A Life in Four Colors Part Fifty-Seven

Early on, Susan and I had made a plan: I would take advantage of my academic scholarship at Berry College to get my degree, also working part-time while Susan worked full-time. Once I completed my degree, I would get a job and work full-time while Susan would go back to school.

Susan always said that going back to school seemed like an impossible dream. She was the first person in her family to graduate from high school, but she assumed that would mark the end of her education. It wasn't that her grades weren't adequate--they were. Susan was brilliant, in fact. But her family had pressured her to take a job as soon as possible to add to the family's meager income, and she acquiesced, going to work in the payroll department of the Arrow Shirt Factory. She worked there until my graduation from Berry in 1975, and her paycheck covered most of our living expenses for those four years. I worked twenty to thirty hours a week to supplement our income, but I earned less  per hour than she did. Nevertheless, we had a plan, and we were going to make it work.

The spring quarter of 1975 (Berry was on the quarter system then, not the semester system) presented us with a  major challenge. I had decided that I wanted to be a teacher, and part of that process required that I student teach for a quarter. Berry College did not allow its student teachers to work while actively student teaching, which meant that we were going to have to get by for twelve weeks with only Susan's income.

Susan and I were always planners, and that's what saved us. Beginning in September before I started student teaching in March, we cut our "fun budget" to almost nothing, squirreling away all the cash we might have spent on comics, books, and record albums. We limited ourselves to only one modest Christmas present for the other. We curtailed our usual trips to Cumberland Mall in Marietta. The frugal living paid off: by the time the spring quarter began, we actually had saved enough money to get us through on Susan's income until the fall, when I would start teaching.

Two things altered our plans--one good and one bad.

The good thing? It turned out that, since I had a teaching contract to start in mid-August, few employers were looking to hire me in mid-June (after I graduated from Berry) for an eight-week period. At the time, Georgia' unemployment law allowed me to receive a modest unemployment check every week for that eight-week period. I had no idea that was possible; it was my faculty advisor at Berry who had suggested I check into it. My unemployment was only $54 a week--but that was $54 a week we hadn't expected to have. We thought we were rich!

Thankfully, we didn't spend all that money. Our first big expenditure that summer was the lumber necessary for me to build a set of bookshelves for our living room. They were humble bookshelves, built meticulously to a plan that allotted so many shelves for standard sized hardcovers, so many for paperbacks, and so many for oversized books. The two units were four feet wide; one was eight feet tall, the other four feet tall. (That allowed us to decorate above the shorter unit.) I had plenty of time that summer since I wasn't working, so I devoted almost a week to assembling, sanding, staining, restaining, and sealing those shelves. I still have them in the basement; we both loved those shelves, and never dreamed of replacing them. Those shelves took almost $100 for high-quality white oak lumber plus the necessary stain, sealant, nails, screws, and other supplies.

Me sitting in our new chair with our bookshelves next to me

That was pretty much two weeks' unemployment, but we still had six weeks of other checks to supplement our budget. So we decided to splurge again and buy our first brand-new furniture in four years: a green and white clad swivel rocker and sofa set for our living room. The cost was $240, which was almost five weeks worth of unemployment checks. We debated long and hard on that, but we really wanted to replace the worn-out fold-out sleeper sofa in our living room, with its torn upholstery and lumpy mattress, and Susan said both the sofa and chair were just the right height. At only 5'2", she discovered that a lot of sofas and chairs had such deep seats that she either had to sit on the edge of the seat or her feet stuck out awkwardly if she leaned all the way back. We never got rid of the sofa and chair, either. In the 1990s, we had the worn upholstery refinished in a Southwestern fabric; Susan continued to use the chair until 2018, when she finally replaced it with a power recliner that brought her some relief from the disabling pain of a chronic illness; the chair was moved to the master bedroom, where it still sits today. The sofa? It's in the finished basement, where it has been since 2000.)

Our living room looked great (well, it looked great to us, at least)--and we were able to pay for everything without financing. We thought we were ahead of plan as far as our budget was concerned.

Susan sitting in the "just-the-right-size" swivel rocker

Remember that bad thing I mentioned?

Well, what I didn't know was that, while teachers started teaching in early August, first-year teachers didn't get their first paycheck until the last weekday in September. We had assumed that I would get some small check at the end of August, since I would have been working for three weeks by that time.

We assumed wrong.

As I said, we hadn't spent all the money: we had one unemployment check in the bank, along with the money we had saved over the fall and winter to get us through the spring and summer. It was a good thing we didn't fully restore our fun money budget: if we had, September 1975 would have been the first month in our married lives when we would have had to ask my parents to loan us money for living expenses--something we really didn't want to do, even though my parents would have undoubtedly helped us out with a loan.

I never forgot the dismay I felt when I learned that I would not get a check for seven and a half weeks after I started teaching. (Years later, when I became the guy who wrote the paychecks for Dr. No's Comics & Games, I said I would never make my employees face that sort of dismay. I have always paid my employees without a weekly hold-back, distributing paychecks on Monday that included all hours worked through the Sunday one day earlier. I still do that today; I don't want any co-worker at my store to struggle to cover the bills while waiting for a paycheck for work done a week earlier.)

We learned about the value of budgeting. We developed spaghetti and meat sauce recipes with double the spaghetti and a little less meat sauce. Our homemade soups were a little thinner. Our homemade chili had a lot more beans in it. We became regular shoppers at the Sunbeam Bread day-old outlet store in Cedartown. But we got through. And we were ready to begin phase two of our plan when Susan was accepted in Coosa Valley Tech's data processing program in September.

