They glide in, these women, on a ripple of wind, like sylphs on an unknown errand….one minute, there is nothing, the next, they are here. Where did they come from? What do they want? Why, it’s simple, of course—they have come to find you.
It is altogether fine to say we must be wary of these creatures, another thing to anticipate their talents. These sylphs are proficient in the ancient art of sleight-of-hand, and, when you are sufficiently distracted, they will pick your emotional pocket and you will become their slaves. This is not an entirely bad thing for their demands are small. They ask only for your loyalty and support. They would like your eyes to light up when they enter the room. And when they get a bizarre idea which will harm absolutely no one, they want you to say, “What a wonderful plan, Chloe, you should get on it right away.” It all comes down to one simple request. They would like you to take their hand and bring them to the fair.
What you will get in return is far more. You will get an anchor, the good kind, and whatever befalls you, including the most cataclysmic turns of fortune, that anchor will be there to reassure you that all reversals of fate are temporary and that you shall overcome. The aura that emanates from within these women is powerful and has been known to subdue many ills.
Not to mention their entertainment value. It is an adventure to watch them, these women, as they perform their daily magic. Sometimes, they are required to transform themselves from simple toilers into daughters of Aphrodite and their success at this transformation is stunning. They have been known to take a hovel or a raw piece of land and, with only rudimentary materials, transform the first into a palace and the second into a magnificent garden. They can take a few magic beans and create a feast. There is nothing, really, that they cannot do, which includes exhibiting almost limitless patience with the partner they have chosen. For it is they who choose, after all, and only a silly illusion that you have anything to say about it. And they are slow to give up on their selections.
We must not mistake their loyalty and forgiveness with license, however. As determined as they are to repair all problems, they can, in the long run, be driven away by rampant callowness, by continued lack of fealty, by never being allowed their ride on the ferris wheel. And once they are gone, really gone, there will be no whiffling them back with a rose and a Baby Ruth. Once it is over for them, they sadly but resolutely take up their baubles, rise above the fields of discord and soar off to the Land of Second Chances, older and wiser, more careful, with a clearer eye to the pitfalls down the road. This time, this next time, they will choose better.
Some Enchanted Evening
Some enchanted evening,
You may see a stranger,
You may see a stranger
Across a crowded room,
And somehow you know,
You know even then,
That somewhere you’ll see her
Again and again.
Some enchanted evening,
Someone may be laughing,
You may hear her laughing
Across a crowded room,
And night after night,
As strange as it seems,
The sound of her laughter
Will sing in your dreams.
Who can explain it?
Who can tell you why?
Fools give you reasons,
Wise men never try.
Some enchanted evening,
When you find your true love,
When you feel her call you
Across a crowded room,
Then fly to her side
And make her your own,
Or all through your life you
May dream all alone.
Once you have found her,
Never let her go.
Once you have found her,
Never let her go!
Memories Of Marilyn
The crowded room, for me, was the original Threadgill’s and the stranger was Marilyn Todd, barely a year out of Austin High School. Though Janis and I had parted ways by now, I still went to Threadgill’s to watch her perform—this time with Lieuen Adkins and a few ghettoites. Janis was beginning to gather a local following, Threadgill’s on the verge of becoming the “in” place to go on Friday nights. Some people will tell you there is no God or that Fate doesn’t exist. But how else to explain that the only empty stool in the place was right next to me? Marilyn sat down, her male companion standing next to her. Christ, I thought, this must be how those big-time agents in Hollywood find the Next Big Thing—they just sit around a bar (or a drugstore) and POWIE!—there she is.
Marilyn was majestic, but she had no idea of the power she wielded. She had been home a lot, tending to an ill mother and putting her college career on hold. She was happy to be out and about. Try as I might, I couldn’t stop looking at her. Her face was beautiful, but with a madonna-like sadness to it. This was nullified completely when she smiled. Her teeth were brilliant and perfect and she had a smile that would light up the catacombs. Since God or Fate were playing an important part in all this, one or the other nudged her companion’s arm and he promptly dropped his beerglass on the floor, smashing it to smithereens, some of which landed on me.
“I’m really sorry,” Marilyn sympathized, as if it were her fault. I thought about explaining the God or Fate part to her but I thought that might be a little forward so I merely introduced myself, carried on a brief conversation and left it at that. Sometimes, less is better. Marilyn reported on her evening to best friends Pat Brown and Tami Dean, both of whom knew me, Pat from the Ranger office, Tami from an earlier frisky encounter. Pat promptly called and asked if it would be alright to bring Marilyn up to the Ranger office next day.
