50 MINUS 4 AND COUNTING
50 MINUS 4 AND COUNTING
I am about to have my 50th birthday.
On Thursday, March 14th, I enter my sixth decade. This has been a
catalyst to a great deal of reviewing of events and years past, and a
lot of thinking about the tremendous changes brought about during [my]
past decade. And thus here comes a lengthy ramble on a good many
topics, all relating to the passage of time, birthdays past, and some
of the characters along the way.
Ten years ago I turned the
ripe old age of 40. In the Jack Benny year preceding it I would joke
that I was spending the year turning 40, as I had done at 29, spending
that year turning 30.
For my 30th birthday I threw myself a
bash. Back then I had a gorgeous apartment in Brooklyn Heights, one of
the great neighborhoods of New York. I lived alone. Well, there was the
dog, who you can read about here.
The
invitations went out, promising ìDancing After MidnightÖî so I cooked
up a dance tape for the night. 30 was so long ago that I used my
reel-to-reel machine. This way I could get all the songs off of LPs and
cassettes, and have some semblance of segues to keep things moving. All
those years of programming radio stations, I figured it was incumbent
upon me to make the music flow. I was single when I turned 30, so the
appropriate song to lead off the dance tape was John Cougar
Mellancampís ìI Need A Lover (who wonít drive me crazy).î
I
even went so far as to warn my downstairs neighbors of the dancing and
the music, to ward off their (anticipated) complaints. Having been in
the building for four years at that point, I figured the major event of
turning 30 warranted an evening of some noise, a party, and they could
go elsewhere if this one evening would trouble them.
Of course
they complained to the super, who came up to the apartment. He wished
me a happy birthday, had a Pina Colada (or three), and told me my party
was calmer than the one a neighborís kid was throwing on the other side
of the building. He promised to tell the downstairs neighbors that my
party wasnít so bad or noisy, and for them to cool off for one night.
They responded by calling the police.
The cops told us that we
had to quiet down by 2AM, at which time they apparently have some
authority to tell people to be quiet. They didnít partake in the Pina
Coladas, although they both had a slice of the massive birthday cake a
friend had baked. They wished me a happy birthday, and went on their
merry way.
The super later told me he sent them to my place
first, so he could warn the neighborís kid to hide all the liquor and
have all her teenaged friends get rid of any apparent joints, marijuana
paraphernalia, clean the ashtrays, etc. Her parents were gone for the
weekend, and she was taking full advantage of this opportunity. That
super was something of a party animal, and he was clearly earning his
next yearís Christmas tips. He probably also had his roving eye on that
teen-aged girl, given her Cheshire Cat/Lolita-like sultriness and his
dog-like nature. He was known to toss back a few, and speak his mind a
little more freely "than became his position," as it was aptly put by
one of the dowagers in the building.
The super never made it
to the next Christmas tip-giving season, as his drinking got worse, and
his chasing of the women in the building finally became unacceptable to
one and all. He had also hired his brother to be a doorman, but the
brother was too much of a full-time drunk to bother to get up out of
the chair and open the door. The brother also cursed out the buildingís
tenants and often fell asleep in the lobby. But I digress.
I
donít recall much about turning 20. During the year between 19 and 20 I
had no sense of spending the entire year turning 20, as I did at 29,
39, and now this year at 49. All I can put together about turning 20 is
that it was my third year of college, I lived in an apartment complex
straight out of a sitcom, I was driving a car that was a full
Chevrolet, except it was pieced together: part of it was a Chevy
Impala, the other part was some other model. Belair, I think. It was
hell to register the thing!
At 20 I was probably on the radio
when the clock struck midnight and my birthday came. I know for sure
that was the case the next year, when I turned 21, which was much more
memorable. And by all means I was on the air then, in a full-time Top
40 radio gig, playing the hits and screaming my lungs out (as was the
format at that little teakettle of a station). Again, making this 50th
birthday seem very old, that job was at an AM Radio station. Back when Rock music could be heard on AM. Just typing this, in my head I hear ìBrandy, Youíre A Fine Girlî by the Looking Glass, playing on the jukebox in my cranium.
When
I was 25, and had been out on my own a few years, self-employed with a
consulting firm, one of my more important clients (yeah, yeah, I know: theyíre all important) was approaching his 50th birthday. He was twice my age. Now he must be close to his 75th as I turn 50.
He
told me of a dream heíd had as he approached each ìdecade birthday.î
The ìtens,î he told me, were ones he neared with apprehension and fear,
despite the issues and facts of his life. He felt a review was in
order, some personal taking stock, and some serious planning were the
necessities, obligations that came with the ìtens.î I've shared this
sense of necessary retrospect, review and look ahead on the tens.