7305 Days

It's April 7th, 2020--the twentieth anniversary of the night that I died. I still remember every detail so vividly that it's hard for me to believe that it's been twenty years now. 11:35 PM--I was about to go to bed when I had an intense pain that began in my neck and jaw and rapidly expanded to encompass my chest and shoulder as well. I knew that whatever this was, it was more intense than anything I had ever felt before. On a hunch, I checked my blood pressure and discovered that it was extremely high at 170/110 (and I normally have low blood pressure), and my heart rate had skyrocketed to 150 bpm. I walked down the hall to the upstairs library, where Susan was watching television. "I think I'm having a heart attack." For a second, she thought I was joking--then she looked at my face and knew I wasn't. She told me later that she had never seen me more ashen than I was right then, and she was certain I was correct. I went downstairs to the kitchen, carrying the blood pressure cuff with me to see if things might improve. Susan called 911. We live less than a mile from a fire station, so EMTs responded in a matter of minutes. Their tests showed absolutely nothing wrong. "We think it's just bad indigestion," they said to me. I told them I was positive that it was not. They checked again. Still nothing wrong. Then, to make my point for me, my heart decided to quit beating. Susan told me later that the EMTs looked at me in surprise, then began to get the defibrillators. As they did, one of them looked at Susan and said, "He'll do anything to prove he's right, won't he?" She said in spite of the absolute terror she was feeling right then, she couldn't help but laugh. They were unable to start my heart after two tries in the house. They rolled me out to the ambulance and continued to work on me. Accoding to the paramedic, after six minutes had passed, he wasn't sure how many more times he should try, fearing brain damage from lack of oxygen. He tried once more. Nothing. Then, unwilling to give up, he tried yet again 6 minutes and 40 seconds after my heart had stopped. My heart started to beat. I remember waking up feeling relieved that the pain wasn't as severe, but I wasn't sure where I was. The EMT told me what had happened. He told me not to be afraid because we were almost at the hospital. I wasn't afraid. I was actually very calm. I had no vivid memories of bright lights or tunnels or anything like that, but from that point on I have never feared death--whatever happened that night left me certain that death wasn't the end of everything. When they got me to the cardiac intensive care unit, they did various things to stabilize me. Susan got there just a moment or two later, having followed the ambulance. She was overwhelmed with fear and anguish, not even sure if she would ever see me alive again. I smiled when she came in and held out my hand. She took it and wouldn't let go until they told her they had to take me away for a little while. I asked if there was a phone I could use before they did. I guess they thought I was going to call a family member and let them know what happened, so they got a phone for me. I called Brett. "Pick up quarters tomorrow morning for the store," I told him. "I had a heart attack and they won't let me do it." The days after that brought a series of tests, followed by the news that I had suffered a major heart attack with significant damage and major surgery was necessary. They told us that I had a 30% chance of survival until surgery, and they warned Susan that there was a significant chance I would not recover from the surgery. I was determined to prove them wrong. And when I did survive the surgery and they told me what I would need to do to get better, I promised Dr. Mike, my cardiologist, that I would be the most perfect cardiac patient he had ever treated if he would just keep me alive. (I also reminded him that I had never written down his comic book pull list at my store, where Dr. Mike had shopped every week for 18 years, and that if I died, no one would ever pull all the right books for him.) Dr. Mike did his part, and I did mine. Twenty years later, I'm not only alive, but he tells me that I am the only patient he has ever had who has exercised every day for twenty years; who lost 70 pounds in the eight months after the heart attack and kept it off; who did all the stress tests without ever complaining, even when the computer glitched one time and I had to repeat the whole test; and of course, who has kept his promise to pull all the right books for him every week. I keep a count of how many days I've been alive in what I call "my second life." 7305 days, and every one is a gift. I have tried to remember the koan of the strawberries and the tiger and have strived to find a good moment in every one of those days, even the ones that were overwhelmingly painful (my mother's death in 2002... my father's death in 2007... Susan's death last summer...).So many times, I have questioned if I am worthy of so precious a gift. 7305 days. And I am thankful for every one of them. Because without that gift, I couldn't have held mother's hand as she died. I wouldn't have gripped Dad's hand and wiped his brow as he slipped away. And I wouldn't have been there to whisper words of love and gratitude to Susan as I kissed her farewell when she left this world ahead of me on July 22nd. How can I not appreciate a gift so precious?

Fifty Years Ago This Week in 1970 - 4/6/1970 to 4/12/1970

The Chieftains defeated Cartersville, Pebblebrook, and Cass in a four-way meet at Cartersville on Wednesday, April 8th. Cjuc k Kinnebrew set a distance record for the discus with a throw of 150 feet 3.5 inches. Xaciver Smith took first place in high jump and low hurdles, while George Albert took first place in 440-yard dash and triple jump.

West Rome senior Sam Hancock took second place in the State Science Fair for his physics project, while freshman Gail Smitley took second place for her life science project.

Ken Stanton Music finally got its hearing before etch Rome Board of Education--and no surprise, the Board ruled in their own favor and decided they had acted properly in choosing The Music Room to run the band recruitment program will blocking Ken Stanton from being involved... or even being allowed onto school property in support of the band program.

This week in 1970, Rome adopted a new slogan: "Rome—A City in Motion"—and the new slogan was created by West Rome''s own Mrs. W.T. Atkins of Marchmont Drive, the mother of Todd and Kathy Atkins. Her slogan was chosen from among 625 entries submitted to the Chamber of Commerce.

West Rome celebrated its second pizza shop opening of 1970 as Pizza Inn held its grand opening this week in 1970. In case you forgot, Pizza Inn was just past West Rome High School--so close, in fact, that it was theoretically possible for West Rome students to sneak off campus and grab a quick pizza for lunch... not that any of us--err, them--would ever do that, of course. During grand opening week, Pizza Inn offered a medium pizza for only 97¢ (that was $1 exactly when you added in the sales tax, which was still 3% back in 1970).

Once again, civic leaders unveiled a plan to consolidate the city and the county, including the two separate school systems. The usual reasons were given to explain the benefits of the plan--reduced duplication of services, less jurisdictional confusion, etc.--and once again, nothing would ever come of it.

Jimmy Carter came to Rome this week in 1970 in his campaign for governor. He began with a 6am meeting at the gates of General Electric, followed by a press conference at 9am at the Holiday Inn. Later that day, he toured Broad Street businesses to meet and talk with mangers and staff.

