There’s Someone Else to Call

I wrote a brief letter to Kathy, an old friend of Bernie’s from Boston University days in the late forties, early fifties telling her that Bernie died. Then I went on a trip to New Jersey to see my daughter and her family. When I returned, I had mail from her husband, Bob. Bad development.

He wrote to say that Kathy was fine with “no apparent mental or physical decline until two months before she died of pancreatic cancer”¬† on May 23rd.

What a bummer. I liked her so much. She had a great sense of humor and was always fun. Now Bob wante to talk to me. I’ll call him.

I left a message on his machine and he called thirty minutes later. We spent a half hour discussing the past and reviewing Kathy’s and Bernie’s old friends: Ted Moynahan, Kenny Donahue, Julian Moynahan, Jack Grant. Ted had been married to Kathy and they had three kids. Julian who had taught at Princeton, was Ted’s brother. Ted spent a large part of his life marching in parades, the kind of parade protesting things. Kenny¬† Donahue had spent a lot of time in Ireland, part of it living in a cottage on the Guinness estate, thanks to one of the Guinness’s.

Jack was a friend of Bernie’s from Harvard. I’d given up finding his address until I ran across it today on my Rolodex while looking for someone else, I forget who. He was the best man at our wedding. And the only man I knew who was smarter than Bernie.

I must call him.