In the Midst of Normalcy
Part Two
By: Tom Fowler
Even though it was still uncomfortably warm outside, the Coleman’s enjoyed Memorial Day hamburgers and hot dogs on the shady patio. Tim and Cathy’s house faced the west, so the area in back of their home was protected from the sun as afternoon turned into evening. It was now 7:00 p.m. There was a gentle breeze, and the temperature was cooling.
“Dad, that was a great hamburger,” the younger Tim said to his father.
“Thanks.” Big Tim, as he was called within the family, noticed his daughter ate what she always did at these outdoor gatherings: a large hotdog smothered in mustard, pickle, and onion. Big Tim groaned at the thought. Not because it was not appetizing, but because it was appetizing. He would have loved to consume the same but his stomach long ago rebelled against what his taste buds loved. Tonight, he wisely stayed with hamburger and potato chips.
As if reading his mind, Dee said, “I wish you could have a hotdog with me, Dad.”
Watching his three grandchildren playing happily on the swing set purchased for them earlier this year, Big Tim replied, “Thanks, sweetie, but I just can’t do those anymore.” As Dee’s five year old daughter, Caitlin, waved to him from the top of the slide, he added, “But life does have its compensations at my age.”
It was a nice evening and fine holiday picnic. The other grandchildren, Tim, Jr. and Emilee’s son Tim III and daughter Erin, ran over from the swing for cool drinks. Big Tim happily handed each of them a canned cola from the ice chest beside the picnic table. As the children disappeared back to the play area beside the swing set as quickly as arriving, it was Dee’s husband Matthew who asked, “Tim, tell me more about this reunion you and Cathy are having. I’ve never met any of your people.”
Big Tim took this as his cue to open a cold beer. He took a long swallow and thought for a long moment before beginning to speak. “Bob, Janelle, me, and our cousins were all very close when we were children. We met often at Grandma Coleman’s house on Sunday afternoons. The highlight of our year came on Christmas Eve, when we would have dinner out as a group. In the late 50s and early 60s, it was not as easy to find an open restaurant that would have a table big enough for all of us as it is now, but Dad knew a place downtown and he reserved the room months ahead of time, in the middle of summer. After dinner, we would return to Grandma’s house and open gifts. It was a great time and I’ll treasure those memories always.” Tim’s voice trailed off as he took a pause. “But that’s not what you asked about.” Matthew politely remained silent and waited for his father-in-law to continue. After downing about half of his beer, Tim resumed speaking. “The Coleman family; at least, the Coleman family I knew consisted of my grandparents, Robert, and Anna Livingston Coleman and their three sons, Robert III, John, and James. Robert III and Wanda were my parents. All of these people are now deceased. The reunion will consist of my brother, sister, cousins, and spouses and, hopefully, our children and their families.” Tim paused once more, and then added, with a grin, “This means you, Matthew. You will get to meet the people you ask about. There are seven Coleman kids and four spouses invited, plus Dee and little Tim’s families. You see, we’re going to have quite a time.”
Matthew quickly did the math. That would be a maximum of 18 persons present at any one time during the reunion weekend. He asked, “So, why this reunion now?”
“Time is not slowing down. I guess I just want to see everybody together one more time before we start getting old and passing away. The others feel the same way.”
Matthew was acquainted with Big Tim’s brother and sister but in the seven years he and Dee were married had only met them a few times; perhaps half a dozen times between them at the most. Big Tim kept in touch with his relatives mostly via telephone and email. Matthew found it odd that none of Tim’s extended family lived in the Kansas City area. For the first time, he realized Dee and Little Tim broke this unhappy cycle. Both of them lived in the Kansas City area, close to their parents.
Big Tim remained silent as Matthew continued to think about his wife’s family. Matthew asked, “What about your cousins? I have never met any of them.”
Tim chuckled. “That’s not surprising. I haven’t seen any of them since Uncle John’s funeral a couple of years ago.”
“Don’t mean to wear you out, Tim, but tell me a little bit about them.” Wishing to spur him on, he added, “Will you have another beer?”
