by Don Potter
“What else would explain the way she has systematically shut me out of her life?”
“You tell me. Have you been tough on her lately?”
“I have understood, even supported, Shelly’s work and her cause. She spent most of last summer operating out of her parents’ summer home. And, I didn’t say anything when she went off to the Coast and then down South, supposedly to do research. The whole issue’s on her.” Then, for some reason, I told him about the time Shelly was sick and was feeling better after spending a week in Puerto Rico.”
“Think she might have been pregnant?” he asked.
“I don’t think so. We hadn’t had sex for so long.” I smacked the palm of my hand against my forehead and exclaimed, “Oh, my God, could the baby have been his and she went there to have an abortion?”
“Guess the only thing to do is confront her,” Ed said.
“Yeah, but I have to wait for the right time.”
“Is there ever a right time for this kind of stuff? Let’s have another Bloody Mary and order. The Eggs Benedict here are quite tasty.”
Late in the afternoon on Monday, I got a phone call from my father. It had to be something important, because he never called me at work.
“Is something wrong?” I asked when I heard his voice.
“Your brother is missing in action.”
“Oh, no.”
“He was flying the lead aircraft on an air support mission covering Marines on the ground. Observers saw his plane make its third pass then it veered off target before losing radio contact. No parachutes were seen, and there was some sort of explosion a couple of miles from the target. That’s all we know.”
“MIA could mean Jimmy’s been captured and has yet to be reported.”
“It’s possible. Your mother and I are holding onto hope. All we can do for now is pray.”
“I’ll fly out there tonight.”
“There’s nothing you can do.”
“I can be with you.”
“Sitting here and worrying is not a good idea.”
“That’s what you’ll be doing. Maybe I could run errands or something.”
“Right now, we need a little quiet time. Let’s see what the weekend brings.”
“Did you tell Sis?”
“I’m going to call Peggy when you and I finish up.”
“Okay. I’ll pray for Jimmy as well as you and Mom. Let me know as soon as you have any news.” I knew this did not have to be said, but I didn’t know what else to say.
After waiting an hour, I called my sister. She was upset but controlled her emotions while we talked. Neither of us mentioned the worst that might come out of this incident. We knew what it could be and agreed to keep in touch until the situation was over.
I called the apartment and told Shelly about my brother. She said nothing. When I asked if we could meet for dinner, Shelly said she would be home about nine, and came home at ten. After hanging up her coat, she asked, “How are you feeling?”
“Not great. Even worse for my folks. But we’re keeping the faith.”
“If he hadn’t been so gung-ho for the war this never would have happened.”
I felt as though I had been punched in the gut. “If you hadn’t been involved in this civil rights thing you wouldn’t have a Black boyfriend and we’d have a decent marriage.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I came across your hidden photos when I was looking for a note pad in your desk drawer.”
“You have no business going through my things.”
“And you have no right cheating on me.” Then, without thinking, I blurted out, “Is that why you went to Puerto Rico to abort his baby?”
“It might have been his, but I sure know it wasn’t yours. You don’t own me. I’m my own woman. Go get a life of your own. And do it without me.”
I did just that. I packed a bag and called Ed to see if I could sleep on his couch. He invited me over. The next day Shelly called me at the office and officially ordered me out of the apartment. I picked up my clothes and moved into a hotel.
President Johnson told the country that we must remain in South Vietnam until the Communist’s end their aggression. There was no news about Jimmy and nothing from Shelly, although I tried to contact her several times. My world had been knocked off its axis.
I found a furnished place, with a month-to-month lease, over by 45th and 2nd Avenue near the United Nations building. It was an easy walk to work and a short cab ride uptown to the singles bars. Sometimes I met Ed at Friday’s but I learned how to operate on my own, especially on Ladies’ Nights when their drinks were half-price and the bar was packed.
Loneliness and fear did not usually haunt me during the workday, since there was always some interaction with people. I joined a gym and started to exercise after work. Eating alone could be depressing, so I tried to manage it by having lunch with a co-worker and eating dinner at noon rather than at night. No one seemed to notice; they just thought I had a big appetite. All the while, being alone became more challenging. It could hit me in a crowded bar, so I made it a point to stay busy by talking with other people rather than just observing. The dark hours, late at night, were the most difficult. If I did not have a few drinks, oft times a few too many, it was hard for me to fall asleep. Worst of all were the dreams that had Shelly in the arms of that guy. When I pushed these nightmares out of my mind they were replaced by the terrible image of my brother, Jimmy, in the cockpit of his fighter jet going down in enemy territory. Then I would wake with a start. Once awake I could not go back to sleep for hours. Weekends were particularly painful. Reading or sitting in front of the TV were not viable escapes, so I took to going to museums, the main library in midtown, even movie matinees - anything to make the hands on the clock move faster.