“Did the Titanic sink in deep water?” I asked her. “Coming in loud and clear,” she said. And next day, here they came. I discovered Marilyn, the daughter of an English professor who was also the head of the rare books division of the UT Library, to be extremely intelligent and, as an added bonus, very funny. We talked for awhile and then I walked her home, a very long walk, as I recall, involving hills. Eventually, love blossomed. The angels sang.
At 4:30 a.m., December 26, 1962, Marilyn slipped out her bedroom window and across the yard to my waiting vehicle. We planned to head for Gainesville to publish our own magazine in a land of ample advertising. Gilbert Shelton soon called to advise me that Marilyn’s father was prepared to take extraordinary measures to get her back, however, despite the fact she was over 18. I am not naïve enough to believe that The Law applies equally to everybody and I knew we were vulnerable. I headed for my family’s home in Lawrence, Massachusetts, where the police chief lived directly across the street and might be expected to take pity on a local boy.
William B. Todd was not done, however. He quickly dispatched one of Marilyn’s aunts and a beloved grandmother to talk some sense into her. Marilyn was very brave in the face of this onslaught, explaining herself and holding her ground. Aunt Linda exited in a huff but the saintly grandmother said, “If this is who you’ve chosen, it’s good enough for me.” The maelstrom abated somewhat and we went on with our lives, leaving Massachusetts for Gainesville, Florida a few weeks later. Doctor Todd got wind of the departure and renewed his crusade. We decided to foil him by getting married in Folkston, Georgia, a 24-hour marriage-mill town, just over the Florida border. Funds being what they were, Marilyn was dispatched on a bus and I hitchhiked. Once there, we discovered the marrying schedule was no longer 24 hours and we would have to wait until the next day. Some kindly policemen, sympathetic to young love and penury, took us to the Fire Department, where the firemen let us sleep in the giant front seat of their biggest engine. Fortunately, there were no arsonists afoot. We slept the night and got married by a little city official the next day. Then, she got on a bus and returned to Gainesville and I hitchhiked back. A good time was had by all. Hey, not everybody gets to spend their honeymoon in Florida.
Life without money is always a struggle and so it was for us. We found a small apartment in a giant, turn-of-the-century house and set about to make ends meet. One of the ways we did this was by eating cheaply. It was pancakes every morning, doused with maple syrup so dilute you could read the small print on a contract through it. Marilyn discovered infinite ways to prepare ground beef, rice, onions and potatoes for dinner. We cancelled lunch. So what if it was tough. All you need is love, right?
Eventually, we got the magazine, the Charlatan, cranked up in Tallahassee and began to make a little money. This glorious occasion was duly celebrated with extensive purchases of frozen pizza and other delicacies virtually unknown to paupers such as ourselves. Happy Times were complemented by a spectacular visit from Tami Dean, who brought word of Austin. Lieuen eventually moved to town to help with the magazine. The tide had finally turned. We moved to Gainesville, where advertising sales were huge and the readership was greater. We would have lived happily ever after were it not for Bill’s wanton ways. Some people handle strife a lot better than they deal with success and, sad to say, I was one of those people. Marilyn wisely moved back to Austin, found a more suitable partner and raised a great family, finding the life she richly deserved.
On the afternoon of January 25th, Marilyn finally acquiesced in a long battle with cancer, surrounded by the members of that great family. We are beginning to feel a little wary about January. Last year, at almost the same time, the ethers likewise enveloped Marilyn’s best friend, Pat Brown, and left us reeling. Tami Dean had been dispatched earlier. If we weren’t the scurrilous nonbelievers that we are, we would probably write something like this:
Content now to retire from a battle which had already raged for too long, Marilyn gathered up her prized possessions, turned around and took one final look back. Pretty good, all in all, she allowed. Then, onto the silver escalator and up into the unknown firmament. Who could know what unexpected prizes might await? It would be downright silly of us to suppose it, but is there at least a miniscule possibility of a great Austin High School in-the-sky? No, of course not. But if there were, the two current occupants and their newest recruit might be found dancing through the corridors, their laughter echoing off the walls as they consider new adventures. Goodbye, Marilyn, and thanks for blessing me with your limitless gifts, undeserving sinner that I am. You always did everything perfectly.
Oh, what the hell. Let’s go ahead and write it anyway.