“Anything for a beer,” Tim quickly answered. Matthew was amused by the wide grin on his father-in-law’s face. He also noticed, for the first time, Dee, Little Tim, and Emilee were all listening intently to the conversation. Cathy was listening also but assumed the air of one who knew well what her husband was saying. The grandchildren continued to play contentedly on the huge swing set Big Tim set up for them shortly after retiring.
Tim began. “Well, I don’t want to wear you out, but I suppose it will be a good thing for all of you to know something of the Colemans before they arrive. You’ve met my brother and sister. Bob is older than me by five years and hasn’t lived in the Kansas City area since graduating from college. His wife Heather died few years ago and he’s been pretty lonely. You know he’s a retired county judge and now lives in Osage Beach at the Lake of the Ozarks. I speak with him about once a month via telephone. Janelle is younger than me by a couple of years. She lives with her current husband Larry in Topeka.” Tim paused. Matthew thought he detected a faint hostility towards Larry with that last statement, but wisely kept that thought private. Tim continued, “Janelle is not one who likes to talk on the phone much, so we do a lot of email.” As an afterthought, Tim added, “Neither of them have children. I have no nephews or nieces.” Quietly, Tim added, “Bob and Heather lost their son, Bob the fifth, to crib death in 1972.” It hadn’t taken Big Tim long to finish his second beer. Cathy noticed a slight agitation in him which was not surprising. Tim usually got this way when speaking about family.
Tim waived away a third beer as he continued. “My cousins are another matter. They’ve almost been non-existent to me since we were kids. It’s a shame because we were so close and had so much fun together. I’ll tell you what I know of them, which isn’t much anymore. Uncle Johnny and Aunt Carol were the parents of Leann and Mike. Leann lives in Oklahoma City with her husband, Jack Edgmon. Last I heard she was a freelance artist. Until I started putting the reunion together . . .” Tim paused, looked over at Cathy, and added, “Rather, I should say, when we started putting the reunion together, I had not seen or heard from her in several years. Cousin Mike lives in Dallas. He is divorced but not lonely. At least, I don’t think he is as he popular with the ladies. That quality landed him in divorce court in 1991. It’s odd, but neither of Uncle Johnny’s children had children of their own.”
Matthew noticed, not for the first time, the low number of persons populating the younger generation of Colemans disturbed his father-in-law very much.
Tim continued, “Uncle James and Aunt Phyllis had two children; Cousins Jimmy and Stephanie. Jimmy lives in St. Louis with his wife Peggy. They have one daughter, Ashley. Stephanie also lives in St. Louis and has never married.”
Tim was clearly finished talking. After a quiet moment lasting almost long enough to become uncomfortable, he grinned and said to Matthew, “I’ll have that next beer now.”
Janelle Coleman was born in the same downtown hospital her older brother Tim was on March 3, 1950, making her two years, one month and one day younger than him. Janelle always liked to think it was because she and Tim shared the same doctors and delivery team that they were as close as they were. However, the truth was that she was seven years younger than brother Bob and they simply did not have as much in common when growing up as she and Tim.
In her youth Janelle was a very pretty girl. Light skinned, blonde and petite at five feet, one inches in height and weighing barely 100 pounds in her physical prime, Janelle in later years missed being a cute young girl although, at age 58, she was still a very attractive woman. Nevertheless, somewhere along the way, after a couple of affairs and a messy divorce from her first husband, she accepted the fact that all women, if they are fortunate to live long enough, become in her words, “old broads.” Emotional and spiritual maturity came late to Janelle, but those qualities did come. Tim was proud of the fact that his kid sister had married well in middle age and was employed as an administrative assistant to the pastor of the church where she and husband Larry worshiped. Still, after Janelle’s difficulties when younger, he couldn’t quite convince himself to completely trust Larry. He knew this was irrational emotion but could not change how he felt.
Tim looked forward to seeing all of the Coleman kids but confessed to Cathy that he looked forward to seeing Janelle the most, even though he had seen her more than the others through these many long years. He understood Janelle may retire soon and hoped they would see more of each other when that happened.
In the period between Memorial Day and July 4, Cathy became increasingly eager for reunion weekend. Immersing herself in the details of the invitations and logistics of reunion weekend, as both she and Tim were now calling it, caused her to feel an unexpected closeness and kinship with the Coleman kids and their families.