Writing in my journal was the one task I had done off and on for years and religiously since moving to New York. Usually I jotted down notes about events or facts that I found interesting. But lately I found myself expressing more of my feelings in these personal pages. Getting in touch with my fears might be the way to stop them from owning me. Seeking the help of a psychiatrist might help me accomplish this. I found a shrink by asking around as if I was getting a referral for a friend. I guess that is the way most people try to disguise the fact that it is for them. Soon I was going twice a week to a psychiatrist up by the Cornell Medical Center. He told me it may take some time before seeing meaningful results. I didn’t care as long as I learned how to deal with my issues.
I got a call from my father confirming what we feared. Jimmy was killed when his FB-4 Phantom crashed after being hit by enemy fire. His Naval Academy ring and dog tags helped identify his charred remains. Dad said that Jimmy would be buried at Arlington National Cemetery sometime in the near future.
None of us was surprised by the confirmation of his death. The news only closed the chapter on worry and hope and now the one of grieving had begun. I was glad for my regular psychiatrist visits. These sessions, along with prescribed Valium, were helping me through the long days. I also found that talking with God, not necessarily praying, helped me deal with the nights and made them seem shorter. There was definitely a metamorphosis of some kind going on. When this transformation is completed will a butterfly emerge?
Jimmy’s death had no sooner been put in proper perspective than I was served with divorce papers. Within an hour of receiving them, an attorney representing the Sterns contacted me. “I am sure you would like to settle this matter as quickly as possible,” he said.
“Why can’t I speak with Shelly?”
“She is too distraught to speak with you.”
“I’m not the one asking for the divorce, she is.”
“You signed the prenuptial agreement. It describes the terms of dissolution. Since there are no children or other outside issues to deal with this matter can be finished in a matter of weeks.”
“Not unless I get to speak
with Shelly. I need to hear the words from her not the family lawyer.”
There is no legal reason for doing this, but I will convey your request to my client. Are there any other questions?”
“None I can think of.”
“Good. You will hear from me soon.” There was a click followed by a buzz indicating the attorney had hung up.
I stared into space, wondering how my life could have gotten so bad, so fast. It was time for a change but not for the sake of change. I loved advertising but not so much lately. New York was the place to be in the ad business, but lately the city overwhelmed me. Maybe I should move to the West Coast? Hollywood needs writers but not ad writers. The answer was somewhere in the ether, and I must find it. This was something I discussed with my shrink, and the doctor said a change might do me good.
A few days later the Sterns attorney called and said, “I spoke with my client. While admitting no fault or obligation on the part of the family or any of its members, I have been authorized to make a cash settlement with you provided you sign an agreement never to disclose statements made by the family, their opinions, actions, or your relationship with them.”
“What kind of settlement?”
“None is required; however, the sum of $25,000 would constitute a good faith settlement in full.”
“May I think about this?”
“You have twenty-four hours from now to decide or the offer will be withdrawn.”
“Where can I reach you?”
“I will contact you at this time tomorrow.”
“One other thing,” I said. “I have a photo of Shelly and her activist boyfriend, the one whose baby she aborted. Would that bring a higher pay off? Let me know when we talk tomorrow.”
I hung up first. I was prepared to walk away with nothing, as per the pre-nuptial. I did not expect any money; it was all their idea and if I came up empty it would not matter to me. Where I got this new-found cavalier attitude was a mystery to me, but it made me feel better about myself. Perhaps it was the first step in overcoming the fear that had held me back.
The next day the attorney contacted me. “I have a check in my hands for the amount we talked about yesterday. This offer is not negotiable. If you are prepared to finalize this transaction, bring the photo with you and be prepared to sign the non-disclosure papers. In two hours, I will be at the Italian restaurant you once frequented with your soon to be ex-wife.” He hung up before I could respond.
I took the photograph to the restaurant and exchanged it for a check. No words were spoken and I left. The money would help me do whatever I decide to do, once I get my head straightened out.
A memorial service was scheduled in Pittsburgh for Saturday, May 28th with Jimmy’s interment in Arlington on May 30th, Memorial Day. The church in Fox Chapel was overflowing for Jimmy’s memorial service. It was comforting to have the family together during these sad and trying times, even my sister Peggy was there. She lived in Bergen County, New Jersey but we never were able to hook up. I understood why when we met in Pittsburgh; her son was retarded. The boy had been diagnosed with a severe case of autism. He could not speak, was unable to communicate in any other way, and hard to control. Peggy’s once bright smile was worn from her face, only the etchings of permanent sadness and worry remained.
Mom and Dad were stoic throughout the three-day ordeal. After Arlington, we all went our separate ways. I planned to go back to Pittsburgh over the July 4th holiday, but Peggy and I made no mention of meeting again any time in the future. I thought often about Jimmy and was moved with what people said about my brother. He lived life to the fullest, too bad it was cut short in the service of our country while fighting a war that so many Americans were against. One which I recently had began to question, too.
26
Civil rights activist James Meredith is shot, and race riots break out in several US cities. Frank Sinatra releases Strangers in the Night. NOW, The National Organization for Women, is founded. And Rob goes back to school.
