Letter to Bob from the Old World Booth, Redux

Letter to Bob

"Here's to Bob!" From left, Himself, Mark Zimmerman, Susan Clark, Mark Hanebutt, Gwen Olivier, Bill Hickman, Christy Vincent

Old World, April 24, 2010

Well old friend, sorry I haven't written sooner. Fact is, writing just slipped my mind, but I was browsing through a Charlie Russell book today, "Trails Plowed Under," written by the artist about a year before his death. The Introduction, written by Will Rogers in 1926, was a letter to Charlie in heaven, and I figured, what a great idea. And he started it out, "Old World."

But of course, it ain't as though we've forgotten you, you know that from the many times you've heard us toast "To Bob," in the booth and elsewhere in the five years since you've be assigned to keeping God in stitches. I figure, given the state of the world, he needs you, maybe more than us, but even if not, he does get to pull rank.

I hope you got to see and hear our party for you on our back porch earlier this month. We had a good crowd, and I'm posting the photos with this letter on my blog, just in case. I know you don't understand this blogging stuff--I remember you having trouble with email. Just think of it as a sort of digital diary and newspaper column. But yes, unlike your lead pencil, it does crash from time to time.

Anyway, in case you missed it, I  thought I'd catch you up on things down here since you left. Frankly, the place has gone steadily downhill, most of which is my fault--actually I'd like to blame you because you weren't around to set me straight. Yep, I got this wild-haired idea to merge with the communication department--I know, I can see you rolling your eyes. We needed to get together with the broadcast folks, but the communication people came with the deal. They're good people, but as you said, they were more "touchy-feely" people than us. They do think differently.

That was five years ago, and as a testament to my foolhardiness, I got elected chair again of the whole outfit--22 full time faculty and as many part timers--a huge department--meaning of course, more problems. Then of course, not being able to get my senses straight by playing you cribbage at least once a week, I got bogged down and lost a couple of administrative battles. The result is that I'm no longer chair, having been given the job of running the Oklahoma Journalism Hall of Fame, which I do enjoy, cause I get to work with journalists and don't have to worry about all those personnel problems, and the endless administrative meetings that waste so much time, but which academics just love. But I've moved out of the building and spend less time with students.

And now, the worst news I can tell you...Sherry Sump is retiring in a couple of months.  I can tell by your silence how stunned you are. You and I used to get to the office at 7 a.m. and sit in the darkness and sign and enjoy silence and talk, and we'd often talk about what a great secretary she is...we'd agree she's the best we'd known.

So the department has changed radically since you've left, and when she's gone, it'll sure never have the same character and spirit.  Students, alumni, faculty, everybody likes Sherry. She's been here almost 15 years now--can you believe it? We joke that she's my "other wife," because we're so much alike and I rely on her so much. We were arguing with each other one day--you know, good natured disagreement like all journalists have...and a student overheard it, stuck his head in the door, and asked, "Are you two married?" Ain't that a hoot?

You can be glad you're gone, because there's more and more official nonsense and paperwork--I swear they're trying to make us all clones--and there have been no real raises since you left.Your "Sweet Pea" and family have been down to visit a couple of times, and we keep wanting to get up and visit. I hear the redbud tree we bought is doing well in your front yard.

We think of you often, almost every day, and you'd be pleased to know it always brings a smile.. Went to a NCAA basketball tournament here with son Travis--he says hello, by the way--and Kansas State was playing. Immediately, I thought of you referring to it as "Silo U."

On personal news, I've got six great grandchildren now, and I hear from Liz that your family  and grandkids are doing great things, including being at Notre Dame. Those are the important things, aren't they?

At any rate, at our party for you, I dug out the old cribbage board, your ugly green coffee cup and a photo of you and I playing cribbage in the "Booth." They were on our back porch during the party, and you were toasted many times. I used good Irish Catholic whiskey, Jameson, for the toasts. The booth has moved about a mile south of where we played, but the plaque is hanging there, and we visit it almost every week. But I haven't played cribbage since our last game.

There's some people up there I'd like you to look up and tell them I said "Hello." There's a one legged artist up there, probably doing portraits and landscapes, name of Terrence. Tell him you knew his oldest son, and  that son has taken up watercolors and is pretty good--not as good as his dad, but good enough that a Clark watercolor hangs in the Illidge manse in Wichita. And my Mom is up there too, a tall slender lady with a great sense of humor, and all her brothers and sisters. They're probably located in the East Texas section. Amble over and tell Mom how much I miss her, and share some stories.

Well, I'm about out of stuff to write. I look forward to sitting down with you for another cribbage game, but I'm not in any big hurry to do so, just yet. We think of you often and miss you. Take care of God--he needs all the good spirits he can get these days.

"Himself"

A redbud tree grows, Booth, chapter 14, Redux

From 2009

Chapter 14 of a gospel of friendship

"The Call" came.

April 1, 2005.

