I have decided that I've reached the time of life to begin writing my story. I often think of the dying U.S. Grant writing his memoirs on his porch, shivering under a blanket, trying to beat the reaper. I'd rather get a head start, because you never know what's next... which leads me to this story:
I first began to suspect that things might not quite work out the way I planned during the 1976 Baseball All Star Game, when Detroit's rookie phenom , Mark 'The Bird" Fidrych didn't live up to expectations. Something in the back of my mind told me that this would prove be an important lesson.When my mother died in 1980 I remember thinking that if only the Bird hadn't flamed out, maybe she would never have gotten cancer. Nutty? Yes, but grief twists the mind, (and a steady diet of booze and blow may not have helped).
I didn't hear that back of the head voice again until 1984 when we flew into Jackson Mississippi to shoot a TV story on a kid named Scooter. We bounced and banged and though the sky on a stormy night in a 727 pounding down scotch and flirting with a girl who thought we were from CBS. One thing led to another, and she managed to get her brother to open up his steak house after hours so we could get a meal after landing late, and by the time the all night party was over we were hung over, broke, and late for the morning call at an elementary school to tape a kid named Scooter whiz around in a wheelchair. While scooter whized I kept running to the boys bathroom to barf (great example to the kiddies, but fuck 'em if they can't take a joke). Meanwhile it dawned on all of us that we had blown our entire weeks hotel and meal per diem money on the previous evenings whiskey and pussy pallooza and were therefore in some danger of testing the reaction of a Mississippi sheriff to some Yankee TV assholes who welsh on a hotel bill. As it turned out we ended up borrowing a go cart from a kid named Irving to shoot a tracking shot, and then got the bright idea to wire the home office in Ann Arbor and ask for money for rental of the " Irving 9000 Mobile Camera Support System". Thank God the nice old lady in the logistics office wouldn't have a know a Mobile Camera Support if one landed on her head, so she sent us a quick $3500 to get out of Dodge without Deputy Dawg being needed. On the day we were leaving, as we drove out to the airport saying what a cool town Jackson had turned out to be and how we should for sure come back again soon and look up the girls we had met... I knew..just knew, that I would never return. I think there have been a lot of 'Jackson's" in my life, probably for all of us there are moments when we realise we won't pass this way again, won't kiss those lips again, won't hear that voice again. Such is the beginning of wisdom I guess, at least its serves as a reminder that the clock is ticking.
Later that year we did a few days in the Dallas area, and after posing for pictures on the Grassy Knoll ( pointing to the fence like the shots just happened, the idea was to put the photo on a shelf and if someone saw it refuse to answer questions), we went out to a convent near Fort Worth to do a story on the nuns there. The women were Discalced Carmelites in a cloister so it was a rare privilege to set foot inside with the sandal sisters. I noticed a young sister who was beautiful in way I had never seen before. I asked her what she did all day, and she showed me how she spent eight hours a day on her knees in prayer with her arms splayed out and face turned to heaven. I was stunned, and all I could think to ask her was: "Why do you do it?" I have never forgotten her answer. She said: " I pray for those who can't or won't pray for themselves". I don't remember her name, and I only spoke to her for a minute or two, but I remain convinced that good woman on her knees has far more to do with the future of the world than all the kings and princes on tee vee every night.
In a lot of nursing homes I have seen people in the process of leaving this world, its as if they are packing their bags, and getting ready to let go. For the most part I find the prospect almost unthinkable.... until I remember Jackson... and then I realize that I started leaving long ago; and when the good sisters call I may find that my bag is already packed.
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