A local volunteer, stood in our kitchen scraping and scrubbing a porcelain cookie jar. It was the first sunny day in weeks. The house smelled of river dirt with an undertone of sweat and dank air. The water from the the storm had retreated back to where it came. The volunteers were a special breed. The woman continued cleaning the porcelain with a new found urgency as our mother walked into the room. She broke out in a heartfelt laugh somewhat breaking the underlying tension in the room. Our mother laughed infrequently, but when she did, she did it for a reason.
“That stain you are working on is part of the design. That is the woman face. It is some lady from a pancake commercial. The woman set the cookie jar aside and went to the next soiled item In the kitchen. Mom handed her a Pepsi.
June 22, 1972 It had rained in Birdsboro for days on end. There was a certain dread in the air. I sat in bed the night before and listened to the insistent rain on the roof tops. The wind wasn’t that of epic proportion, rather a constant battering slow dull ache in the psyche. Who knows what goes through your mind when you are a twelve year old. However that night, I remember being aware and afraid.
To this day, I can’t even believe I lived in town called Birdsboro. It was a small town in southwest Pennsylvania with a trickle of a stream running through it. Hay creek flowed into the Schuylkill river about a mile from town. My brother and I used to fish on this stream for hours on end. We waded in our bare feet. The water was clear and tranquil.
The morning of June 22, my Mom and stepdad went to work as usual and they dropped my little brother Rob at our Aunt’s house . For them it was any other day. They went to work to put food on the table. We were a little bit excited as we planned to head to Fenwick Island for the following weekend. As a family we enjoyed these trips. It started like any other day albeit with Hurricane Agnes sitting right on top of the Eastern seaboard. And she wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry.
My brother Steve and I were home alone and it was obvious we were not going to fill our day doing our usual routine of playing baseball, riding our bikes or going fishing. We were in for the day. Our only real contact with the outside world was radio station WRAW and it was crackly at best. I do not remember any dire weather warnings or anything out of the ordinary. I do remember hearing Don Mclean’s American Pie as well as Neil Young’s Heart of Gold playing on the radio. If there was any unusual activity on the street, I do not recall.
My brother and I settled into an intense game of skittle pool. It was his favorite as I prefered the bowling version. Mid morning, we received a phone call from one of our parents asking us to take things to higher ground. We did know exactly what that meant so my brother and I took items on the floor and stacked them on tables, counters and the top of kitchen appliances. In retrospect we did a pretty half assed job as we wanted to get back to our game of skittle pool.
I guess things started happening fast and we really did not see it coming. We glanced out the front window and the rain was coming down steady or maybe this was the new steady. We also noted the streets were filled with water and people in authority were walking the streets. It certainly was not the standard thoroughfare. Minutes later water started seeping in under the front door. It was a cold, angry, uninvited, dirty water. The water was up to our front door and rising steadily.
I looked out the front window and saw my mom and step dad wading toward the house in waist deep water. They held my little brother in their arms. Things must be serious if they left work early.
When they entered the house, the water was now ankle deep and the air smelled of river mud, electricity and distant fire. We quickly unplugged as many electrical outlets as we could. The water on the living room floor felt electric. Who knows how real that was?
We soon retreated to the second floor with our beagle Fred and our cat Mathew. We moved to the front bedroom and stared out the window with amazement. The water was now up to the second floor as boats with people floated outside the bedroom window. We watched an older lady across the street board a boat from a bedroom window. I have a lasting vision of her accidently dropping her bird cage into the raging waters as she entered the boat.
Another boat meandered up to our bed room and notified us it was mandatory to evacuate. We were told to leave our pets there and get in the boat as quickly as possible. That sinking feeling of leaving our pets behind sticks to me to this day, The five of us adeptly entered the boat with awkward precision as we were to be guided toward higher ground. I remember a man who tried to swim away from the danger. He clung to a 12 foot cyclone fence as the water feverishly rushed by. We would later see him in the fire hall down the street wrapped in blankets, very much alive.
It was a four block boat ride to higher ground. We could smell the smoke from a furniture store that caught fire that day. The smell of river mud singed our noses as our house faded into the past.
