by Kara Sundlun
To this day, I remain so happy that Joy welcomed me into her home when I arrived that summer. We never talked about how I was a product of a hurtful part of her marriage. Instead, she told me stories of how she helped get Mikhail Baryshnikov out of Russia.
She also introduced me to her daughter, Cintra, who became like a big sister to me. Cintra was ten years my senior, and I idolized her. She was a tall, head-turning blonde with exquisite taste and bold personality. Like my father, she could fill a room, and she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, even to my dad. Her father had died, and she had spent her formative years under my father’s roof. When she took me out on the town in DC, she regaled me with stories about growing up with him. It gave me a window into what I had missed, even if it wasn’t all pretty. My father was tough and not around a lot and, like me, she felt like she did a lot of growing up on her own. But we also shared a love for him and the same ability to see the good in him.
And I was about to witness some of that good when Dad surprised me, yet again.
As if calling his ex-wives wasn’t shocking enough, Dad really pulled the rabbit out of the hat when he called me unexpectedly. As usual, his tone was brief and to the point. “Do you want a blue car or a grey car?”
I was in the middle of studying for a test, so this caught me flat-footed. “What do you mean?”
“Really, what do you care so long as you get a new car, right?” He seemed to be talking to himself. “A car…you’ll need one in Washington.”
“Blue,” I replied, matching his brevity.
Click.
Summer arrived a few weeks later, and I arrived at Dad’s house for a quick visit before going to DC. He took me to the Herb Chambers car dealership, and inside was a blue Mazda with a red bow on it. I nearly cried. This was another turning point for me, and I stopped to think about all I’d wished for—the dream of finding Dad—and here I was, watching my father’s wide grin splash across his face while I drove out of the car dealership. Even though he was still uncertain about what life after the governorship would be like, he was excited to help me begin my budding career—and in the same place he started his, no less. It seemed ironic—or was it DNA?—that thirty-some years after he served with President Kennedy, I would go to work for another president, even if I was just answering phones and doing data entry. Nonetheless, Dad was so proud, and told everyone he knew that his daughter was going to be a White House intern. I was also proud to be one of only 225 interns selected from a pool of thousands of applicants from across the country. Little did I know that we would be the class most known for one now-infamous intern, Monica Lewinsky.
Though I never met her, I did get to meet President Clinton, twice, and when I told him who my father was, he shook my hand and said, “Governor Sundlun is a great American, and we’re grateful for his service.”
During my father’s time in office, he was the only Jewish governor in America, and had traveled with President Clinton to Israel for peace talks.
I beamed with pride, and found myself wanting to work harder to achieve great things like Dad.
My internship at CNN was equally life changing for me. It was there that I knew I wanted to become a news reporter. I loved seeing the inner workings of the White House, but my stint at CNN convinced me I wanted to be the one reporting on the action, not working behind the scenes. Larry King’s speech to us interns was simple: “Don’t worry about the competition. If you’re good, you’ll get a good job.”
I was determined to get good.
One of my jobs was helping deliver scripts to Judy Woodruff, the anchor for Inside Politics. She knew of my desire to get into the industry, and helped me craft a news story on welfare reform for my resume tape. On my off day, I went out to the Capitol in my red suit to shoot what’s called a “stand up” for my story. I made sure my make-up was good and used the extra strong Aussie hairspray to form the requisite TV helmet hair. The weather was perfect, and the photographer thought my script was good, but something kept gnawing at me as I said, “Live in Washington, I’m Kara Hewes.”
I knew I needed to change my name. Hewes was connected to a man who’d had no meaning to me for many years. I wanted to be Sundlun. I wanted to really be my father’s daughter in name, as well as our shared DNA, and I needed to make the change before I started sending out my resumes for a job. Problem was, I didn’t know how to ask my father. I figured I’d think of some way to ask him during my summer internships, but it would take me until senior year before I had enough guts to bring it up.
In the meantime, my junior year began with my father deciding to come out for Parents’ Weekend. I couldn’t wait to introduce him to all my friends and show him my life at the university. Mom was also coming, and I worried how the two of them would behave with all the togetherness of walking around campus, going to the football game, and meeting my friends. I feared the awkwardness, but yearned for the normalcy of two parents supporting me, even if they had a very storied past.
Mom arrived first, wearing something entirely too dressy for a football game. Her hair and makeup were perfect, and it was clear she wanted to look her best when she met Dad. However, I wondered if all the glitz would survive Michigan Stadium—The Big House—the largest football stadium in the country.
Dad arrived wearing his trademark grey slacks and a navy blazer, which was a giant contrast to all the other dads who sported jeans and Wolverine sweatshirts, not to mention that he was old enough to be their father. Both Mom and Dad exchanged pleasantries and an awkward hug. Surreal didn’t even touch what I was thinking.
Later, wearing the University of Michigan sweatshirts I’d bought them, Mom and Dad met my friends and their parents. Dad was at least thirty-five years older than my friends’ parents, but it didn’t faze him at all. It didn’t take him more than a few minutes to strike up a conversation and assume his natural position of holding court. While I went searching for some drinks for my parents, I could see my father telling a story while Mom and the other parents listened intently. I had the continued urge to pinch myself just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.
