by Allen Weiner
With the Philadelphia Eagles season over, Max watched the Houston Oilers get shellacked by a stellar Pittsburgh Steelers team 34–5 in the AFC Conference Championship game. It was a big day for Steelers wide receivers Lynn Swann and John Stallworth, with each catching a touchdown pass from quarterback Terry Bradshaw. Max skipped the second game of Championship Sunday as an Eagles fan who hated the team’s division rivals. This was because the Dallas Cowboys took on the Los Angeles Rams, with the winner going on to the Super Bowl.
Even though he hated being disturbed while watching football, Max didn’t mind answering the phone when congratulations poured in from friends, family, and work colleagues. Max’s parents called bright and early to tell him the investigative feature also ran in the Philadelphia Inquirer. Max thought about telling them about his breakup—or whatever one could call it—with Sue. He planned on going home Thursday, so his tale of woe could wait. The best call came from Norm Weiss, who was happy for Max and glad to help with his work’s late stages. When Max told him about his upcoming visit to Philadelphia, Norm made his friend promise to call so they could get together.
As the day wore on, it morphed into a typical downer Sunday for Max. The excitement of his work faded, and his feelings of sadness over Sue began to take hold. Max knew the amount of personal courage it had taken to get close to Sue, and then having it backfire made him wary about future relationships. His feelings were exacerbated when he realized that he didn’t have the kind of close friends he could talk to about his state of unhappiness after all these years. An hour before dinnertime, Max was overcome with exhaustion, so he curled up on the sofa and took a nap.
The downstairs neighbors’ door slammed, waking Max up from his deep, late-afternoon slumber. He looked at the kitchen clock, and it read eight o’clock, so he grabbed some leftovers from the fridge and ate them over the sink. It was a far cry from the setting he so carefully put together for New Year’s Eve, less than a week before. Still tired, even after a solid nap, Max felt it was time to bring the day to an end, so he turned in for the night.
After a restless night, Max finally gave up and got out of bed. He was awake for an hour, spending that time replaying various events of the past month and wondering what was next. Walking to the kitchen for a glass of water, he noticed a call on his answering machine. For a moment, he hoped it was Sue wanting to provide him with answers to the countless questions that raced through his mind. The call was from eleven o’clock the night before from Jack Devlin, asking Max to come down to the main office as early as possible on Monday.
Max was anxious to get the day going, so he showered and was out the door by seven and on his way down to the Chronicle’s main office. Once he arrived there, Max went across the street to the deli for a cup of coffee and a toasted bagel. He didn’t figure Devlin was going to provide breakfast for their meeting.
“There he is,” Jack Devlin said to everyone within earshot as Max walked in from the parking lot. “The man of the hour.” The twenty reporters in the newsroom rose to their feet and applauded the arrival of the hero of the moment. Recognition in the newspaper business was not commonplace, and Max could feel himself turning red from the attention.
“Let’s go into my office,” Devlin said to Max, putting his arm around the young reporter. “It’s difficult to believe you’ve only been with the paper for three months. It’s also hard to fathom how you bounced back after such a rough start,” Devlin added with a bit of a chuckle. “We have some big plans for you.”
“Really?” Max responded, his voice suddenly going up three octaves.
“I feel bad for the Nesquehoning bureau because, as of today, we’re transferring you to the main office. I spoke to the publisher, and we wanted you to be closer to where the action is and make it easier for you and Aaron Grant to work together.”
“Wow, that is amazing,” Max answered, somewhat in shock. “You may not know this, but I was apartment hunting in Allentown just a month ago. I went to college here, and there’s a section of town near the school and the fairgrounds I like a lot.”
“Perfect. You up for the new challenge?” Jack Devlin paused a minute and laughed. “Wait, of course, you are. Who am I kidding?”
“I need a break for a few days, so I planned on going to visit my parents in Philadelphia. Can we discuss the details when I get back?”