He said it was a recurring dream, once every ten years. I thought that was mighty cosmic.
I
remember perceiving him as not a particularly ìold seemingî person. He
was a forward-thinker, a man who took risks, and one who had taken a
chance on a neophyte consultant such as yours truly. He entrusted me
with the programming, marketing and sales plans for his group of radio
stations, which was a major move for him (and for me).
I also
remember once driving around Washington, D.C. with him. The guy drove
like Evel Kenevil on acid. But the point here is this: half my life
ago, 50 didnít seem so old. He was my client, but in many ways he was
my contemporary. He was also twice my age.
30 was a different
story. I had turned a certain corner. Living by myself in beautiful
Brooklyn Heights, running a small company. In retrospect I have come to
realize that I became an adult during those years. Responsibility,
worldview, all those things that make up the entirety of a person, went
through a metamorphosis sometime between 27 and 30. From ìyoung adultî
(a term that always struck me as a euphemism for post-teen,
post-college, but not yet really a grown-up adult) to real adult, and
it happened in Brooklyn.
Then came a decade of change. I got
married, we had kids, we bought a house, then we sold that one and
bought a bigger one. I went from a Brooklynite who took public
transportation, or sometimes cabs and car services, to a two-car
family. Moved to the burbs. Got an office in Midtown Manhattan, instead
of the home-office Iíd had since I was in my early 20s. Back then I
used a Manhattan address to disguise the fact that I worked from home.
Nowadays a home office is acceptable, telecommuting (telecomputing?) is
standard in many circles. The changes in Area Codes also gave away my
Brooklyn location, but by that time it had stopped being an issue.
I'd
moved the office to Manhattan as my daughter was going to occupy the
2nd bedroom when she was born. So I finally got a real, true, Midtown
Manhattan office. With it eventually came a time-sapping commute from
Suburbia. Just before my daughter was born my company closed on the
purchase of a radio station. I expanded from broadcast consultant to
station owner, putting what I said and what I sold right on the line.
That decade was exciting, with the two kids, a booming business, a ton
of business travel, and many vacations with the family. We'd combine
business trips with pleasure, take the kids, and go all over. This
quieted down some when my daughter entered school, followed a few years
later by her brother.
As the year of age 39 unwound, life was
getting strange. Some strains in the marriage were becoming
everpresent. The ex kept having health troubles, and had endured cancer
surgery and some other maladies, getting sick at least every month or
so.
Weíd sold the radio station and my passion for the
consulting work was waning. Add to this the onset of the Reagan
Administration deregulation changes, changing the make-up of the
business. Things were changing and I saw the handwriting on the wall.
Smaller entrepreneurs such as myself were facing an increasingly more
difficult battle. Large monoliths
were poised to take over. The language and the culture of the field in
which I had worked for all of my career was becoming foreign and
distasteful to me. It wasnít fun anymore. And the challenge was all but
gone. The work was easy, but no longer gratifying.
The ex
decided to throw a party for my 40th birthday. We talked about what
sort of theme to have (she was very big on such things) and I decided
that since the adage advised that ìlife begins at 40,î we should bring in a Fortune Teller to predict not just my new life, but what was in store for everyone at the party.
In keeping with the way things just kept not quite working out at that time, Alice the Fortune Teller (she
had quite the reputation as a local psychic) fell ill and couldnít make
it that night. What an ominous and foreboding event that was. Alice
managed to get a subpsychic, who amused the party guests, but didnít
exactly convince me that she was anything more than an entertainer.
The
party was nice. Lots of friends, some people from the business world,
and some neighbors in our suburban town showed up. The food, seeming
like too much when we ordered it, was gone by the time the evening was
over. All the while, though, the ex was in a rotten mood. This was, I
realized in retrospect, a symptom of both her illnesses and the fading
of her feelings toward me. She blamed (maybe, probably, still does!) me
for her ill health, and her passion had dwindled to almost nothing as
her illnesses began to rage as though an undertow in her system. It was
not a pleasant time.
Alice the Fortune Teller
called the next day, to see how things had gone. I was honest with her,
that we were amused, but not convinced. Her sub seemed more like parlor
entertainment than she did as one who could see, predict, or sense
anyoneís destiny. Alice said sheíd
make it up to me and the ex: when she was well she would give us each a
personal, private reading, to make it up to us.
As March of 1992 drew to a close we went to nearby Nyack, NY to have our compensatory free readings by and from Alice. Nyack! How fitting, of course, the storied and fabled Nyack is where Alice would reside; home of haunted houses, literary and urban legends, covens, witches and antique shops. Alice was a bit of an antique and a legend in her own right!
