CHAPTER #11

Port Hope and Long Island, N.Y.

The interminable wait to clear immigration was over, our bags loaded into a taxi and we were off to Port Hope at last. Sitting back in the car, travelling along Highway 401, I watched the now almost-familiar landscape speeding by: industrial and cityscapes mostly, and names to conjure with: sibilant Mississauga, Islington, the ominous Black Creek Drive; over the Don Valley Parkway, on past Don Mills, through Scarborough, Ajax, Whitby, Oshawa, Newcastle.... getting close now, and finally, way out in the country, our destination: Port Hope. Turn right, straight ahead past the graveyard, turn right at the store again and there on the corner was a big white house with Papboy soon-to-be-standing on the steps, alongside of Michael and Mary, to welcome us.

Michael apologized for not being able to carry our bags upstairs - he was having trouble with his heart - no matter, Don hefted them up a wide staircase and into the room which had been allotted to us. What an interesting house, I thought. Similar to the one Pap had left, with walls panelled in oak. The furniture fitted in perfectly, the study/TV room was upstairs instead of down; the only thing missing was a conservatory in which Pap could indulge his love of flowers. I could see how he had been taken with the place. Mary whispered that Papboy had been looking forward to our arrival for days and was thrilled that we were going to be staying with him again. I smiled warmly at Pap. He smiled back and called me “Snipey”.

After giving us an extensive tour of the house and property Pap and Don talked for hours until, eventually, I fell asleep, completely exhausted after our long and tiring trip. When Don joined me shortly afterwards he, too, was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

KNOCK!! KNOCK!! “Mister Don, Mister Don!!!” KNOCK!! KNOCK!! BANG, BANG, BANG.

We both reared up in the pitch dark. Where was the light switch? What time was it? Two a.m.! I stumbled out of bed and opened the door. There stood Mary, dishevelled and totally distraught, begging us to follow her saying Michael had had a heart attack!

We ran down the hallway to their room and found Michael, nude, lying face down in the bathroom. Don rushed to the phone to call for an ambulance while I ripped a blanket off the bed to cover Michael. I could feel no pulse and felt sure that he was dead.

The ambulance came within 7 minutes, Don directed the paramedics upstairs and they tried for 10 minutes to resuscitate Michael but it was no use. They took him away in the ambulance. After they had left, I made some hot tea (with lots of sugar to counteract the shock) and the three of us sat drinking it at the kitchen table. We tried to comfort Mary as best we could but she was inconsolable. There was to be no more sleep for any of us that night.

When Pap came down to breakfast in the morning he simply couldn’t believe that Michael had died in the night and had already been taken away. I think he almost considered it a personal betrayal that Michael had died on the job - without even giving him notice.

Later Don and I attended the funeral ceremony but Pap couldn’t bring himself to go with us. According to Hungarian custom, photographs were taken of Michael in his coffin, and friends and relatives were each given a copy. When Mary gave one to Papboy a look of horror came over his face: a live snake would not have been dropped more quickly.

Although Mary was not at all pleased with this reaction, she stayed on as housekeeper after Michael died and Pap engaged an old bachelor, named Jimmy, to act as his driver and general factotum.

Pap and Jimmy got along very well but, unfortunately, Mary and Jimmy didn’t hit it off at all. Mary also went a little strange. She would appear after supper, dressed in nightie, robe, and big fluffy slippers, then sit down in a chair in Pap’s study to watch TV with him. This was very upsetting to my father-in-law, who thought it most improper, so he had to ask her to stop doing it. I am sure this must have offended her because it was not long after that episode that Mary left Port Hope and went to live with friends in Holland Marsh. She sent Christmas cards to us for about eight years after that but when the cards stopped coming we assumed that she had died.

Meanwhile Don estimated that it was going to take several months to wrap up his current obligations at Lockwood in Canada. The security clearance for the US was also going to take a lot longer and would involve an interview in New York. Plus we would have to find some place to live in Long Island for the next four or five years.

Anxious to start making my own contribution to the family finances again I decided to seek some temporary employment of my own. This did not please Papboy who would have preferred to have me sit around all day listening to his stories. Unfortunately we couldn't afford for me to be idle.

Before getting a job, though, I had to have transportation and so did Don. I chose a bright red second-hand VW and Don acquired something rather larger.

