The July Winner - Family Dates by AJ
I met your father in front of the Coliseum in Rome. No. That’s not right. It was the Eiffel Tower, or maybe Big Ben. Oh, what’s the difference? Anyway. It was love at first sight. All it took was a single glance between us. We realized we were meant for each other. The rest is history.
Of course you can’t tell by looking at us now, but we made such a handsome couple. Both of us barely out of our teens, your father still had a full head of hair, mine was long and blond, silky as cat fur, only wavy. No, not curly. That happened later, much later, when it turned gray as well.
He was a lieutenant, in the Marines. Attached to the embassy. I worked in the foreign office. After our first chance meeting, we were forever running into each other at the various functions I was made to attend. Kismet, I say. That’s a Turkish word that means fate drew us together.
In no time we began spending every free minute together. Your father asked me to marry him within weeks. He couldn’t wait to go state-side. That’s why we had the civil ceremony. The consul married us in an intimate ceremony with just our closest friends, because we planned to throw a huge bash once we made it over. Somehow that never happened. Too busy making a home for ourselves I guess. Anyway. We were so in love, we forgot all about the celebration until the time for it had passed, and you girls were old enough that it just didn’t seem right anymore.
It’s one of the few regrets I have now. That and the dreadful mistakes they made with the dates on the marriage license. Back in those days they didn’t have computers of course. But, imagine, six whole years!
*** It’s such a romantic story, isn’t it? Mom, Dad, in Cannes, on a hot summer’s day. I wonder if they went to the film festival. They must have, don’t you think? I mean, from the pictures they both look so glamorous. Dad in his uniform standing tall, Mom in that flowered print sitting with her back turned glancing coyly, at the camera as though she’d been caught off guard and hadn’t wanted to be photographed. You know what a ham she is, and how proud of her looks she’s always been. Its’ almost as though she wanted us to think she had something to hide!
Aunt Sally told me they kept their own council until long after you were born. Mom’s English wasn’t very good – that is hard to imagine, isn’t it? Makes you wonder what sort of job she held that didn’t require her to be fluent. Liaison, most likely. In those days women weren’t expected to hold responsible positions. Just to look good and act pleasant was enough to get by on. Okay. So maybe she had to flirt a little. But show me a woman who says she hasn’t used her wiles to get what she wanted, and I’ll give you three-to-one odds she’s not much to look at. If you ask me, I’d rather be – like Mom – a woman who has the choice of using them or not. I mean, wouldn’t you rather be a pretty face, with a brain to make it pay, than an ugly one who has to scheme to gain access to even the most basic pleasures in life?
The dates? Oh I don’t know why you keep bringing them up. If she’s told us once, she’s told us a hundred times. The clerk at the registrar’s office mistook a six for a zero. I’m ample proof of that, aren’t I? You don’t think they’d have transcribed two dates wrong, now do you? You know what I think? I think they’re keeping something from us. I think the reason the early part of their marriage is such a mystery is because of Dad. I’m almost certain they had to marry in haste, secretly, because of him. Don’t tell him I said so, but my theory is that Mom and Dad weren’t in the same place at the same time by accident. I think Dad was there specifically to keep an eye on her, because Dad – get this – was a spy! What do you think of that?!
*** Years ago, when Mom was still alive, and my sister and I did more than just exchange Christmas cards, I used to have this urge to blow the whole thing open, cut through the lies and legends that kept us all in chains, the truth festering like so many boils beneath everyone’s very thin skin, threatening to erupt at every tricky turn.
I dreamed of taking my sister by the shoulders and shaking some sense into her, of putting all the cards – the family records – on the table, so to speak, and getting my mother to show her hand, no trumps, no joker, no hidden aces up her sleeve that suddenly appear as if by magic to even out the deal.
As far back as my mind will go, I can’t recall a time when I didn’t wonder how little, if any, of what my mother said was based on fact. For one thing, the story was different every time she told it. And it wasn’t just the dates on the marriage license either. I don’t know how she did it, but Mom managed to get hers and Dady’s date of birth changed. She must have put on a grand performance for that one, feminine wiles, sleight of hand and a little baksheesh too. Who knows. Maybe outright blackmail as well. I wouldn’t put it past her. I wouldn’t put anything past her. Behind her agreeable, accommodating and demure façade, our mother was one heck of a determined female for whom the end always justified the means.
