Month: March 2023

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Eagle’s Birthday

 

I went to a very special birthday party a week ago. My friend, Eagle, turned forty-six. Eagle’s mom, Georgann, hosted a party at Old Chicago Pizza for twenty-five of Eagle’s friends. It was a great gathering of friends and loyal supporters. The only person missing was Eagle’s sister, Jennifer, who called in via FaceTime from her home in North Carolina.

I loved meeting Eagle’s friends. Steve, Andy and Colleen are Eagle’s dear friends from pre-school. Others, like Chaurice and Debbie, are good friends from elementary school. Eagle’s massage therapist, Lizzie, came with her two children. A lot of family friends, including the family doctor, were there because they love Eagle and wanted to wish him a happy birthday.

Eagle got his name when he was born. Georgann and Jim Hall talked about having another child when Jim achieved his Air Force Colonel’s rank. “When Jim puts on his Colonel’s Eagle insignia, we will add a little eaglet to our family,” Georgann told all their friends. Eagle was born three years later. 

Eagle’s birth was difficult. He didn’t cry immediately and needed to have fluid suctioned from his lungs.  He was whisked away to the Neonatal ICU, where all the nurses referred to him as “Baby Eagle” and described his as “strong, determined, tough, and wants to live.” Eagle has been his his name ever since. He is still determined to meet every challenge that life puts in front of him.

Life hasn’t always been easy for Eagle. He had numerous surgeries at a toddler, including one to rebuild his windpipe. His father, B. Gen. Jim Hall, died in 2014, after a long illness. Both Eagle and Georgann have ongoing medical concerns that require frequent monitoring. They have shown amazing resilience, throughout, and always smile and live their lives with tenacity and grace.

Eagle graduated from special education at Overland High School in 1996. Now he lives in his own apartment and works the three busiest hours of the day in the kitchen at Anschutz hospital. He likes to write and loves watching sports and current events on TV.

He is on a Special Olympics bowling team and belongs to a weekly men’s group with his friends. Eagle and his friends like going to community activities before getting something to eat. He is a wiz at using the computer, and navigates his cell phone better than a lot of people I know. Eagle loves learning new things and helping others learn, as well. He is a kind, patient, enthusiastic teacher.

Georgann made a beautiful speech at Eagle’s party, thanking everyone for being there. “You’ve been with us through the worst of times and the best of times,” Georgann noted. She gave credit to the school programs that were available to the whole family. Although I didn’t know Eagle when he was in school, I worked in the same district. I agreed with Georgann that Eagle was fortunate to work with some of the best teachers and mental health professionals I’ve ever known.

The most important thing to know about Eagle now, is that he is incredibly cheerful. He believes it is his job to learn to take of himself. He loves people and makes lifelong friends wherever he goes.

Happy Birthday, Dear Sweet Eagle! Happy Birthday to you! 

Birthday photos by Debbie Harrington.

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I Love My Uber Drivers

I love my Uber drivers! If I could, I would live in a community of nothing but Uber drivers. They are friendly and smart. They hard-working and interesting to talk to. And, for the most part, they are unrelentingly cheerful.

In September, 2022, I sold my car. It was a cute 2015 red Juke. It was a nice car but I was tired of driving. I was tired of traffic. I was tired of people honking at me, for no reason at all.

I did the math. I drove less than 6000 miles/year and I paid a lot of money for insurance, gas, and maintenance. And then I hit a “no left turn” sign. You’re right! I hit the sign, just as I tried to turn left.

The paramedics who came were kind and helpful. One directed traffic as the other one dislodged my car from the sign post. I wasn’t hurt but I was embarrassed as I took my car to the body shop for repair. That’s when I decided I was ready to turn in my keys.

I sold my my car for $16,000.00. That’s a lot of Uber rides! So far I’ve had only one not-so-great experience. The driver yelled at me when I pointed out an easier way to take me home. I hate being yelled at. I spoke up and told him that if he wanted a tip, he’d better not yell at me. He was quiet for the rest of the way, but then he gave me a “one star” review as a rider, making sure he’d never have to drive me anywhere again.

I love that my drivers are from all over the world. They remind me of my Airbnb guests. My favorites are the drivers from Africa and Mexico. They have great stories about how they came to the United States and how their families have adjusted to being here.

I usually choose Uber Green because I like to support electric cars. And, mostly, because a lot of those cars are Teslas. Tesla has an agreement with Uber to rent cars to drivers for a nominal fee. I’ve ridden in Teslas of every color.  Often I have a different driver, with a different color Tesla, on both legs of my trip. I tell people “I traded my Nisson for a Tesla.”

