About the Blues - Walden Welch Astrologer

"About The Blues"

Part 15

In Touch With His Soul

The Teenage Years

Interview conducted by Gina Cerminara

Preface

Music has always played a very important part in my life. I cannot imagine existing without it. In 1958 a popular recording star by the name of Julie London released an album titled, "About The Blues." Miss London was best known for her popular hit recording of "Cry Me A River." That song launched her career. Julie was known as "the sultry song bird with the bedroom voice." She was glamorous with a capital 'G', an absolutely stunning redhead who radiated sensuality from head to toe. My mother liked to make fun of her. Mom would sing strains of "Cry Me A River" mimicking Julie's sexy, low throaty voice. "Now you say you love me...you cried the whole night through...well you can cry me a river...cry me a river...I cried a river over you." I would become furious when she teased me this way. "What in the world do you see in that woman?" Mom would ask. What she did not know was that because of Miss London's album I survived my troubled junior and senior years of high school. I played that album religiously. In fact I had to buy two copies because I wore the first one out. I was, you see, in the midst of discovering love, and what I had discovered was not what I had expected. I was in a period of self discovery, fearing discovery and also disappointment that God would not change things to be the way I wanted them to be. The songs in Julie's album understood my heart. I would lock myself in my bedroom and play "About The Blues" hour after hour after hour.

WW: "As my mother's health continued to deteriorate, so too did my relationship with my father. He forbade me his permission to do almost everything. The angrier he became because my mother's health worsened, the angrier he became with me and also with God for not intervening and preventing the one he loved to be ill. 'You're not going anywhere this weekend. You're staying home to watch after your mother. And, I don't want you riding to school or anywhere else in Nyla's or Ronnie's cars! If you were in some kind of accident it might kill your mother. Do you understand me?' he barked. No matter how diligently Mom argued on my behalf to allow me more frequent weekend privileges, her words were to no avail. Once 'The Monk' had spoken, his words were final. On the weekend nights when I was allowed out my curfew was set to a definite 10:00 PM sharp deadline. 10:00 PM did not mean 10:00:12 PM. 10:00 PM meant 10:00 PM exact, or earlier. One Friday evening my friend Nyla had driven Dave, Sandi and I to The River Theatre in Oildale to see the film 'The Sound And The Fury'. Oildale is a small community just one mile north west of Bakersfield City proper. Back in those days this would have been considered to be the wrong side of the tracks. Railroad tracks separate the two communities, as does a dry riverbed and a highway intersection known as Garcia's Circle. We rarely if ever went to this section of town to go to the movies as the better theatres were within the city limits. None of us kids had considered the possibility that my journey home might be delayed by a train, but sure enough that evening it was! The four of us sat in the car frantically waiting at the railway crossing for the train to pass. When it finally did Nyla drove down Chester Avenue as speedily as the law would permit with hopes of getting me home to meet my 10:00 PM curfew. When we arrived it was 10:12 PM. The house was dark and unlighted, a sure sign that my parents were already in bed. I quietly snuck through the back kitchen door. As I tiptoed towards my bedroom I was suddenly struck on the side of my head with a horrendous blow! There in the darkness, hiding in wait for me was my father. He had two small terry cloth towels wrapped around each fist to muffle the sounds as he beat me. 'You little bastard! I told you to be home by 10:00 PM. How dare you defy me! I'll teach you!' he whispered angrily but quietly so that my mother would not hear him. I lay on the floor and covered my face and body with my arms as best I could. The following morning the three of us ate breakfast as usual as if nothing ever happened the night before. Mom had been unaware of the episode and nothing was ever said about the beating, but she was told I had arrived home late and therefore had lost my weekend privileges for the following week."

Walden and Sandi

Dr: "Unbelievable!"

WW: "As I told you·I have no doubt that my father had mental problems but most of his anger was caused because of situations he could not control to his satisfaction. I had so greatly separated myself from caring about him by this time that I was no longer hurt by his conduct·emotionally that is. I endured what I had to endure to protect Mom from the truth. She was all that mattered to me at that time in my life. At least he truly loved her and treated her wonderfully. Due to her horrendous health problems and the medical costs entailed, there would be nowhere Mom and I could go. I knew it would only be a couple of years until I could leave home and that fact made it possible for me to endure my father."

Dr: "Your love and devotion to Julia was incredible. It is amazing how you found the strength to endure your father for her sake."

WW: "One accepts what one has to accept. Besides, I devised a way to allow myself freedom. I will never know how I ever got the courage to enact it but I did. I must have truly been desperate to concoct such a scheme. I cringe when I think of what would have happened to me had I ever been caught."

Dr: "What was it that you did?"

WW: "I began sneaking out my window late at night after my parents had fallen asleep. I would do the typical kid trick that we learned from prison convict escape films·you know, fluff pillows under the blanket and cover them so that it looked like my body underneath. There was only a small bathroom that separated my bedroom from my parents. Often times during the night my father would slip through my door and check on me. I don't know how I pulled this off and never got caught, but I never once did."

Dr: "How often did you do it?"

WW: "Dozens upon dozens of times. I only did it on weekends. This practice began during my junior year in high school and continued until I graduated."

Dr: You poor soul. You must have truly been desperate for independence to have endeavored to risk the penalty of being caught."