Next I checked out the Want Ads to see if there were any short-term job opportunities. No luck. So I composed an advertisement of my own, ran it for three days, and waited breathlessly by the telephone for the offers to pour in.

The first one was from a man who said he ran a dance studio. He would train me to teach a beginners class, he said, but would it be a problem if some of the dancers held me very close and I could feel that they were getting excited...?? Yes. Click! The second offer was from a "doctor" who wanted to know if I would be embarrassed to be in the room with him when patients took off their panties. Yes. Click!

I picked up the newspaper and double-checked my advertisement. Yes, it did say "executive secretary seeking temporary employment". The third time the telephone rang I lifted the receiver, heard a man's voice, and said that I was no longer available. Enough of that.

Shortly after the unsuccessful attempt to advertise my secretarial services I applied for a job at the Canadian Association for Retarded Children in Toronto. I set off for the interview with some trepidation - it was, after all, the first time I had ventured into Toronto on my own - but found the office in an old three-storey house on Bedford Road without any trouble. Dr. Allan Roeher was the Executive Director of CARC at that time and he and I achieved an immediate rapport. So, despite the fact that I couldn't commit to long-term employment Dr. Roeher offered me a job and I started the next day.

I soon discovered that working at CARC was rewarding and enjoyable. I learned a lot about mental retardation, testing facilities, preventative precautions, statistics and support groups, all of which helped in dealing with Genevieve later on in life. The only thing that I didn't enjoy was the long drive to and from Toronto each day.

By now it was Springtime and we planned to spend most weekends up at the island on Eel's Lake. Great. Kay agreed to bring Rod up to Toronto so that he could accompany us and Pap started rooting around for his fishing gear and scruffy old pants.

One of the great things about being back in Canada was being able to enjoy the company of Don's sister, Joan, and family: husband, Bob Pettit, son Tom and daughters Susan and Sally. I looked forward to seeing a lot of them in the future.

But first we had to get over the next surprise. That sweet darling little Rod showed up hugging a real live raccoon which he said was an abandoned baby called Chloe. Holy gum and doodlewhack! (Pap's expression) It looked more like a small bear to me.

Not at all thrilled to have an untethered wild animal in the car with us but anxious to have Rod's love and approval, I kept my lips zipped and hoped the beast would behave itself. However, I drew the line when Rod presented me with several cans of baby food and explained to me that they should be heated up for Chloe to eat every four hours. "Sorry, Rod, she's your baby and you will have to feed her yourself. That's what parenthood is all about."

The island (which Don had purchased after the war) had originally been called Calf Island but, for some reason, the family renamed it Pig. Don't ask me why. It was about two and a half acres in size and on it there were two cottages, a boathouse and an outdoor biffy.

One cottage contained four small bedrooms. Pap's bedroom and bathroom were in the larger cottage along with a kitchen, two tiny rooms (each with a bed), a big living room with a Quebec heater in it and an enclosed veranda across the front of the building.

The island was completely covered with pine trees so there was always a thick carpet of pine needles underfoot and lots of shade. If you wanted to sunbathe you could go down to the dock which had an old standing washbasin mounted on the planks. This was good because even if the water rose so high that the dock broke loose and drifted away, it was always easy to see that washbasin from afar.

It served a useful purpose, too. Pap would go down to the docks in the early morning, strip down to the buff, soap himself vigorously all over (in full frontal view of the people across the short bay and from our cottages, too!) and then he would lower himself carefully into the cool water to rinse off all the suds. It certainly was an eyeful for an early riser like me.

Meanwhile Chloe was getting into trouble: first she got whacked with a cane when she bit Papboy playfully on the leg; then she stole a piece of fish that Don had caught, and was thrown into the lake by him in disgust. Rod had a conniption when he saw his baby in the lake but Chloe simply swam back to shore, gave herself a good shake and waddled over to see if she could snag another nibble or two. In fact Chloe enjoyed the swim so much that later on, unseen, she swam across the narrow bay to investigate a barbecue in progress at another cottage. Despite Rod's panic when her absence was discovered, it all ended happily after she was sighted on the mainland, brought back home in a canoe and confined safely to the bedroom cottage for the rest of the night.

