What If...?

WHAT IF …

YOU COULD TAKE BACK ANY ONE DECISION YOU HAVE MADE SO FAR IN YOUR LIFE? THE KIND OF CHOICE YOU NOW WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR YOU BEING WHO AND WHAT YOU ARE TODAY. A LIFE CHANGING, PATH SHAPING DECISION. WHAT IF YOU COULD RETURN TO THAT MOMENT AND CHOOSE AGAIN? WHAT WOULD YOU DO? CHOOSE DIFFERENTLY OR STAY THE COURSE?

In that moment, your life could change significantly, as well as those who would be affected. Employees, colleagues, family members, unborn babies. You might be richer or poorer, happier or miserable. Depending on who you are, that decision could impact many, many others, perhaps the world. What if a shell-shocked Adolph Hitler had decided to return to Vienna and become a successful painter/landscape architect instead of a spy for the defeated army, bringing him in contact with the German Workers Party? How many millions of lives would have been spared? Of course, you say, no one has ever experienced this opportunity, so the “What If” question is irrelevant. Well, let me tell you three stories about individuals who got to experience how their lives would have changed through the phenomenon of “parallel development.” Rare, strange stories that you may find helpful, even instructive.

Story # 1: Mary Jo Brown

Hailing from West Virginia, in a small mining town not far from Charleston, after finishing in an average high school with average grades, Mary Jo went to a local secretarial school, where she spent a year acquiring above average skills. But my gosh, it was the sixties and, wanting to get away from the same old thing, Mary answered an ad in the Charleston paper under the heading “Secretaries wanted in Washington, D.C. Starting salary “$1000 a month.” Now, to a young 19-year-old in West Virginia, that sounded like a lot of money, and D.C. was an exciting place to be. So it was that Ms. Mary Jo Brown went to Washington, along with many other small-town girls, to make some real money and have a good time. She settled in the Dupont Circle area in the desirable Northwest part of the city, found a room-mate new in town like herself, took a job on K street, not too far away, and joined the secretarial pool of a prominent congressional lobbying firm. The pay was great-she could buy some new clothes in the fashionable shops on Connecticut avenue-to compliment her 5’4, 36-24-36 figure, pretty blonde hair and pale white complexion. and still have enough left to pay for room and board. The guys would take care of the partying, and there were lots of them hanging around Dupont Circle. By that Fall (1963], Mary Jo and Barbara, her roommate, were pretty well settled in and enjoying some of what D.C. had to offer. Around Thanksgiving, the two girls met two guys living just across the street, and, thinking they were nice enough and eligible, invited them over for dinner. It went well but Barbara really wasn’t interested in John, the younger of the two, but Mary Jo decided the other guy, Saul, might be interesting enough to see again, which she did, just before the holiday.

Everyone went home to be with their families for Thanksgiving and then again for Christmas and so that promising dating relationship went on hold. Following the holidays, in that wet, cold Washington winter, Saul renewed his pursuit of Mary Jo. One night when he knew that John would be staying elsewhere, Saul gathered all his savings and took Mary Jo out to Trader Vic’s, perhaps the most romantic and exotic restaurant in D.C. From the moment they rode down the escalator together til they finished the huge drink from the famous Tiki bar, even before they completed dinner, Mary Jo knew she had his attention. So, a couple of hours later, when they finished making love on his living room sofa, she was thinking, “This might be the guy for me.” It wasn’t just another one-night affair either. The new couple continued to see each other, eventually moving in together into a small studio apartment, on a pretty street (next door to the famous old Tabard Inn) just off Dupont Circle, where they had met. The prestigious address, 1733 N, N.W., was way above their means, but the remodeled high rise, formerly the expansive home of both Teddy and Franklin D. Roosevelt, had only opened a few months before. Later, the Washingtonian magazine would call 17th and N: “The prettiest little street in town.”