The cinematic week began with The Only Game in Town (starring Warren Beatty and Elizabeth Taylor) at the DeSoto Theatre, Bloody Mama (starring Shelley Winters) at the Fist Avenue, The Computer Wore Tennios Shoes (starring Kurt Russell) at the Village, and The Reivers (starring Steve McQueen) at the West Rome Drive-In. The weekend switch out brought Butch Cassidy & The Sundance Kid (starring Robert Redford and Paul Newman) to the DeSoto, The Oblong Box (starring Vincent Price and Christopher Lee) to the First Avenue, Jenny (starring Marlo Thomas and Alan Arkin) to the Village, and Support Your Local Sheriff (starring James Garner) to the West Rome Drive-In.

The Beatles held on to number one for another week with "Let It Be." Other top ten hits included "ABC" by the Jackson 5 (#2); "Spirit in the Sky" by Norman Greenbaum (#3); "Instant Karma (We All Shine On" by John Lennon (#4); "Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes)" say Edison Lighthouse (#5); "Bridge Over Troubled Water" by Simon & Garfunkel (#6); "Come and Get It" by Badfinger (#7); "Love Or Let Me Be Lonely" by the Friends of Distinction (#8); "American Woman" by the Guess Who (#9); and "Up the Ladder to the Roof" by the Supremes (#10).

Paul McCartney announced the breakup of the Beatles this week in 1970, confirming something that had already been rumored in Rolling Stone and Creem magazine.

Fifty Years Ago This Week in West Rome - 3/23/1970 to 3/29/1970

Jesse Laseter was promoted from assistant susperintendent to the position of superintendent of schools this week in 1970. Laseter, who came to Rome in 1968, was the father of West Rome students Jody Laseter (then a sophomore) and Julie, a student at West End Elementary.

The dispute between Ken Stanton Music, The Music Room, and the Rome Board of Education was supposed to advance to the state-ordered hearing stage in response to Ken Stanton Music's appeal of a decision by the board of education to allow only the Music Room to conduct band recruitment programs in city schools. The board of education was scheduled to act as judges in the hearing, which seemed like a strange ruling since it meant that one of the defendants was judging the outcome of the trial, but the State Board of Education said that if Stanton was unhappy with the new hearing, he could again appeal and the next hearing would be adjudicated by the State Board itself. However, the hearing didn't actually take place; Rome School Board chairman W.B. Primm told attendees at the meeting that a problem with a court reporter's schedule required the change--but of course, this "problem" wasn't mentioned until an hour after the meeting was supposed to have started. The Board said the meeting would take place a week later, provided a court reporter could be present. Needless to say, representative for Ken Stanton Music were unhappy, feeling that the delay was little more than a stalling tactic.

West Rome's Martin Rollinson won the Rome Breakfast Optimist Club's annual Oratorical Contest on Monday night, March 23rd, at the Rome Boy's Club (Rollinson's second wind in a row). The contestants spoke on "Youth-Full Partners in a Better Tomorrow," and they were required to speak for a minimum of four minutes and a maximum of five minutes without any notes or aids. They were judged on delivery, speech content, and overall effectiveness. Rollinson advanced to the zone competition, which was scheduled for April in Cedartown.

West Rome's annual Green and White football game took place on Thursday, March 26th, and the White team won 14-13, thanks to a fourth-quarter touchdown by Allen Carrington and a successful point after kick by Randy Hatch.

Piggly Wiggly had hen turkeys for 39¢ a pound, Van Camp's chili for 29¢ a can, and five pounds of grapefruit for 59¢. Kroger had ground beef for 53¢ a pound, sweet potatoes for 12¢ a pound, and Sealtest ice cream for 55¢ a half-gallon. Big Apple had rib roast for 89¢ a pound, apples for 16¢ a pound, and a five-pound bag of frozen french fries for 69¢. A&P had sirloin steak for $1.19 a pound, Hormel Vienna sausages for a dime a can, and carrots for a dime a bag. Couch's had chicken breast for 59¢ a pound, Nabisco vanilla wafers for 39¢ a box, and Van Camp's pork & beans for 15¢ a can.

The cinematic week began with The Secret of Santa Vittoria (starring Anthony Quinn) at the DeSoto Theatre, Fanny Hill (an X-rated Danish film) at the First Avenue, They Shoot Horses, Don't They? (starring Jane Fonda) at the Village, and Those Were the Happy Times (starring Julie Andrews) at the West Rome Drive-In.  The weekend switch out brought The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes (starring Kurt Russell) to the DeSoto and The Undefeated (starring John Wayne and Rock Hudson) to the West Rome Drive-In, whole They Shoot Horses, Don't They? and Fanny Hill hung around at the First Avenue and the Village, respectively.

Jimi Hendrix said farewell to the Experience and hello the the Band of Gypsys this week in 1970. Band of Gypsys, the one-and-only album by Hendrix, Billy Cox, and Buddy Miles, was also the last Hendrix album release prior to his death. This was also release week for Leon Russell's eponymous first album and Ringo Starr's Sentimental Journey, a strange album of cover versions of old standards that was also the first full studio album by any solo Beatle. The album featured Starr singing and assortment of his mother's favorite old songs; he even let her and the rest of the family choose the tracks.

Fifty Years Ago This Week in West Rome - 3/16/1970 to 3/22/1970

Rome City Schools submitted a revised integration plan this week in 1970, hoping to get final approval from the Department of Health, Education, and Welfare. While the state and federal governments had mandated that at least 75% of all minority students had to be placed in integrated schools by the 1970-1971, Rome City Schools only had 73% of all minority students in integrated schools. Rome City Schools superintendent Milton S. McDonald pointed out that the reason for the discrepancy was that 27% of the minority students had requested to remain at Main Elementary and Anna K. Davie Schools rather than transfer, and the only way to meet the 75% mandate was to force these students to go to school that were further away from their homes.

Did you know that, prior to 1970, Rome traffic ordinances allowed left turns on red after a full stop so long as no traffic was approaching? Well, that law went away this week in 1970. The new traffic ordinance said that led tturns on red were legal only where traffic controlled devices with turn arrows were installed.