I do not remember actually ever being afraid. The only time I was ever really had a moment of terror was sitting in bed the previous night listening to the building of the wind and rain. The day of the actual flood was actually calm in comparison. Agnes had planted her seed that previous night.
We got out of the boat five blocks from our house where the Main Street of Birdsboro gradually snaked up hill. We slowly walked toward a fire hall and were given blankets to combat the cold. I do not remember being even vaguely cold. I do not remember feeling much of anything other than for the lady who lost her bird and our pets back at the house with the waters still rising.
I believe we ate a bowl of soup and had a few glasses of root beer as we listened to the town being devoured by Agnes. I wanted to see our next door neighbors but they were not there at the firehouse. Most of all I wanted it to stop raining. It eventually did. Fred and Matthew were found sitting on the bed a day or two later. They were fine.
This was forty seven years ago. There is a moral to this story but I am not going to tell it to you. That is for all of us to figure out.
Marty was born at a very early age and now he was a melancholy man who was old despite his health. He tended to stay close to home, his television and the local baseball games. For today he found himself on the west coast. It was always a place where the ocean seemed to be on the wrong side and his favorite ball teams played before somebody could cook him his dinner. Marty was never one to cook, he had always had this done for him. He tepidly liked visiting his son and his wife but with certain reservations. He liked the usual banter between he and his son and his wife as well. Marty could tell an off color joke at the drop of a hat and his son would, for the most part, deeply appreciate his wife would secretly roll her eyes. Marty had burned his way through three wives and was not looking for a forth. Marty never picked up on the roll of the eyes, as that is the hard work of the husband. It was a habit of his that he stuck with to this day. That is letting the hard work up to his offspring.
Marty loved all his kids however he had a hard time expressing it in words. He felt his mere presence was a badge of love and for the most part his kids interpreted it that way. The kids knew this about him. For the most part they accepted this and never really pushed the issue.
Marty was not one who was easily described as self-aware. His kids always encouraged him to visit and for the most part they looked forward to his visits yet there was an underlying tension on both sides. Marty was not one to clean after himself, rarely helped around the house and was always sitting in the backyard smoking cigarettes. He knew his kids did not like his cigarette habit yet deep down he liked his habit too much. He had quit previously due to extended hospital stays but paradoxically went back to smoking . Another spot of bother was that he had to pester somebody to buy him his smokes. He did not like not having a car yet not having a car gave him certain freedoms. For one, he did not have to take notice what happened to be in the neighborhood where he was staying. Just yesterday his son, while driving back from the grocery store had given him the lay of the land.
“Dad this neighborhood is pretty simple as it closely surrounded by four major roads. 39th street runs to the north, Fourth Plain to the south, the railroad tracks to the west and big old I5 to the west.”
“That sounds pretty simple” he lazily replied.
“If you want to get out and go for walk the streets are numbered. We live on 37th and the cross streets are alphabetical.” His son ticked off the streets as they drove home. “Columbia, Daniels, Esther, Franklin” as he eventually turned onto Grant street as the slanted sunlight of late afternoon veered into their eyes,
“This neighborhood looks like that of your grandmother’s” Marty said in deflection to the neighborhood overview or a tell tale sign that he was lost in his own little world.
“Yes Dad it certainly does especially in the evening when the light hits this way”
“Are the Mariners on tonight?” Marty replied without noticing the nuance in the reflection.
“Yeah they are on at seven they play Oakland. I believe Paxton is pitching”
Marty slowly got out of the car and patted his pockets for his Swisher Sweets. I am going on the porch to have a smoke. Could you find the station playing the game?”
“It is on the same station as last night when you watched the game.”
Marty walked out on the porch and smoked his Swisher Sweet. There was nothing discreet with his actions, as dinner had taken longer than anticipated. A low level of dread crept in as he realized he was down to his last few Swisher Sweets.
The next morning Marty woke up early and had breakfast with his son’s wife. He devoured a big bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee as she made a shake in the blender. He put his bowl in the sink without a thought of actually putting it in the dishwasher.
Once again he sauntered out to the back porch. It was a splendid late August morning as the dog caught the scent of a squirrel. Marty barely noticed the weather as he took the smoke into his lungs knowing it may be his last smoke in a while. He walked back into the house and settled himself in front of the Golf Channel.
