In this letter he talks about slacking off and not “sweating the small stuff.” I wholeheartedly subscribe to this policy. A lot of life is small stuff. Knowing how to discern the small from the big, that takes skill.
A side benefit as I tackle this project is the pleasure of learning about pop culture during this time. “The Les Crane Show” – a show Mickey enjoyed – aired in 1963 and was on for about a year, going head-to- head in a battle against The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson. PS. He lost.
He was a jack of all trades: beginning his career in radio, then moving to TV and then computer software. Does anyone younger than 45 remember Mavis Beacon typing lessons? Well, Les Crane was the chairman of the company that made “Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing.” According the the New York Times obituary from 2008, he was deemed an original “shock-jock” because he invited guests such as George Wallace and Lee Harvey Oswald’s mother onto his show. He sometimes hung up on viewers who called in to his show, a big faux pas back then.
The next letter I read was from February 1966. (I had to skip January letters because so many letters are all just “Arlene, I love you” or “Arlene, you are my life.”) I’ve never known anyone to love another being like this, except in fictional stories, from the words of great legendary authors. When I began this project, I wanted to know more about the kind of person my dad was. The single most important thing I’ve learned was how deeply someone can love another person.
He mentions Valentine’s Day and because we just made it through the same day 55 years later, I have to post some of the cards that he sent during this time. What was it about graphic art back in the 1960’s? This is an invitation for anyone who knows more about this topic to please get in touch with me. These are some of the wackiest, zaniest and borderline-terrifying images I’ve seen. The insides of the cards ran a bit on the edgier side, so I’m not including some of them. Enjoy.
In this letter Mickey mentions getting a letter from Benjy, who was my mom’s younger brother. (I’ve mentioned my Aunt Roz in previous posts, Arlene’s older sister by 14 months. My mom also has another younger sister, my Aunt Annie.) My Uncle Benjy was the first gay person I knew. He hated the name Benjy and legally changed it to Greg when he got older. My grandparents still called him Benjy, and our birthday cards were always signed “Love, Uncle GregBen.” When I was little, we didn’t really know what being gay meant beyond knowing he had a boyfriend. All I remember was that he was lots of fun to be around. I can still remember his laugh, and how we used to just crack up over silly things. He died in 1996, from numerous complications from HIV. He was 37 years old.
My uncle Greg/Ben
Like a lot of the letters, Mickey talks of having children in this one. My mom explained to me that their plans were to have two children, and then adopt two children. One of the hardest things to read in these letters is all of the future plans that never got fulfilled.
In addition to learning the basics about Mickey, the letters give insight into exactly the kind of person he was. It’s already been established that he was just “such a good person.” But reading his own words drive this home over and over. He talks of what it’s like to argue with someone you love.
Last week was the first time my brother Andy (yes just like my husband), and I talked about Mickey. (Though his given name was Ralph Michael Marks, everyone called him Mickey. It’s weird to refer to my father by a nickname, and not call him “Dad” or “Daddy.” But we never had a chance to form any kind of bond or deep relationship with him. And because there was never that familiarity, he’s always been this omni-present stranger in our lives.)
Andy’s never read these letters. He felt that they were too personal, too intimate to read. I would repeatedly ask him over the years if he ever wanted to read them. A quiet and firm “no, thank you” was always his answer.
I’m sure there’s another photo of Andy clutching a KISS album.
It sounds really bizarre that we’ve never talked about this tragedy. When we were younger, we were close, and we’d make up silly games to play. But never once did we talk about Mickey together. And we knew not to ask about the fine details because we didn’t want to upset our mom. It was as if any question could re-open a wound that never quite healed.
As we talk, neither of us is wistful nor sad. Just matter-of-fact, like we were discussing the weather. We considered what kind of people we would have turned out to be, had circumstances been different. Andy thinks he’d be less self-critical, maybe more confident. Sometimes I think the same about myself. But we’ll never know.
How can you mend a broken heart?
Barbra Streisand, who also lost her father when she was an infant, has spoken about how this experience has affected her life, article here: http://bit.ly/3p4zwgo. (Trivia note: This is not the only thing we have in common with her. She attended Erasmus Hall High School in Brooklyn, the school that our stepfather taught at for years. Second Streisand trivia note: Some of my favorite memories are driving to my cousins’ house in Hackettstown, NJ while my mom belted out the entire Guilty Duets album with Barry Gibb.)
STILL ONE OF MY FAVORITE ALBUMS EVER.
In an interview she mentions how during tough times in her life, she looked to her father for answers and guidance. It made me think – Did I ever do that? It was only during seminal moments in my life. When I graduated college. When I got married. It was a quick status check-in, usually framed around “Hey, you seeing this?” As if I just wanted him to know what I was up to, checking the box on accomplishing big events.
Now, don’t judge me here, but when Andy and I talked, it was also the first time I learned the meaning of Pink Floyd’s The Wall album. Andy’s a huge musicophile, so he knows a lot about certain bands and albums. He taught me that when he was in college, this album touched Andy the most. It was all about how Roger Waters dealt with being a rock star, and he built a wall between him and the world. He started with the death of his father in the war, who died before he was born. His dad’s death was “the first brick” in the wall.
Losing my father left an exposure, something incomplete. But rather than close myself off, I think I did the opposite – welcome everything and anything in, to help fill the void.
My father was assigned to Communications. In this letter he mentions a new technology where messages are transmitted and received simultaneously from other countries. He marvels at this – and it made me sad because it just hit home the myriad things that he never got to experience. The internet. Email. Mobile phones. GPS. Netflix. Cat videos. The 1986 World Series Mets. Digital music. Online anything. Meatless meat. On demand EVERYTHING.
For anyone who’s lost someone you were close to, there are times when you could find yourself saying “Oh, So-and-so would have loved to see/hear/do this!” But it’s never happened in my family. We never discussed what he may have thought, or how he might have reacted to…well, pretty much anything. It is too painful to wonder. To let in the mind space that there could have been more life with my dad in it, is to open back up the grief for a life cut too short.
Entertaining even a notion about what my dad would have thought about driverless cars just was too much to bear.
This letter is really long so I’m only posting a portion of it. It’s Mickey recounting a letter his father, Albert (my Poppa), wrote to him while he was stationed in Okinawa.
(In case you don’t know where Okinawa is:)
This is where my father was stationed. He never had to go to Vietnam.
Since I never got to see my father with his parents, this section ( second and third paragraphs) shows a slice of how they were to each other.
Even after my father had passed, my Nana and Poppa still came to visit us, even after my mom got married again. They were so loving toward each other and just great to visit with. My Poppa would walk us to elementary school in the morning or meet us to walk me and my brother home.
They were the kindest and gentlest people and were crushed when my father died so suddenly. I don’t think they ever got over the loss.
Learning about the father I never knew, in his own words.
