In my twelve years of public education, 1956-1968, there were mostly competent educators, a few misfits and twelve stand-up, top flight professionals, who either were my teachers of record or served as mentors beyond the immediate classroom.
One, Miss Bernis Hanlon, passed on, over the weekend. She was my fifth grade teacher, and one of two at the Felton School, Saugus, MA, who went above and beyond, when it came to building character. It was largely Miss Hanlon’s influence that brought me out of my shell, had me at least approach a modicum of competence in a few sports and join the Boy Scouts. She taught us that boys and girls, working together, accomplish three times as much, as the genders working separately. She taught me that having a then little-known disability (mild autism) was never an excuse for not doing one’s level best. She built on the framework which my third grade teacher, the then Miss Joanne Nugent, had started.
Fast forward, to 1966-67, my Junior Year at Saugus High School. I had survived junior high school, the awkwardness, the quirky behaviour, which had generated taunts from otherwise good people, and the fires of our eighth grade year. Only the stalwart protection of Mr. Paul O’Brien, who died earlier this year, and Mr. Ron Ahern, and the character education of the late Miss Gladys Fox,kept me on an even keel. I had endured inept teachers, in three of my freshman classes. I had mastered grammar and punctuation, with the guidance of Miss Miriam Kochakian, as a Sophomore. It was the junior year that brought Mr. John Quinlan and understanding of Algebra, Mr. Bernard Hussey and a stellar United States History class, Mrs. Lillian Pittard Bisbee, and love of prose, and the renewed mentorship of Miss Hanlon, by then a colleague of Mrs. Bisbee and a full-on enthusiast of poetry and drama. The two ladies set the stage for Mrs. Katherine Vande and the best creative writing instruction I have ever had (Senior English).
Miss Hanlon was an integral part of that A-Team of mine, and I can’t imagine how my life would have played out, without her presence. I know she is smiling down on all of us whom she loved, with that reassuring, infectious Irish grin.
There was no obligatory Mother’s Day post here, this year. The Second Sunday itself was largely taken up with funerary rites. Mom got a call from me in the evening, though two earlier attempts were made. She’s on the move yet, during the day, so evening always seems to work best.
She loves the roses, and will hopefully have some idea of what I can do, come July, regarding helping to renovate our family home of 62 years. Those are more welcome gifts than tying up the phone, which she finds tiresome, after ten minutes or so. Perhaps the best gift I can give her, though, is maintaining a positive attitude. It’s gotten her through nearly nine decades, and keeps her on top of what goes on, day by day.
My second brother, also a model of positivity, came through today’s medical procedure, ready as ever to get back to taking on the world. He helps guide the company that produces some of Boston’s finest frankfurters (“hot dogs” is not the term of choice there).
That news is indicative of this month: Warm and cool days intermingle. Death and suffering are dovetailed with love and recovery. Years ago, my over-correcting, on a California surface road, almost derailed our pending marriage, but warmer hearts and cooler heads prevailed. Fifteen years later, I had walking pneumonia, which took well into June to disappear. Now, twenty years further on, I am in the penultimate week of a challenging, but largely successful, academic year, and my first full-time stint since 2004. ( A brief internship with a rather mercenary “social service” agency, in 2009, hardly counts.)
May, 2017 has met its Ides, and the year as a whole is moving along, much faster than the previous two. I wonder what Quantum Physics has to say about such things.
I have, as most are aware, led a life that has been far from conventional. My love and I did not play by the rules, as much as we might have, when purchasing our home, in 2003. I did proudly bring in my mortgage check, for five years, whilst juggling her increasingly unpredictable medical state. Then came the Madoff scandal, which hit us, indirectly. Then came the “Great Recession”, bankruptcy and short sale. Three years later, she was gone. Son moved on with his life, a testament to our own resiliency, and his.
We, the survivors, are hanging in there. He’s fine in Busan, South Korea, as far as I can tell. I am stable in Prescott, as far as I can tell. Money is tight, but no matter. Those who played by the rules have their struggles, as well. In the end, we each have what we’ve earned, and little else.
My autism has made me different, from day one. I approach new situations, new groups of people, from a distance, with some caution.That’s caused issues with others, who jump into newness with both feet, and think a delayed response is a sign of apathy. It’s caused initial issues with women, who are more in tune with connection. After reading my heart, much of that has faded away, but it still irks me- that I can’t.quite. be. as forthcoming with new friends, as seems reasonable.