Aliceís preferred
Fortune Telling method was to sit with you, hold your hand, look at
your palm, and get a sense of things. Then she would go back and forth
between telling you things and asking questions. The questions were not
so much probes as clarifications of the vibes (or whatever) she was
getting. I went first (after all, it was my birthday present!) and Alice asked that the reading be just she and the subject, that the other person go read a magazine or do something in another room.
Alice
was amazing. She looked at my palm and asked if I had been very ill at
around age 12 or 13. She saw my three near-death experiences (illness
as an infant, illness at age 13, and car wreck at age 27) and was
almost dead-on with the age and time of my life of all three. Any
thoughts Iíd had that the ex had told her these things vanished when
she spoke of my illness as an infant. Iíd never spoken to the ex about
that. She sensed (knew?) issues and events and was incredible in her
analysis of matters of great emotional import.
Alice made
sure the ex was out of earshot, and then pursued an interestling line
of discussion. She wanted to confirm that the ex was my wife. Then Alice
said, ìShe is not the love of your life, Dean. You havenít yet met the
love of your life.î She got sort of ashen, and told me she sensed
something wrong, something very, very wrong.
She told me she saw no more children coming. She said the children were
and would be fine. They were loved and they were healthy.
She
hesitated, but then told me she was breaking her own rule ñthat of
never saying negative things to those who came to see heróand told me
that there was big trouble ahead. She was unclear what the trouble was,
but she told me she felt I already knew what it was, even if I was not
yet consciously aware of it. She said the concerns, the problems, the
worries ñthat she assumed Iíd experiencedówere real. My concerns were
ominous portents of things to come. She said I would experience great
losses. But not death. Just losses. She spent a few more minutes with
me, and was visibly shaken. Then she went to see the ex.
That session (reading?) was very brief, and then Alice said she wanted to see me again for a few minutes.
ìSheís
very ill, yes? A major sickness?î No, I told her, there had been a
Cancer but that was removed with surgery, and there had been some other
matters, but all that was in the past at this point. ìNo,î Alice
said, ìit isnít behind her or you yet.î She shuddered, then said, ìI
canít do this, I canít talk about this. It isnít right. Iím sorry I was
ill for your party, but I couldnít go. Something was wrong that night.
And I still feel it. Go now.î
And that was the last we saw of Alice. I read in the local paper that sheíd passed away a few years ago. But that one meeting with Alice is permanently etched in my mind.
Little did we know that the ex would become ill again, extremely so. So much of what Alice said
or saw came to be that it is an eerie issue even now, nearly ten years
later. Back then Iíd wanted to think she was just some kook who called
herself a psychic. Yet so much of what sheíd said about the past was
right on the money, and there was no way for her to have had any prior
knowledge of these details.
What Alice
must have seen with some clarity ñand I totally missedówas that the ex
no longer loved me. The illnesses were raging inside of her, undetected
and unknown to us or her doctors. The illnesses brought about a slew of
changes in her, in us, and in our lives and the lives of our children.
Our house became a house divided, our lives took very separate paths.
Others
now live in what was our house then. Everything has changed. We got
divorced, a judge bought her story and let her move to what she and her
attorney represented as warmer climes (Ha! The mountains of NC --
warmer?!?!?!), and take the children with her.
I left the radio business and got into computers and telecommunications.
And
at an online birthday party (back before the net was the net, in the
glory days of Compu$erve) at my friend Larryís house I made contact
with Susan. I guess Alice
was right: I hadnít yet met the love of my life around the time of my
40th birthday. I didnít meet Susan, in person, anyway, until after the
ex and the kids had moved away. I was already a few years into my 40ís
at that point.
The decade of my 40s has been one of massive,
major change. The past two or three years have been mellower, more
serene, a sense of being back on track. All that presaging of ills and
misfortune that Alice seemingly saw has finally subsided.
The
birthdays since 40 have been mostly quiet and not particularly
eventful. This is more a matter of choice than anything else.
Unlike 30 and 40, as I approach 50, it seems there wonít be a party this time around. Not that thereís any lack of suggestions on how to throw a 50th birthday party. I donít feel ìover the hill,î or like I am ready to be put out to pasture.
What
I am ready for is good fortune and good times. And to attend Opening
Day at Yankee Stadium in less than four weeks. Now thereís something to
look forward to with glee and delight. Iíll be going with my son and
with Susan, and our friend MACOA ñ who is the husband of the woman who
arranged the online birthday party for our Australian friendÖthe party
where I made contact with Susan. So it all pieces together, fortune
teller or no.
Who knows what the next decade will bring? Well,
college for the kids, a new (to me, anyway) car, probably a new place
to live pretty soon, a vacation somewhereÖ. And this time without the
benefit (?) of Alice to gaze at it, sense it, and give me a shudder while making her predictions.