One evening in mid-June, Cathy and Tim were enjoying a glass of wine on the deck. Cathy asked, “Tim, why do you think that your family didn’t remain close when you became adults?”
Cathy had waited patiently for the right moment to ask that question. Judging from the thoughtful look on her husband’s face, she felt relieved when her timing appeared correct. Cathy remembered only too well the many times in their marriage when she broached the wrong topic at the wrong time and suffered a couple of days of silence because of it. She was offering a silent prayer of thankfulness when Tim began to answer.
“Well, I don’t know. Keep in mind that there were 13 years of separation between Bob and Stephanie.” Cathy knew Tim’s brother Bob was the oldest of the kids and their cousin Stephanie the youngest. “So, Bob was already well into adulthood when Stephanie was a young teen, so generation gap may have had something to do with it. When young, even a couple of years can make a difference in how much you have or don’t have in common with somebody else. But to be truthful, I don’t think that was it. We just seemed to go our separate ways, especially after Granddad and Grandma died.” Tim paused, and Cathy saw the familiar agitation creep into his voice as he drained his wine glass. Cathy quickly poured him another. He continued. “But to be honest, I really don’t know. It does seem that urban families in our time do not remain close. We all go our separate ways into work, career, marriage, family and spread out to different cities and interests. I don’t think we were any different. Perhaps, though, we can now make up for a little bit of lost time.” Tim’s mood improved as quickly as it sank a moment ago.
Cathy, for her part, remained intrigued at how close the family was half a century ago and then just seemed to quit functioning. Perhaps her husband was right. The kids went off and founded their own families, lives, and careers. Still, she thought, as she finished her second glass of wine, it was so different from the Scottish way of doing things, traditions which survived in her family over 200 years after resettlement in a new and strange land. Cathy realized for the first time that curiosity played as large a part in her desire to host reunion weekend as did her wish to know the Colemans better.
Big Tim’s older brother Bob was born on November 17, 1943, in the backseat of a 1940 Ford coupe, which would be one of little brother Tim’s favorite automobiles in years to come, along with 1960s era Ford Mustangs. Bob was what their mother referred to as her “World War II baby.” That he was born in the backseat of the family car on the way to the hospital added to the mystique Bob seemed to carry with him to this day, for he was a very gifted and special person in the eyes of both his family and the world at large. Before retiring from Missouri’s Pulaski County Court in 2005, Bob had been a highly respected senior court judge who at one time had been considered for a federal judgeship during the Reagan presidency. He also ran a tight race for governor of Missouri in 1992, narrowly losing a runoff election in the Republican primaries.
Bob was a handsome man and very photogenic. In college, he did modeling work for a local agency during spring showings. He had sandy hair which was now very thin. Of average height, he was slightly overweight but carried it well and generally kept himself in good physical shape with long walks and morning workouts on his health club’s treadmill.
Bob was the most gifted of the Coleman kids intellectually. He was one of the fortunate few who were able to breeze through the most difficult of collegiate courses with minimal effort, soaking up the most complicated and detailed legal courses with apparent ease. Bob enjoyed a practical side to his nature which many persons of high scholastic intellect do not possess in that he was a very skilled and talented craftsman and artisan as well. He could easily have been a carpenter, bricklayer, painter, or auto mechanic had he not felt the call to higher service.
Handsome, talented, and blessed with a politician’s pleasing personality, Bob’s life was not all smooth road filled with charm and ease. His wife of 33 years, Heather, suffered a long and painful bout of pancreatic cancer before succumbing to it in 2002. That, plus the lingering disappointment in missing out on a federal judgeship in the 1980s had thrown him into a several year bout with depression, finally emerging from it with the coming of the new decade in the 1990s. That he and Heather could never have children after the death of their infant son, Bob V, in 1972 was another lingering regret. Tim, when thinking of his older brother, often considered the old adage. “To whom much is given, much is expected.” This certainly applied to Bob, for he was the most gifted but also the most anguished of all the Colemans. Both he and Janelle hoped he could find a measure of peace in his rapidly approaching later years.
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