“Hey Grandpa, how you doing, do you need anything?” his daughter in law interjected through the doors leading into the study.
“You have such a nice place here, this neighborhood feels like Glenside.” He answered as he glanced at Tom Watson walking down the fairway.
Yes your son says it has similarities to that neighborhood. He has such fond memories of his grandmother’s house.
A gentle steady cool breeze blew into the window next to the reading chair in front of the television as Tom Watson approached the green.
“Can I borrow your car to go to the store?”
She responded with a deflection all her own hoping that he would forget his question even though the store in question was a mere three blocks away.
“I went to the US Open tournament a few years back. It rained the entire time still it was fun.” She said as she lowered the blinds to fend off the impending afternoon sun.
“My son doesn’t like golf”
“He doesn’t like that you watch the golf channel all the time.”
A silence hung in the air only to be washed away by a fresh breeze coming in the window. The dog came into the room and nudged Marty to play with a toy retrieved from the yard. The dog and Marty wrestled with the toy for a brief moment as Marty tired first.
“Here are the keys, do you know where is the store?.”
Marty responded watching Watson walk to another green. “Yes we drove by it the other day.”
Goodies Market is a convenience store two and half blocks from the house. People stopped there mostly for cigarettes, beer and lottery tickets. It has been reported somebody once purchased a can of Hormel sausages during a power outage all using assorted change.
Beside the fact that Marty should not be smoking Swisher Sweets, what could possibly go wrong?
Marty took the keys, set his cell phone on the coffee table, and walked with pace to the car. He thought to himself they probably paid too much for this car. Still he liked the way the car felt under his stern command and his newfound freedom
He easily found drive and for a second ignored the fact public radio was playing in the car. He switched off the radio as he turned the car onto a busy 39th street. He soon found the store he was looking for as he pulled into Goody’s parking lot.
The door on the front of the store read PULL as he pushed it open. A bell quietly jingled marking his entrance. Marty knew his way around convenience stores and he walked right to the counter and asked for six packs of Swisher Sweets.
The owner Jeff asked, “How are you today sir?”
Marty was never really comfortable talking to people who spoke multiple languages. Jeff is a kind man from Korea who treated his customers with warmth and always had something nice to say.
“You people have such nice weather here. Where I am from I would be soaked in sweat by this time of day.”
“Yes it is the same like in Korea”
“I am sure it is.”
Marty handed Jeff his credit card and Jeff indicated he should enter his PIN.
“Could you put that through as a credit?” Marty said as he handed Jeff a crumpled twenty-dollar bill.
“You pay cash thank you.”
Marty went out in the parking lot and stood in the dazzling dappled August sunshine. He lit a match and sparked up the Swisher on the first try. He was happy right now with an ample supply of smokes and a Hershey Bar he bought in the store. Life’s simple pleasures were not lost on him as he tried to figure where exactly was Korea. He finished his smoke and got back in the car as the smoke clung to his very soul.
Who knows where Marty went next. It is all conjecture. For that matter Goodies could be conjecture. It was three blocks back to the house and one would think that would be a fairly easy trek. Marty was never a master of detail and he lived and died by the short cut. He was always taking short cuts that never materialized. His other son had put a tracking device on his phone, as he would drive in weird tangents around Georgia never getting closer to his intended destination. It happened so frequently they put a tracking device on his car.
A mumpsimus is a stubborn person who insists on making an error in spite of being shown that it is wrong. Yes that could be Marty. Who knows, he could have taken an afternoon smoking cigars in random places however the comfort of the back porch suited him perfectly fine.
His son was sitting at work clear on the other side of town writing some paper that probably was never going to see the light of day, and then his phone quizzically rang.
“Hello”
“I lost your Dad”
“What”
“Against my better judgment I lent him the Rav4 to get Cigars at the store”
A silence hung in the jet stream
“How long ago?”
“Four hours ago”
“Did you try his cell phone?”
“It is on the coffee table.”
“Of course it is.”
“I will be right home. I am not sure how fast, as you know the traffic. Could you do me a favor and notify the police that he is missing”
Surprisingly traffic was not all that bad and his son made the usually arduously slow commute across the Columbia with very little traffic. He did not go directly home and drove to the Pharmacy, located about ten blocks from the house. He thought this would be the most likely place to find Marty, as they had been there together the previous night. He walked into the store as well as the hardware store right next door with nary a clue of his father.
