Boston ‒ Marriage And Children

BOSTON ‒ MARRIAGE AND CHILDREN

Now returned from our world sojourn, I visited my Aunt Ida, who suggested, “Why don’t you move to Boston?” I immediately acceded. Leaving New York was possibly my subconscious saying “New York isn’t my cup of tea; I am more comfortable in New England.” And indeed I was.

I moved into a tiny apartment in Brookline in a quiet neighborhood. Gone were the sirens, taxis, string of stores, hordes of people and the mad pace of New York. I landed a job with Educational Services, Inc. in Watertown. They serviced textbooks and information to schools across the country. Every morning, I donned ski pants and jacket, high boots, woolen mittens and hat – and trudged through the snow from Harvard Square to my job. I was SO happy to escape the New York scene and enter the familiar, peaceful environment of fewer people, less noise, snow filled countryside.

One of the people in my office was Harriet Gibney, wife of the Reverend William Sloane Coffin (who became famous rebelling with Dr. Spock against the Vietnam War). This was the 60s, the country was on fire, college campuses were the scene of furious rebellion. Harriet befriended me and requested that I conduct research for her at Widener Library at Harvard. Delighted, I accepted and spent my days doing interesting work on the college campus. Frequently, Harriet and I lunched at the beautiful MIT dining hall, lined with famous Rothco paintings – and I learned about the

personal life of an incredibly smart woman. I can still picture her wearing dull colored cardigan sweaters, corduroy skirts, and high boots.

Meanwhile, a close college friend from New York visited me and suggested that I meet a cardiologist who worked at the Peter Bent Brigham Hospital. He had been appointed to a professorship at Harvard, having, according to her, “invented some famous whatever” (which actually was a method to measure the size of the mitral valve, invaluable in performing surgery at a time when CAT scans were not yet invented).

My friend called him and gave him my number. Dick Gorlin responded immediately and invited me to dinner. Instead, I suggested he come to my apartment. I don’t know what I was thinking because I had never cooked in my life. Lamb chops and frozen peas seemed easy, and demonstrating my culinary arts, I added a CUP of salt to the small box of peas. When the doctor took a bite, he demonstrably gagged and would have died of hypertension had he suffered from high blood pressure.

Despite my ignorance of any semblance of domesticity, he showed much interest in me. We dated a lot, primarily walking his dog under the stars in freezing fields of snow. The dog was FuFu, a lovely black lab, who suffered from frequent bouts of flatulence which the doctor later confessed he had blamed on me. Guilty until proven innocent.

Dick’s friends were physicians, mainly researchers, with whom I felt comfortable immediately. Bill Schwartz, Lou Dexter, Herb Levine, Roger Hickler – and their wives – became my friends. We socialized primarily with them. When Dick questioned Bill and Carol Schwartz about my suitability as his potential wife, they gave the thumbs up and Dick proposed. When I announced that I was engaged to a Jewish doctor, my mother got down on her knees and all but kissed my feet.

The wedding was in the ballroom of the Biltmore Hotel in Providence. Rabbi Braude married us on April 16, 1960. He had almost fainted from an asthmatic attack a week before when the bridegroom said something disparaging about the ceremony being conducted in Hebrew. For our honeymoon, we spent a heavenly week at Caneel Bay in the Caribbean, luxuriating in blue-green waters, playing tennis, and loving our accommodations. At the time I did not foresee that my next honeymoon with my next husband was to be in the exact same resort in the exact same cabin. Nothing like consistency!

Subsequently, Dick and I moved into a picturesque ranch house at 87 Gray Cliff Road in Newton Centre, where our three children were later born. The house was situated below street level and was overshadowed by a hill at the top of which stood a huge, old house. The sprawling grounds were occupied by scores of hippies who lay on the grass and took LSD. Later we learned that they were disciples of Timothy Leary. They were stoned most of the time and lavished my children with mellow affection and paternal hugs and kisses.

A year later, this house was bought by the Thorman family. Their daughter, Jennifer, played with Billy and all went well. That is until, one night, I was cooking french fries – and I noticed smoke in the kitchen. Each time I scraped the soot, more smoke spewed out. I checked on the kids, they were fine. But I wasn’t, and the smoke increased and increased. The walls blackened; the floor was the color of coal. Soon after, loud knocks sounded on the front door and Dick screamed “The house is on fire, it’s coming out the attic chimney, what is wrong with you!!!” I called the fire department, minutes later help arrived and stormed through the house in heavy boots and black hoses, and raced up to the attic through the bedroom closets. The Thormans saw the commotion, hurried over and removed the art from the walls. The Neustadts came over, and David wore his old clothes, hoping that the insurance would smell the smoke and buy him a new overcoat.

In short, the house was devastated in several areas. The dining room ceiling collapsed, the kitchen was completely destroyed, the bedrooms and closets were a wreck, and the only two surviving rooms were the living room and den. So, we moved the kitchen appliances into the den, and I moved the children into the living room. It was at that precise time that the housekeeper quit and all three children got the flu. It was also a time of marital difficulties, and Dick moved out.

Yet beset by a host of sudden difficulties, Lady Luck was with me. Out of the blue, a prior boyfriend (and top engineer) came over, saw the mess and came immediately to my rescue. Although then heading the construction of the Chestnut Hill Mall, he announced that he was interrupting the entire project and diverting his workers to the task of rebuilding my house. And that’s what he did. In addition to collecting major insurance, we saw our home rebuilt in short order, I ordered new wallpaper, paint and rugs, hired a new housekeeper, the kids recovered from the flu, and Dick moved back in, at least temporarily.