At least that's what we thought. When it came time for everyone to go to bed I discovered that Chloe had climbed over the wall dividing Rod's room from ours (they didn't go all the way to the top so that air could circulate) and had tipped all my makeup onto the floor, spilling powder everywhere and generally making a mess of anything she could get her little paws on. Fortunately we never saw Chloe again after that visit; she went back to living in the wild and, presumably, grew up to have babies of her own out in the woods around Vineland.

FBI and New York.

By now Don was being pressured by LKB to move to Long Island as quickly as possible. A meeting had been set up for him to be interviewed by the FBI in New York the following week. It all sounded very secretive to me but apparently it was necessary for Don to get high level security clearance because of the nature of his work. While in NY, Don said he would register our housing requirements with a real estate agent and get the ball rolling in that department.

Meanwhile I continued to commute to my job in Toronto each day. I knew I was not going to be allowed to join Don in NY until I had been granted a resident visa and work permit of my own so the operative word for me now was "patience".

When he arrived in NY Don was driven to an old unoccupied building in a seedy part of town. On the fourth floor he entered a room containing only one table and four chairs. He was then interviewed by several stern FBI agents who grilled him for an hour or more about his past activities in South America. Don had co-written a paper on Brazilian nuclear resources, which was presented at a conference of United Nations some years before, and this seemed to be a major point of interest for the FBI.

Assuming that Don planned to become an American citizen, they also asked which country he would defend if Canada and the USA were ever to go to war against each other. Silly question. At any rate, Don must have satisfied them that he was a man of integrity and would not pose a risk to the USA, because he was granted a high level security clearance, as requested, and given the go-ahead to work at LKB.

The real estate search went well too. Don returned to Toronto and told me he had found a house in Dix Hills, Huntington, that would be perfect for us. We drove to Long Island the following weekend, I approved his choice and the deal was done. It was an unfurnished house, except for a stove and refrigerator, some old carpeting, a small double bed and a few sticks of furniture left by the previous owners. Don intended to live in the house on his own and wait for my arrival before trying to furnish it properly.

We returned to Toronto together so that I could go back to work and Don could pack his things and return to Long Island alone. I promised to drive down for a quick visit to choose furniture as soon as possible.

Genevieve.

During the past seven years both Don and Kay visited Genevieve in Chicago every six months or so. They would arrive bearing gifts and then take her to lunch and to the Chicago museum.

Although Genevieve's behaviour was still frantic and hyperactive, she had made substantial progress at the Orthogenic School. For instance, she could now dress herself and understand instructions; she could speak some words - even though they were difficult to understand and she could not form them into sentences. Sadly, thirty-eight years later this is still the case.

Being terrified by the sight of blood, Genevieve was also taught that she wasn't going to die when her menses started. This is a particularly scary time for young girls - I know, because when mine started at the age of eleven I thought I had developed piles like my grandfather (who used to sit on the toilet and moan that he wanted to die). For a few brief moments I wondered if I was going to die too! My mother, taken unawares, promptly gave me a book about sex and procreation but I rather doubt that Genevieve would have been given such information.

Nevertheless, Don's anguish at Genevieve's lack of mental ability was assuaged somewhat because he knew that she was getting the very best care available. We had no idea what the future held for Genevieve but all any of us could do was hope for the best and take it one day at a time.

With Don absent and living on Long Island, Pap began to depend on me a lot more for companionship after I got home from work. That was okay with me but I was generally very tired by that time and not particularly disposed to being an attentive listener.

It so happened that, on the third floor of the CARC offices on Bedford Road, there were six rooms, a bathroom and a small kitchenette which were rented out to single elderly ladies on a monthly basis. When one of these rooms became vacant Dr. Roeher, knowing that I had a long commute twice a day, offered it to me free of rent. I jumped at the chance to sleep on the job, so to speak, and told Pap that I would be staying in Toronto during the week and at Port Hope on weekends.

Well! Was he ever cross with me. He didn't like that idea at all. However, after I whined a lot about how tired I got driving back and forth each day he finally gave in and stopped glaring. Before he could give me any more grief, I had moved into a little room above the office, taking my brown Alpaca fur rug with me to put on the floor for warmth. Winter was coming on and the rooms were poorly heated.

After spending a freezing week in my new pad, one of my fellow tenants told me that the radiator in my room had to be opened up wide to let the air out before any heat would come up. Oh, okay. I opened it up as wide as I could but nothing happened. Then I left for Port Hope to spend the weekend with Papboy.

