been a childhood collection of awards for spelling, penmanship, grammar, math, and art. They hung from every surface of the bike. It was quite a sight. He hopped on the bike with a grace that seemed impossible for a man his age. He had a gray scraggly beard down to his chest. His mustache was waxed and stood out four inches on either side of his rosy cheeks. His hair was long, and he wore it in two braids down his back. There was a tiny flag on each braid. The kind you saw years ago when you ordered a drink at a bar on the Fourth of July.

He continued down the street on the bike at breakneck speed. He started singing loudly. At first, it was difficult to understand because of his speed and his raspy voice. But once he got his momentum up, he sang in a deep baritone voice. He was singing The Fortunate Son by Credence Clearwater Revival. His voice grew louder, and stronger as he flew down the street on his two-wheeled chariot. He threw back his head and sang, “Some folks are born made to wave the flag. They’re red, white and blue. And when the band plays, Hail to the Chief, they point the cannon at you.”

Suddenly, a voice rang out,” Sam, what’s your hurry come on over here and let’s have breakfast. Sam pulled over to the curb with alacrity and skill. He put the kickstand down and said,” Long time no see you old goat.”

“Look who’s calling me an old goat, Walt. You look like you haven’t taken a good look in the mirror for about fifty years.”

“That sounds about right.”

“Well, so where’s this breakfast going to take place?”

“How about at The Sunny Side Up breakfast place down the street?”

“Can you believe it?

 I just found my bike after two days. Some kid must have grabbed it, drove downtown, and just ditched it.  I don’t know what I do without my Old Glory.

“I bet no one would recognize you without that old bike, Sam. It’s really a collector’s piece, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Walt, but it’s more than that. It’s my connection between the past and the present. That bike belonged to my wife when she was a little girl. God rest her soul.”

“Yes, Marie was a fantastic woman, I don’t know how you were so lucky to marry her, half the guys in town were in love with her.”

“We had a happy marriage I have no complaints other than she left me too soon. There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think of her.”

“So, Sam what have you been up to lately? I know you are always up to something?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I have been working pretty hard. I got a job repairing the organ in the theater. Well, I not just repairing it, I’m restoring it. You know the one that was used back in the day when Vaudeville used to come to the Pitman Theater. Did you know it’s a player piano as well?”

“No, I didn’t, Sam.”

“Well Walt, I just started working on it a couple of days ago. But I already found one of the problems. There were some letters hidden under the strings that were inhibiting the percussion of the instrument. The letters looked really old.  It’s possible they even predated the piano. I can’t figure out how they might have ended up where I found them. I believe they might have been deliberately placed there by someone.”

“You’re kidding me, Sam. I would love to take a look at them. Let’s talk about this when we’re eating breakfast.”

As they walked through the door of the Sunny Side Up restaurant, a bell chimed and Henry Decker the cook yelled out,” Sit anywhere you like, our waitress called out sick. I’ll be there in a few.”

“Hey, so what can I get you guys? What’s going on? It looks like you two both swallowed a canary or two.”

“Well, I’ll have the special, plus two biscuits and a black coffee straight up, thanks.”

“Hey, that sounds good to me, make that two. Henry.”

“Well, Sam here is about to tell me about some letters he found in the player piano that he’s repairing. I mean restoring for the theater. You know that old organ that was used back in the Vaudeville days.”

“You don’t say, what kind of letters?”

“To tell you the truth I’ve been so busy that I haven’t taken the time to look them over. But they’re all yellow. So, I know they’re old. I’ll let you know once I study them a bit.”

“Ok then Sam, do that. I’ll be back in a few minutes with your coffee, and then I’ll cook you up some fried eggs and ham, Sam. Get it, fried eggs and ham, Sam?”

“Yeah, ’cause I haven’t heard that a million times before. Get busy. And don’t give up your day job to be a comedian, Henry.”

“Sam, you have always been such a spoilsport, you were an old man before your time. I think you might have been born an old man. Lighten up already, won’t you? So, Sam tells me something about the history of the Theater and the organ.”

“Well, Walt, it’s really kind of interesting, I’d be happy to. The Broadway Theater opened up in 1926. Movies but also Vaudeville shows were shown. There were about one thousand seats. Some of the most famous acts and performers played there. Would you believe that Bob Hope and Bing Crosby, Abbot and Costello? Not to mention Jerry Lee Lewis and George Carlin. I really loved George Carlin. And a lot more, real stars.