The calendar said that spring was pretty much here, but the thermometer reminded Romans that winter hadn't left yet. The temperature fell to 20° on Monday morning and held in the 30s all day. Monday night brought little bit of snow, but the temperatures remained above freezing Monday night, so there were no travel problems or school cancellations.

Super Discount Stores opened their expanded location in Alto Shopping Center (at 436 Shorter Avenue) this week in 1970.  Specials included ladies blouses for 88¢, 24" x 30" framed pictures for $1.99, and a 4 ounce bottle of Vitalis for 33¢. And with every $5 purchase, customers could be a 12-ounce can of Coca-Cola/Tab/Sprite for a nickel!

Piggly Wiggly had sirloin tip roast for $1.19 a pound, Uncle Tom's Brunswick stew for 59¢ a can, and Bama apple jelly for 29¢ a jar. Kroger had fresh whole fryers for 29¢ a pound, Morton TV dinners for 32¢ each, and watermelon for 49¢ each. Big Apple had center cut pork chops for 79¢ a pound, cream cheese for 29¢ a package, and Libby's fruit cocktail for 38¢ a can. A&P had chicken breast quarters for 39¢ a pound, fresh baked peach pies for 39¢ each, and celery for 19¢ a bunch. Couch's had ground chuck for 79¢ a pound, Maxwell House instant coffee for 29¢ a jar, and Aristocrat ice milk for 39¢ a half-gallon.

The cinematic week began with Downhill Racer (starring Robert Redford) at the DeSoto Theatre, The Sterile Cuckoo (starring Liza Minelli) at the First Avenue, John & Mary (starring Dustin Hoffman & Mia Farrow) at the Village, and Doctor Doolittle (starring Rex Harrison) at the West Rome Drive-In. The weekend switch out brought The Secret of Santa Vittoria (starring Anthony Quinn) to the DeSoto, Fanny Hill (an X-rated Scandinavian film with a cast no one in the US had ever heard of) at the First Avenue, They Shoot Horses, Don't They? (starring Jane Fonda) to the Village, and Those Were the Happy Times (starring Julie Andrews) to the West Rome Drive-In.

Simon & Garfunkel continued their grip on the number one slot this week in 1970 with "Bridge Over Troubled Water." Other top ten hits included "Let It Be" by the Beatles (#2); "Instant Karma (We All Shine On)" by John Lennon (#3); "The Rapper" by the Jaggerz (#4); "Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes)" by Edison Lighthouse (#5); "ABC" by the Jackson 5 (#6); "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother" by the Hollies (#7), "Spirit in the Sky" by Norman Greenbaum (#8--but did anyone ever turn that single over and listen to the B-side, "Milk Cow"?); "Give Me Just a Little More Time" by the Chairmen of the Board (#9); and "Come and Get It" by Badfinger (#10).  That's three Apple records in the top ten! (And personally, I am grateful that Sly and the Family Stone finally fell out of the top ten, because I got so tired of having to override spellcheck every time I typed out "Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)."

David Bowie married Angela Barnett this week in 1970. Few people remember Angela Bowie, ,but a lot of people remember her as the inspiration for the Rolling Stones song "Angie."

A Life in Four Colors Addendum (subtitle: "Let's Get Physical")

I miss Susan every day in a thousand different ways. But one of the aspects that I miss is the physical intimacy that was a part of our lives together.

I know, some people cringe at the world "intimacy" because they assume (or fear) that I'm going to discuss sexual matters. I am aware that many find that subject uncomfortable to hear about, from someone like me, so let me say right now that I'm not about to engage in a discussion of sexual matters. Intimacy includes sexual intimacy, certainly, and I was lucky enough to have a woman with whom I was totally sexually compatible.That's not what I'm talking about when I mention "physical intimacy," however.

Do you enjoy holding the hand of someone you love? Is there still a little thrill, a little excitement, when your hands touch? Does each little squeeze or brushing of fingertips communicate more than many words can express? That's physical intimacy. For more than fifty years, I held Susan's hand. When we were going somewhere in the car, her hand often rested in one. I would rub my thumb lightly over the back of her hand, feeling her knuckles and the gentle motion of the tendons just beneath the skin. I knew exactly where in the center of her palm I could brush with my fingernail to make her give a gentle half-giggle, as if it almost tickled. I remember her supple fingers from the earliest days of our lives together, and I remember those same fingers as arthritis afflicted the knuckles, causing the joints to swell as they lost some of their mobility. But I loved those hands for fifty years, and sometimes I was so moved by holding her hand that I had to lift it to my lips and kiss it gently. "I love you so much that sometimes it just overwhelms me," I would tell her. She would smile and ocassionally respond with a self-deprecating comment, but I would affectionately and gently chide her for not seeing the same loveliness that I saw every time I looked at her.

After fifty years of love and forty-eight years of marriage, both of us came to know all about one another's bodies (and again, I'm not just talking sexually). I knew exactly where on her neck to squeeze upwards with my thumbs when she was tired or tense; I knew where on each temple to rub when she was stressed. I knew the spot on the lower part of her shoulder blades where she liked for me to massage firmly while we were hugging one another, and I remember the little satisfied sound she would make when I did so. I knew that she liked it when, after I rubbed her neck, my fingers would softly slide down the side of her neck to the little hollow where her collarbones came together. I knew how she liked for me to press against the arch of her foot with a knuckled fist before firmly gripping and massaging each foot. I knew the places that were ticklish, and I knew when to avoid them--and when not to.

As her chronic illness progressed in the final years of her life, I knew the places that hurt even under the lightest touch, and I knew to avoid them without her ever having to tell me. I learned how to put my arm around her with affection as we walked into a store, disguising the fact that I was at times having to assist her when walking was difficult. When her hands began to fail her, I learned how to wash her hair the way she liked, massaging her scalp while she closed her eyes and smiled.

I knew her lips so well that I was familiar with every contour. I kissed those lips every day, more than once--every morning when I would leave, every day when I would come home, and for no particular reason in the hours afterwards. Sometimes I would hold her hands while I kissed her; other times, I would hug her and pull her close to me; still other times, I would rub her back to alleviate some of the day's burdens as I kissed her. She knew me just as well, and would frequently brighten a dreary work-heavy evening with a kiss "for nothing 'cept I love you," as she would always reply when I would ask, "What was that for?"

