People younger than 60 are welcome to read this column, especially ones who have trouble recalling names on short notice. But mostly this column is for the older crowd. For many of us, because of illnessor disability or just from too many birthday parties, dredging up names quickly can be a chronic stress and embarrassment.
For instance:
Here comes someone down Main Street. We’ve known one another 20 years, and we grin and stick out our right hands. He says, “Jim! Great to see you! How’re you doing?” And I’m struck dumb. What the hell’s this old friend’s name? And so I temporize.
“I’m doing well, buddy! I say heartily. I add, “How are things in your world?” hoping desperately his response will bring some hint. And he says (of course), “Great, too. I know you were sorry to hear about Fred.”
As a hint, that’s a dud. In fact, it worsens things! Is Fred sick, dead, in a messy divorce, locked up in jail or rehab? Is Fred a brother, uncle, wayward son or grandson, mutual friend? I try a sympathetic shake of my head. “Well, I’m really sorry about it.” He shrugs.
“It happens to us all, I guess.” “WHAT?” I don’t yell that, but instead try, “How long ago did it happen?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Louise. She’s the one who remembers things.”
Forget Fred! I’ve got the guy’s wife’s name! But why did it have to be “Louise”? Why not Bernice or Hyacinth or Serena — some name that might strike a match inside my sodden head? And worse! Louise may be this guy’s sister or daughter, or maybe his secret squeeze that he presumes that I, his old friend, already know about. Oh, Lord! I try a shotin the dark.
“And how’s Louise doing these days?” I ask this with cheery concern, but his face darkens.
“Well, she’s back in school again. Didn’t know if that was going to happen after the split-up and then the accident.
But she’s back on her feet, with just a little hitch in her walk.” He tries a weak grin. “I dunno, some guy might find that little bit of a roll pretty sexy. Maybe she’ll get another man out of it. God knows she needs help with the twins and Fred — he’s 13 now.”
FRED AGAIN! Is it this teenage Fred the one that was first mentioned? Was he in the accident with Mary and now is in trouble in school? Or is he Fred, Jr.?
Or was Mary married to some bum named Fred, some fool who couldn’t hold a job, insisted his name was spelled Phred, and finally fricasseed his liver with a quart of booze a day? Is Phred in jail? Drying out? In a vegetative state?
Help! I’m losing track of all this, and so I pull the most shameless trick in the book. I suddenly look surprised, glance at my watch, and say hurriedly, “Hey, old friend, I’d like to hear more about this. But if I miss another dental appointment, my Anne’s going to skin me.” He laughs.
My Alice’s that way with me, too. You go along. We shake hands and, on a sudden impulse, he gives me a big hug!
“You keep truckin,’ Jim.” His voice is choked with emotion. “Old friends are the best friends!”
We part, and I head off down the sidewalk, feeling like a shamed dog. I stop dead in front of Sal’s Pizzeria.
Wait! His wife’s name is Alice. I strain my cerebrum, but it doesn’t help. And so I go in Sal’s and have a meat-eater’s slice, my favorite. It’s great comfort food but doesn’t help my memory ...
You all know moments like that, don’t you? But here comes help, galloping in like the cavalry. I got the word at the Farmer’s Market from Mary Marx. She’s got a solution!
Mary and I were commiserating about name problems, which she says that she shares with a large circle of friends.
They’ve made a delightful, practical contract among them: 1) We’ve known each other for years by talents, quirks, rich personalities. 2) That kind of real knowledge is more important than any name tag attached to a neck, a tag temporarily out of sight. 3) So, failing immediate recall, let’s use any name that comes to mind, and let’s respond with laughter when others have to do the same!
And laugh they do, says Mary, especially when the substitute name is especially off the wall. Hortense, maybe, or Bathsheba or Clytemnestra.
What an inspiration, Mary! You could have simply contracted to use “George” for any unidentifiable man, or “Helen” for any such woman. But your group decided on something more imaginative, more zany; something that reflects the best solution to any unchangeable annoyance. Laugh at it!
I’m recommending Mary’s practice to all of you in our tight little community. If we all agree, then we’ve solved the problem. And what a relief for us.
I’m giving fair warning: Mary’s practice is going to be my own. So best wishes, friends, from Clovis or Hildebrand or whoever that wobbly What’s-His-Name is, out in Fly Creek.
Columns
Thanks, Bathsheba!
- Columns
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In These Otsego Hills: Continuing on from 1986 ...
We continue this week by answering the question we asked if anyone remembers the old Cooperstown National Bank? On May 13, we wrote: “Martha Dickison, Delaware Street, called to tell us about the Cooperstown National Bank where she worked at her first ‘real job’ after her graduation from school.
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Up On Hawthorn Hill: Spring inventions
The second line of Lawrence Durrell’s novel “Justine” reads as follows: “In the midst of winter you can feel the inventions of Spring.” I first read all four novels of his magnificent Alexandria Quartet during the year I traveled from Saigon to Paris after working in Vietnam for a refugee organization for several years.
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From Fly Creek: Revving up for spring
Time to bring you up to date on Fly Creek’s happy clambering into Spring. First, the eatery scene. “Is Jerry’s open yet?” The answer is, “Oh, yes!” The porches are freshly stained; the lawns a uniform green, and the hop vines are already climbing the posts on the covered side deck. Blue and I went up there to lunch earlier this week, and I celebrated spring with my traditional bacon, onion and Swiss cheese hamburger. We two sat on the deck, enjoying the broad view and some spectacular clouds marching across, up toward Schuyler Lake.