“That’s really something, right here in our little town of Pitman. I guess people came from all over to see it.”

“I imagine they did. Wouldn’t that be something if we saw all those great performers back in the day.”

“I’ll tell you something, Walt, I really consider it an honor to be repairing that organ. It really is a thing of beauty. Stop by and I’ll show you what I’ve been doing, it’s not everybody that has the skill to work on a vintage organ like this one. And you can take a look at those letters I was telling you about.”

“Here ya go fellas, enjoy. I have to keep moving since I’m the staff today. Talk to you later.”

“Come on Walt, let’s go, that was a great meal. Times a wasting.”

As they walk down Main Street, they run into the editor of the town newspaper. She stops them on their way into the theater. “Hey, guys, what’s happening?”

“Hello Constance, I’m just going to show Walt the Kimball Organ that I’m restoring. Would you like to come along?”

“Sure, I have about a half-hour to kill before my next meeting with the Pitman Historical Society. We are trying to find ways of funding the repairs on the Grove Building, especially the old Methodist Meeting Hall.”

As they step into the main hall, they all stop and look around. Constance exclaims, “Wow, I’m always surprised when I come in here. It’s really something, isn’t it a grand place? Those chandeliers are just breathtaking. You know I really ought to do another pictorial about this place. It’s really coming together. It looks great.”

“Here it is. Oh, Constance, I was telling Walt that one of the reasons the organ wasn’t operating was that there were some old letters preventing the organ from working properly.”

“Really, Sam? Well, let’s have a look at it.”

The three gazed down at the organ. “Yep, just how I remember it. This will be a real centerpiece when you finished, Sam. You are doing a great job here. We all appreciate your time and talent. I bet there aren’t too many people left who would know how to work on this instrument.”

“Thanks, Constance, oh, here are those letters I was telling you about.”

Constance picks up the letters and begins scanning the top one. “What the? Hey, this sounds like a love letter. It’s signed, your Raymond. Let me see that envelope, Sam. What the… This is Raymond Goldstone Sr. Well, I’ll be dammed Raymond Goldstone, the magician. Wait, who is he writing to? Let me see the first page again. It says, Dear Madeleine. Do you know who that is?”

“No, not offhand I don’t, but I would guess it is someone that worked in the theater in the late 1920 and early 1930s. I bet you could find out Constance. Don’t you have copies of all the old newspapers from back then?”

“You’re right. We do. Let me see a couple more of the letters, Sam.”

“Sure, here you can take them. They might get lost in here with all the construction that is going on.”

“Sam, Walt, I  have an inspiration. We can publish these letters in The Pitman News and World Report once a month like a serial. People would eat this up, it would get more people from out of town to read and subscribe to the paper. And maybe even bring people to the Theater to see the scene of the crime so to speak. But I’m going to have to do a lot of research first. This is so exciting, I’m so happy I ran into you two days. I’m really psyched.”

“Hey, do you really think this will work, Constance?”

“You bet I do, and I think we could get this to go national. And then we’re talking big time. Pitman is really going to become famous. Raymond Goldstone, one of the world’s most talented and famous magicians in love with a hometown Pitman lady. I have to go and start doing some research. I’ll let you two know what I found out. Let’s meet again on Monday morning at Sunny Side Up for coffee and I’ll let you know what or if I found out who our mysterious Madeleine is.”

“Alright, great Sam, Walt, I’m excited about this. It could be the answer to our prayers.”

On Monday morning Sam and Walt are waiting patiently on the bench outside Sunny Side Up when they see her heading in their direction.

“Hey, guys, sorry I’m late. Something always happens at the last minute when I’m about to go out the door. Oh well, forget about all that. I have some news. I think I have a candidate for our mysterious Madeleine. And perhaps a picture of her. There was Madeleine Summers who was the costume designer for all the Vaudeville Shows back in the day. Apparently, she was the daughter of one of the founding fathers of Pitman. So, all of this must have been kept under wraps. Her family was very much involved in the Methodist Church.”

 

“You gotta be kidding me. Can you imagine the stink if anyone back then found out about her and Raymond? So, hand it over, I want to see the picture of this femme fatal.”

Wait a minute, and I want to see it too?” Sam chimes in.

Alright, Sam, you too, Walt, take a gander. I imagine she was considered quite the looker back in the day. Was she married?”

“Not that I could find any evidence of, I guess she would have been considered an Old Maid. Of course, people got married young back then. Usually, the man was quite a bit older than the bride.”