* * *
Change was in the air and I felt the need to change too. I understood something with a startling clarity. To be a complete adman I needed to go back to school and get an MBA. I had the settlement money along with what I had saved by not paying rent when I moved in with Shelly. This should take care of tuition and expenses for a couple of years, if I was careful.
Next, I researched the schools offering masters degrees in business administration. Of top five, my alma mater was ranked first or second according to most experts. A call to my mentor at Penn’s journalism school got the process going, although he was dubious at first.
“Are you sure you want to quit your job rather than do this in New York at night?” he said. “That way you won’t lose two years by going to school full-time with no guarantee of being a writer again.”
“Who said I was willing to be just a copywriter? I may want to run an agency someday. And, there’s no better way to prepare myself for this than to be an expert in the creative, as well as the marketing, and business ends of things.”
He was not convinced. “Most MBA students are recent college graduates. Only a small percentage of them have prior work experience. It seems to be easier for students to learn without the preconceived notions one might develop on the job.”
“My time in the agency business will help me understand academic theory and how to apply it to real life situations. Will you help me get into the program? I want to start in the fall.”
“Okay, Rob. If this is what you want, I’ll do all I can to help. You’re a little late to make the fall semester, but I believe we can get around the time problems for a fine alumnus like you. I’ll get an application packet off to you right away. Fill out everything and return the material to me immediately. I’ll take it from there.”
“Thank you, Professor.”
The process was on a fast track, and within a matter of weeks I was accepted into the fall class. I traveled to Pittsburgh to tell my parents of my plans. We had dinner at the country club on Saturday night, and after discussing my college plans we got around to my divorce. I refrained from mentioning Shelly’s boyfriend or suspicions about an abortion.
Mom said, “I feel bad about your failed marriage, but I’m sure it’s all for the best.”
“Yeah, like Sis’s child being autistic and Jimmy getting killed is supposed to be God’s will? You might buy into that Presbyterian predestination philosophy but I don’t.”
“Easy,” Dad said.
“Going to New York and getting mixed up with that girl obviously did nothing for your Christian faith,” Mom said.
“I’m having a problem with God right now.”
“Think of the problem He’s having with you.”
“Sorry, I was off base and shouldn’t have said that. “Let’s just let it go for now,” I said.
Neither of my parents tried to dissuade me from my MBA plan, but they did not offer to help with expenses, either. I knew and they sensed this was something I had to do totally on my own. I appreciated this.
My departure from the agency was pleasant enough. Everyone wished me luck, and Bill Bernbach suggested I contact him when I completed my studies. That was nice, but I did not believe it was any kind of real offer since he was a friend of the Sterns. I found a suitable furnished apartment near campus, bought a used car from a guy in New Jersey and packed my belongings in a U-Haul trailer for the trip to Philly. The night before I left New York I was having a beer in a bar and watched the news on television. It showed a protesting crowd and in the middle of it were Shelly and her boyfriend, both sporting Afros. Shelly’s Black professor friend was being arrested for carrying a concealed weapon and she was identified as his companion. I wondered if the family might force her to withdraw from being on the forefront of future civil rights activities or might this be considered a badge of honor and a statement of courage in their circles? Women were changing too. They were more open and confident. Masters and Jo
hnson’s sexual studies coupled with widespread use of the pill changed public attitudes toward sex. Perhaps I changed more than I thought. No matter, there was a sexual revolution going on and I was in the middle of it if I wanted to be, so there was no reason to complain. So I didn’t.
27
Martin Luther King, Jr. is assassinated. Mister Roger’s Neighborhood debuts on TV. Coca Cola’s Tab and Diet Pepsi battle for diet soda supremacy. 2001: A Space Odyssey opens in US theaters. And Rob graduates.
* * *
January 1968 and I am facing the last lap of the MBA race. College had been relatively easy compared to the grind and stress of the agency life. I had to find somewhere to start working again, but the response I was getting from my inquiries was not exactly encouraging. This was particularly disturbing since my savings had dwindled to about $5,000.
“Why aren’t the agencies breaking down my door to recruit me?” I asked the professor.
“Perhaps they don’t see the value in hiring an MBA with years of agency experience.”
“So you think I have too much experience to be hired?”
“You were making more than twice what most MBAs are paid as a starting salary. It might frighten some people off. Have you considered going back as a copywriter?”
“No. I didn’t invest my time and money on an MBA for that.”
“Perhaps a small advertisement in Ad Age might generate some interest,” he suggested.
“I need something more than a classified ad. I need to make maximum impact, like the Daisy commercial DDB did for the Johnson presidential campaign. It ran only once in primetime, but the publicity it generated was tremendous.”
“How will you do that?”
“With a full-page ad and run it just once.”
“Very expensive and quite risky.”
“Bold advertising is always a calculated risk.”
“Then full speed ahead and look out for the rocks.”