WW: "Actually, I did it for my friend Ronnie. I was afraid I would lose his friendship. Nyla and Dave and my other friends were more than understanding and sympathetic regarding my strict curfew. Ronnie, however, was outwardly annoyed by it. His parents set neither restrictions nor time limits to his weekend privileges. 'You're my best buddy,' he would say. 'But I sure as hell get fed up with having to drop you home just when we're beginning to have fun. That damned father of yours is ruining our friendship. He really pisses me off! I'm going to have to start running around with Herbert and Delton because they can stay out as long as they want.' Well that did it for me! I couldn't stand Ronnie's other two friends and did not want to be replaced by them. Rather than lose his friendship I devised a way to please him. He would deliver me home by 10:00 sharp. I would then go to bed and wait for my parents to fall asleep. At 11:30 PM I would quietly slip out my bedroom window and run down the alley to meet Ronnie who was waiting for me in his 1953 Chevy parked in the dark on I Street. We never got in any trouble, or if we did it was innocent teenage trouble. I did begin to learn to drink beer and smoke cigarettes. That seemed 'cool' of course, back then. I was tired of being 'perfect' all the time. Of course I didn't allow this image of myself to be shown to my parents or teachers. I just tried to toughen up around my friends. This period in time was during the pre-drug era. Other than legal diet pills such as Dexedrine or Benzedrine we didn't know what drugs were. Even Marijuana was something only whispered about. We might take a diet pill once in a while to keep awake and study, but that did not happen often. Other than that, we smoked when alone together and drank beer or cheap sweet liquors such as Southern Comfort or Creme de Menthe that one of the kids would steal from his parents' bar. Mostly we just went to the movies and then would stop and have a hamburger and coke. If any time was left before meeting my curfew we would just drive around town in either Ronnie's two-toned orange and white Chevy, or Nyla's green and white 1956 Impala, looking for something to happen. Nothing ever did of course. I think we have all seen the film 'American Graffiti.' That's how it was back then. Very innocent and yet we kids thought we were wild."

Dr: "You stated that your relationship with Nyla, Dave and Sandi was separate from your friendship with Ronnie. He never joined you and your other friends?"

WW: "No, never. Nyla did not like him nor did he like her. I think they were jealous of my relationship with each other. Nyla would become furious when I would choose to go out with Ronnie rather than her·and vice-versa. Somehow or other I managed to juggle between them all and make both relationships happen."

Dr: "Was Nyla, perhaps in love with you?"

WW: "Perhaps so·at first. However, I never allowed anything romantic to happen between us. I put our relationship on a purely friendship basis and she accepted that. She was a wonderful and caring friend, Nyla and Ronnie were the closest friends I had ever had since Joanie Howell."

Dr: "What about Ronnie's friendship? Why was he such an influence on your life? Compared to your other friends you and he didn't seem to have much in common. Not that you have thus far mentioned anyway."

WW: "No, we didn't. Ronnie and I did not have much in common at all. That was the strange part of our relationship. Unlike Nyla, Dave and Sandi, Ronnie didn't like going to the movies or plays very much. He was not at all creative as we other kids were. He loved sports, hunting, outdoors activities, etc. These things really didn't interest me at all. He was also exceptionally bright. Ronnie was considered to be a mathematical genius. He was the most intelligent person I had ever known."

Dr: "Perhaps his intelligence is what attracted you?"

WW: "No, not at all. It was his protectiveness. Ronnie was very protective of me. Although he was only one year older than I, I realize now that he was then a father figure for me. He thought I was the greatest person in the world and treated me accordingly. He loved spending his every free moment with me. He even promised to take care of me after we graduated from high school, and to pay for my college education and wanted us to live together. His expectations for our future gave me a great sense of security, dreams though they be. Ronnie made everything seem likely and probable. He was all that I had hoped a father would be. Ronnie was very much my opposite and I suppose it was for that reason we were attracted to each other. He was intellectually brilliant, considered to be a mathematical genius, athletic as well as being handsome and sensitive."

Dr: "You idolized him?"