On To Another Subject, While Still Living Together

Since doctors were often invited on free trips, Dick and I travelled extensively to exotic places. Our most unusual excursion was to Uruguay and Argentina where we were invited to incredibly lavish homes owned by the top doctors.

Wealth disparity within that culture was immediately evident. The doctors and their families who entertained us were magnificently dressed in European couture, the wives were smooth as silk, and household help numbered in the teens. One night we had dinner at the home of the owner of La Prenza, the Argentinian equivalent of the New York Times. The house was constructed with marble floors, ceilings, and walls – a scene out of a palace. Buenos Aires boasts, I believe, the widest boulevard in the world. It oozed European influence everywhere, although the dancing was distinctly their own – the Tango.

Other trips included Israel, Sweden, England, Ireland, Mexico and sundry other countries. We were always treated like honored guests and had the privilege of meeting the accomplished and wealthy elite. Our first two summers after marrying were spent in England when Dick had Daley kids with Billy, Tom & Me a fellowship at a well-known Billy, Tom and Me With Clare hospital, St. Thomas’s. We and her children were essentially adopted by Allison and Raymond Daley, Clare’s parents. Raymond was a well-known cardiologist. Every weekend was spent either at their London flat or their charming Elizabethan cottage called Godwin’s in the country. I adored playing with their children – Clare, Penelope and Anthony. We romped around in fields of grass and played games, to say nothing of relishing meals of potted shrimp, English stew, outstanding lamb, biscuits, tea and crumpets. My friendship with Clare continued throughout a lifetime, in fact, we spent a day together in New York and London respectively very recently.

I was so taken with the Daley children that I bit the bullet when Dick said we should start a family whenever I was ready. I got pregnant as soon as we got home, and nine months later, Wendy announced her presence, owing her existence to the Daley clan. When she was born, I knew more about raising dogs than children. She was a pink, peachy, perfect baby with a golden disposition. Nana, Dick’s Mom, predicted that as a teenager Wendy would grow a ponytail; and I predicted that I would poison her with contaminated milk from unsterilized bottles. I did, however, finally learn to clean them properly – but was frustrated with Wendy’s fussy eating habits. When she was only a few months old, I took her to Dunkin Donuts and rubbed chocolate over her toothless gums. That did it. She’s been a great eater ever since.

Wendy was crazy about a special neighbor, Laurie Schwartz, who played paper dolls with her in our front hall. Wendy was a great sleeper, and each night when her dad returned from the hospital, we awakened her to play, defying all rules of child rearing. She went right back to sleep, and never cried when I slept late and fed her breakfast mid-morning, disobeying the advice of Dr. Spock. Those were the days when kids could safely walk to school, so when she graduated from kindergarten, she joined the neighborhood children as they strolled in packs to and from elementary school. All went well until I received a call from my dressmaker saying she saw someone who looked just like Wendy sitting with another little girl on the grass outside school. She was playing hooky at age eight. Of course, I dashed over and redirected them to the seat of learning! A few years later, we took

her to Acapulco when we rented a villa with Dr. and Mrs. Eduardo Salazar and their little children. Their three maids were in charge, and while we entrusted Wendy to them, she refused to eat Mexican food. Perfectly happy to eat nothing but Jello for five days, she adjusted, thrilled to play in the pool and threw up in the airport when we left.

As for me, I dove into fulltime motherhood. Domesticity had its limits, however. On the advice of my mother, I hired a live-in Scottish housekeeper for $35/week. Having a slipped disc, I knew my physical limitations and concentrated my activities on cooking and dashing around with Wendy ‒ as well as socializing with a cache of friends who fortunately lived around the corner.

Time for a second child arrived, and thus appeared Billy, a few years later. By this time, I had mastered the art of sterilizing bottles. Paper disposable diapers were not yet available, thus necessitating the dumping of used diapers into large cans which were picked up weekly by professional cleaners. Billy shared a red and white wallpapered bedroom with Wendy. He was a gorgeous boy with an overly active disposition – “all boy” – with a hyperkinetic temperament. He did not walk, he ran. He said really funny things, exhibiting an early, highly creative imagination and unlimited ability to amuse himself.

Summers were spent on Cape Cod at Woods Hole, Falmouth and Pleasant Bay. The latter was especially enjoyable. We rented, with Suzanne and Robin Farkas, a campsite on the water with a dock, small boat and charming view. Robin and Dick crashed the boat into a rock, Suzanne and I

Billy and Me

gossiped for hours in bathing suits on the outside deck where we played, swam, read and hung out. Suzanne and I had agreed to take turns cooking at home. That lasted around four days, as we all preferred restaurant seafood, especially lobsters and fried clams. Nothing like New England seafood… and our lousy cooking!

Douglas, our third child, was conceived that year and born on Halloween. He said hello to the world almost before we reached the hospital, and was an adorable boy. When we brought him home, Billy welcomed him by stuffing marbles in his ears – but by then, we were very casual and “anything goes” was our motto. He was a very easy baby – loving, blond, drawn to his little wooden horse – and toddled around in a memorable turquoise outfit seven days per week. Later, when in kindergarten, he would jump off the school bus daily, where for many years I met him with his number one treat, macaroni.

When the children were all under age six or thereabouts, unfortunately things began to unravel between Dick and myself. We separated, bit by bit, until divorce was inevitable. It took around two years to actually conclude our relationship, for special reasons and the fact that we recognized that three young children were involved. I had kept the details hidden, so our separation was a shock to many of our friends and family, especially my parents who were exceedingly helpful.

It was an ending and an adjustment – but, as my next chapter reveals, the transition was like eating an overripe fruit. The first bite is bitter, but the rest is delicious.

Billy, Me & Wendy

Wendy & Billy Doug