As he walked back to the car he noticed something he never consciously saw before. There stood a pay phone. He thought to himself, what a curious place to have a payphone, I have not seen one of those in a long time.
He slowly drove the streets back home slowly hoping to see his father or even the Red Rav4. The area where he possibly ventured was only about one square mile. That is unless his Dad went on an adventure. That would be a bit out of character but not entirely out of the realm of possibility. It was a weird day and everything was within the realm of possibility. He knew his father’s mental function had been eroding slowly over the years. It was a slow process, witnessing it day by day, the changes were hard to detect. He tried to remember back to when he first noticed and it always seemed to be there.
His Dad was a bit a statistical anomaly. He had outlived the actuarial tables despite some hard years, a steadfast resistance to movement and an unwillingness to give up smoking even after he had given up smoking. He was truly worried and in his heart he knew he truly loved his Dad.
He arrived home only to be greeted by two local Policemen. He thought to himself at least it wasn’t an ambulance. Then he remembered he had asked his wife to call the police. The late afternoon air had turned warmer with a breeze blowing off the lake. Maybe it was the circumstance; there wasn’t a hint of optimism in the air.
The officers greeted him warmly and told them they had not been able to locate his father. The police asked him a few additional questions that almost seemed like it was from a script from a bad police show. One could argue it was a good police show. That is beside the point. They asked Marty’s son if he would ride around in the police car with them. They reasoned he knew the car and of course his Dad. His son of course agreed and took a slow ride around West Vancouver in search of a man, his cigars and the red get away car.
They first stop was Goodies market to confirm that Marty had been to the market. The son walked in without the policemen and asked Jeff if he had sold cigars to a balding older man earlier in the day. Jeff’s terse reply was spot on.
“Too many customers, I sell many cigars.”
So at that time they did not even have proof that had made it to Goodies market. That of course was within the realm of possibility. At this point anything is within the realm of possibility. Marty could have headed to the airport and taken a flight to see his girlfriend in South Carolina. That was somehow remotely possible at this juncture.
His son hopped back in the car and drove slowly around Vancouver for the next half hour. The town looked normal as ever with what was left of rush hour turned into late evening melancholy. He and the officers exchanged phone numbers as they dropped him off at his home.
“Honey what are you going to do?” his wife said as she greeted him at the door.
“Let me take one more ride around town and then we will simply have to wait.”
The six hours between is still a mystery to us all. As evening faded to dusk Marty was beside himself with irritation. In the back of his mind he felt like there might be a reason of concern for his six-hour disappearance. The last thing he wanted to happen was for this to get back to the rest of his family. He was either extremely embarrassed or proud of his half-day venture into the unknown. There were so many houses that looked the same and the only thing that changed was the angle of the sun. He made a left turn on a street that looked vaguely familiar as the sun blinded him from the west. He felt like he had never been here before and at the same time he felt he passed by here many times.
He recognized the Drug Store from the previous night and pulled into the parking lot slowly. He had to wait for a parking space as the employees from the hardware store were hauling bags of mulches in preparation for closing for the night. He thought to himself how could it already be becoming nighttime. He thought about the lightning bugs back home. He pondered where exactly was back home anymore. He certainly remembered the lightning bugs in the backyard of his childhood home.
Marty spotted a payphone sitting next to a homeless man and soon found a quarter or so in his pocket. For the life of me as I witness this story somehow a collect phone call needs to come into the story. Unfortunately it did not. A thunderstorm off into the distance would add perfect foreshadowing context. One must remember this is late August in the Pacific Northwest.
Marty had one problem and that being he had no idea the phone digits of either his son or wife. They were stored in his phone. He usually pushed a button. He suddenly had the bright idea to drive back to his son’s house to get his phone Then. he remembered that is what he has been trying to do all day.
In a former day and age Marty was a car salesman and got to drive many cars for periods less long than this recent escapade into near madness. Then in a moment of clarity he remembered these new cars had a mechanism of sorts where one could make a phone call. He then gently turned on the car and played with the knobs and buttons. He accidently turned up the volume and was mesmerized by the last few minutes of Marketplace on public radio.