WW: "Yes, I suppose I did. I pitied him too, however. His parents were the strangest people I had ever met. Ron's father was an important executive for a large oil company in Bakersfield. He was an extremely wealthy man and spent much of his time traveling throughout the world on business matters. Ron's mother was a housewife. They had moved to Bakersfield from Texas when Ronnie and his sister Sandra where small children. Actually I first met Ronnie at Emerson Jr. High School when we were in the 8^th grade. I remember seeing him on campus there but we had no classes together and didn't become friends until we entered High School. Ron's mother, Stacy, was a very cold woman. She was petite, blond and very, very pretty. Her figure would turn anyone's head and she always wore her hair pulled back in a ponytail. I never saw her without a lighted Viceroy cigarette in her hand. I know now that Stacy was a schizophrenic, but I did not realize that back then. Although she adored Ronnie, she literally detested her husband and daughter. She forced her husband Morris to sleep on an army cot in a spare bedroom. Sandra was forced to share her bed. Ronnie had a room of his own complete with his own private bathroom entrance. He was also given personal credit cards, a car, unlimited funds and just about everything else one could ask for. Ron's sister, however, was allowed only two dresses to wear. She was forbidden to go out on weekends, have a car or anything else. Her mother treated her the same as my father treated me. Sandra, although very pretty, was pathetically shy. I would try to talk to her and she could barely look me in the eye. I felt so sorry for her. She reminded me of Laura in 'The Glass Menagerie.' She was only one year younger than Ron and so of course she should have been allowed the same privileges as he. To make matters worse, Stacy enjoyed beating and punishing the girl. I was sometimes allowed to spend a weekend night at Ronnie's house. I would hear Stacy slapping her daughter and screaming verbal abuses at her through Ronnie's bedroom wall. Ron was very protective of his sister and loved her dearly. He would run into their bedroom and threaten to report his mother to the police is she didn't cease beating the girl. It was a bizarre family! Morris had a great fondness for his daughter. However, he detested Ron. I could never understand why because Ron had all the ingredients to make any father proud. 'You're a loser who will never amount to anything!' Ronnie told me that was the only sentence his father spoke to him in two years. On the few occasions Morris would be present when I visited Ronnie's home, he was extremely nice to me. He seemed to take a great interest in me. He was soft spoken and shy, yet never seemed to have a problem talking with me as he did with members of his own family. I knew the man liked me and I could not help but like him despite the fact Ronnie detested him so. Stacy, however, was very suspicious and disliking of me. 'I don't like my son running around with you. You're from a no-account family. I want my son running around with boys from the families of doctors and lawyers,' she would say. It seemed incredible to me that anyone could be so rude and so blunt. 'He's my best friend and you shut up!,' Ron would scream at her in my defense. Stacy would cower to Ronnie's commands. No matter how hard she tried Stacy could not break up our friendship, for Ronnie always had the last word with her. As strange as their relationship was she desperately loved the boy. Anyway, that's why I pitied Ronnie. It was because of his family life. He deserved far better than that. And, he would also do such kind things for me. My father never allowed me to own much in clothing. I was so ashamed to alternate wearing the same two or three shirts to school day after day. Ronnie wore the same size of clothing as I and so he allowed me to wear anything from his closet that I liked. Besides doing that, he bought me dozens of shirts that he kept for me in his clothes closet. He would take me to his house to change clothes before going to school and before returning home. My father never knew that I was gaining a reputation for being the best dressed boy in school!"

Dr: "(Laugh) Oh, I love that! How funny!"

WW: "It's true. Ronnie was genuinely wonderful to me. He was thoughtful and approving of me and caring.No one had ever treated me that well before."

Dr: "I understand. What about girlfriends? Did you have any girlfriends during this time?"

WW: "Yes. Yes I did. I don't really remember the exact details, but I met a girl named Janet in The Nile Theatre one weekend evening. 'I Want To Live!' with none-other-than Susan Hayward, was playing! I went to the movie that night with Ronnie. Janet was one grade under us. She had come to the movies with a girlfriend whose name I have forgotten. After our first meeting the four of us started dating and before long Janet and I were going steady. For some reason or other Ronnie and Janet's friend didn't continue their relationship and so I was with a girlfriend and Ron wasn't."

Janet and Walden

Dr: "That must have added confusion to your weekends out between Nyla and Ronnie?"

WW: (Laugh) "No, not really. Janet would join Ron and I and occasionally Ronnie would have a date so we would all be together. Despite Ron's extreme good looks he was rather shy when it came to girls so he didn't date often. He was afraid of rejection and so could rarely work up the courage to ask a girl out."

WW: "Well, you were shy too. It must have been just as awkward for you to do the asking."

WW: "I don't know that I ever did ask. I think Jan asked me. Anyway, Jan was my first serious love relationship. I was totally enamored with her. I remember once that I looked into the sky and I could see her face there! God, was I a romantic! I really fell head over heels in love with her! She was also my first sexual relationship with a girl in case you wanted to know. I guess I was far more progressive than I thought. Very few teenagers were having sexual relationships in those days. They lied and said they were, but actually there were very few who ever really did. Unfortunately my affair with Janet didn't last all that long·close to a year as I remember."

Dr: "Why was that? May I ask what happened between the two of you to end it?"

WW: "Of course. I have no secrets from you. Prior to her relationship with me, Jan had been in love with a boy named Larry. He had been her first love. Larry was in my drama class and I had been in several plays with him. He and I were never personal friends but I remember Larry to be a very friendly and polite boy and, although he was my rival for Janet's affection, I could not help but like him. Despite her relationship with me, Janet was unable to overcome her obsession towards Larry. It was he who had broken up their relationship and, when he did, he left her heartbroken. For Janet her relationship with Larry was one of genuine love. Compared to Larry I was a poor second best and I knew that. However I deeply cared for Janet and I could not help pity the girl. I decided to end our relationship and just remain friends, for that is all I could really mean to her anyway. She was deeply in love with Larry and I knew that she was unable to help the fact. I even prayed that the two of them would get back together again, but they never did. Larry was very popular with the girls and he raced from one relationship into another. I will never forget Janet. I truly loved her very much. I will always remember her and have wondered a thousand time or more as to what has become of her. I would like to believe that Larry finally came to his senses and returned to her, but that is not very likely. Whatever her destiny, I hope she finally found someone worthy of her and someone she loves as much as she did Larry."

