All of my life my mother spoke of her desire to be a writer. And all of the years she was alive, she held hope of someday publishing “her book,” as we all called it. She prepared query letters to send to publishers, organized her material in dozens of folders, and even made several abortive efforts to pull it all together into a finished product she could submit.
Alas, it was one of those projects that is so personally important as to define one’s sense of self, and yet, as oft happens with such things, little progress was made over the passing years and mom’s book was not noticeably closer to completion when she died at 62 that it was when she started it before I was born.
After she died, I came across her box of folders and notes and determined that I would take it upon myself to complete mom’s book and fulfill her dream of publication posthumously. But as I leafed through the materials, I was surprised to find that it was more a collection of short pieces of her writings, notes, sketches, and so on, and nothing had really been done to compiled into a single tome – no connective tissue and scare any notion of how it out to flow.
Still, I was determined. But I was also desirous to be a writer and to direct movies, and to become a Titan of business. And so, my commitment languished until some ten years ago when I began to scan the contents of my mother’s folders and attempt to create some sort of linear flow that would come close to the feel of the book, as I had come to know it when my mother had spoken of it.
But now, at age 67 myself, and in the middle of the Covid-19 pandemic, I also wish to complete the the book and thereby fulfill my commitment.
Here, then, is the first of (what I hope to be) many sections – the dedication, exactly as my mother wrote it when I was very young, so many years ago.
Trudie (with an “ie”)
DEDICATIONS
Because I love him, I dedicate my book to my son, David, who (being 6 1/2 years old) would, I am sure, probably much prefer a magic touch enabling him to fly…and…to my wonderful mother and father, Mr. and Mrs. Frank J. LaBash, whoe lifelong dedication of themselves to me far surpasses the inadequate one appearing here.
OTHER DEDICATIONS
to– Jeanne Miller…(Wife of a Biology teacher. Thank you, Jeanne, for being a really true friend. Just think… we owe our friendship to a department store.)
To Jean, who said…”Why don’t you let him eat them without milk?; and…”why can’t it close like all the others?”————————-
— Martin F. Miller…(Biology teacher and friend.)
To Matt, who said…”But your noses aren’t shiny.”————————-
— Louise Yocum…(Famous choreographer for the Little Theatre.)
To Louise, who said…”Don’t give ME that stuff!”; and…”SURE you can!”; and…”O.K. then, give it to me and I’ll mail it.”————————-
— G. (heh-heh) Yvonne Rand…(An extrovert I know, whose favorite passtime is listening to records and tapes with the volume turned up as high as possible.)
To Yvonne, who said…”By now, I should have known what to expect.”; and…”Oh, no! You wouldn’t dare!”; then…”Oh, no! You did it!”————————-
— Huie Stone…(Girl traveler)…(A friend whose name is familiar, but I can’t quite place the face.)
To Hui, who said…”Gee, kiddo, we’ve just GOT to get together real soon!————————-
–Winifred de Young…(A pal from childhood days, to whom I owe a tour of Southern California.)
To Winnie, who said…”Here’s a copy of The Courier for you to keep. I’ve marked the place where your picture belongs.”————————-
— James E. Wallace…(Another childhood friend, who owes me a tour of South Chicago.)
To Jimmy, who said…”I’d like to take you out to lunch next Wednesday.”————————-
— William R. Skirnick…(An Illinois, California, Japan, California, Massachusettes, Florida, Illinois, Boy.)
To Bill, who said…”Merry Christmas,” at a time when an unexpected Christmas card from a pen-pal couldn’t have been more welcome.”————————-
— Ken Goodenday…(Bless his heart! A young man who never failed to check his watch as he entered the classroom.)
To Ken, who said…”Laidies and gentlemen! May I present Miss Lucy Glonkite…”————————-
— Donald M. McCall..(Who always listened, but never interrupted…)
Who said in essence – “Leave them with a lasting impression, but remembrance alone is not enough! They must be able to recall that picture of you framed with dignity.” (And, who always spoke softly, no matter what he said.)————————-
To the late Dr. Harold Turney, who said…
…”Three times, and you’re out!”
…”Ten minutes I could excuse, but forty minutes, no!”
(And, of most importance to me, he said…”Come back after Easter Vacation and we’ll start from scratch.”; …and, whose last words to me were…”That’s perfectly O.K., Phillips, you deserved it.”)********
And, of course, to Mrs. Harold Turney, whose charm made saying anything else unnecessary, in order to be remembered; yet, whose lovely voice I could never forget.————————-
And finally, to all my relatives, with deepest affection, none of whom would I trade, or change.