Dad loved football, and was excited, especially since he’d never seen a Big Ten game—and if he had, he would have avoided sitting in the student section. “Bunch of rogues,” he said, laughing while picking a poorly aimed marshmallow out of his hair. “Don’t they sit down in Michigan?”
“Not in the student section,” I laughed back.
“Times have really changed. When I was in college, we wore a suit and tie and the ladies wore fur coats, and you always went with a date.”
“Yep, times have definitely changed—we have cars now, too.”
Even though I knew Mom didn’t know a lick about football and was probably bored out of her mind, I loved the idea of enjoying this as a family. When the day was done, Mom was tired from the emotional day, and decided to head home. Dad gave her a goodbye peck on the cheek, which made her beam from ear to ear—it was so apparent to me that she still loved him on some level.
But Dad wanted to stick around, and offered to take the girls and me out to dinner. The timing was perfect, since I was looking forward to showing him off to my new friends without having to worry about making Mom feel uncomfortable.
The restaurant was known for its quiet atmosphere, charming antique décor, and five star food—the kind of place you only go when someone’s parents are in town to pick up the tab! Our table was perfect, and Dad was happy to be surrounded with me and my roommates, Heather, Laura, Lauren, and Jenny. I loved how my friends seemed so enamored with his stories.
For the first time, I was getting to show Dad my turf. I had always gone to my dad’s world, which was off in another galaxy, away from my real life. Now I was getting him to land on Planet Kara, and I wanted him to see the other side of me.
The girls were entranced as Dad explained why he became a Democrat, even though his father, Walter, my grandfather, had run for the senate in Rhode Island as a Republican.
“I
was an intern for President Roosevelt,” Dad said in a tone suggesting we should all be impressed by his connection to such a historic figure.
Laura could help but crack a joke that left us all in tears, “T.R. or F.D.R.?”
“Very funny,” my father jibed back.
While everyone laughed, I looked around the table and smiled to myself. My dad. Here. In my life. At my university. Joking with my friends. Amazing and priceless.
Being around my father and hearing about his adventures got me interested in seeing the world. As a junior, I’d decided it might be a great idea to spend a semester abroad and solidify my years of Spanish classes, but I was a little nervous to ask my dad if I could go. My friends, Laura and Jenny, had already signed up for a program in Seville, Spain, and it didn’t look like there would be any cost difference in tuition. But, once again, I was shackled by that fear that going abroad was not in our legal agreement. Even though I knew our relationship was real now, I still worried about deviating from that piece of paper because it had triggered so much good. Application deadlines were approaching, so I knew I had to bite the bullet and call him.
“Hi Dad, um I have a question for you.”
“Yes, go ahead, how can I help you?”
I was so nervous—how I hated asking for anything extra! — and the words just tumbled out of me in one breath. “Um, well, I really want to study abroad, and I really think it’ll help me get a better job down the road. I mean, I already speak some Spanish, and I could probably become fluent.”
“Will the university allow you to go?” He sounded genuinely interested, making me think he sort of liked the idea. Yay!
“Yes, they encourage it, actually. There’s a program in Spain and another one called Semester at Sea where you can sail around the world and learn about many countries.”
I wanted Spain, but felt like I should give all the options.
“No, Semester at Sea sounds like just a big party and all you’ll end up with is a bunch of postcards. I’m not paying for that, but Spain is a beautiful country, and I have some great friends in Madrid I can call.”
“Really?” I squeaked, not believing my ears. “So I can go?”
“I think it’d be good for you.”
It was all I could do to keep from jumping on the furniture. “Ok, Dad, thank you so much! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!”
I rushed my applications and could barely contain my excitement to be going to Europe for the first time, where I would live with a Spanish family and take classes at the University of Sevilla. I left right after Christmas, using the brand new luggage Dad gave me to send me on my way in style.
The limits of our relationship were being lifted and, thanks to my dad, my life abroad expanded my worldview at the same time. He even helped me with extra expenses so I could stay longer and backpack around Europe before coming back to live with him for my fourth summer in Newport. Because of my time abroad, my Spanish is pretty good, and I often do recordings in Spanish for my television station today. ¡Gracias, papa!
After Spain, I was able to spend a few weeks in Newport, sharing all of my adventures with Dad. It would be the last summer before I graduated college, and I was aware I needed to make these moments count, since I wouldn’t be able to come home for weeks at a time once I started working.
As I headed back to the University of Michigan for my senior year, I was excited and looking forward to graduation. Not only did it mark the calendar of my fourth year of having Dad in my life, it was another milestone he could witness. But I knew I needed to change my name before I started sending out resumes for jobs, and I definitely didn’t want “Kara Hewes” on my diploma. Still, a small sliver of me feared rejection again. What if he says no? What if he says that wasn’t part of our deal? Our legal agreement only covered me until the end of college, so what if he wants to bail out?
It was crazy talk, I know, but I was still vulnerable to the old wounds of abandonment in times like this, where I felt I was going outside the bounds of our agreement. Should I just keep quiet, or ask him?