She knew me just as well. She knew me in my youth, when we were just learning one another's bodies and touch was new and exciting. She knew my body as it changed with age and injury. She knew the long scar of my heart surgery; I remember when she gently brushed across it after it had healed, asking if it hurt when she touched it, not wholly convinced when I told her it didn't (even though I was telling her the truth). Her fingers knew the sunken depression of my torn bicep, an injury that left me self-conscious because to me it looks freakish; she  never saw it that way. She would joke about my bony knees when I would hold them together, leaving a space above them where the thighs didn't touch (she loved to rub my leg above the knee and joke, "I wish my thighs were like that," even though I thought her thighs were just perfect the way they were.)

Best of all, I was graced with a woman who welcomed my hugs, my caresses, my kisses. Unless you've been lucky enough to spend most of a lifetime with someone who enjoys physical contact as much as you do, you can't fully appreciate what a gift that is. After a while, you take it for granted because that's the way it's always been. Then, when it's taken from you... that's when you fully realize what a gift it was.

Once that's gone, there's a void that can't be filled.  It might seem contradictory (and I guess it is), but I'm not a hugger or a person who touches others. It  seems intrusive and invasive to simply hug or touch someone without knowing that the person wants to be hugged. I am apprehensive about spanning that physical gap, because I would never want to make someone else uncomfortable.

Knowing that there's someone who always welcomes your hug, shares your kiss, enjoys your touch, and lovingly returns those hugs, kisses, and touches--that's physical intimacy, and there's nothing better. But you'll never know just how important it is until it's gone away, and you realize you'll never share that level of physical intimacy again. Coming to terms with that--that's one of the hardest parts of losing someone you love.

Fifty Years Ago This Week in West Rome - 3/9/1970 to 3/15/1970

West Rome was ground zero for funny money this week in 1970. Counterfeit $20 bills (all with the same serial number) showed up at two West Rome groceries and at the First National Bank. Soon after that, a girl found three more bills scattered along Williamson Street in West Rome. After she heard the story about counterfeit bills on the radio, she called the police and turned in the three bills. Rome City police investigated and then called in the Secret Service.

Village Inn Pizza opened at 1803 Shorter Avenue in West Rome this week in 1970. The restaurant was open from 11am to 12am on Monday through Saturday and from noon until 10pm on Sunday, with live entertainment by Frances Jones and her Dixieland Band both Friday and Saturday. In addition, the restaurant offered prize drawings every hour on Fridays and Saturdays for their grand opening, along with free soft drinks, candy, and balloons for kids. (Village Inn became a favorite for Susan and me in the 1970s, because their Italian sausage was richly flavored with lots of fennel and they often offered ground pepperoni, a pizza topping a preferred to sliced pepperoni because it enabled you to get a richer pepperoni flavor in each bite. But one of the main reasons we liked it was that it was so convenient, less than a mile from my parents' house in West Rome. Convenience is always a big plus!)

Sheriff Joe Adams kept his promise to enforce Georgia' blue laws, arresting Big K manager Montie Rasure and assisting manager Levi Phillips for violating the Sunday closing law. According to the Rome News-Tribune, "the atmosphere inside the store was almost festive, and everyone from the sheriff to Rasure seemed amused about the entire affair. Employees and customers voiced approached newsmen and voiced their opinion about the Sunday closing law after asking what the sheriff was about to do." The most insightful comments quoted in the paper? "If the Sheriff locks this place up, he out to lock up all the mills are here that open on Sunday, too. I need a day off," and "That damned law don't make a bit of sense to me. It's plum cockeyed." When the managers realized that the officers planned to arrest clerks for selling the merchandise, Rasure and Phillips stepped in and sent the clerks elsewhere, manning the registers themselves to ensure that no one on their staff went to jail for selling the merchandise. Customers applauded the manager and assistant manager for their actions to protect their staff from arrest. (And if there was any doubt that this was the beginning of the end of Georgia blue laws, the response of the people watching this show put that to doubt.)

The Department of Health, Education, and Welfare turned their attention from high schools to colleges in the spring of 1970, serving notice that Georgia and nine other states were operating segregated college and university systems. The notification gave Georgia until the end of April to submit desegregation plans. It was pointed out that Floyd Junior College, under construction for a fall 1970 opening, would be fully desegregated from the day it opened.

Temperatures dropped to a sub-freezing 20 degrees on Saturday night, March 14th, tying the all-time low record for that date. Sunday night saw scattered snow flurries with a low of 35 degrees--but because it never got below freezing, the snow melted soon after falling and there were no weather-related problems.

Piggly Wiggly had fresh whole fryers for 29¢ a pound, Oscar Mayer hot dogs for 69¢ a package, and sweet potatoes for 12¢ a pound. Kroger had jiffy steak for 89¢ a pound, Starkist tuna for 33¢ a can, and fresh strawberries for 29¢ a pint. A&P had T-Bone steak for $1.19 a pound, Bush beans for a dime a can, and tomatoes for 39¢ a pound.  Big Apple had whole hams for 43¢ a pound, Campbell's tomato soup for a dime a can, and bananas for a dime a pound. Couch's had leg o' lamb for 79¢ a pound, Saltine crackers for 39¢ a box, and lettuce for 15¢ a head.. 

The cinematic week began with Gaily, Gaily (starring Brian Keith) at the DeSoto Theatre, Chastity (starring Cher) at the First Avenue, Cactus Flower (with Walter Matthau) at the Village, and Planet of the Apes (starring Charlton Heston) at the West Rome Drive-In. The weekend switch out brought Downhill Racer (starring Robert Redford) to the DeSoto Theatre, The Sterile Cuckoo (starring Liza Minelli) to the First Avenue, John and Mary (starring Dustin Hoffman & Mia Farrow) to the Village, and Lady in Cement (starring Frank Sinatra) to the West Rome Drive-In. 