Life is better now, though. At this age, most of those around me have either been through their own scar-fests (my contemporaries and elders) or are heart-readers (children and teens). I have one goal, for my own behavioural exchequer: Feel less inclined to hang back, in new situations. ACCEPT that most people are naturally inclined to be social, to be accepting, themselves.
There was a magnificent scrum of motor vehicles, and drivers, when I arrived at the parking lot of Taco Don’s, and took my place in the rapidly forming motorcade. The hearse and family cars were followed by the motorcycles, then the classic cars (Jayme was a car buff, being from eastern LA County) and us friends and admirers, taking up the caboose end.
We set out ahead of time, and had cleared Prescott, by the time we were originally supposed to leave. Some stragglers caught up with us, on Highway 89A, and passed ahead, to get to their designated spots. By the time we reached Jerome, and wended our way through the “ghost town’s” streets, everything was in perfect order. Jerome, like much of the Central Highlands, is in full bloom. Here are some lupines, that graced our view.
We reached Immaculate Conception Catholic Church, on the northwest side of Cottonwood, with 30 minutes to spare. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the church’s cross-street neighbour had set up two golden Dol Harubangul (Korean “stone grandfathers”, the symbol of Jeju, where we lived from 1986-92). This was very much something that Jayme would have found wildly amusing. As the statues are usually black volcanic rock, this was definitely a nod to the area’s mining culture.
Immaculate Conception is a spacious, majestic parish church- almost cathedralesque, in size and airiness. The celebrant priest, also a friend of Jayme’s, noted that the man “felt at home here”, making frequent trips over the mountain, on Sunday mornings, perhaps because of the exhilaration one feels, when going through the pines, and along Jerome’s streets. The church felt quite homelike for us, this morning, with a robust celebration of Jayme’s relationship with his Lord and an outpouring of love, from his family and closest friends.
The exquisite service left me chastened, as funerals so often do. I thought, once more, of my own ongoing mission, knowing that being there for others, something that Jayme Salazar did so well, and at which I am improving, is imperative. We will all gather again, in his memory, on May 20, for a Fiesta Grande, at Prescott’s Watson Lake Park. I promised his dearest friend that I would be there early and leave late.
One other nice touch- when I stopped for lunch, at Colt Grill, in Old Cottonwood, the soundtrack featured Mike and The Mechanics’ “The Living Years” and REM’s “Everybody Hurts”. The Universe always speaks clearly.
“If you don’t give up and don’t give in, you may just be okay.” – Mike Rutherford
I am freshly returned from a visitation for one of Prescott’s genuine champions.The concept of waking, a seemingly odd term for remembering a departed soul, prior to burial or often, in these days, cremation, is perhaps in hopes that death is not a real thing.
I don’t know if that’s accurate or not, but the life of Jayme Salazar (he pronounced his name alternately in English and in Spanish), came back before those listening to the eulogies.His childhood and adolescent antics, presented by his older sister, were reassuring to all, that a full life proceeded from that awkward time. A lifelong friend of his recounted the man’s intense work ethic, combined with a genuine love of people, which established his Taco Don’s Restaurant as one of the city’s premier lunch venues, and a true gathering place.
He came came here from California, by way of Las Vegas, as so many of us have come here from farther afield. Jayme found that the mountains, lakes, dells and grasslands of the area, but above all, the earthiness of the people, were a capturing force. That he gave his life here, in the shadow of Granite Mountain, was the ultimate giving back.
Some six years ago, I saw my beloved wife go homeward, to the Light, in a more prolonged way, but not dissimilar period of service to the children and general citizenry of a western suburb of Phoenix. Any home in which we ever lived together was open to countless people. Any school in which she ever worked was the center of our married life, with work and love likewise moving in tandem.
So, I understood, fully, standing in the anteroom of the funeral home, this evening, that priceless spirit, that brings casual customers and acquaintances of a loving soul to a sense that here moved a lifelong friend; here lived a steadfast pillar.
To each one to whom I’ve bid farewell, these many years, let me close with the voice of Enya.
Jayme, Penny, Norm, Dad, Brian, Colonel Mortimer, Uncle George, Aunt Adeline, Margaret, Mike C. and so many standing beside you, in the Legions of Light, thank you, for having lit my way and for lighting the night.
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A Sagittarian Seeker 