Much to his surprise he came across a screen that displayed the numbers recently called. There in front of him was his son’s telephone number. He hastily wrote down the number on a Swisher Sweet box, with a pen he found on the center council.
One thing he certainly had a firm grasp on was how to use a payphone, He walked into the drugstore and asked for a few quarters in case he needed more. The clerked looked at him with a certain air of disbelief as it was policy not to give change and if they were to break policy one would have to offer bills in exchange.
“A shit” he yelled out visibly upset, frustrated and scared. He then, in a total move against the run of play, reached into his pocket and handed the clerk two crumpled dollar bills.
Marty walked toward the payphone outside the store and immediately tripped over the homeless person looking for spare change. He reached into his right pocket and gave her three quarters he put in his pocket six hours earlier.
He deposited the quarters in the phone slot and dialed the phone number he had inscribed in the box of Swisher Sweets. He was happy to get a ringtone.
I guess it happens to everybody, you wake up in the morning and find out you have an interview that afternoon. Random observations from a recent interview.
Novice tip number one. Go on that interview anyways as the worst thing that could happen is that you get a job that you really like. I am going to make an assumption that your resume is not padded with things you are not all that qualified to perform.
Ironic Novice tip number two. Learn how to use an iron. If you did not see an interview coming there is a chance that you probably did not take enough shirts to the dry cleaner. I am not a professional interviewer and I can hear the lukewarm argument that you should have plenty of shirts dry cleaned in preparation for moments such as this. Iron your favorite most comfortable shirt in the most ironic way. Concentrate on the sleeves and the collars as that is what people always see, That fancy starch in an aerosol can is going to kill the environment. Don’t expect your partner to do this for you, as they mastered this ritual years ago. That is why they are at work during this moment of crisis.
Sardonic Novice tip number Three- At this point it could be too late however by all means make sure your car is clean. If you are taking mass transit or an Uber to the interview skip this step. I am an owner of a Black Lab and a Jack Russell Terrier. They ride in the car once in awhile not knowing I have to get a job so I can buy them dog food and assorted treats. Dogs love you being home so they try to sabotage that effort by leaving dog hair all over the car. Vacuum your car before heading to an interview or convince the pups to get a job
Sardonic Novice tip number Four -How to Put on Suit
This may seem elemental however it is worth repeating. There is a systematic way to put on a suit. I highly recommend taking a shower before hand.
Put on that nicely ironed shirt. You will look ridiculous for awhile. Take that humility into the interview.
Tie your tie. At this point make sure your tie has not gathered any war wounds. You are not a professional interviewer and ties may be neglected for various reasons. (Please see note below)
Put on your socks. By all means wear your lucky socks. Nobody is going to see them.
Put on your pants. You may have lost weight or gained weight. If the pants don’t fit the jacket does not matter.
Put on your jacket to make sure it is in working order.
Now take off your jacket until you get to the interview. It will look worse for the wear if you wear it while driving.
Note Below Use Good Light While Dressing – Recently I went on a job interview and arrived on site and much to my dismay my tie looked like it was used as a rag to wipe up an oil spill. I didn’t notice in the dim light back home.
Overplanning Novice tip number Five – Plan to arrive very early. You have never been to where you are going and you are going to get lost. Your head is filled with enigmatic answers to forthcoming perplexing questions. The last thing on your mind is the correct exit to take off the parkway.
The Radio -And by all means no sports radio and no political radio. I highly recommend classical music. 89.1 in Portland is mostly perfect however it is absolutely spot on forcyour drive to the Interview.
You are Hungry Novice tip number Six – If you have a last minute interview the assumption is that you are hungry to get the job. However, something tells me you forgot to eat lunch. Grab something simple to eat. Munch on something simple and non messy like carrots or or a power bar. Let your voice speak not your stomach.
Quizzical Novice tip number Seven – I have no tips on interviewing. Interviewing is not your job. Just walk in there like this is the last interview you will ever have in your life. By all means enjoy yourself.
I guess it happens to everybody, you wake up in the morning and find out you have an interview that afternoon. Random observations from a recent interview.