When I returned on Monday morning early the entire floor was flooded and my fur Alpaca rug completely inundated with water. In fact it was so heavy that I couldn't even lift it alone. The kindly neighbour helped me to drag it, dripping all the way, to the bathroom where we each twisted an end in opposite directions until most of the water was squeezed out. Too late: my treasured fur rug was totally ruined. Fortunately I still had the white one and large chunks of the beige one, too, so I swallowed my chagrin as best I could and went downstairs to work.

Don was now ready for me to make another trip to Long Island so that we could get our house properly furnished. After my adventure with the radiator this seemed like a good time to make the journey. So, with a map of NY on the seat beside me and my heart in my mouth I set off across country for Long Island early one Friday morning. I had promised to be back in the office by Tuesday so there could be no dawdling.

Making frequent stops along the way to drink several pints of coffee the drive was uneventful but tiring. The only time that I became really stressed out was around the George Washington Bridge, where I had to weave in and around rush hour traffic while trying to read both street signs and the route indicators marked on my map simultaneously.

When I finally pulled into the driveway of Ground Pine Court to be met by a calm but happy husband, I was somewhat disgruntled to think that he took my safe arrival so much for granted. I felt as though I had climbed a mountain and he just assumed that I was quite capable of doing it - so what was the big deal?

Don has never had the need to do any housekeeping in his life and as soon as I stepped into the kitchen I became painfully aware of that fact. There were large brown paper bags, filled with empty TV dinner boxes and trays, lined up against the walls around the entire perimeter of the kitchen. I will say this, though: they were lined up very neatly. Also, I had given him several sets of sheets and pillowcases for the bed but he hadn't thought to change them even once. Eeeuw! It was obvious that this man was badly in need of a wife; unfortunately it was to be several more months before she could take up that position again.

By the end of the next day we had succeeded in buying dining room and bedroom furniture that has lasted us for the past thirty-eight years and still counting. The rest would have to wait. I left on Monday morning, having slaved all weekend cleaning house and doing laundry. Don vowed to change the sheets each week and I promised to join him as soon as my visas were granted and someone had been found to replace me at CARC. Then, under grey skies, I set off back to Canada, feeling only slightly more confident than I had on the outward trip.

Somewhere around Utica it started to snow. Although I had already experienced a winter in Canada I was not thrilled to be driving in a snowstorm. However, my little VW performed well in bad weather so I wasn't too worried. The closer I got to Canada the more heavily the snow descended. Darn it! Ice was forming on the windshield and my head was beginning to ache with concentration.

I had made it safely onto Highway 401, just past Ganonoque, when I noticed a car, travelling east, swerving out of control. Within seconds it had crossed over into the westbound lane in front of me. Feeling strangely unafraid, I knew that we were going to collide head-on. One minute our vehicles were nose to nose and the next second I was jammed against the steering wheel with a large hole in the shattered windshield made by my own head.

The driver of the other car ran around to open my door and when I looked up at him his face became spattered with my blood; by now, of course, my coat was saturated with it too. Fortunately I felt as though this was all happening to someone else and it was only after I ended up on a gurney in the emergency ward at Kingston Hospital that my body went into shock. It took the Head Surgeon two and a half hours to align my swollen lip (which had been sliced through vertically and horizontally) because some of the flesh must have stayed on the jagged edges of the hole made by my head in the windshield.

When I woke up next morning it was to a very frightening sight: two black eyes, scratches and contusions all over my face and a top lip that hung way down over the bottom one held together with bright blue stitches. Some young girls walking past the doorway looked in as they went by and said "Did you see that???" Holey moley, they were talking about me. The doctors found out two days later that I had also broken my ankle.

Fortunately Papboy had been called the night before to let him know that I wouldn't be coming home for a while. I telephoned Don in the morning to tell him, in a very small, shaky voice, that I was going to be scarred for life.

Concerned, Don flew to Toronto right away and when he saw the state of my VW couldn't believe that I had escaped from it alive: he even found my wallet, containing $300, still sitting in the glove compartment.

Don and Pap arrived five days later with a car full of pillows and blankets. They returned to Port Hope burdened with one battered woman, left leg in a cast, muttering furious imprecations about the fickleness of Fate - but, deep down, feeling very grateful to be alive.