baggage claim. I’d only taken a few steps when I heard a voice shouting,
"Master Clarke.... Master Clarke."
Looking around I found a Negro man, who I didn't know walking towards me.
"Master Clarke, I'm Mr. Roy's chauffeur, Henry, and he asked me to pick ya up and take you to Fairview."
"Oh, where is Uncle Roy? This afternoon on the telephone he told me that he would be here."
"He had to take the evening train to Pittsburgh, some kind of problem at one of the plants. He told me to tell ya that he would be back on the morning train. This way sir, I'll get your bags."
Things hadn't changed, only now it was Uncle Roy who was busy with business.
For the first time, I sat in the back of Uncle Roy's 1939 Cadillac Town Car. It was a luxurious automobile. I remember when he bought it that Grandfather had a fit about the way he was spending his money, not that it was any of Senior’s concern. It was another two hours to Long Island and Fairview, so I made small talk with Henry for a few moments, then sat back in my seat and watched the city go by. It was a warm evening and I had one of the windows partly down as we drove towards the turnpike. The smells of the city drifted through the open window. It was a mixture of garbage, gas fumes and people. This smell symbolized why I had come to dislike New York City. It was too big, too crowded, too dirty, and the people who lived here seemed to have no faces and no personalities. Even as late as it was, I could see and smell that it had not changed. This city reminded me of how much I missed Ketchikan. My thoughts soon returned to that little fishing village and the way of life I had come to love.
We arrived at Fairview about 2 a.m. Henry hurried my bags up the grand staircase and placed them in my old room as I looked around the old musty house.
The chauffeur returned and asked, “Master Clarke, should I wake the cook to get ya something to eat or drink?”
"No thanks, all I want to do is sleep. Tell Uncle Roy I'll see him in the morning. Good night, Henry, it’s been nice meeting you." With this I climbed the stairs to my room.
The door swung shut on a creaking hinge behind me and I stared around my old room. It hadn’t changed since the day I went off to boarding school. It was stale and drab, as was the whole house, yet clean and neat. The pictures and items of my youth still filled the space. Memorabilia, mostly of baseball and movie stars, brought back a wave of memories. Some were good, but mostly my thoughts of this house and room were of indifference. As I lay down on the bed and reached to turn off the light, I noticed the fading black-and-white picture on the nightstand. It was my parents’ wedding picture—the only image I had of them together. My fingers reached over and stroked the frame. I’d held it in my hands and stared into their happy faces a thousand times before and always wondered how my life would have been different if only they had lived. Within a few moments, I was asleep, their picture clutched in my hands.
The next thing I knew, it was late morning. The bedside clock showed 10:20 a.m. I’d slept all night with my clothes and shoes on. I felt dirty, as I hadn’t had a change of clothes, showered or shaved for almost three days. Thirty minutes later I emerged from the bathroom feeling like a new man. With hopes of finding Hazel and getting a bite to eat, I headed towards the kitchen. As I opened the door to the kitchen, I found a chubby older white woman working the stove. She looked up at me and said,
"You must be Master Clarke. I’ve heard all about you from your Uncle. I'm Bess, the cook. Would you like some coffee and breakfast or maybe lunch?"
"Only coffee… where is Hazel? I thought she would be here."
Bess took a cup from the shelf above the stove and poured the steaming coffee.
"She and her husband retired after Mr. Clarke passed away. They were so sorry you couldn't make it to the funeral. I know they wanted to see you before they left. I thought maybe Henry would have told you last night."
"No, he didn't say word. Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Bess. Just a little shocked with all the changes around here."
She handed me the coffee and I took a few sips; then I asked if Uncle Roy was here.
"Yes, sir, he’s waiting for you in the study,” she replied.
Thanking her, I told Bess that I’d return for some lunch in an hour or so. With that, I topped off my cup and headed to see Uncle Roy.
The large, inlaid doors of the study slid open easily. There in the dim, smoky window light, I found Uncle Roy seated behind Grandfather’s enormous, hand-carved wooden desk, with papers stacked all over it. He rose with a large smile on his face and moved around to the front of the desk to greet me. We shook hands and embraced for a moment. It was good to see him again.
Roy was in his late fifties but looked to be in his forties. His fit body and brilliant “salt and pepper” hair made him look very distinguished. His handshake was firm and his demeanor commanding, as always. I could tell that Uncle Roy was now in charge, not only of the business but the family, as well, which also meant me.
We made small talk as I drank my coffee. He asked about Captain Skip and his family, wanted to know about my flight home and apologized for not meeting me the night before. I told him that we’d been at sea and that I didn't get his telegram about Grandfather's death and the funeral until it was too late. Next I inquired if Grandfather had suffered. With a softened voice he answered,
“No, thank God. The doctor said that he died painlessly in his sleep. Hazel found him the next morning lying peacefully in bed and called me for instructions.”
I asked what had happened to Hazel and her husband, Buck. They had both worked at Fairview for as long as I could remember. Uncle Roy told me that Grandfather had made provisions in his will for $10,000 each, so they might retire in a little comfort. They moved to Illinois, where their children lived, the day after the funeral. He added that they were both disappointed at not being able to say goodbye to “Master Clarke.” I then commented that it had been nice of Grandfather to take care of them.
At that Uncle Roy glared at me, his eyes staring at me over his wire-framed glasses riding low on his nose. He replied sternly,
"You know, Dutch, you just didn't give your grandfather much of a chance. You are surprised he would take care of those people… but why? There is a hell of a lot you would be surprised to know if you would’ve just given the old guy a chance."
"Now look, Uncle Roy, I didn't come all the way from Alaska to get into some kind of family feud with you,” I answered angrily. “I know I must have been a disappointment to Grandfather, but in many ways he was a hell-a disappointment to me, too."
Uncle Roy moved behind Grandfather's desk again and sat down, still staring at me with those steel gray eyes, and said, "O.K., Dutch, let’s not fight. I can see that chip is still on your shoulder… he’s gone now and there’s nothing we can do about that."
Roy reached down through a stack of papers and pulled out a blue bound document about 20 pages thick. He looked up at me and commented, "As you know, I was in life not only your grandfather’s brother but also his closest associate, friend and confidant. In his death, I remain the same. I am the executor of his estate, and will to the best of my abilities follow his instructions to the letter.”
His words were formal, unemotional and now riveting.
“Before