Luckily, what had until recently been the first-floor model, was sitting vacant. The young couple convinced the complex manager that they were employed and respectable, and Saul offered to serve as a night watchman-yet another job- in return for a reduction in the rent. Mary Jo was in awe of Saul’s negotiating skills and work ethic and, when she wrote to her parents from time to time, was thrilled to be able to put 1733 N as her return address. Spring finally came, Saul saved a little money from his teaching fellowship and two part-time jobs and put a deposit down on a simple, but pretty, engagement ring at Kay Jewelers. They had a small party commemorating the occasion in their cute little studio. Friends from school and work came to have a few drinks and congratulate the young couple. Soon after, Mary Jo thinking “This is great I’m engaged to a good-looking, industrious grad student with a bright future,” invited her new fiancé home to West Virginia to meet her parents. “Perfect, this is it for me, what could go wrong?” she thought, sitting next to Saul on the bus to her hometown. “I’m a lucky girl.” Her parents were pleased- “Good catch”- they told her privately. Back in D.C., the rest of 1964 went swimmingly. They worked, made love on the fold-out sofa and Saul was selected for a teaching assistantship, bringing in a bit more money. Everything was just fine, and Mary Jo seemed quite content, at least on the surface. Sometimes, in a rare free moment, Saul would talk about school and Mary Jo about her day at work. Everything was good there, she told him, her secretarial skills were adequate, the office was very clean and professionally run, and there was this nice black guy, James, custodian and errand boy, who brought her coffee every morning just the way she liked it, dark and sweet. Saul was glad she was happy there, because the majority of their rent money came from Mary Jo’s job. Her boss, Marvin, treated her well, the office was run efficiently, and everything was fine.

It started innocently enough, having lunch with James at the deli around the corner from the office, then moving to drinks after work and, finally, having sex with him on the fold-out when she knew Saul would not be home till after nine. He wasn’t much to look at: Jet black, with a couple of gold teeth protruding from his upper mouth, and substantially older than she. “How in the world did I let that happen?” she would ruminate over and over again in the years that were to come, remembering the time and attention he showered on her daily. No really good answer. Well, perhaps a couple of phony answers. Atier all, it was the sixties. All existing social patterns disrupted. “Drugs, sex and rock n’ roll, baby.” Well, Mary Jo didn’t do drugs, but she did like sex and rock n’ roll. Then there was the attention deficit. With grad school, teaching and two other part time jobs, maybe Saul wasn’t in a position to spend much time with Mary Jo, kind of limited to weekends, whereas James, her lover’s name, had forty hours a week in which to be kind, attentive and fawn over her.

So, here’s how the deal went down. Saul was a huge baseball fan and his favorite team, the Orioles, were in town to play the Senators (now Nationals). He decided to treat himself to one night off, just one, kissed Mary Jo goodbye and went to Griffith Stadium. When James came over about eight that night, she was certain Saul wouldn’t be home until ten, at the earliest. Plenty of time, she thought to have a drink, a “quickie”, and show James out. As luck would have it, the game was boring, and Saul decided to leave early and spend the rest of his “holiday” at home with Mary Jo. When she happened to look out the one window facing the street she saw, “oh my God,” there was Saul getting ready to enter the building. Clothes thrown on as they climbed the back stairs to the roof, the illicit couple hid behind a massive A.C. unit. When Saul didn’t find his girl in the apartment, yes, you guessed it, he went up to the roof where they had spent some time having drinks together. There he found the couple cowering behind the massive unit. “I’m sorry, so sorry” Mary Jo sobbed. For his part Saul, now in shock, stayed calm, sent James out of the building and told his fiancée to meet him downstairs. All she could remember in what quickly followed was that Saul took his ring back, told her to pack a suitcase and come back after work the next day to get the remainder of her things and please, leave the key.

That night, she recalled, she spent in James’ not so nice Capitol Hill apartment, she too was in shock. Then, in succession, M.J., as James had taken to call her, got pregnant, got an illegal, back-alley abortion, married James, became estranged from her family, lost her job, divorced James and tried to make a new life, which didn’t work. She slowly sank into a sort of self-imposed perpetual funk. Saul, she heard, went on to a successful career teaching in the Carolinas, married another professor-turned politician, and, as far as she could tell, lived the life she had always expected him to live. He never spoke to her again.

Well, let’s take a look at Mary Jo’s alternate universe, mirroring her life described above. How about we zero in on the Spring of 1965? In this parallel universe Mary Jo has said “No” to James’s attempts to seduce her, repeatedly. Now, in this other ether, when Saul comes home early from the ballgame, Mary Jo has apps and drinks waiting. With him having the night off, they had plenty of time for lovemaking on the sofa bed. Despite James’ continuing advances at work, she stays loyal to Saul. They get married in West Virginia and she joins him on his first-time

teaching job in North Carolina. Even with her taking a secretarial job to help support them and the two kids who quickly followed, they still had plenty of time together, taking holiday trips to the mountains and the coast. Sounds great. There was a downside though. As Mary Jo’s mother got older and sicker, and her father having left home, she wasn’t available to move in and give her mother the attention she needed. Mom ended up in one of those second-rate nursing homes on Medicaid dollars, and died within six months, leaving Mary Jo sad, remorseful and broke. What if things had been different and she could have taken good care of her mother? “I’ll never know,” she often mused wistfully.