“Wow, Connie, she was a looker—the face of an angel. Well, I guess a fallen angel. But still quite a beauty. Those eyes are mesmerizing, indeed quite the looker. Do any of her family live in Pitman live here any longer?”

“Not that I can find any evidence of Walt which is good since we wouldn’t want any descendants causing any trouble. Well. I guess she didn’t have any children, or it would be in the census. At least none that I could find.

“From what I have been able to glean, the last family member was a sibling of Madeleine. One Matilda, who was a few years younger than Madeleine and she never married either. Which is a little weird, but nonetheless? Neither one ever married. So says the court documents I spent three days perusing. Oh, one more thing I found some pictures of Raymond doing his famous cutting a woman in half with a buzz saw. And it looks like she must have filled in a couple of times for his assistant. Take a gander at this.”

“Look at her. That costume must have caused a real stir back then. Weren’t most women still wearing wool bathing suits down to the knees back then?”

“No, I think by the early 1930, ’s Latex was invented, and women wore one-piece latex form-fitting bathing suits. But nothing like this outfit. Walt.”

“Hey, Walt, let me have a look already.”

“Take it easy, Sam, you don’t want to have a stroke or something. It might be more than you can take.”

“Woah, she was a looker, all right.”

“OK, you guys settle down. She passed away in the early 1970s. Apparently, never married. No kids, as I told you before. I don’t know what happened between them.  Or when it ended but I do know that Goldstone toured all over the country for a while and he did some spots on TV. He retired in the early 1950s. He was married and, of course, had a son named after him. Raymond Goldstone Jr., was a magician as well. I guess you could call it a family business.”

“Connie, is there any indication in the letters that his wife knew about what was going on between Harry Sr. and Madeleine?”

“No, Walt, not in any of the letters. But I did find out that Goldstone Sr. was married three times. So, I don’t know the timeline of these marriages. But back then, three times was not all that common. But if you are a famous magician and you travel all the time. Well, you get lonely. And women are sometimes attracted to famous and glamorous people. And a magician, you can expect many women would be flattered by his attention.”

“Well, Connie, what do you think about publishing one of the letters?”

“Walt, I think we could do that without revealing the names of the Blackstone and Madeleine. See if we get any response from the readers. Let me get one of the first letters, and you can publish it. See what happens. Here’s one that I think will get some attention and not too risqué.”

Dear Ray, I miss you so much. Each moment without you feels like an eternity. I feel like I have known you all my life. You understand me like no other person I’ve ever known. You brought such magic and light into my life. And without you, there is only darkness. I miss your magical touch. I miss your breath against my skin. I have never trusted anyone as I trust you with my heart, my soul. Every part of me yearns for you. Every minute of my life is a moment wasted without you in it. The distance between us might as well be the distance between the Earth and the sun. There is only a void where you once lie next to me. Please, my love, tell me when I can see you again. Where can we meet? Just say the word, and I will be there.  Love, Maddy.

“Walt, what do you think? How about you, Sam? Should I go ahead and print it? No names; maybe we could give some hints about the time and circumstances surrounding this affair. And let people guess their identities. What do you two think?”

“Go for it. Connie.”

“Yeah, as Walt says, go for it.”

“Connie, let me and Sam know what kind of feedback you have about the story. “

“Alright, I will, and if I have any news between now and our next meeting, I’ll contact you.”

“Great, Connie, we’ll see you next week, same place, same time. Take Care.”

“Bye Walt, bye Sam, see you soon.”

The following Friday night, Connie gives Walt a call. “Hello, Walt, this is Connie. I’m glad I caught you at home. I don’t know if you read the Pitman News and World Report this past week, but I published the article. And I included the love letter. And my phone hasn’t stopped ringing all week. You know what a sleepy town Pitman is? Well, get ready because things are going to get exciting really soon.”

“Exciting, in what way, Connie?”

“Walt, well, get this; one of the former residents of Pitman still gets the Pitman News, and World Report sent to her in the mail. And she has been living in New York City for the past five years. She happens to work on Fifth Avenue, and she is an actress. And she’s doing a play on 42nd Street. She knows a lot of famous people in the City.

“Yeah, so what?

“So, she contacted a writer for the New York Times that she dated for a while. And, he loved the story, and he’s going to be coming here to talk to guess who?”

“OK, Connie, I’ll bite. Who does he want to talk to?”