Walden (First Person Row One) and Larry (Fourth Person, Row Two)

Dr: "That is a very touching remembrance. Thank you for sharing it. After your relationship with Janet what happened?"

WW: "An incident that is rather embarrassing to tell you, but if I did not tell it my life story would not be true. This incident would forever change the course of my life. On one of the Saturday nights that my parents had given their permission for me to spend the night at Ronnie's house, an intimacy happened between the two of us which had never happened before. After Ronnie's family had fallen asleep, he and I, alone in his bedroom began drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. Before we knew it we began to wrestle playfully and somehow or other ended up having a sexual encounter with each other. Not only were we both shocked by what had happened between us we were also embarrassed beyond words. The next morning we could not even look each other in the eye. We pretended that nothing unusual had ever happened. After all 'we were drunk' and couldn't remember a thing. The following Monday morning after this incident Ronnie did not come to school. We shared lockers side by side in Warren Hall. I stood nervously beside my locker for a very long while, waiting for him to arrive but he never came to get his books. He had stayed home that day, and I am certain that he did this intentionally so that he and I would not have to face each other. I was frantic that our friendship had been destroyed. I wished desperately that our sexual encounter had never occurred. I hoped and prayed that we two could just go on as usual, pretending that nothing had ever happened. More than anything I was disturbed by the fact that I had discovered that my feelings towards Ronnie were much the same as the feelings I had felt towards Janet. I was afraid that 'maybe?' I was 'in love' with him. I did not want to be abnormal. I did not want to be like Mr. Huff. The possibility that this might be a fact frightened me beyond words. I had never before been aware that I might have any romantic feelings towards Ronnie. That possibility had never entered my mind. I had only considered him to be my best friend. My horrific incident with Mr. Huff was only a couple of years behind me. Could I be like him? Had I lied to myself and allowed him to molest me? Was he attracted to me because he saw something in my nature that I had not recognized within myself? Had I destroyed a man's life not knowing that I was just like him? I was terrified·more terrified than I had ever been at anytime in my life. I had no one to go to talk to regarding this matter. I prayed a lot about this. I prayed and I worried and I worried and I prayed that God would not let what I feared be true."

Dr: "I can certainly understand the trauma that this doubt caused you. What happened? Was your friendship destroyed?"

WW: "No. We continued to see each other and to go on as if nothing intimate had ever happened between us. But it did happen again, and again we pretended that it never had. This was the only way we two could continue to see each other without having to face our guilt. We never discussed this between us. It was never spoken about or admitted. However, now that it had happened again I was even more worried than before. This was the most frightening period of my life. To worsen matters and to add to my anxieties, shortly after school began in the fall of 1959 word arrived that Mom would have to undergo her second open-heart surgery. This was the moment that all three of us dreaded. We knew this surgery was inevitable yet we prayed and prayed it would never come about. Heart surgery did not have the successful survival rate that it has today. Today some of the heart surgeons' procedures almost guarantee a longer lifespan. Many of today's heart surgery techniques are almost a form of preventive medicine. Not so back in the 1950's and 1960's. One never knew whether the patient would live through either the surgery or the period of recuperation. It was a touch and go situation, and in my mother's case more slanted towards the possibility of losing her than have her live through the experience. Her heart was badly damaged and the doctors gave her a ten percent chance of surviving the surgery. Needless to say, my father and I were far more worried than we could ever say. Mom was the only one of us with courage. 'I made it before and I'll make it again!' she said with a positive attitude. 'Only the good die young. I'll live forever! You two guys worry too much.' Yes, yes we did. Dad and I worried too much! By some miracle of miracles, Mom pulled through the ordeal! Even her surgeon Dr. Gabodi (the same physician who performed her first heart surgery several years before) could not understand how she had survived the operation. 'That lady is amazing! Truly amazing!' he said shaking his head. 'I had to survive the surgery,' Mom later told me. 'I couldn't leave you alone with your father. I refuse to die until you two learn to love each other.' 'Then you will never die, Mama!' I laughed and replied. 'The day he and I ever love each other will never come!' 'Yes, it will,' she answered seriously. 'It has to! I know it will.'

Dr: "Julia was determined. She had an amazing will power."

