visits.”
My aunt had muffled a laugh, but my Uncle Harry slowly shook a lowered head and said sadly, “Ben, that’s a hell of a thing—coming from your own cousin.”
Luckily this took place on the now backed-up and gridlocked departure ramp. I remember taking the opportunity to exit the highly charged atmosphere, removed my bag from the trunk and began to worm my way through the obstacle course of awkwardly parked cars and people rushing to make their planes on this crowded 4th of July Weekend. This was before wheels were on suitcases and it was a difficult 200-yard struggle, with frequent stops and switching of hands, to drag my bag to the Sky Cap check-in line—only to find that almost all flights were delayed by at least an hour. I never looked back to see where they were, but still remember being able to hear my Uncle Harry. He wasn’t saying anything pleasant.
This may have taken place in 1974 right before I moved to Norfolk and my new job in September ’75. Boogie had just come back from California to Florida and his parents had forced him to come to Chicago with them for the same reason I didn’t leave him alone at my house while visiting Hannah: complete lack of trust.
~~~~~~~~~~
After the admitting doctor showed up to examine and officially confirm the earlier ER doc’s decision to keep Hanna overnight, we were unceremoniously, and without any bedside manner, told—NOT asked—to leave by the ‘Lisa Cuddy’ look alike.
Hannah called later to tell me that a vacancy had finally showed up on someone’s computer and, having been in the ER since before 7 a.m., she would finally be moving to a room—at 9 p.m. that night.
~~~~~~~~~~
Allowing him ample time to ‘chill’ after his arrival, Boogie had managed to sit around and basically do nothing except create future problems. He apparently couldn’t wait to throw his 275 lbs. into Hannah’s favorite wicker chair in the mesh-screened gazebo located on the deck outside of the TV room. From there, with his feet comfortably propped up on the footstool, he proceeded to leisurely smoke his cigars and flick the ashes on top of both the live miniature palm and the artificial ivy and geraniums. I offered an ash tray, but was unceremoniously waived away with a cigar-filled hand and a, “This will be fine.”
Even before I walked out on the deck, I had passed our Backgammon table in the TV room and seen where Boogie had put jewelry on the expensive wood inlays. When I came inside from the cigar visit, I placed a 5” x 5” piece of cork—that we usually used under hot serving dishes—on the inner board of the game’s playing area; and rearranged his watch and ring—taking them off the wood and carefully placing them on top of the cork—hoping he would get the message.
A few hours later, the ring was still on the cork square, but the watch was back on the walnut board. I picked up Boogie’s expensive gold watch and returned it to the protective cork, next to his ruby pinky ring.
While Boogie slept on the deck for several hours more, I took the opportunity to place a second piece of cork on the game board and repositioned his jewelry on top of the two squares. Later, while he nodded on the sofa in front of the TV, I silently moved 2 bottles of prescription medicine—the newest items to appear on the wood—as well as the ring that was now squeezed in between the 2 squares of cork—back to what I hoped would become their permanent resting place for the duration of his visit.
Now, sufficiently aggravated to justify my intention of concocting my favorite ‘comfort food,’ I marched to the kitchen with purpose. I opened up the Frige, anticipating the reverie that would be induced by the rich smooth drink—a mixture of Pepsi, milk and Bosco Chocolate Syrup—my homemade Philadelphia-bred version of a NY Egg Cream soda. Instead, I discovered several bottles of insulin, carelessly placed high on the left side of the door—precariously balanced on top of the Bonne Maman Cherry Preserves—together with Boogie’s needles, wedged next to the can of whipped cream.
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Nick, Grandpa Waverly and I picked up a couple of trays of Ledo Pizza for an early dinner—because my nephew, father-in-law and Darin were planning a 7:00 a.m. Tee-off on Friday. With Hannah in the hospital, I was left out of their plans. Surprisingly, 125-pound Nick—who somehow managed to be 6’ 3” tall, while continuing to feast on his childhood diet of sugar and hotdogs—liked the large Meat Lover’s special. His wife, Cathy—with a perfect smile, nice curves (even after giving birth) and a warm, agreeable personality—was easier to please and a welcome houseguest. To Grandpa, quality meant little and his perpetual attempts at dieting over the last 30 years meant even less. Even though he had paid for the meal—he has always been a generous man with his time and whatever money he had—he waited patiently for his share of the pizza. My mother was treated to a few pieces and a portion of salad by Cathy and Leah, to save her the entanglement and clash of longer arms and hands battling for little prizes of food. Watching the chaos of family members reaching and pulling apart square cuts of hot cheese, I had to quietly warn Boogie to go easy on the medium Hawaiian pizza nearest him, because it was Darin’s favorite, and he had yet to return from some errand.
~~~~~~~~~~
After some moderate cajoling, every 30-60 minutes since his luggage was placed in the basement next to the air-mattress, Boogie reluctantly agreed to start the interview after dinner at around 6:30 p.m.
First we tried outside on the picnic table, where it was “too uncomfortable”. Then in the gazebo, where it was “comfortable, but too hot!” Boogie finally settled on the L-shaped sofas in the basement, where the soft cushions, temperature, humidity and air conditioning made the ‘porridge’ just right!
“So just start. Is the headset too tight?”
A shake of his head.
“Can you hear my questions OK out of your uncovered ear?”
Boogie nodded.
“Then, tell me all about yourself.”
“Let’s start with my accident,” began Boogie, with genuine interest.
After suddenly stopping to look down while starting to wring his very large hands together, Boogie visibly froze, then followed with, “You know I was kind of taken back, sorta speak, when you first brought up about recording me. From when I called about visiting. I know I didn’t give you the answer you wanted to hear, but it’s kind of poy-son-nal.”
That was always an expression and a voice he used as his way of letting you know that he was embarrassed, without publicly admitting to it.
“And to tell you the truth—”
≈ Yes, for a change, please do! ≈
“—back around when my accident happened—in the ambulance or when I was waking up in the hospital—they said … or I felt like I had been talking to myself.”
“Well, I’m not sure I follow,” I said, pleased with his selection for a first topic, and not wanting Boogie to go off in a new direction or delay any further. He had already postponed starting for three—, or 4 hours since his arrival and chill-out time, and I anticipated that this would be the regimen during his entire stay.
Knowing that the sooner he began, the more quickly he would become comfortable—and hopefully get ‘carried away,’ as he was prone to do—and give me more than I asked for or could use. So I hastily added, “Let’s just start. Tell me about your accident.”