Simon & Garfunkel's "Bridge Over Troubled Water" held its lock on the number one slot this week in 1970. Other top ten hits included "The Rapper" by the Jaggerz (#2); "Give Me Just a Little More Time" by the Chairmen of the Board (#3); "Instant Karma (We All Shine On" by John Lennon (#4); "Rainy Night in Georgia" by Brook Benton (#5); "Let It Be" by the Beatles (#6); "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother" by the Hollies (#7); "Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes)" by Edison Lighthouse (#8); "Evil Ways" by Santana (#9); and "Didn't I (Blow Your Mind This Time)" by the Delfonics (#10). 

Food for Thought

We all have foods that are a part of our lives. Meals that we have made dozens, even hundreds of times. Dishes that we have shared with those we love. Favorites that have become a tradition.

My dearest friends brighten my week by joining me for dinner at El Rodeo every Wednesday. I have gotten the same thing every week for more than a third of a century: nachos mara, chicken and beans but no beef, no sour cream, extra lettuce, add guacamole. Reeently, the wonderful staff has begun referring to it as "The Cliff." The affection behind such a gesture always makes me smile. When I go to the restaurant on other days (and sometimes I eat there three or more times a week), I order something different, because "The Cliff" isn't just a great dish, it's a dish whose most important ingredient is the love and friendship that makes that meal the highlight of my week.

Susan had her first pizza ever on a Saturday date with me back in 1970. She loved it. From that week on, we had pizza for Saturday dinner almost every week of our lives. Village Inn, Pizza Inn, Petro's, Pizza Hut, Pasquale's, Mellow Mushroom, Everybody's, Rosa's, Bellacino's, La Bella's, Capozzi's, Domino's, Jet's, Star, Night Owl, DaVinci's, Peace Love & Pizza, Santino's, G'Angelo's... lots of pizza places over the years. Some great, some good, some mediocre, some pretty crummy. Didn't matter, though. I was having pizza with Susan, just like we did every Saturday, and if it was great, we relished it. If it was bad, we started talking about where we were going to get pizza the next Saturday. 

My mom made the best Irish stew ever. Some friends who are sticklers for detail correct me, saying that the ingredients Mom added weren't in classic Irish stew. I didn't care. They were in my mom's Irish stew, so there were in my Irish stew. Mom shared the recipe with Kim and me when each of us got married, and every time either of us made it, we didn't call it Irish stew--we called it Mom's Irish stew. The day before Mom went into the hospital for the final time in her losing struggle with emphysema, she sat in the kitchen and watched Dad make Irish stew for everyone. When it was ready, she took a bite, then smiled. It was Mom's Irish Stew. 

Dad loved to grill barbecued chicken. There's an art to it. Get the grill too hot, let it sit on one side too long, and the sugars in the barbecue sauce blacken and carbonize and the barbecue chicken becomes bitter and crunchy. Cook it at the right temperature, the barbecue sauce darkens and crisps ever so slightly at the thinnest part of the chicken. Dad got it right every time. I never learned that art, but I wish I had.

Mom and Susan both made spaghetti and meat sauce. Each recipe was very different. Mom's was the recipe she had learned from her mother, modifying it to suit Dad's tastes. It was the recipe I grew up with--slightly sweeter, bigger bits of green peppers and onions cooked until totally soft. Susan's was made the way her family made it when she was a child--a more robust tomato tang, smaller pieces of onion and green pepper and red pepper, sautéed to the point where there was still a  bit of crispness, with thinly sliced mushrooms mixed in. I loved them both, but never thought of them as the same food, name notwithstanding.

Susan loved sweets for breakfast. Pop Tarts or muffins or cookies or cinnamon rolls or coffee cake--she loved them all, and would have them for every breakfast if she had her choice. I often joked that I could eat cereal for breakfast almost every day and I would be perfectly happy, but I liked to eat breakfast with Susan, so I'd usually have what she was having.

Susan and I often remarked that we had plebeian tastes. We routinely enjoyed the most mundane foods. Mrs. Gorton's frozen flounder and haddock filets. Stouffer's meat lover's lasagna. Two sandwiches, one made from Boar's Head sweet sliced ham (which, contrary to the name, is not sweet) and the other from mesquite turkey. Tuna salad with just enough mayonnaise to stop it from being dry, but not enough to make it goopy, with dill pickle relish. Chicken salad, made the same way but with sweet pickle relish. Progresso soup--hearty tomato for me, chicken noodle for her. Marie Callendar's chicken pot pies, to which we would add a can of sweet peas with mushrooms. Mrs. Fearnow's Brunswick stew. Chicken tenders from Publix or from Zaxby's. We looked forward to these again and again.

When Susan died, I couldn't eat a lot of these foods. Even those I did eat, I had to change. Zaxby's chicken tenders were the last meal that Susan requested. I can't go back to Zaxby's. For the last few weeks of her life, I'd go to Wendy's and get a small chocolate and a small vanilla frosty every night at 9:45 and we'd alternate taking spoonfuls of it; I can still see her smile that accompanied every bite. I can't go back there now. I still eat pizza, but never on a Saturday. I make sandwiches, but only one, and I add a cheese that I liked but Susan didn't care as much for. If I have both turkey and ham, then I just eat the meat and the cheese, but no bread. I made tuna salad once; The memories were too much and I haven't tried it again. I hardly ever have anything sweet for breakfast, choosing cereal during the week and turkey sausage & Southwestern Egg Beaters with dry toast on weekends. Sometimes, I don't even eat a meal at home. When I have a big Wednesday dinner, or a great Friday lunch with my friends, that's usually my only meal of the day. Some of the changes are health focused. I'm getting a day older every morning, and metabolisms change with age. I work to stay ahead of that, so I eat to maintain my weight and my health. 

But most of all, I eat different because I have to. I can't be sad with every meal. And if that means eating meals at different times, on different days, or even not eating some meals at all--well, I'm okay with that. We all find our own ways to survive. This is mine.

But tonight...

Didn't know what I wanted for dinner, so I looked in the freezer. Nothing appealed to me. So I went to the other freezer. Two Stouffer's meat lover's lasagnas were at the top of the stack, where they've been for over a year, when Susan and I bought them. She never got to have either of them before the fall and the stroke and every bad thing that followed.