"How do you go to a funeral for someone who is literally 'larger than life'?  A few days later, the  faculty and staff of the Journalism Department somberly headed north, in several groups,  to Wichita. There they found an elegant Catholic church, only a few blocks from The Illidge manse. 

The Illidge manse, and the Redbud tree

"First driving by the manse, on the red brick streets, under the towering elms, past the porch and memories, they arrived early.

"All but one of the group, The Afghan Traveler, were Protestant, and at first uneasy walking through the front doors. But there was a photograph of The Illidge, in a Missouri sweatshirt, to welcome them, and down front were two reserved pews, near the family, for the Okies.
"In came the Sweet Pea and the 'chillen' as The Illidge called them. Sons Bob and Andy, daughters Fran and Sarah and Little Liz, and lots of grandchildren. Behind the Oklahoma pews were many of the parishioners who knew The Illidge from long before his Oklahoma sojourn.
"Then the graying priest stood up, before Mass, and made the 'visitors from Oklahoma' welcome with the kindest of words. During his homily there were tears, and laughter, as it should have been. During Mass, as The Traveler stood, along with the parishioners, and the other Oklahomans were seated, but no longer strangers in a strange land, but welcomed.
"Afterward, downstairs a scrumptious meal was served, again with photographs of The Illidge on the tables. The Okies were greeted as members of the family, and there was considerable conversation and introductions.
"At last, the Okies left, headed back south, somber, but also telling stories, espcially about the ceiling fan.
"Instead of flowers for a funeral for someone dead, they combined funds and bought a living redbud tree from a Wichita nursery, which was planted in The Illidge's front yard.
"It still blooms every spring.
"Only one chapter,  an epilogue and a postscript remain in this narrative, which has become exceedingly difficult  for The Clark to write. The PR Princess this week told him that if Bob is reading it, he would say 'That's OK, Boss.' The Queen Bee said The Illidge, the jazz man,  might forgive The Clark for writing the previous rap. It accompanied the only retirement reception for a professor ever organized by the students at UCO. "

To be continued...

Booth is a verb--chapter 13--Saying goodbye

From September, 2009

A gospel of friendship on a deathbed

Chapter 13

"The Four's trip north to the Wichita hospital, as the sun rose, was quiet, except for a few memories of The Illidge. They remembered his love for music, especially jazz, which he would often discuss with another graduate of "The Old School," The Woody. But he knew and enjoyed much for an old geezer, including Stevie Nicks and Fleetwood Mac. On his bulletin board, he had an autographed photo of Martina McBride.

"At the hospital, they found The Illidge flat on his back but alert, Sweet Pea and daughter Fran, and the conversation was light and enjoyable, and a smile crossed The Illidge's face. The Clark mentioned that he'd smuggled some spirits into the hospital with him and proposed a toast, in the spirit of The Booth. Sweet Pea asked if he wanted it, and he readily agreed. Then it was that the spirits were poured into several glasses used previously as Fleet phosphate doses for cleaning out digestive systems, and the toasts were made.

"The talk turned to many things, including air conditioning, and the anecdote, in the midst of unsaid goodbyes, that comes next is still told in every Booth with great relish and laughter, and tears. 

"After air conditioning, someone mentioned preferring attic fans, which all agreed were wonderful inventions. And then The Illidge commented on the one in his and Sweet Pea's manse.

"To Bob," tales and toasts of humor on his deathbed

"'Turn that baby on, and it's so powerful it'll suck the grandchildren right up into the attic.'  Still the tales are told in the Booth even today, of The Illidge, his Catholic faith, and ability to joke on his deathbed.

"The joviality couldn't last, and it came time to say goodbye, with hugs and wet eyes and many words to him and his wife and daughter.

"The Clark waited till all had left, and sat down briefly on the bed by his friend. They looked at each other and shook hands. The Clark can't remember what The Illidge said. All The Clark could say, was to mumble, 'I love you.'

"Nobody talked on the way home to Oklahoma.

"The next Booth, later that week, and all the rest since, begin with a toast, 'To Bob.' Those Boothing knew The Call would be coming, and another trip north soon."

And so it came to pass."

To be continued

Booth is a verb--Chapter 12--a saddening, Redux

From September, 2009

A gospel of friendship and endurance

(The story, now nine years old, enters the last few chapters, as we all must.) 

Chapter 12

"After The Illidge retired, The Clark, in late spring, called The Illidge one day, and asked him if he would teach a night section of advertising sales, expecting him to say "No," and explaining he could drive down and back in the same day that way. The Illidge's voice rose on the phone, eagerly accepting, and saying he'd just stay the night. More Booth was in the future, they both thought.

"Alas, it was not to be, because his condition worsened, and a tumor developed on his upper chest. He called in the summer apologizing for having to change his mind, downplaying more affliction that had set in. On the first day of fall classes, the parking lot was empty to those of the UCO Journalism Department, because his car was not parked early in the spot closest to the building, as it had been for more than a decade. Sweet Pea called to ask how things were going on that first day, and in Edmond they were smooth. They were not in Wichita. They talked with The Illidge, and still he did not complain, but explained some of the developing tumor.