OK. Now you choose. Mary Jo should choose her primary existence, shame and all, ending up at home taking care of her Mom

OR

Gone off to be the respectable wife of a successful college professor and not be available to help her mother in her time of need.

How do you vote, dear reader?

Story # 2: Glenda S.

Born in and having lived most of her life in the Piedmont region of North Carolina, Glenda had the advantage of being very good looking, and talented as well. By all accounts she was a chubby pre-teen, but her watchful mother put her on a diet and prescribed some walking to and from school. By the time she entered high school she had shed unwanted pounds in unwanted places but had retained her rather sizable young bust. Somewhere around 16 she reached the pinnacle of her youthful beauty, was one of the prettiest girls in school, had been named the official hostess of the local shopping center and nominated for that year’s prestigious Junior Miss pageant. Helping her cause was that she could play piano, guitar and sing like a bird. She finished second, but only because the entrant from the town in which the pageant was held, finished a dubious first.

Obviously, she had plenty of good-looking young male suitors. She dated several of them, giving each one just enough access to her body to keep them interested. On graduation day she was still a virgin. Where did this blonde haired, green-eyed, well-proportioned beauty get all that musical ability? Sure, some of it came from her mom who sang in church. However, it was her dad, who had been good enough to sing and play country music on a small-town radio program of his own in his younger days. His mellow voice and skill on his prized Martin guitar established a reputation for him in the Carolinas. Once, he even was chosen to back up the young Elvis at the Greensboro Coliseum. Glynda, no matter how much of a star she would later become, always referred to him as her mentor and guiding light. After attending a two-year junior college and a major university, achieving excellent grades in both, Glenda got married to a guy she met at a fraternity party and fell for, hard and fast. She got a teaching job, had a baby and, when she discovered her husband was seeing others on his “business trips,” got separated as quickly as she had gotten married. In retribution she had an affair with the school principal. Everything was kind of down in the dumps for Glenda S. at this point in her young life.

What, if anything, could change things around? Her one stand-by of course. Music. She still had a lot going for her, she thought. Having a baby hadn’t hurt her looks one bit, and she could sing. So it was, when the Junior Woman’s Club asked her to perform in their yearly “Follies” review to raise charity money, she quickly accepted. Of course, she stole the show with her rendition of “For the Good Times,”—not the last time she would perform a Kris Kristofferson/Ray Price song. It just so happened that the guy who accompanied her on the piano, Dick Thomas by name, also played in the Hoot Draminngale orchestra. Hoot had the only large band in the area, had played every cotillion club in the Southeast, and it occurred, was in need of a singer-his regular female songstress having just recently left.

Dick got Glenda an audition and, the rest as they say, is history. The Glenn Miller standards now had to take a backseat to big, full sounding country arrangements. Hoot never had so many requests to play in all the big-time venues, as long as he brought “that girl” along. As for Glenda, her marital problems were forgotten, and her professional singing career was launched. Despite her ex’s objection, Glenda now traveled on a bus with 17, count them 17, male musicians, with Hoot driving. She was on her way, literally and figuratively, and there was no looking back. The orchestra played everywhere. All the best country clubs, supper clubs and large hotel ballrooms. On their early weekdays off, Hoot’s new, aggressive booking agent even placed them into prisons for scale pay. Better than nothing for a rehearsal, the guys thought, and so everyone went along with the idea except Hoot, who remained dubious. One night, in a prison not far from the band’s home base, Glynda was quickly brought to the stage when the “captive audience” got bored with the big band standards. When she got to her third number, “Help Me Make It Through The Night,” she did exactly what Hoot’s new booking agent told her to do. She shook the ribbon from her hair, letting her long blonde mane flow freely over her shoulders and changed the

punch line lyric to” ...and tonight I need a MAN.” The room exploded and the best part of the 200 inmates rushed to the stage to offer their services. Glynda and a female cub reporter with the local newspaper, the only other woman in the room, were whisked away by prison guards and taken to a place of safety. Lesson learned. The remaining prison concerts featured a steadier Glynda and less provocative songs. By then, so many people were asking for her that the 2-3 nights per week with Hoot almost became secondary. She was a valuable commodity and there was no need for her to just be working a few nights a week fronting Hoot’s guys and sitting home the rest. There was money to be made. So, when the booking agent suggested that they solo her with a small combo on the other nights, everyone was in favor of the idea.