Here’s the gist of it, as far as I can tell: Just after the war, Mom and Dad met over in Europe. He’d just been demobilized, was just touring the countryside when he came upon my mother on her parents’ farm. Maybe they fell in love, maybe not. Maybe they just jumped in the sack on a whim and they both had to live with the consequences. That would have been me. Mom got pregnant and decided to keep the baby. Me. Not for ethical, moral reasons. As currency, a foreign exchange. I’ll say at least that for my father. When he found out – after she got pregnant, but before they married – that she’d already had a child by another man, he didn’t run for the hills. He kept his word and brought her over. He stayed with her long enough for her to get a permanent green card. He made a down-payment on our house, waited for me to start school and my mother to finish. I’m not a hundred percent certain about the dates, but I think Mom was already working at the insurance company where she met my step-father. Some time around then, Dad vanished, disappeared into the sunset, and we haven’t heard from him since. My mother had to fight tooth and nail to get the papers straightened out in order to marry again. I can’t really say I blame her. For all I know he walked off a cliff when he left us. Figuratively speaking of course. Dad wasn’t known for his bravery.
***
Harold P. Elmo, 96, A Man of Many Lives, Is Dead
By Fiona J. Purt Published: July 12, 2006 in the NYT
Correction Appended
Harold P. Elmo, a little-known self-inventor, died in Davis, Calif., on June 30. He was 86.
The cause was complications of a hip fracture, according to the University of California, Davis, but his present wife claims he died of a ruptured conscience.
Dr. Olmo served on the Davis board of the C.I.A. (the California Institute of Aeronautics) from 1961, contributing vastly to its development and rising to become its C.E.O, a position he held until his retirement in 1987, at which time he was already a very wealthy man. He continued to hold an informal role there until shortly before his death.
He first came to California in 1956 claiming he had amnesia and exhibiting signs of severe confusion. At times he appeared certain that in the place he left behind, a family awaited him. At others he swore he’d been a loner and a drifter all his life.
He married Vivian Elmo, the nurse at the hospital where he was taken in, and whose name he subsequently assumed legally. He was kind to animals and children, though he and Mrs Elmo had none of their own.
On his death bed he finally revealed the details about his past, naming a previous wife he’d never formally divorced, and one or perhaps two daughters; the details were still unclear at the writing of this notice, though a discrepancy in the dates of their births seemed to indicate that the older of the two may not have been his biological offspring.
Mrs Elmo declared her wish to share the estate of her husband with his children from the previous marriage, the mother of whom had long since passed away.
Correction: July 13, 2006
An obituary yesterday about Harold Elmo, a former C.IA. C.E.O., misstated his age. He may really have been 92 years old, or so the records held by his first family attest.
Of course you can’t tell by looking at us now, but we made such a handsome couple. Both of us barely out of our teens, your father still had a full head of hair, mine was long and blond, silky as cat fur, only wavy. No, not curly. That happened later, much later, when it turned gray as well.
He was a lieutenant, in the Marines. Attached to the embassy. I worked in the foreign office. After our first chance meeting, we were forever running into each other at the various functions I was made to attend. Kismet, I say. That’s a Turkish word that means fate drew us together.
In no time we began spending every free minute together. Your father asked me to marry him within weeks. He couldn’t wait to go state-side. That’s why we had the civil ceremony. The consul married us in an intimate ceremony with just our closest friends, because we planned to throw a huge bash once we made it over. Somehow that never happened. Too busy making a home for ourselves I guess. Anyway. We were so in love, we forgot all about the celebration until the time for it had passed, and you girls were old enough that it just didn’t seem right anymore.
It’s one of the few regrets I have now. That and the dreadful mistakes they made with the dates on the marriage license. Back in those days they didn’t have computers of course. But, imagine, six whole years!
*** It’s such a romantic story, isn’t it? Mom, Dad, in Cannes, on a hot summer’s day. I wonder if they went to the film festival. They must have, don’t you think? I mean, from the pictures they both look so glamorous. Dad in his uniform standing tall, Mom in that flowered print sitting with her back turned glancing coyly, at the camera as though she’d been caught off guard and hadn’t wanted to be photographed. You know what a ham she is, and how proud of her looks she’s always been. Its’ almost as though she wanted us to think she had something to hide!
Aunt Sally told me they kept their own council until long after you were born. Mom’s English wasn’t very good – that is hard to imagine, isn’t it? Makes you wonder what sort of job she held that didn’t require her to be fluent. Liaison, most likely. In those days women weren’t expected to hold responsible positions. Just to look good and act pleasant was enough to get by on. Okay. So maybe she had to flirt a little. But show me a woman who says she hasn’t used her wiles to get what she wanted, and I’ll give you three-to-one odds she’s not much to look at. If you ask me, I’d rather be – like Mom – a woman who has the choice of using them or not. I mean, wouldn’t you rather be a pretty face, with a brain to make it pay, than an ugly one who has to scheme to gain access to even the most basic pleasures in life?