"No longer was The Illidge sitting in the chair in the Queen Bee's office, sipping coffee as the others showed up. The Booth became a necessity for the faculty, probably that first week, as they fled one afternoon to gather their spirits as the little 4" by 6" plaque with The Illidge's name still hung there.

"From then on, Booth sessions always began with a somber toast: "To Bob." But the clinking glasses couldn't obscure his absence. 

           Booth  always began with a toast: "To Bob."

"As the semester wore on, so did the cancer, and numerous phone calls back and forth told the story of him upstairs in his manse, in worsening pain. Prayers for relief flowed back and forth too. His chair was vacant, his green coffee cup was empty, the cribbage board was unused.

"When hospital became necessary in the spring, The Clark, The Brunette, The PR Princess and The German Complainer headed north, carrying a liquid token of The Booth with them."

To be continued

Booth chapter 10--The afflictions of Job, redux

From August, 2009

A gospel of friendship and affliction

Chapter 10

"Forthwith that fall, The Illidge returned to teach his classes, to regale his colleagues with stories, to Booth with his buddies, to win and lose at cribbage; the Gospel of The Booth spread throughout the land. Even Sweet Pea and son Andy drove down to indulge in The Illidge's redoubt.

"Little did they know that Boothing would change drastically within two years.

"That fall, The Illidge, who had been suffering from mild shingles even before the heart problems, due to a weakened immune system, encountered another foe as the leukemia worsened. His shingles became permanent, a painful disease known as post-hepatic neuralgia. It attacked him ferociously and kept him awake at night, and hurting in the daytime. Every cure was tried, from medical to hypnotism to 'blue stuff.' Nothing worked.

"Yea though, The Illidge would not complain, though he wore loose clothes and winced often. If you heard him lecturing in the classrooms, with vim and vigor, you would not of know of what vicissitudes and vagaries were vexing him. Some days were better than others, and some were worse than others. Sitting in the Queen Bee's nest early in the mornings with The Clark, or later in the day, he'd have his right hand up under the left armpit, almost constantly, trying to ease the pain. In the classrooms, he always stood, and most students never knew how much he hurt, his hand under his arm.

"Let's 'Booth' today," was good medicine

"One medicine did seem to help...'Let's Booth today,' The Clark would say, about 11 in the morning.

"'When? 4?'" The Illidge would answer, a twinkle back in his eyes.
'Sure.'

"But by 3 p.m. The Clark needed respite, and so did the Illidge. The Brunette would sometimes say, 'It's early yet.'

"'It's five o'clock somewhere,' quipped The Illidge, sometimes between pain-clinched teeth.

"Off they would go to that special Booth, medicating his afflictions with vodka, Irish whiskey, appetizers, banter, stories, and countless cribbage games, until latecomers would arrive to add joviality. The Illidge could hold his liquor, and only twice in those years did either The Clark or The German Complainer drive him 'to his very own apartment' where he could 'have some gruel.'

"His humor never ceased. Some poorly performing students in beginning advertising questioned him from time to time about their grades.

"'Go into dry-cleaning,' was his answer. Increasingly poor performance by students on tests vexed him more and more. The Clark repeatedly advised him to curve grades so at least 50 percent could pass. When The Clark, the patient man that he is, would be upset with lazy students, as would others on the faculty, especially The German Complainer, he would advise, gesturing with his free hand, 'Breathe deeply. In...and out...in and out. Ommmmm.'

The banter was like a tennis match

"He thought about retirement, as the pain and semester droned on, but decided for one more year. In between, The Clark did visit the Illidge and Sweet Pea in The Manse on Quentin in Wichita, to play cribbage, to lose scrabble games to Sweet Pea. To watch the continual banter between The Illidge and The Sweet Pea was like witnessing a championship tennis match, the lobbies of words and gestures and rolled eyes and humor bouncing back and forth. The Clark's neck got tired turning from one speaker to the other.

"And, the trio did visit the 24-hour greasy spoon, The Beacon, right next to the downtown newspaper,The Wichita Eagle. Pictures and photos of lighthouses lined the walls of the smoke-filled eatery, and the breakfasts were bountiful. In those years, so also did The Clark and The Brunette visit, sitting on the porch swing and enjoying the evening and banter, and going out to a smokey neighborhood bar--the kind that don't exist in Oklahoma.

Illidge was a beacon to all who knew him

"It occurred to The Clark years later that The Illidge was a beacon to all who knew him.

"The last year at UCO, the beacon began to falter. It was the hope of The Clark, The German Complainer, The Queen Bee and others that they could raise enough money to send him to Ireland. That didn't happen and remains a regret to this day. Many Booths occurred...probably twice a week.

"What was held was a retirement party, with all his family present, his granddaughter dancing to the music of an Irish band, and the day closing with 'Oh Danny boy.'

"Ever since, The Clark tears up when he hears the words, and he would hear them often in the coming year."

To be continued...