It so happened that, coincidentally with this, Glynda was pleased to find out that Saul, the agent, had just landed the juiciest venue in the Carolinas on an exclusive basis. Traditionally known as the Carolina Hotel, this venerable property had recently been purchased by a shady mega company called Diamondhead Corporation, along with the village of Pinehurst itself, which, at the time was owned by several of the town “fathers.” These locals were more than glad to take this outside money, a substantial sum, and retire permanently to play golf on the sandhill’s famous links. Thus, for a while, the entire property was renamed the “Pinehurst Hotel and Country Club.”

Realizing the opportunity, Saul convinced the new GM, Phil Ball, to let him book all the entertainment needs of the hotel. Of course, looking at some recent and somewhat suggestive photos of Glynda and listening to a few of her tape recordings helped seal the deal; with the understanding she would be singing on the site as much as possible. After a while, much to her glee, she had become so popular with the hotel’s local and convention patrons, a decision was made by Mr. Ball and the high mucky mucks at Diamondhead to build her a high class, personal stage of her own.

Thus, it was that the H.M.S. Bounty room was created. A true-life replica of the front of the famous ship, built on the site of a little used lounge, to the right and down a long hall from the hotel entrance. The finest local craftsmen were employed, and it took them three weeks to finish the task, complete with stage, lights and seating for sixty. Glynda’s band still had to provide their own sound system. Once the Bounty opened and the word got around that this cute blonde who could really sing was performing six nights a week, both visiting conventioneers and locals alike, made it a point to stop by and see Glynda and her little combo doing pop standards, country and almost anything requested. Phil Ball, the Diamondhead execs and everyone connected with the hotel were so pleased that they did everything they could to keep Glynda there. As for Saul, and we will hear more about him later, he now had license to also place a tuxedoed group in the elegant dining room playing soft dinner music and book Hoot in for virtually every convention audience. One night at the height of the Glynda frenzy, she did an early set in the dining room, changed into something a bit sexier for the second set in the Bounty, switched into a gown to front Hoot’s guys in the expansive ball room, and then, one final change back into her Bounty outfit in time for a few closing numbers. Everybody was happy, performing in a classy venue and making good money. What could go wrong?

What follows is a short version of a very long series of events. Our singer quickly became a victim of her own success. Her Pinehurst reputation led to many jobs in bigger and better venues. Saul bought her country clothes and cowgirl boots. She had new pictures taken by the photographer of the stars, Bruno of Hollywood, and eventually, got a recording session led by Jimmy Capps, one of the best session musicians in Nashville. Four songs later and she was on her way to stardom. Again, what could possibly happen to change her path? No one knows for sure what goes on in someone else’s mind. Maybe she just got scared or was simply overwhelmed by the rapid rush of events. Whatever it was, within six months she had split from Saul, relocated to Asheville instead of Nashville, sang in a small club owned by a man twice her age, who she eventually married. Most importantly, when one of the biggest record producers in all of country music offered her an all-paid recording session to be followed by a deal with a major label, she turned it all down and stayed in Asheville. Later, she wasn’t sure why, but, right then, her life changed. What followed was a series of failed marriages, time back in Greensboro working for her father, about nine years in St. Croix owning a restaurant and singing in a community theater. Of course, she got all the choice roles: Daisey Mae, Rosamund and Sister Amnesia, to name a few. Eventually, she returned to Greensboro with a husband she really liked.