The dates? Oh I don’t know why you keep bringing them up. If she’s told us once, she’s told us a hundred times. The clerk at the registrar’s office mistook a six for a zero. I’m ample proof of that, aren’t I? You don’t think they’d have transcribed two dates wrong, now do you? You know what I think? I think they’re keeping something from us. I think the reason the early part of their marriage is such a mystery is because of Dad. I’m almost certain they had to marry in haste, secretly, because of him. Don’t tell him I said so, but my theory is that Mom and Dad weren’t in the same place at the same time by accident. I think Dad was there specifically to keep an eye on her, because Dad – get this – was a spy! What do you think of that?!
*** Years ago, when Mom was still alive, and my sister and I did more than just exchange Christmas cards, I used to have this urge to blow the whole thing open, cut through the lies and legends that kept us all in chains, the truth festering like so many boils beneath everyone’s very thin skin, threatening to erupt at every tricky turn.
I dreamed of taking my sister by the shoulders and shaking some sense into her, of putting all the cards – the family records – on the table, so to speak, and getting my mother to show her hand, no trumps, no joker, no hidden aces up her sleeve that suddenly appear as if by magic to even out the deal.
As far back as my mind will go, I can’t recall a time when I didn’t wonder how little, if any, of what my mother said was based on fact. For one thing, the story was different every time she told it. And it wasn’t just the dates on the marriage license either. I don’t know how she did it, but Mom managed to get hers and Dady’s date of birth changed. She must have put on a grand performance for that one, feminine wiles, sleight of hand and a little baksheesh too. Who knows. Maybe outright blackmail as well. I wouldn’t put it past her. I wouldn’t put anything past her. Behind her agreeable, accommodating and demure façade, our mother was one heck of a determined female for whom the end always justified the means.
Here’s the gist of it, as far as I can tell: Just after the war, Mom and Dad met over in Europe. He’d just been demobilized, was just touring the countryside when he came upon my mother on her parents’ farm. Maybe they fell in love, maybe not. Maybe they just jumped in the sack on a whim and they both had to live with the consequences. That would have been me. Mom got pregnant and decided to keep the baby. Me. Not for ethical, moral reasons. As currency, a foreign exchange. I’ll say at least that for my father. When he found out – after she got pregnant, but before they married – that she’d already had a child by another man, he didn’t run for the hills. He kept his word and brought her over. He stayed with her long enough for her to get a permanent green card. He made a down-payment on our house, waited for me to start school and my mother to finish. I’m not a hundred percent certain about the dates, but I think Mom was already working at the insurance company where she met my step-father. Some time around then, Dad vanished, disappeared into the sunset, and we haven’t heard from him since. My mother had to fight tooth and nail to get the papers straightened out in order to marry again. I can’t really say I blame her. For all I know he walked off a cliff when he left us. Figuratively speaking of course. Dad wasn’t known for his bravery.
***
Harold P. Elmo, 96, A Man of Many Lives, Is Dead
By Fiona J. Purt Published: July 12, 2006 in the NYT
Correction Appended
Harold P. Elmo, a little-known self-inventor, died in Davis, Calif., on June 30. He was 86.
The cause was complications of a hip fracture, according to the University of California, Davis, but his present wife claims he died of a ruptured conscience.
Dr. Olmo served on the Davis board of the C.I.A. (the California Institute of Aeronautics) from 1961, contributing vastly to its development and rising to become its C.E.O, a position he held until his retirement in 1987, at which time he was already a very wealthy man. He continued to hold an informal role there until shortly before his death.
He first came to California in 1956 claiming he had amnesia and exhibiting signs of severe confusion. At times he appeared certain that in the place he left behind, a family awaited him. At others he swore he’d been a loner and a drifter all his life.
He married Vivian Elmo, the nurse at the hospital where he was taken in, and whose name he subsequently assumed legally. He was kind to animals and children, though he and Mrs Elmo had none of their own.
On his death bed he finally revealed the details about his past, naming a previous wife he’d never formally divorced, and one or perhaps two daughters; the details were still unclear at the writing of this notice, though a discrepancy in the dates of their births seemed to indicate that the older of the two may not have been his biological offspring.
Mrs Elmo declared her wish to share the estate of her husband with his children from the previous marriage, the mother of whom had long since passed away.
Correction: July 13, 2006
An obituary yesterday about Harold Elmo, a former C.IA. C.E.O., misstated his age. He may really have been 92 years old, or so the records held by his first family attest.
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