Our relationship is real and becoming so much more solid every day. Just ask him, Kara!
In the end, I listened to my heart.
Dad was now working at the University of Rhode Island for the Governor in Residence program, which was created to help URI make strategic partnerships and secure funding for expanding its programs. I called up his office and his sweet secretary, Cecelia, answered.
“Hi, Cecelia is my father in?” I felt my stomach tightening.
“Hey, baby,” he boomed. Ah, good, his greeting meant he was in a good mood and happy to talk.
“Hi, Dad, how are you?”
“Good, how are you?”
“Fine, um I need to talk to you about something.”
“What?”
“Well I’m putting my resume together to start applying for jobs after college, and there’s a problem.”
“What’s the problem?”
“I don’t want to use the last name Hewes anymore. I—I want to change it to Sundlun.” Holding the phone away from my mouth, I let out a huge gasp, like a deflating balloon. Breathe Kara, breathe.
Dad’s long pause didn’t do my heart rate or blood pressure any good. Was he figuring out a reason to say no? Maybe he wasn’t really ready to make me totally official. Wait…I knew he loved me, and wasn’t everyone else telling me it was clear I’d changed his life for the better? I squashed the urge to kick myself.
“Well, how do we do that?” His voice oozed approval and— dare I say it—excitement.
Relief washed over me. Would my fear of rejection ever go away? Would I ever feel as secure as I did with Mom? I figured a name change would help make it even more real for both of us. It was a tangible way of erasing the past.
“Do we need a lawyer?”
He let out a small chuckle. “Kara, I am a pretty good lawyer, so I think I can handle a name change.”
Even better! Dad would make himself mine, and do all the work. Another deposit of love to fill up my heart’s savings account. Like a little girl who scribbles names of a boy she likes, I started practicing my new signature, Kara Kathleen Sundlun. Hey! All my father’s monogrammed towels would work for me, too.
Dad went to probate court in Rhode Island and easily changed my name in less than an hour. The Providence Journal reported it the next day: “Kara takes her Dad’s name.” Seeing it in print made it feel even more real. Dad sent me the official documents so I could change my driver’s license, credit card, and school records. I wanted to make sure I became Kara Sundlun before graduation, so the yearbook would have my new identity, and my diploma would reflect the new truth.
I was overjoyed that my past was being erased, but Mom wondered where she fit in. She watched my father take center stage as I became a young adult, and felt like she had been replaced as the star of my life.
The tears would well up in her big blue-green eyes. “Sometimes it just feels like you’re choosing him over me, like I’m being discarded.”
“Mom, you’re my mother, and no one can ever take that away. Besides, it’s not your name I’m replacing, and I’ll always keep my middle name Kathleen, and will always be your little ‘Kara Kathleen,’ I said, using the same sing-songy voice she’d always used when calling me. While most mothers use both names when a kid is in trouble— mine sang my names like a song when she was happy.
As much as it hurt, she knew it didn’t make sense for me to keep the name of her ex-husband, a man who reminded me of chipped plates at the dinner table. She ended up going back to her maiden name Vargo, and we both said goodbye to an unpleasant memory.
With my new name made official, I could graduate as a Sundlun in May of 1997, with my father; brother, Stuart; and Cousin Fenton there to cheer me on, along with Mom and my cousin, Danielle.
I reveled in having both sides of my family merging on this milestone. It had been nearly four years since we’d come together under the glare of television lights, an
d we now had a relationship that was far more real than any pundit could have predicted. This life moment was a major achievement for Dad and me. Against all odds, I’d found him, and we had found our way to each other. Officially, he had fulfilled his contractual agreement by paying for my college, but personally, our relationship was taking on a new beginning. From now on, if I wanted to attend grad school, get married, or buy a house, I would have to discuss my aspirations with my father, like any other normal kid.
Contractually, he no longer owed me anything, but we had grown beyond courtrooms and contracts. I knew he would be there for me because he wanted to. Forgiveness hadn’t come easily, but I knew I’d made the right choice by letting go of the past. In doing so, we shared a father-daughter love that would be forever, and our road to healing would continue far past the date on my diploma, or our settlement agreement.
15 My First Job
A chip off the new block, I was following in my dad’s footsteps and hoping to enter the exciting world of television news—only I wanted to be in front of the camera rather than being a star in the boardroom. Even with my family name, I knew it would all come down to my on-air resume tape.
I started working around the clock at WJBK in Detroit as an intern, trying to soak up all the experience I could from my mentor, investigative reporter Bill Gallagher. He was a wicked smart Irishman who knew how to get a story better than anyone, but also liked to enjoy life, so he never failed to find time for a good lunch and—since he knew I was working for free—he always paid for me, too. We usually worked with photographer Dave Mabry, who was helping me put my resume tape together.
After Bill did his story for the evening news, I would take the raw interviews and write my own stories, and Dave would help me shoot stand ups: “Live in Detroit, I’m Kara Sundlun.” I loved saying my new name, even though it still felt awkward, and I continued having a hard time enunciating the “d.”