WW: "Yes, she truly did. That is what kept her alive and also the fact that she cared desperately about other people. Mom felt she had to set an example for others that, 'If I can make it·you can make it!' to give others the courage to fight and survive. There was a young woman named Jackie that Mom cared greatly about during that period. Jackie shared the hospital bed beside mom at Presbyterian Medical Center in San Francisco. Jackie was not having surgery. Her problem was a psychological rather than a physical one. She had unfortunately married a man who psychologically abused her to such a great degree that she became psychologically unable to walk. She was a beautiful young lady; so beautiful in fact that it was near impossible to understand how anyone so pretty could have ever allowed anyone to give her feelings of such low self-esteem. 'Jackie, you are the prettiest thing I have ever seen,' Mom would say to her while lying in her hospital bed beside her. 'I always prayed for a daughter but never got my wish,' Mom lied. 'I want you to be my daughter. I want you to be the girl God never gave me. Wally, don't you wish Jackie could be your sister?' I knew what Mom was doing. I knew how she was trying to restore a sense of worth and value to this poor stricken girl. That was the way my mother was and why I loved her so. 'I will not leave this hospital until you can walk again Jackie! I refuse to! You're going to be my daughter whether you like it or not. I will not leave here until I see you walk!' Day after day Mama would repeat her affections towards the poor confused girl. 'Stop it Julie,' Jackie would reply. 'I'll never be able to walk again. I have tried! I can't! I just can't!' 'You can too! You can start by just taking two or three small steps to my bed and give me a kiss and a hug,' Mom would say. 'One little step at a time. That's all it takes. One little step at a time, Jackie.' Well, Mom was a creator of miracles, for upon the day of her heart surgery one of the loveliest and most beautiful things I have ever seen happened. Dad, my grandparents and I were all sitting together in the hospital waiting room as the heart surgeon team was operating on my mother. We all sat in silence, fearful that something might go wrong, each saying our own individual prayers for my mother's well being. Suddenly the waiting room door opened. Standing there, hanging onto the arm of a nun was Jackie. 'Can I come in?' she asked. 'Sister helped me walk here.' 'Actually Jackie walked by herself. I simply guided her,' the nun replied. 'I want to kneel and pray and say the rosary for Julie. I want to be with you and pray.' Both Jackie and Grandma knelt on the floor and said the rosary. The rest of us bowed or heads and joined them in prayer. Needless to say there was not one dry eye in the room. Jackie had responded to Mom's magical charm. If anyone ever proved healing comes from love, Mom did."

Dr: "What a beautiful story. I love your tender remembrances!"

WW: "It's a true story. I love it too. That day I made a terrible mistake, however. The anticipation of Mom's heart surgery had left me exhausted with anxiety and worry. I, like all the others who loved her, was terrified that she might die. Worry had left me sleepless for several days prior to her surgery. After she finished praying Jackie sat beside me on the waiting room sofa. She asked me to lay my head on her lap and try to rest. I lay there, my head in her lap, looking quietly about the room. I was wishing for a sign. Maybe I would see the spirit of my great-grandfather again. Maybe he would appear to me and promise me Mom would not die as he had done when I was five years old. Maybe an angel would appear and I would feel that calmness and certainty of security that they had given me as a child. Whenever the angels had come I knew Mom would be all right. Something. Anything. I watched quietly for what seemed a very long time, but, to my great disappointment, no angel came nor did any other sign of comfort. Exhausted and frightened I fell asleep, my head in Jackie's lap. And then I had that disturbing dream again, you know, the one where the red rose wilts. Jackie later told me that I was moaning in my sleep, twisting and turning, upset and perspiring. I was suddenly awakened by a slap to my face! 'You insensitive little son-of-a-bitch!' Dad bellowed at me. 'How the hell can you sleep when your mother could be dying?' 'Because I'm so scared!' I answered in tears. 'I'm so scared I don't know what else to do! I can't stand this waiting! I just can't stand it!' I was never forgiven for that moment. Dad threw that incident in my face for years to come. 'He didn't even give a damn whether his own mother lived or died,' he would tell people. 'He just went to sleep as if nothing of any importance was happening. And then the kid dreams about some ridiculous wilting rose. He called it a nightmare. Can you imagine how anyone who dreams of a red rose could call that a nightmare? The kid must be nuts.'"

Dr: "And once again you had that reoccurring dream of the red rose·that strange dream that had always haunted you. You say that the rose was wilted, not standing?"

WW: "Yes, the rose was wilted. I never considered it to be a nightmare if the rose was standing. The only time the dream frightened me was if the rose wilted."

Dr: "Yes, I had forgotten. Thank you for correcting me."

WW: "Mom miraculously survived her operation. However, while in intensive care, complications developed. The doctors reported that she might have suffered some form of brain damage during the operation. There may have been a lack of oxygen to her brain as blood was being circulated from her body to the heart lung machine. There was also a possibility that she may have suffered a stroke or aneurysm. After extensive test ruled out any of these possibilities it was assumed she had developed some psychotic disorientation. The hospital had a staff of expert doctors and psychiatrists working with her. She refused to answer their simplest questions. 'What's your name?' they would ask. 'You know my name. What the hell are you asking me for?' she would answer with a snap of the tongue. 'How old are you?' the psychiatrist would ask. 'Get off my back! You add it up!' would be her reply. It was not Mom's nature to be rude and impatient with people, so like the doctors, dad and I were worried and concerned about her change in behavior. There were several occasions when I would come into her hospital room and find her alone crying. 'What's the matter, Mom? Please tell me?' I would ask, my arms around her shoulder. 'I hate the way I think! I hate the way I think!' is all she would answer, never looking into my eyes. Her doctors refused to let her return home after her physical recovery. They wanted the staff of psychiatrists to work with her further. Dad, having nearly run out of money, had to return home for work. I had to return to school. For the next two months we drove the long distance to and from San Francisco each weekend to be with her, praying with each visit that she might be released and return home. During this two-month period I finally found the courage to make an appointment with my school psychologist hoping for help concerning my own personal problems. I was so terribly frightened that I might be gay that I did not know where else to turn. We had several weekly sessions together but I never did find the courage to confront him with my fear. I did discuss my dreams regarding 'the red rose' with him. He seemed to be greatly fascinated by my having this reoccurring dream but came to no conclusions regarding its significance. He gave me ink blot and various other psychological tests, and came to the simple conclusion: 'Your father and you have some deep communicating to do. I want you to confront him. I want you to say, "Dad, why is it that you do not love me?" I want you to look him directly in the eye and ask that question. You must confront him. You cannot go around this issue, you must go directly to, and through it.' Unfortunately, later that evening, I found the courage to follow the doctor's advice. I was in my bedroom studying my lines for the play 'The Summoning of Everyman.'