“Sure. Take as much time as you need—you earned it. I’m sure your family is quite proud of you.”
Max drove back to Nesquehoning after he met with the managing editor. Going back to the office made him uncomfortable. Max determined that the best course of action at this time was to stop at his apartment, call into the bureau, and then head down the turnpike to Philadelphia. Max would tell whichever editor was on duty at the bureau that he needed some time off after a hectic week.
Al Hickey answered the phone. Max hadn’t spoken to Al since before the holidays, so the call was filled with praise for Aaron and Max’s work. “I taught you everything you know,” Al joked. “You’re a good kid. Take the time and relax.”
After gathering up some clothes—including a lot of dirty laundry—Max took off for the sixty-mile ride. The radio was off and had been off since Saturday when Sue’s bombshell dropped. While slightly reluctant to turn it on, the long ride needed some sort of musical or talk accompaniment. Sports talk seemed like a great choice, and given that WCAU in Philadelphia had a long signal reach, Max was able to focus on angry fans talking about how bad the Phillies would be in 1979 and the disappointing past season of the Eagles. As one of many millions of long-suffering area sports fans, the gibberish was music to Max’s ears.
Max was planning to surprise his parents. But as he pulled into their driveway, he could see into the garage, and his mother’s car was gone. At three in the afternoon, his mom and dad were most likely grocery shopping. Max understood the Rosen family fridge was never empty. And then there was the spare chill chest in the basement that would also be loaded, primarily with fruits and vegetables.
After nearly two days of maintaining his emotions, Max broke into tears as soon as he walked in the door. He wasn’t sure what sparked this outburst of emotion, but he suspected there were some bad memories in that two-story duplex that remained close to the surface. He hadn’t given a lot of thought to what he’d tell his parents about Sue, but there weren’t a lot of people he could trust with such deeply personal information, and Max knew he needed to tell someone. It didn’t seem like a good dinnertime topic, so Max decided to play it by ear to find the proper time for this heavy download.
While waiting for his folks to come home, Max called Barrett and told his friend and co-conspirator he’d like to see him on Tuesday. It was too cold outside for tennis hustling, so Barrett was free all day. They decided to meet for coffee halfway between their places, which happened to be in the neighborhood where they grew up.
After hanging up, Max heard his mother’s car pull into the driveway. He went out to help with the groceries, and after seeing him come down the steps, Max’s mother got out of the car, raced over, and hugged him.
“What a wonderful surprise. Are you hungry? If I knew you were coming, I would have made something special.”
“I am a little hungry,” Max answered, leaving his mother’s embrace and walking over to his father. Max put his arms around the senior Rosen and kissed his neck. It was something Max saw his dad do to his father as a show of love, and Max always followed suit.
After groceries were unloaded, Max sat at the kitchen table while his mother magically whipped up a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich and a cup of homemade pea soup. Even with years of practice, Max figured he’d never possess his mother’s effortless kitchen skills.
While Max was eating, the feeling he had when he came into the house returned. He put down his sandwich and began crying. Startled, his parents frantically asked what was wrong.
“You’ve had such a wonderful week, Max. What could be the matter?” his mother said, handing he
r son a tissue.
With that, as if he were a balloon punctured by a large pin, the words quickly streamed out, and Max told his parents most of the details of the past few weeks. He did leave out the parts about Joe Taylor and the planting of the FM transmitter, but the rest of the saga remained intact.
“You’re talking about the girl from New Year’s Eve, right?” his father asked.
“Yes, that’s her.”
“Wow, an FBI agent. That’s something,” Harold Rosen added.
Max’s mother knew her son well and decided not to say anything—at least for the moment.
“Well, at least you’re home to think things over. You can see your friends, eat well, and relax. We’re always here to talk over anything you want,” she said.
“Thank you. I feel better just telling you.”