Over the next few years, she helped raise her granddaughter and cared for both her mom and dad in the late stages of their lives. No more singing. Then, another series of strange events occurred. Her beloved husband had an untimely death, leaving her just turning sixty-five with a lot of medical bills and not a lot of funds. One day, her daughter asked her for the words to one of her songs to sing in a karaoke club. When she said she could not recall them, her daughter said: “Why don’t you find Saul? I’m sure he will know.” “How am I supposed to do that?” Glynda asked. “Try Facebook” was the reply. “But I don’t even know if he’s alive.” Mom “Try Facebook.” She did and he was, alive, that is. A series of questions and answers followed during which each party assured themselves that this was the real deal. Questions going back to events nearly forty years earlier that only he and she would know the answers to. What followed was a number of calls over a twenty- four-hour period, only allowing for bathroom breaks. Yes, you can guess the rest. Back-to-back visits to each other’s homes, a still somewhat reluctant Glynda listening to her sister’s observation-“What do you have to lose.” Soon, a return to Pinehurst for a memorable few days and lots and lots of time together.

They were married on 12/13/14 so that neither of them, both in advancing years, would forget. On the gazebo, no less, that Saul had built for outside concerts, followed by a beautiful reception, complete with strings, in what used to be the Bounty Room. Glynda was very happy. The story of this magical reunion was celebrated in local papers, magazines and videos. She never regretted her decision to go on Facebook. Now, dear reader, it’s once again your time to vote. Should Glynda have taken the record deal, moved to Nashville, and earned a good living as a country music performer, but missing out on her time back home, taking care of her parents and eventually reuniting with Saul?

OR

Doing exactly what she did: singing with Hoot, becoming the queen of the Bounty, turning down the record deal, running a restaurant in the Virgin Islands, performing in community theater, returning to Greensboro, caring for her folks and hitching up with Saul on the gazebo in Pinehurst. The decision, admittedly a tough one, is yours.

Story #3: Saul

Ok. By now I’m sure you’re a bit confused. There’s a character with my name in each of the stories above. Two completely different Sauls. One, the graduate student jilted by his fiancée in D.C., the other a booking agent for an orchestra and a singer in North Carolina. Two seemingly very different people. What a coincidence-two different role players in my stories with precisely the same name. Confession time: They are both me. Saul L. This is why I decided to add a third story. A bit shorter and less complicated than the others, but an interesting tale, regardless.

I’m sure you’ll agree, sometimes a life takes strange, often contradictory, twists and turns. So, with me. However, to simply say “twists and turns” would be an obvious understatement, knowing what I have already divulged. I will do my best to make sense out of it but, no promises, given in my adult life I have learned that some things are out of human hands and rest with the Divine.

Yes, I was that grad student in D.C., way back in the day. Mary Jo Brown was my first true relationship, actually living together for the best part of a year. I was in bad shape when she ran off with that guy from the office. I did learn one thing from that whole experience though, long term relationships require providing lots of attention to your partner no matter how busy you are or how righteous the cause you are pursuing. I ended up teaching for a while in the Carolinas, eventually getting married to another Ph.D. student recommended by the Dean. Then, the problem arose: She was desired by her faculty boss, who was also the chair of my dissertation committee. Even though the other two members passed me with no qualms, her boss, feeling rejected, refused to give me a passing grade. This left me with two choices-start all over again with a new topic and a new panel, or simply move on. I chose the latter.

Then came a complete and unusual career change. I helped set up a very successful show for charity at the Greensboro Coliseum featuring Chuck Berry. So, with the lack of dissertation a fact of life, when the well-known local band empresario, Hoot Drammingale, asked me if I would be interested in booking his orchestra for a 10% commission I accepted. I then, met Glynda, almost made it to Nashville, suffered my second major rejection, worked as an ombudsman in state government, eventually being reunited with Glynda, married her on my gazebo in Pinehurst, and “settled down.” As of this moment we are still together after ten years and she hasn’t left yet.

Now comes the final, final decision.

Should I have “eaten crow,” done a whole new paper with a new committee, gotten the full Ph.D. and undertook a normal 30-year career teaching full-time at colleges and universities, and remaining with my wife, the other grad student turned professor? No entertainment business, no ombudsman in state government, and most importantly, no Glynda.

Or

Given up a respectable full-time teaching career, staying with a respectable wife and, alternatively, pursuing the entertainment business and being reunited with Glynda?

You decide. The choice is yours.

Well, that’s it folks. Hope you have “enjoyed” my three different, heart-wrenching stories with a similar theme, We all have at least one key decision to make at a turning point in our lives, which, in fact, changes our whole course. If, in fact, there is an alternate universe-and many intelligent, even scientific, minds have speculated there is, would we have chosen to live in that other space? Made a completely different decision at that key moment?

Well, the time for my characters to make their decisions has

come and passed. What about you?

Shalom