'The Summoning of Everyman'

From Left to Right: Sandi, Walden, Larry and Dave

Dad had just finished preparing our dinner and entered my room. 'Dinner is ready. Come on in to the kitchen. Let's eat.' I put my script down and followed him to the dining table and sat at my usual place. 'You sure have been moping around a lot,' he said as he served me a plate of lima beans, ham, corn bread and salad. 'I'm sick and tired of hearing you play that damned, depressing, Julie London record. You are driving me nuts with it. I don't ever want to hear you play it again while I am at home. Do you understand?' ' Yes, I'm sorry. I will never play it when you're here,' I answered. ' Dad, I have been having a really hard time. I have been very depressed. I play that record because it helps me feel better.' 'Your mother will be all right. Her heart surgery was very successful and the doctors are making more of a problem about her mental state than is warranted. She seems perfectly normal to me considering all she has had to go through. I have a surprise for you. We are bringing her home next Saturday. The doctors are releasing her. Julia is coming home.' 'Oh, I am so glad!' I answered with surprise. 'I am so glad!' 'So, cheer up and get rid of that long face. That should cheer you,' he replied. 'That isn't all that was bothering me,' I continued. 'There are other things that are bothering me too. Things I don't understand. I have been going to the school psychologist to see if he can help me.' I presented this fact to him cautiously, uncertain as to what his reaction might be. 'You have been doing what?' he snapped. 'You have been seeing a psychiatrist? What the hell do you have to see a shrink about? Jesus Christ! What's next with you? God damn it! If you upset your mother with this I will kill you! Do you understand me? YOU ARE NOT TO SAY A WORD ABOUT THIS TO YOUR MOTHER! Do you hear me, boy? She is not to be upset with your stupid no-account problems. She has been through enough hell without your complicating matters!' 'I will never tell her. I promise,' I answered quietly. My plan had not worked. I had provoked him and had not expected to do so. 'You bet you won't!' he bellowed, rising from the table. His body became tense and rigid and his hands began to tremble. These were the signs that he was at his angriest. 'God damn it, you have me so upset I can't eat my dinner!' 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry I said anything,' I said, rising from my chair and heading towards the safety of my bedroom. 'It's too late for you to be sorry, Boy. You have already upset things,' he answered while grabbing my arm. 'What the hell are you seeing a shrink for?' He looked me directly in the eye and spit the question in my face. His face was flushed red with anger and I was too fearful to look directly into his eyes as my doctor had advised me to do. As he held me still, one of his hands on each of my shoulders, I looked down at my shoes and said, 'My psychologist wants me to ask you, why don't you love me.' I had found the courage to ask the question and recall being amazed when I heard myself speak the words. 'I don't know,' he answered quickly, without hesitation. 'I never did love you. I just never did. I don't know why.' Dad's answer came unemotionally and yet he looked as if he were surprised by his own answer. I stood there for what seemed an eternity. It felt as though some unseen force in the room had sucked all the oxygen out of my body. I suppose I was in a state of shock for this was certainly not the answer I had expected to receive. I had thought that my rather pathetic question would soften his heart? I had expected him to say, Don't be stupid! Of course I love you.' However, those were not his words. He did not take his hands from my shoulders. I finally looked up into his face and saw that he, too, looked as surprised by his answer as did I. As I began to cry he let go of me. I turned away from him and went into my bedroom closing the door behind me. I lay on my bed and cried for what seemed like a very long time. I did not hear him when he finally entered my room. He sat on the bed beside me and I was surprised to feel his hand running through my hair as I lay there on my stomach, my face buried in a pillow. 'I'm sorry Wally. I didn't mean what I said,' he said softly. 'I didn't mean what I said at all.' 'Yes, you did,' I answered numbly. 'It doesn't matter. It's all right. I shouldn't have asked. I already knew that you didn't love me. It was stupid of me to ask. I won't ever tell Mom about this, or what you said, so you need not worry.' 'I swear I didn't mean what I said, boy.' He continued, his hand now rubbing my back. 'It doesn't matter, Dad. Honest it doesn't. I thought about what you said and then it came to me that maybe I don't love you either. You and I really don't have anything in common except that we both love Mom and no matter how we feel about each other we just have to get along for her sake. I don't blame you for being disappointed in me, but I just don't know how to change from being what I am. I know I'm nothing for a father to be proud of. I'm frightened of just about everything. I'm nervous and shy and not very tall. I'm not good at sports and I'm not very smart. I'm kind of strange and different from all the other kids but I don't know why, and I don't know how to change it. So it's o.k. that you admitted you don't love me, and I'm honestly glad that you told me the truth.' He lifted me up from the bed and placed his arm around me, cradling my head on his shoulder. 'I didn't mean what I said, boy. I swear I didn't.' I could not believe that my father was actually crying. 'Life is just so God damned hard at times! Sometimes life is just too hard and I say harsh things because I am bitter and because I am mad at God.' 'Why are you mad at God,' I asked. 'For a thousand reasons and more,' he replied. 'My life has been all screwed up since the day I was born. The only decent thing that ever happened for me in my life was that I met your mother. Julia is the only reason I care to live. I would give life up in a second if it weren't for her. Now don't misunderstand me. I love you too, but it's Julia who really needs me. She is the only person in my life who was ever all good and loving and wonderful.' He paused for a moment and wiped his eyes then a strange look came across him face as it he were recalling something from a long time past. 'I'm going to tell you something I promised Julia I would never tell you,' he said quietly. 'Did you know you once had a little sister? She only lived for four months. Her name was Priscilla and she died a year and a half before you were born. It almost killed Julia and I when we lost her. Now if there is a God why in the hell would he let a precious little baby die? Answer me that. What the hell did that little baby do to be punished and die?' 'I don't know,' I answered. 'I never knew about the baby. Why didn't anybody tell me about Priscilla?' I asked sincerely for I was amazed that this truth had been hidden from me. 'Because it hurts too much to talk about her. Besides, what good does it do? She's dead. Nothing will ever bring her back. I didn't want any more kids after losing her. The doctors told us that Julia could not risk another pregnancy, that due to her bad health, trying to bare another child would kill her.' ' But it didn't kill her. I was born and my birth did not kill her,' I answered quietly. 'BUT IT COULD HAVE KILLED HER! You could have killed your mother. The only reason you were born is because she cried one night. She said she would rather be dead than not have a child and that is how you came into the world. She insisted that I risk her life by getting her pregnant. Now don't misunderstand me. I love you, but you could have killed your mother and I besides, I certainly didn't do you any favor by bringing you into this God damned lousy world!'"