Lunch was getting cold, so Max resumed his meal after sharing his heartache with the two people he knew he could count on. True that sometimes confiding in his parents came with unwanted and impractical advice, but on that day, Max’s hurt could only be healed by the ones who loved him most.
With his parents in the living room watching the early news, Max went down to the basement to look around. He was looking for something specific, and after finding the large folder stuffed with nearly a hundred sheets of paper, he sat on the couch and looked at them, one after the other.
The papers were rejection letters from ninety-nine of the one hundred newspapers he applied to in mid-1978. He marveled at each letter’s off-white stationery with the embossed name of the paper at the top. They were all worded similarly, thanking Max for his application and wishing him good luck. The reasons for turning him down for a position ranged from lack of experience to no jobs being available at that moment.
After combing through the letters, Max played the what-if game. What if he was offered a job in Charlotte, North Carolina, or Hartford, Connecticut, or even Tulsa, Oklahoma—three newspapers that were at the top of his list when he sent out resumes and clips? What would it be like to live somewhere he had never been, such as Tulsa? Before moving to Nesquehoning, Max had never lived away from home except for college dorm life, which was an experience unto itself. Would he be scared living so far away from family, or would it be a new, exciting adventure?
It was approaching five thirty in the afternoon, thirty minutes past when the Rosens ate dinner when both of Max’s parents worked. These days, with both parents retired, things were a bit more casual—dinnertime was 6 p.m. The sound of meat sizzling in a pan drew Max’s attention. He went upstairs and asked if he could help by making the salad.
“I’m sure your dad won’t mind you pinch-hitting for him,” Max’s mother said, smiling from ear to ear. She loved having her son in the kitchen while she cooked.
“Did you buy romaine lettuce? You know I hate iceberg—it has no nutritional value.”
“Yes, we bought romaine,” Max’s father yelled from the living room. “We figured you might come home next week, so we wanted to be prepared.”
Dinner for the Rosens always included salad and an array of vegetables. That night, Max’s mother made spaghetti and meatballs with fresh string beans. It was the dead of winter, but Max knew his father could find fresh vegetables no matter where they came from.
During their meal, Max told his parents that he went through his rejection letters in the basement and brought up the topic of working for a newspaper far from his hometown. His parents avoided eye contact with each other but looked directly at Max to see how serious he was. After twenty-five years, their instincts never failed.
“What brought that on?” his mother asked.
“Like where?” his father asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s time for me to broaden my career horizons.”
“We’ll support you no matter what you decide,” Max’s mother said, not meaning a word of it.
“It’s just talking. I’m sorry I brought it up if it bothers you.”
Max’s sister Nancy came over after dinner. She had a busy day with patients and could not get away in time for supper. “Max, Mother called and told me you came home. Is everything alright?”
“I’m fine. I just needed a break.”
“One of my patients asked me if we were related. He read your story in the Inquirer and figured that we might be kin since we had the same last name. That’s exactly what he said: ‘kin’.”
“Yes, we be of kin.” Max laughed.
Nancy sat on the living room sofa, and Max joined her. Their parents wanted to give their kids time to talk alone and went to their bedroom and watched TV. As per usual, the volume was loud enough for their show to be heard down the block. Max smiled at his sister and chuckled.
“I guess some things never change,” he said, pointing down the hall toward their parents’ room.
Max and Nancy talked for two hours before they both were exhausted from their respective days. Nancy listened patiently as he told her every detail about his time with Sue. His sister was not one for advice and told him that there are plenty of fish in the sea.
It was after ten when Max climbed into bed, emotionally wiped out. The day began with the managing editor of the Chronicle telling his young star reporter that he was being transferred to the main office. It ended in the safety and comfort of his parents’ home, something he knew he’d miss if he moved far away.
Tuesday looked to be a low-key day for Max. He woke up at eight to the sound of coffee brewing. Coffee brewing? In the Rosen house? Harold Rosen bought his wife a Mr. Coffee brewing machine for Hanukkah. It sat in the box until New Year’s Day when Max’s mother tried her hand at something other than instant. She bought a can of Maxwell House ground coffee for her new toy and got it perfect for her first time. Max put on his robe and went to the kitchen to enjoy a cup of real coffee.