I’m glad I decided to sell my car and stop driving. After sixty years behind the wheel, I love being in the passenger seat. When I reach my destination, I say goodbye to the driver with the same speech every time.

“Thank you for getting me safely to my destination. I’ve enjoyed riding with you. I will probably never see you again, but I’d be happy if I did. In the meantime, I will hold you in my heart for the rest of today.” And then I add, “Please give me five stars.”

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The Luck of the Irish

I have always thought that the Mexican people and the Irish had a lot in common. In addition to being from devoutly Catholic countries with a distinct tendency toward alcoholism, they both have some of the worst luck in the world. They just don’t know it.

I am lucky to be one-fourth Irish. That comes from my dear Grandmother, Irene Fay Jones. My grandmother and her family were Irish to the core.

I was also lucky to marry into an Irish family. My mother-in-law, Dorothy Gorman Hein, was my mother, too. Her sister, Margaret Gorman Gessing, was my beloved aunt. 

Irene and Dorothy had a lot in common: Both lost their fathers at a very young age. Dorothy’s father died in the flu epidemic of 1918, when she was eight years old. Irene’s father was crushed between two boxcars, working for the railroad, when she was eleven. 

Both Irene and Dorothy grew-up poor, raised by single mothers at a time when jobs for women were scarce. They both became hard-working, brave women who loved their spouses, their children and their grandchildren. Both Irene and Dorothy had sisters who were their best friends, and both married men who were stable, hard-working, and NOT Irish. Irene and Dorothy also loved to drink, now and then. Dorothy and Margaret drank wine out of a pretty glasses. Irene drank whiskey, with her sister Ruth, out of lovely porcelain cups.

St. Patrick’s Day was the most important day of the year for Dorothy and Margaret. They had their own booth at Duffy’s Shamrock Tavern in downtown Denver. They arrived early and stayed all day, wearing green from head to toe.

 

I don’t know if Irene Fay was proud of her Irish heritage. My Welsh grandfather didn’t approve of her wild Irish family. Too often the Fays were in trouble with the law and Grandpa was embarrassed when their names appeared, yet again, in the local newspaper.

Irene Fay was a serious woman. She married my grandfather, Robert Jones, when she was seventeen and he was twenty-four. Grandpa was a studious, sober Welshman, who never drank a drop of alcohol. Irene’s younger sister, Ruth Fay, was Grandma’s opposite. Ruth was fun-loving, friendly, exceptionally pretty and always ready for the next drink, even if it wasn’t legal.

Ruth married Johnny Quinn in the St. Paul Cathedral in 1923, three years after the start of prohibition. I can only assume it was a Roaring 20’s courtship, filled with music, dancing, and bootleg liquor. Ruthie’s hair was short, she dressed as a flapper and she loved to drive a car. Johnny was a small-built, dapper, charming Irishman.

As a child, I loved to hear Johnny and Ruth tell stories of gangsters running out the back door of their house. I grew up hearing stories of machine guns hidden in guitar cases, of people being gunned down in the streets, of crooked policemen and gangsters “with a heart of gold.”  Uncle Johnny taught my sister how to shoot Craps when she was seven years old.

Johnny Quinn killed a man at the Green Lantern Saloon in St. Paul in 1931. He said it was self-defense, but it probably wasn’t. Grandma’s brother, Frank Fay, and her brother-in-law, George Hurley, were also implicated in the Green Lantern “situation.”  Johnny was eventually convicted of the murder and spent time in the Stillwater, Minnesota prison before being pardoned by the governor. Meanwhile, Frank escaped to Canada, and George ran away to California. 

I wish I could tell you that Johnny and Ruth lived a straight life after he returned home from prison, but that wouldn’t be true. Prohibition was repealed, so they needed to find another business. They bought a small dry-cleaning business in St. Paul, and set up an illegal gambling operation in the back room. They ran that business until Uncle Johnny died of natural causes in 1963.

Aunt Ruth lived fifteen more years after Johnny died. She outlived my grandmother by twenty-two years. Ruth was always the life of the party. She was always beautiful. Always everyone’s favorite aunt. Always a baseball fan. Always generous.  And like the Gorman sisters ~ Dorothy and Margaret ~ Aunt Ruth was always ready with a laugh and another story.

I was lucky to have Irish men and women in my life. They taught me to work hard. To believe in leprechauns and four-leaf clovers. To ask for forgiveness, instead of permission. To look for fun and laughter. To make music and tell stories. And to take a drink, every now and then. Everyone should be so lucky.