Dr: "Oh, my! So Arthur really bore his sorrow and grief with you during that very troubled day? Did you question him regarding your half-sister Marilyn? Did you share your fear regarding the questioning of your sexuality?"

WW: "No. Despite the intimacy we shared that day I knew I could still not trust him. I did not believe him when he took back what he said about not loving me. He had told me so quickly and so bluntly that he did not love me that I believed his quick response to be a true one. Also, I knew that Mom was unaware that I knew anything about the fact that Marilyn was my half-sister and, so if I had asked him about Marilyn, I feared he might tell Mom that I knew the truth about her. I could not risk hurting Mom, and at the same time I was not at all sure if my father knew that my mother had given birth to Marilyn. It seemed certain in that he had never mentioned her, but only Priscilla, that he was not at all likely to have been Marilyn's father."

Dr: "Of course."

WW: "What else I got from this encounter was the feeling he resented me being born when it was Priscilla he longed for. I think any child would feel that way·you know, think to himself, 'I'll bet he wishes I had died and not Priscilla.'"

Dr: "Of course. That would not be unlikely that a child would feel that way. What about the sexual issue?"

WW: "I was too frightened to come right out and say it·to tell him what I feared. I also didn't want him to know about what had happened between Ronnie and myself. I was too ashamed to actually tell him about that and also I feared he would, of course, tell Ronnie's family and thus destroy our relationship. I would have told him of my personal self doubt had he come right out and asked me, but he never did. I tried to lead him to do so. I said, 'I get very mad at God too, sometimes.' He separated himself from me and we both sat on the side of my bed facing the wall. 'What reason could you possibly have to be mad at God?' he asked. 'Because I think he made me strange and different from other people,' I answered. 'Different in what way?' he asked. 'I don't know·just different. I don't want to be different from other people. I never asked to be. I want to be like everybody else. Sometimes I don't think I am normal at all. I think I have feelings normal people don't feel.' I had hoped by my statement that he would question my meaning of normal and investigate further, but he did not. 'Don't be silly. You're no different than any other kid. These are the best years of your life. You don't know the first thing about life and its difficulties. I was a drunk. I've been through hell and back, boy. Compared to mine your life has been a bed of roses. You're just a kid. You don't understand grown-up matters.' 'Yes I do. I understand more than you think,' I answered. 'You think God has let you down?' he continued. 'What a laugh! You have probably gotten everything you have ever wished or prayed for.' There was cynicism in his voice. 'The only prayers he ever answered are when I prayed that Mama wouldn't die,' I replied. 'I personally don't believe that He exists. I've sure as hell never seen any evidence of it. I think she lived because that was her fate and nothing more. I don't think your prayers had anything to do with her surviving her surgeries. You can believe what you want and deceive yourself if you like.'"

Dr: "Had you ever told Bud about your encounter with the spirit of your great-grandfather when you were five years old·how he had appeared to you in spirit form and promised you that Julia would not die?"