And tonight, Stouffer's lasagna sounded good. So I had half a box--about 675 calories worth--with a small salad. The same thing Susan and I always had. 

Good. Even better than I remembered. And I could remember how her eyes would squint when she took the first bite, followed by her saying, "This is so good." Every time. It made me smile.

Tonight I remembered. The lasagna, the squint, the remark. I remembered them all. And it made me smile.

Fifty Years Ago This Week in West Rome - 3/2/1970 to 3/8/1970

The Rome Board of Education submitted its school integration plan for the 1970-71 school year on March 2nd, which met the deadline imposed by a district court in December.  The plan allowed city students to choose what high school they wanted to attend, but Superintendent MS McDonald said that the plan called for the elimination of Main Junior High School, with students being sent to West Rome and East Rome Junior High Schools.

Floyd County District Attorney Larry Salmon said that now that county "blue laws" requiring non-essential business to close on Sundays had been ruled constitutional, he was recommending that the business licenses of all violators be revoked. The city of Rome, however, issued a statement that the law had "built-in pitfalls which make it practically impossible to enforce effectively." Sheriff Joe Adams said that, since the city was located within the county, he intended to enforce the law and cite all businesses that were not selling gas, groceries, and/or drugs.

Gibson's Discount Center held its grand opening on March 2nd, with Governor Lester Maddox on hand for the ribbon cutting ceremony. The Rome store was the first of eight new retail locations scheduled to open in Georgia; its 132,000 square feet of shopping space was complemented by twenty check-out counters at the front and five additional check-out counters at various departments in the store.

West Rome junior Tommy Hardin was elected chairman of the Northwest Georgia High School Distribute Education Clubs; he would be responsible for overseeing and coordinating activities of fourteen other DE clubs in conjunction with DE advisor Jerry Jarrard.

West Rome Junior High teacher Thomas Edward Mann was selected as Georgia's 1970 Region One Teacher of the Year.

The Chieftains girls basketball team defeated East Rome 46-42 on Tuesday, March 3rd, which propelled them into a sub-region playoff with Cartersville. Debbie Poarch was the girls' top scorer with 12 points. Alas, West Rome fell to Cartersville on Wednesday night 35-25, ending their hopes for a region victory.

Piggly Wiggly had Chuck Wagon bacon for 69¢ a pound, Merita bread for 35¢ a loaf, and potatoes for 6¢ a pound. Kroger had pork roast for 39¢ a pound, Chase & Sanborn coffee for 55¢ a pound, and in-store-baked angel food cakes for 45¢ each. Big Apple had Cudahy Bar S hot dogs for 59¢ a pound, Van Camp's pork & beans for 25¢ a can, and Irvindale ice milk for 39¢ a half-gallon. A&P had chicken breast quarters for 39¢ a pound, carrots for 15¢ a bunch, and Coca-Cola/Tab/Sprite/Fresca for 33¢ a carton plus deposit. Couch's had leg o' lamb for 79¢ a pound, JFG tea bags for 89¢ a box and Stokely creamed corn for 23¢ a can.

The cinematic week began with Darby O'Gill & The Little People (starring Sean Connery) at the DeSoto Theatre, De Sade (starring Senta Berger) at the First Avenue, Cactus Flower (starring Walter Matthau) at the Village, and The Witchmaker (starring no one worth remembering) at the West Rome Drive-In. The midweek switch out brought Gaily Gaily (starring Brian Keith) to the DeSoto Theatre, Chastity (starring Cher) at the First Avenue, and Planet of the Apes (starring Charlton Heston) at the West Rome Drive-In, while Cactus Flower continued to bloom at the Village.

Simon & Garfunkel held on to the number one slot this week in 1970 with "Bridge Over Troubled Water." Other top ten hits included "Who'll Stop the Rain?" by Creedence Clearwater Revival (#2); "The Rapper" but the Jaggerz (#3); "Rainy Night in Georgia" by Brook Benton (#4); "Ma Belle Amie" by the Tee Set (#5); "Give Me Just a Little More Time" by the Chairmen of the Board (#6); "Tbank You Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin/Everybody Is a Star" by Sly & the Family Stone (#7); "Hey There Lonely Girl" by Eddie Holman (#8); "Het Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother" by the Hollies (#9); and "Evil Ways" by Santana (#10).

A Life in Four Colors Part Fifty-Six

1973 was a year of changes for Susan and me.

First, that was the year that we moved out of the tiny hovel in which we had lived since our marriage and into the larger stucco house that would be our home for the next four years.

Second, Susan replaced her wholly unreliable 1970 Mustang Mach I with a blue 1973 Volkswagen Super Beetle.

While I've mentioned the house before, let me stress again just how significant a change this was for us. The house in which we lived from 1971 until mid-1973 was so tiny that we could only have a few guests at one time. In contrast, the green stucco house we moved into had two large bedrooms (one of which we had transformed into a fan room and library), a huge living room, a large kitchen with plenty of room for a full sized tubular-steel-and-formica table that could seat six people if elbow room wasn't absolutely necessary. And as a bonus, it even had a large screened-in porch.

The new home offered us tremendous opportunities. For one, we could actually get all of our books out of boxes and onto shelves. In order to do this, we had to put four sets of steel shelving in the middle of the fan room, dividing it in half with books facing out on either side; we left a thirty-inch wide gap between them, creating two groups of two shelves with a passageway. Against the outside walls, we put more shelves, which enabled us to get our entire library at the time onto bookshelves where we could actually see every book. And that still left room for our fan desk, which held our used-but-new-to-us micro-elite wide-carriage electric typewriter, and a rolling TV cart that housed our very first Gestetner electric mimeograph.

If you're not a fan, the last two items mean nothing to you. But to us, this was a major step forward. Until 1973, we produced all of our fanzines using one of two manual typewriters that we owned. They did the job, but not particularly well. Manual typewriters cut great mimeo stencils when you pound the keys firmly; however, typical typists don't hit every key with full force. As a result, some letters simply don't cut as cleanly as others, and it shows on the printed page.

