LITMIR.BIZ

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the paper was the named winner but Fred, Alan and Charlie were singled out, and I was credited as lead reporter. Lead reporter!

      Friday afternoon, Fred told me to clear my calendar for an important assignment but he refused to tell me anything more. About seven he came by and steered me in the direction of our local watering holes, not normally a venue for breaking news. Turned out to be a party at the Spike, part celebration of the Pulitzer, part my nine-and-a-half year anniversary with the paper. In his speech Fred said no matter how valuable I was, the Gazette could afford only one party. Thoughtfully Fred invited my Kells crowd and Diane too, which I appreciated.

      The highlight was Ray Archibald’s presentation of a skin-tight Hydrocarbon Man outfit, red and yellow and blue, specially tailored for me. Of course I had to model it, and it was so hard to get off I just left it on. It made for a warm and clammy evening but yielded some great pictures. Diane had engaged Kristen for the weekend so we stayed in and celebrated, playing at being adults for the first time in a long while.

      First week of May we celebrated Peter’s First Holy Communion. I was relieved Diane went along, and with apparent good humor. She came to the ceremony and even her parents showed up. I hadn’t seen Jim or Catherine for some time. When I called them a few weeks before, Jim begged off but Catherine accepted. She and Stan and the girls arrived the day before and we put them up in our guest room, their two on guest beds with Emma, their adopted sister. The night before we had a gala reunion and a fine meal, courtesy of Kristin who cooked well when motivated. Honoring my special request she baked a big ham. Outstanding. The afternoon before, Peter made his first confession. I had no intention of grilling him but when he came home I asked how it went. “Okay, I guess.”

      “You feel better than before?”

      He paused. “I didn’t feel bad to start with.”

      “Good.” Times have changed, I thought, but he’s a different kind of kid, too, doesn’t take everything so seriously. A nice balance between caring and worrying. That’s progress.

      When we got home from Peter’s event Diane said she needed to spend time on her work so I took the kids for a walk along the town beach. Watching the children run back and forth, Peter and Paul, unmatched twins, longish hair flowing in the breeze, Emma, now four, our golden girl. Beautiful children... thank you God for such a gift. As I strolled the beach I recalled the dense, complex society that enveloped me on my big day. It saddened me to realize my children would never experience drop-in Canadians or raucous Irish or fistfights and wrestling, or making up after. And only one set of grandparents, another sadness. For the sake of my profession, my ambition, I had distanced myself from the people and places that defined me. Time’s arrow flies away, it doesn’t curve back. But, I thought, our kids are well accepted and happy, it’s wrong to think of their scene as some lesser shadow of my own.

      For Diane’s birthday I got tickets to Abba, the Swedish group we both liked. I thought it was great but in the car driving home Diane seemed out of sorts. “Did you notice, we were the oldest people there,” she said.

      “You’re a year older, you’re just sensitive.”

      “No, I mean it, we were the oldest people there.”

      “I’ll bet you there were some, somewhere, older than us.”

      “I didn’t see them.”

      “There were twenty thousand people.”

      “That doesn’t matter. You didn’t even notice.”

      “I noticed there were a lot of young people but so what? We happen to like young people’s music. That should make you feel good, not bad.”

      I shook my head as Diane lapsed into a sulk. Disheartening. But I am built to keep trying.

      Several Vietnam films had appeared. I read the reviews but that’s as close as I wanted to get. No, that’s not right – I was interested, but worried how they might affect me. Same with the novels and memoirs starting to surface. I finished Going After Cacciato – its farcical tone probably helped. One day I noticed The Deer Hunter, said to be a powerful film, was playing at our local arts theater. After working up my courage I told Diane I was ready, and one Friday night we went. Good thing it was a Friday. The film laid me low all weekend. I had nightmares for a month, some nights waking up screaming. Diane had grown used to my normalcy and for the most part so had I, but the jungle is never very far off. She wanted to shield the children from my problem. One day I would speak to them about all this.

      I NEED TO TELL YOU ABOUT PAUL JUNIOR. Mid-summer he was confined to bed with a strep throat. After a dose of antibiotics and taking it easy he seemed back on his game, playing outside, all the normal things. Then he began complaining of pain in his legs, his arms ached and his breathing was labored. Our pediatrician ran a series of tests. That evening as I put him to bed Paulie joked about the wires they’d hooked up to him, how the goo they used was cold and tickled. That evening the phone rang. Diane picked it up. She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Doctor Taylor,” she whispered. The call went on a good ten minutes. She listened, nodding her head. When she hung up she turned to me.

      “He says Paulie may have rheumatic fever. They want him in the hospital for more tests. If that’s what it is, they’ll have to begin treatment.”

      “The poor little guy.” I got up and put my arm around her shoulders.

      She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “You know, I had a feeling something bad was going to happen.” She bit her lip, “everything’s been going along so well. I mean, we’re just making it up as we go along. It was too perfect.”

      We gave Paulie the news in the morning, then told Peter who understood and Emma who didn’t but sensed something bad was happening. Two mournful sets of eyes followed Paulie who waved from the car window as we drove away.

      There had been significant damage to the mitral valve. A surgical option existed but wasn’t recommended for someone this young. Handle it with medication and lifestyle. After he was released and put in his downtime, he could look forward to a mostly normal life, though no heightened physical activity at first. A steady, gradual regimen, build himself up, injections every two weeks, unclear for how long but at least five years. And always the chance some future illness, itself innocent, could trigger a recurrence or burden his weakened heart beyond its limit. Back home, Paulie picked up more or less where he had been, but as we strove for normalcy an undercurrent of fear was there that was new.

      What was I to think about Diane’s intuition? I suppose if you play Cassandra long enough eventually you’ll hit the mark. I didn’t believe in hexes, anyway she didn’t tell me until after the fact.

      2. Carter Agonistes

      SADAT AND BEGIN DESERVE OUR THANKS. It takes courage to do the right thing, especially when you know it’ll make you enemies. Sadat’s neighbors liked what he did on the battlefield, but settling accounts across a table? No way. Something wrong with that picture. Use your strength, then put the other tools to work. Give Carter credit, too. He could have sent them packing, but he didn’t.

      And look who’s nosing around now – our former acting governor, making like he’s California’s gift to the nation. Back then the last thing he wanted was for us to solve our problems. Scatter the marbles, pocket them for yourself and your friends, that was his way. Nothing’s changed. And you can’t ignore him, not the way the country’s tacking to starboard. Government is the problem, he says. Tell that to the millions of folks the New Deal saved. But memory is short, and no match for the siren song. My grand old liberals, where are you when we need you? Oil plus economy plus a committed, well-financed opposition – Jimmy is in deep trouble. Speaking of oil, I was pleased when Paul got the Pulitzer, surprised too. Shows how much I know. And the photos from that dinner I found in the file are fun.

      I also was fascinated by the new Pope – political acumen and a made-to-order bully pulpit. Even then it seemed to me Europe was ripe for change and here was a guy who just might make the difference. Of course. I never bought

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