WW: "No. I had never ever spoken of any of my psychic happenings to him and I have no idea if my mother had either. Things had not gone at all as I had hoped they would that day. Dad had turned our conversation into matters that concerned himself and I knew it was senseless for me to hope to discuss my personal fear, or fears, with him. I would keep my secret to myself and hope to find another way to get the answers I so desperately sought. In order not to break this time of closeness I looked up into his face and said, 'Didn't you pray and ask God to help you not be an alcoholic anymore?' Dad became very solemn and cast his gaze downward towards the hardwood floor. 'I did. Yeah, I did·a thousand times or more.' 'Well, God certainly answered that prayer for you!' I stated. 'Maybe He did and maybe He didn't. I'll tell you something that I have never told anyone except your mother before. It sounds too fantastic to be told. People would think I was crazy if I told them. I doubt that there is a God but I know for a fact that there are angels.' With this statement my ears perked up. Had he said angels? I had never ever heard him speak of angels before. He continued, 'After your mother left me I did everything in the world I could do to try and make her come back to me. My drinking had destroyed her life. I don't blame her for leaving me but I just didn't think I could survive without her. I begged and I begged her to return and bring you with her but she said she had had enough and she made it clear that she would never return to me. One day, shortly after, I drove from our home in Tracy to San Francisco. I had planned to either force myself to stop drinking or take my life. I rented a small room on the top floor of The St. Francis Hotel. After I entered the room I opened the window and looked down. It was several floors to street level and my plan was to jump, to commit suicide that way. I had brought an uncorked bottle of whiskey with me. I lay on the bed with that unopened bottle of booze in my hand. I told myself that if I opened it I would walk to that window and throw myself through it, and that if there were a God He would give me the strength to overcome my temptation to take a drink from that bottle. I suppose, in truth, I was trying to put God to the test. I lay there for several hours and I prayed. I prayed harder than I had ever prayed in my life. I told God that if He existed he would have to cure me. He would have to perform a miracle and cure me of my alcoholism. Well, the D.T.'s hit me and I began sweating and shaking and finally I couldn't take the pain any longer and so I uncorked that bottle.' Suddenly my dad became silent. I watched as tears fell from his eyes and as he wiped them away with the back of his hand. 'And then what? What happened after that?' I almost whispered so as to not break his mood. 'Well, after I un-corked the bottle I cried, "Dear God? Dear God? Why won't you help me?" and then I stood up and started to walk to that window. It was then that I noticed a figure standing in the corner on my room. It was an angel! I could not believe my eyes but I swear to you I saw an angel! She was tall, very tall, and I swear to Almighty Jesus she had wings. I sat back down on the bed, totally amazed. I could not take my eyes off of her. She was unbelievably beautiful. Her face radiated a magnificent light, and from that light I sensed all things that were kind and loving. There is no other way I can describe it·rapture? Ecstasy? She emanated these feelings. She smiled at me and started walking towards me with one of her arms extended. She smiled at me but she did not speak. I could feel such divine kindness and love radiating from her. It was as if she knew all the hurt and pain I carried inside of me and she cared, she cared that I hurt, and I could feel that she cared. She walked to the side of my bed and stood directly in front of me. I looked into her eyes and asked, "Are you The Virgin Mary? Are you The Mother of God?" She did not answer me. She only smiled, and then she placed the palm of her hand upon my forehead. I felt as if I had been struck by a bolt of lightening and I fell backwards upon the bed. I don't remember one thing after that, not one thing. I didn't wake up until two days later. I had soiled myself. Believe it or not, I never once took one drink of alcohol again· never once from that day forward. I never desired it. I stopped drinking without even getting sick·never had withdrawal pains·nothing. How can you figure that? It was like a miracle. There is no other way to describe it. That's The God's truth.' We both sat in silence for several moments. I was deeply moved by his story and by the fact that he had never shared anything this personal with me before. So he saw angels too. Maybe he is the reason I acquired this gift. Maybe we were more alike than I had known. Mom had always said that we were. As we sat now in silence I thought about his childhood. I thought about him coming home from school as a small boy to find strange men visiting his mother. This is you new father,' she would say. There had been more strange men whom he had called 'father' than he cared to remember. His real father had died eight months before his birth. I thought of my grandfather's photograph that hanged on our living room wall.

Walden's Paternal Grandfather

My father cherished that picture for it was all he had of a father he adored but had never known. I recalled how I, too, had longed for the love of a father and of the other two men whom I had called by that name but from whom I had never gained love. I thought of his mother, so lost in her own grief that she was unable to be there for him. The only people who had ever loved him, besides my mother, was his brother Tony and his grandfather, a mentally ill man whom he lived with most of his childhood. I could not help but pity him. He had suffered great childhood sorrow and in that way we were alike. I thought, too, about his devoted love for my mother, the woman he called his soul mate, and as I thought about his devotion to her, and as I though of all these other things, I believe for that moment I truly loved him. 'So you see?' he continued quietly. 'I don't know if there is a God or not, but I sure as hell know that there are angels.' 'I have seen angels too·lot's of times. I have seen them since I was a little boy,' I said quietly, but my father was so immersed into his own thoughts that he did not hear me. I put one of my hands into his and changed the subject by saying, 'I think God heard your prayer and sent that angel to help you, but I believe that it was God who gave the angel the power to cure you.' 'Maybe He did. I just don't know,' he answered. 'I think that is what He did, Dad. Angels come at times when we desperately need them. They are God's Messengers.' 'Maybe. Who knows? All I do know for certain is that there are angels and that is a fact,' he said as he walked to the door. 'I know that too,' I answered, as my father quietly shut my bedroom door behind him."

Julie London

The End