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In These Otsego Hills: More from 1986 ...
This week we continue with the discussion of telephone service from the pre-dial days. On March 12 we noted that: “No one has yet produced a telephone directory from pre-dial days, but Doug Preston of New Hartford recalls that some business (which one?) in the village had the phone number 7.”
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Home Notes: Celebrations abound at the Thanksgiving Home
April was a month of celebrations and much to appreciate. We had a 90th birthday celebration for Wanda Noyes on April 4 including her family and friends. Personal care staff Dee Bouck worked with residents to hand paint Easter eggs for the tree in the activity room.
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In These Otsego Hills: 1986 continues ...
This week we continue our journey through the columns of 1986 with the answer to the question “for whom, according to tradition, was Hannah’s Hill named?”
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Book Notes: Baseball book features local contributors
Baseball is part of the nation’s fabric. Most kids have a memory of the game either from playing Little League, attending a major league contest or meeting a favorite player. In Cooperstown that feeling is magnified since we are the official home of baseball. We get to see firsthand what has made the sport the national pastime.
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From Fly Creek: Ya really wanna know?
SETTING: Fly Creek General Store. CAST: Assorted seated geezers, drinking coffee. [Door opens, enter heavy-set geezer; walking slowly with wide stance, maybe prostatitis.]
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In These Otsego Hills: Returning to 1986 ...
For the past several years now we have undertaken sharing some of the area’s oral history we have collected over the years that we have written this column. Therefore, this year, we would like to go back to 1986 to share that rather unusual year. Those who were here then no doubt remember that it was that year that the village celebrated the bicentennial of its founding.
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From Fly Creek: For reasons unknowable
[Jim’s reached back to 2002 to share one of his favorite columns.] My father was born as the last century began into a river village in tidewater Maryland. He told me once of a man there in his boyhood who, like so many, made a thin living tonging for oysters in the cold months and, in the hot and humid ones, crabbing and raising vegetables.
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In These Otsego Hills: CCS balancing act ... side two
Last week we shared a number of activities in which students at CCS can participate. We thought it was an impressive, if not overwhelming, list. And we are indeed pleased that the young people of our area have these opportunities. However, we think it is also important to keep in mind that these undertakings do have a cost associated with them. They are not free. In fact there are, no doubt, those who would say they do not come cheap.
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From Fly Creek: A graceful crowd
Make of this what you will, friends. I feel I’m really meant to share it with you. Despite good medication for my Parkinsonism, every four or five weeks I can sensethe symptoms building up on me, giving me more than ordinary trouble. Lately it’s been falls, and last week brought a typical one. I’d gone out to get the paper, moving along with penguin steps on the snowcoved ice patches, and usingmy spike-tipped cane the waya climber uses an ice axe. But circumstances overcame me. Parkinson’s wipes out the possibility of multi-tasking.
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In These Otsego Hills: This and that and the other side ...
We note that the CCS Class of 2012 is presenting its senior class play, “Snow White” by Tim Kelly, this week with performances 7:30 p.m Thursday and Friday, March 29 and 30, and at 11 a.m. and 7:30 p.m. Saturday, March 31. All performances will be at the Nicolas J. Sterling Auditorium at the Middle/High School.
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In These Otsego Hills: That green thing ...
Of late we have noticed that our email inbox has been much busier than usual. In fact, we find ourselves hard pressed to keep up with all the various messages we receive. As a result we suspect we have not answered some in as timely a fashion as might be thought appropriate.
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From Fly Creek: What you need to know
In their last Sunday’s bulletins, all 84 churches of Otsego County were to have carried announcements of an important meeting; most of them did. But because the announcement is so important, and not just to the churched, here it is again.
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Book Notes: Living the magic of ‘Hoosier’
A lot of people consider “Hoosiers” the best sports film of all time. The 1986 classic follows the exploits of a fictional small town Indiana high school basketball team in 1952 as it attempts to achieve the impossible dream of a state championship. The story is inspired by the true life achievement of the 1954 Milan team, who with an enrollment of only 161 students shocked big city power Muncie Central on a last second shot to win the state title. It’s the kind of sports story that represents something that is hard to grasp unless you live in a small town.
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In These Otsego Hills: The most perfect village... home to heavy industry?
We suspect we would get a whole lot more accomplished if we spent less time thinking, pondering and musing about things. In fact, there is a good possibility we might actually have completed our goal of cleaning the basement if we only focused on the task at hand, instead of trying to figure out the world around us. It almost makes us wonder if it is possible to think too much about things. We certainly hope not because should that be the case, we are in deep trouble.
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Up On Hawthorn Hill: The past in the present
Clichés abound about the value of photographs. Most are probably true at least to a certain extent. What I do know about an image is that it represents something of the past that is not the pastitself. But that is the power of any image. It represents something that once was. The beauty of an image, revisited, is that it functions as a catalystfor reliving in the present a past experience. My own view, one that I thank the Spanish writer Jorge Luis Borges for, is that all we ever can experience is the present.
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Home Notes: Workshops held for Thanksgiving Home residents
We welcomed Linda Keller, Ph.D. of the Bassett Research Institute and Ida Baker of NYCAMH who presented a six-week workshop for residents and staff.
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From Fly Creek: Late-winter hamlet news
Well, at least I’m “guessing” it’s late winter now — in the winter that wasn’t. But, if not snow, I can provide a flurry of Fly Creek news to share with you, scooping Associated Press, Reuter’s, and United Press International, not to mention all local news services except our General Store.
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In These Otsego Hills: Continuing on from 1986 ...