“Oh, Walt, us. What do you think? You, me, and Sam.”

“And if he likes what he hears and sees, the story could go national. And then, who knows what will happen? It could really put Pitman on the map. And our theater will really get some attention then. How about we meet for breakfast in the middle of the week? Say on Thursday and discuss any new possibilities. And Walt, we can then go with you to the theater and see how the renovations are coming along.”

 On Thursday morning at nine o’clock sharp, Sam arrives on his bike, and Walt pulls up to the curb in his 1957 mint condition Cherry-red Chevy Bel Air two-door hardtop. “Hey, guys and gals. I’m really enjoying getting out and eating breakfast with you two. Since I usually spend most of the day alone working in the theater on the piano.”

“Hello Sam, I must say I’m enjoying the break too. I rarely get to sit down and eat. I usually eat takeout on my way from one place to another. So, Sam, how are the renovations on the piano going anyway?”

“Connie, things are going along swimmingly. In fact, I will soon be finished. You were so wired about Raymond Goldstone and the woman. You haven’t asked about the player piano in a while. I have made some real headway. I believe I will have it back in working condition in a couple of weeks. It has been really challenging too. I don’t think I mentioned it before, but this piano is unique. It is actually a 3/8 Kimball theatre pipe organ. A unique instrument considering its size. Did you know there is a pipe organ blower room in the basement? I had to replace some of the pipes.”

 “That’s fantastic, Sam; I’m proud of you. Not too many people with your skills around anymore, pretty much a lost art.”

“Thanks, Connie, and I have enjoyed every minute of it. Hey, my stomach is growling.”

“Speaking of which, you two, I already ordered breakfast for the three of us. Since we always get the same thing. It should be ready in a moment or two. Let’s go in.

 “Connie, maybe you should get the newspaper’s photographer out to the theater and take some pictures of the theater and the player piano. It would be great publicity. And everyone should be informed of the great work our hometown boy here, Sam, has done.”

“You’re right, Walt, that’s a great idea. But do you really think there is a photographer on the Pitman News and World Report’s staff?”

“Isn’t there?”

“Oh, you got to be kidding me, Walt? I’m the writer and the editor and the publisher and the photographer. I run the whole thing from top to bottom.”

“You’re kidding, I didn’t realize that. You are a walking, talking dynamo. Aren’t you, Connie?”

“Yeah, Walt, that’s me, the human dynamo.”

“Oh wait, less talk and more eating; here comes our food. I’m starved.” Sam interjects.

“Well, that really hit the spot. Do you want to split the bill or what?”

“Sam, Connie, let me take care of this. And I think we should see how your piano is coming and the restoration of the theater. It might be possible that we’ll be holding a celebration in the theater. If everything goes the way, I hope it will. Let’s go.”

“I’ll take care of the tip, Sam and Walt. Let’s hit the road.”

 “So, here we are, times a waste. Well, Connie and Walt, do you notice anything different about the front of the Theater? No, well, why don’t you cross the other side of Broadway and take a look at the Marquee? Alright, do you see anything different from over there?”

“Wow, this is fantastic. It says, “Grand Reopening on May 18th.” Wait, isn’t that the day the Spring Craft Fair begins this year? What a great idea, at least 10,000 people come to the fair.”

“Yeah, that’s right, Walt, that was my idea because I knew the piano would be ready and the renovations will be completed this week. Can you believe it? Come on, let’s go in, and you can take a gander. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

As they walk into the vestibule, Walt and Connie stand in awe staring at the chandeliers. The lights are sparkling through the crystals and sending rays of light on the ceiling and the walls. The plaster molding is intact and painted in the original colors.

“Sam, it really looks gorgeous. Is this new carpet on the floor?”

“Nope, we had a specialty company that cleans vintage rugs come in and clean all the carpets and made a few repairs. They really did an amazing job. And the best thing is that they didn’t charge anything because we are going to set up a table for them at the craft fair.

You know there are a lot of people here in Pitman living in Victorian Houses that have vintage carpets and can use their service. Plus, they are going to advertise in the newspaper and on the internet and use pictures of the Theater.”

“Well, what about the molding? It looks new?”

“Connie, I think I mentioned before they found the original molds in the basement of the theater. And we hired a plasterer in Mullica Hill to make molding from the original molds to replace the damaged ones. Don’t they look great?”

“Ok, so let’s go look inside the theater. I left the lights on so you would get the full effect of the Victorian lighting and the stage lit up around the piano and the orchestra pit.”