But our electric typewriter, by contrast, hit every key with full force. And the micro-elite wide carriage typewriter meant that we could actually work on the stencils in landscape format in order to produce 5.5" x 8.5" wraparound booklets instead of 8.5" x 11" stapled sheet fanzines. Or, if we wanted to do 8.5" x 11" fanzines, we could use two-column format and still get a fair amount of words on every line.

Our typewriter interest was piqued by our friends Steve and Binker Hughes, who had turned fanzine production into an art form, utilizing a wide variety of formats that included silk screen, multi-colored mimeograph, true metal-plate etching, and more. Their house was almost a museum of printing equipment, distinctive paper stocks, and typewriters.  They introduced us to micro-elite type, and we were intrigued with its possibilities.

Two weeks later, we found a used micro-elite typewriter at the House of Typewriters in Marietta, a store that had become one of our regular stops when we made our monthly runs to Cumberland Mall. Since we were apparently the only customers who had showed any interest in this particular typewriter, a deal was cut and we went home with the machine for only $35. (We had begun setting aside $1 a week for our "fan fund" in early 1972, so we had the money for the purchase. A year later, after increasing our fan fund savings to $2 a week, we bought a used IBM Selectric II from the same shop for $100, and we felt like we were doubly blessed.)

We bought our first used Gestetner mimeo directly from the Hughes, who had a number of machines they weren't using and offered to let us have one of their mimeos for $20. So by 1973, we were set up to produce fanzines with much higher production values. Furthermore, since we didn't get rid of our old Sears hand-crank manual mimeo, we switched it over to colored ink, which meant we could print colored art using that mimeo and then print black type on the same page using the Gestetner, just leaving a blank space where the art was printed.

The results began to show up in our apazines almost immediately--and a year and a half later, we would use that same equipment to begin producing our very own review fanzine, Future Retrospective, which would go on to change our lives in a number of ways.

***

It says a lot about Susan and me that we were almost as excited about the typewriter and mimeograph as we were about the new car.

Considering our budget, it may seem odd that we'd buy a 1973 VW when we had a 1970 Mach I with only 25,000 miles on it--but the Mach I had been a curse ever since Susan bought it, and we were desperate to be rid of that car.

Susan was in love with the car's appearance and performance when she bought it. When it worked, that is. The car was so incredibly unreliable, though, that it frequently left us stranded for an hour or more when it would simply fail to start after we stopped to shop or buy gas. The local Ford dealer tried replacing the battery, the starter, the alternator, the ignition switch--and nothing helped. No one there could figure out why it wouldn't start. For a while, they didn't even believe us--until it failed to start with them when they were trying to pull it out of the mechanic's bay. They kept it for two days, then called us back and told us that they had no idea what the problem was. And as far as they were concerned, that was the end of it. We were stuck with a car that might or might not start at any given time.

Since Susan's employer had transferred her from the Cedartown office to their larger office in Bremen, GA, she was frustrated and anxious. The Mach I would sometime fail to start when she got off work, leaving her stuck in Bremen for a half-hour or more until it started up as if nothing had ever been wrong.

My 1964 Volkswagen, in contrast, had been remarkably reliable. Oh, the VW had the usual VW problems--a clutch cable would break occasionally, and the battery would sometime run down (because I was bad about forgetting to remove the back seat and put water in the battery cells). But replacing a clutch cable cost $30 and took about a half-hour, and the car was so light that I got pretty good at giving it a bit of a push, then hopping in and putting it into gear to jump-start the car until we could recharge or replace the battery. The car just kept on running.

The big problem for Susan, though, was that she had no idea how to drive a stick shift. I  finally taught her in the 64 VW, and she hated it. She could drive it, but she'd rather not.

Then we discovered that Volkswagen offered a semi-automatic transmission. The car required that the driver shift gears, but there was no clutch. It was the clutch that was the source of Susan's concern: she had trouble coordinating it with the gear, and thus was constantly grinding gears. But with the semi-automatic transmission, Susan didn't have to worry about that.

Unlike my '64 VW (which was a very basic model), the Super Beetle also included air conditioning and a 60 horsepower engine. So in the summer of 1973, we traded in her Mach I and came home with a brand new Super Beetle. Susan was so proud of that car; while the Mach I had initially appealed to her due to its sportiness, she felt that the Super Beetle's "cuteness" reflected who she had become by 1973.

A reliable vehicle made a world of difference. Susan went from dreading every workday to feeling comfortable at her job, because she didn't have insecurities about whether she would get there and back without problems. Even better, the trade in value on the Mach I was such that we actually didn't have to pay very much for the VW--we financed the balance for 24 months for $43 a month. And t turned out that the fuel savings would save us a significant portion of that, because just three months after she bought the car, the 1973 oil crisis began, and gasoline pretty much doubled in price in a matter of weeks, from 31.9¢ for regular gas to 59.9¢ per gallon by the end of the year. The Volkswagen got 60% better mileage than the Mach I, and Susan was driving 23 miles each way to work. If we had kept the Mach I, she would have spent 70¢ more each workday (or $14 per work month) on gasoline--almost a third of our car payment! For people living on a budget like ours, that was a tremendous return on our investment.

To this day, some people we talk to are amazed that Susan willingly got rid of a low-mileage Mach I in order to get a Volkswagen. It made perfect sense to us, though, because we had come to learn in the first two years of our marriage that security, reliability, and peace of mind were important to us. And that would remain the focus of our lives together from that point on. Even when we took risks, we did so only after rationally running the numbers and considering where we would be if the risk failed to pay off.

For example, when we decided to give up our home in Cedartown in 1977 and move to an apartment in Marietta so that Susan could take a temporary-to-permanent position in software design with a company called Management Science America. Or when we decided in 1979 to buy our first home even though the monthly payment would be $447, which was $150 more than our apartment rent at the time. Or when we decided in 1982 to take a second mortgage on our house so that I could take advantage of an opportunity to buy a used book/record/comic shop called Dr. No's.