After breakfast, Max called Barrett, and Barrett asked Max to come over to his house instead of meeting halfway. Max decided to stop for bagels on the way.
Barrett had a beautiful view of the Delaware River from his condo. They sat inside and watched as boats made their way up and down from other ports along the east coast. Max abruptly interrupted the river watching party.
“Did you ever think about moving away and living somewhere else?” Max asked his friend.
“No. Why, do you?”
“Of late, I am. It’s possible that my recent work could open doors for me at some newspapers. I’ve lived in this area for a quarter of a century—it may be time to move on.”
“Really? Where would you move to?”
“It’s more like where would I not move.”
“Such as?”
“North Dakota, Montana, and maybe some places in the Deep South.”
“Interesting,” Barrett said, curious about Max’s question and answer.
Max was about to continue the conversation when the phone rang. Barrett got up from his chair by the window and answered.
“Barrett, this is Harold Rosen. Is Max still there?”
“Yes, he is. I’ll put him on.”
“Dad, what’s up? Is everything okay?”
“No. Your friend, Norm Weiss, was shot. He’s in the hospital.”
“Which one?”
“Roxborough Memorial Hospital. It’s near his house.”
“Do you know what happened?”
“No, son, I don’t.”
“Okay, I am on my way.”
Max turned to Barrett, who was listening to one end of the conversation, but it was enough to get the gist of what was going on.
“I have to go,” Max said, putting on his coat and fishing for his car keys. “I’ll call you later.”
Roxborough was on the complete other end of the city, and there was no easy way for Max to get there quickly. He made his way to Roosevelt Boulevard and drove until he reached the Schuylkill Expressway. Traffic was light as many schools weren’t back in session, and workers were extending their New Year’s weekend well into the following week. To avoid
any major road disasters, Max tuned in to KYW, the all news and traffic station, which gave hourly traffic reports. All told, it took Max forty-five minutes to get to the hospital.
A block away from the hospital, on Jamestown Avenue, Max found an open parking meter. He dug out three quarters, which gave him three hours. He glanced at his watch, and it was two in the afternoon. Down the block was a place famous for its cheesesteaks, but seeing his friend was far more important than eating.
Norm Weiss was moved from the emergency room to a private room in the hospital. At the front desk, Max was told he was in room 437. The elevators were right by the reception area, so Max rushed over and pushed the button to go up. Two Philadelphia police officers got off as the doors opened, making Max wonder if they came from Norm’s room. He would find out soon enough.
Norm’s room was close to the elevator. Outside number 437 stood two police officers, one on either side of the door. Max walked over to the door but was stopped by the larger of the two cops who asked what he wanted.
“I am a friend of Norm Weiss. Someone from his family called and asked me to come down.”
“Wait here,” the officer said, opening the door and closing it behind him.
After a pause, he returned. “Okay, you can go in.”
Norm’s wife, Jill, and his parents were seated next to his bed. Norm was wide awake and saw Max come into the room.
“Max, I’m so glad you came so fast. Jill called and spoke to your dad. I see he reached you.”
“He did, and I came as fast as I could.”
Norm looked around the room. He was propped up in bed with an IV running and some serious bandages across his right shoulder. Norm didn’t look to be in serious pain, but hospital painkillers are great at doing their job.
“Jill, Mom and Dad, can you give Max and me a minute, please?” Norm said softly.
“We’ll be right outside,” Norm’s dad, Paul, said, kissing his son on the cheek.
“Thanks.”
Once his family left the room, Norm asked Max to grab a chair and sit close.
“I was shot this morning on my way to work. I parked my car in the lot near the office, and as soon as I made it to the sidewalk, two guys were waiting for me.”