“Tada, kind of magical, isn’t it?”

“Yes, you can say that again Sam. It is absolutely magical. Just the effect we wanted it to have when it is shown to the public.”

“Alright, take a seat, and I’ll turn down the lights and turn on the piano. Close your eyes. I’ll tell you when I want you to look.”

Sam makes his way behind the stage and hits the lights on the orchestra pit, and then comes on stage and turns on the player piano. As Walt and Connie look about in awe, they hear. “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” soundtrack. And they start clapping. And then they see a movie screen descends, and There is Judy Garland singing her heart out.

“Oh, Sam, I am so impressed. The theater looks amazing. And Judy Garland up there on the screen, who could top her?”

“Here’s my baby, and the surprise is, she’s finished, completely restored to her grand self. Here’s a little background information just in case you don’t realize how awesome this piano is. First of all, it is a self-playing piano. It has a mechanism that operates and controls the piano with pre-recorded music on this perforated paper called rolls. And this beauty here is also a pipe organ. And as I mentioned before, there is a blower room in the basement. It’s now in excellent condition, and the piano had no vacuum leaks. I was able to contact The QRS Company out of Buffalo, New York, and I ordered all new rolls.”

“Congratulations, Sam, you have really surpassed our expectations.”

“Thanks, Connie it was challenging, and I’m proud of myself. I have already received two calls from prospective clients who would like me to see if I can get their player pianos in working order.”

“Oh Sam, let me get some pictures of you and this beautiful player piano that’s also a pipe organ. Why don’t you stand next to the piano? And that way, we get the piano in all of its beauty next to one of the few people who could have resurrected it. Wonderful, I have some great shots to choose from for the paper this week.

—–“Great job, Sam. I knew you had it in you. Let’s go take a look at the rest of the theater. And see how much progress has been made.”

“I have to make a stop in the ladies’ room, guys. I’ll meet you in the lobby in a few minutes. And then I have some news to tell you.”

“Sure, Connie, take your time; we’ll wait for you.”

“Thanks, guy. I won’t be long.”

Walt and Sam are walking around the lobby, looking at all the subtle changes that have occurred since the renovation began. “Oh, Walt, look over here at the snack counter. They found an original popcorn popper from the early 1920s and get this a cotton candy machine.”

“Oh, Sam, they are really awesome. They are going to blow people away and look at all that candy. Including some of my favorites, red hot dollars, candy buttons, watermelon slices, green leaves, licorice whips, and my very favorite sugar daddies. I feel a sugar rush just looking at all this candy.”

“Oh, hey guys, sorry to take so long. Well, it really looks great. Look at all that candy. You know, when I was a kid, I practically ruined my teeth with all the candy I ate. At Halloween, I used to go out Trick or Treating until ten o’clock at night. I had a pillowcase, and I would fill it to the top. Then the next day I would eat so much of it. I would feel sick.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“You can add my name to that list to Connie and Walt. I was a candyholic. So, what’s the big surprise, Connie?”

“OK, hold on, this is going to make the top of your head blow off. Ready…”

“Yeah, we’re ready. Tell us already, Connie.”

“Well, a few weeks back, I mentioned that I knew a guy who knew a guy who worked on the NY Times, and he wrote an article about what we are doing here in Pitman Theater. And he mentioned all the famous people that played in our little town. And guess what???”

“What already? What do you want a drum roll?” asked Walt.

“Couldn’t hurt Walt. Well, one of his readers is distantly related to our own Raymond Goldstone, and he has agreed to come to Pitman the day of the grand reopening, and he inherited all that remains of the Goldstone’s magic box, including the buzz saw. And get this, he is a magician, and he is willing to perform some of his magic in our own little Pitman Theater. That’s right here in person the day of the Grand Reopening and the Pitman Craft Show. Ta Da.”

“Holy Mackerel, this is absolutely awesome. This is going to put our town on the map.”

“Yeah, it will, and I am going to advertise this event from now until the Big Day—all thanks to our buddy here, Sam. Who has turned out to be quite the magician himself. Take a bow, buddy. You are our hero. Take a bow, Sam, you deserve it.”

And with that, Sam took a deep bow. His face is as red as a beet. He never felt this good in his whole life. His smile reaches from ear to ear. And the day of the Craft Fair, people come from far and wide and had to be bussed from all the small towns around Pitman. There isn’t a single parking spot left for miles. Over forty thousand people showed up. And it did indeed put the little town of Pitman on the map.

BETTER LATE THAN NEVER

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BETTER LATE THAN NEVER

Time Man Alarm Clock by Miriam Fotos Pixabay

Harry realizes he’s going to be late for work yet again. Jack Loman, his boss at Berkeley’s Department Store, is going to fire him for sure. Harry already has three warnings.

He jumps out of bed and dashes into the bathroom. He quickly washes his face and hands, brushes his teeth, and runs a comb through his overgrown hair. He needs a shave. But no time for that. No time for a shower either. He pulls on yesterday’s clothes that he had tossed over the shower door last night. Checked his pants pockets for his wallet. Grabs his shoes and dirty socks and runs out the front door and slams it shut, and quick steps it to his car. He pulls on the door and realizes it’s locked, and he doesn’t have the keys. “Crap.”

Harry considers putting on his shoes and socks but decides to forgo it. He runs so fast toward the door that he thinks he might have been lifted off the ground for a few moments. He jerks the doorknob hard and nearly dislocates his shoulder. He realizes the door is indeed locked.

Harry thinks,” What now? What now?” He screams a thousand expletives in his head and jumps up a down a few times for good measure. He knows, at some level, he is acting like a five-year-old having a tantrum. He has lost it. He is going to be late again. His boss warned him the next time he was late, his goose is cooked, and he was getting fired. There won’t be any other chances. He’s done; no going back from fired.

At that moment, he realizes that he left the kitchen window open last night. If he is able to boost himself up somehow, he can get his keys. And it isn’t totally impossible that he might just make it to work if he drives like a demon. He decides to go for it.

He double-times it to the back of the house, blocking out the pain of stepping on sticks and stones the whole way. He sees the window. He decides to take a flying leap by running at top speed and propelling himself through the open window. He makes it, and then he realizes there is a full sink of dirty dishes in the sink. He hits the dishes and cups and forks and spoons head first. Luckily there aren’t any steak knives in there.

“Shit.” He screams at the top of his voice. His face feels like he got hit by a Mach Truck. He rolls out of the sink headfirst and lands on his back with his legs splayed out in front of him. He doesn’t know how he even accomplished it. But it seems like a ray of sunshine in the middle of a hurricane. He feels his face; there is some bleeding but not too bad. He might look like he got into some kind of brawl at a biker bar. At least, that’s what he plans on telling everyone.

He pushes himself up off the floor. And limps over to the hooks by the door and reaches out to grab his keys. They aren’t there. He has a strong impulse to jump up and down again. He manages to suppress it.

At that moment, he pats his pants pockets. And low and behold, his keys are in his pants pocket. If he weren’t sore all over, he would do an Irish Jig. Instead, he heads out the back door towards the driveway, keys in hand. He slams them home in the door lock and yanks the door open. This hurts his arm and shoulder.

He gets in the car and starts it up. The engine grinds a little but doesn’t start up right away, and then it suddenly catches. As the engine catches and Harry backs out of the driveway like a bat out of hell. And he puts the peddle to the metal and is finally on his way.

He takes Main Street to Poplar Avenue and sees the turn for Interstate 40, and enters the highway without really looking. And he nearly hits the guy in front of him. He shoots him the bird. Harry keeps going; barring some unforeseen event, he should be getting off the 40 in about six minutes. And that is when he realizes that the red warning light is telling him he’s out of gas. His car stops as Harry pulls it to the shoulder of the road. Harry repeatedly bangs the steering wheel with his open palms. A tear rolls down his battered cheek. He pulls the keys out and stuffs them in his pocket.

He slams the door shut and starts walking off the ramp onto Mt. Ephraim Blvd. As he walks, he sticks his thumb out, hoping someone, anyone, will take pity on him and give him a ride.

After about five minutes of walking down the busy road, he is covered in dust and even managed to step on a dead animal of some kind. He doesn’t bother to take a closer look. He hears someone beep at him, either telling him to move or offering to give him a ride.

He looks back at the car beeping, and he sees some fat guy gesturing at him to get in his car, which he has slowed down to a halt. He walks over to the car, and the guy gestures at him to get in. He does. Harry is about to say,” Thanks, buddy,” when he realizes that the fat guy in the driver’s seat is none other than his boss. He doesn’t know if he should cry or laugh, so he does both.

His boss leans over and says, “Rough morning, Harry?”