MOTHER ARRIVES ?

Third Draft
By Dr. James H. Turnock
October 2, 1962

I sometimes wish that my Mother would deliberately set out to cause confusion.  Then I am sure that she would not be nearly so successful.

            Mother, prior to her retirement, was a very successful business woman.  She organized her time efficiently, knew exactly how she would spend each hour of the day, and left nothing to chance.  It has always been a complete mystery to me that the same capable woman can be such a haphazard traveler.  She occasionally manages to arrive at the wrong terminal, usually on the wrong bus, and always at the wrong time.  An ocean liner added a new dimension.  She outdid herself.

            After Mother had been visiting my sister and her husband in Portugal for a bout three months we received the following letter:

 

                                                                        Lisbon, Portugal

                                                                        July 2, 1959

           

Dear Jimmy, Lib and Anne,

            Well, I have not been in Europe for about three months.  Although I have spent most of my time visiting Natalie and Earl here in Lisbon, I have managed to take side trips to Madrid, Rome, Paris and Naples.  I’ve enjoyed the trips but I can’t for the life of me see why these foreigners don’t speak English.  It would make everything so much easier.  They’ll take all the foreign aid we send them and will let us practically support them but they won’t take the trouble to learn our language.

            I have finally finalized my plans to return home.  They have been rather indefinite up to now because the Italian Lines have been on strike.  You notice that these funny people pick up the worst of the American customs.  Well, what can you expect when that man Roosevelt practically forced people to go on strike even though they were all well off anyway.

            I will be on the next sailing of the Saturnia.  I don’t know exactly when it will reach New York but I suggest that you call the Italian Line to find out.  I’d appreciate it if you’d meet the boat.

            Everyone here sends their love,

                                                                        Love,

                                                                        Mother.

 

A telephone call to the Italian Line elicited the information that the Saturnia would dock in two weeks.On that morning, after a later call for verification, I loaded my wife and daughter and our little dog in the car at three in the morning for the drive to New York.  The boat was expected to commence disembarkation proceedings at eight A.M.  We planned to pull up to the dock, load Mother and her baggage with the aid of many willing porters after a brief session with the customs people, and be well on our way back to Washington by nine o’clock.  I am not an impractical dreamer- I had just never met an ocean liner before.  I am now wiser.

When we arrived at the dock area, we received the unwelcome news that the ship would not dock until one o’clock in the afternoon.  What should one do in lower Manhattan on a stifling hot July morning with a car, two girls and a dog?  The first step was obvious- get the hell of New York.  This we did and spent a lovely (?) five hours touring New Jersey enjoying (?) the sites and smells along U.S. 1.

At one the boat had docked and passengers were beginning to disembark.  They were passing through the gate at a slow trickle because of the queuing (I don’t know any other word with four vowels strung together) theory breakdown in the customs procedures.  We were understandably refused permission to go through the gate to greet her (after all, you can’t have hundreds of people being slipped gems, opium, silk hose, Paris gowns and foreign cars surreptitiously every time a boat arrives), so we just had to wait.  After about an hour had passed with no sign of Mother, we began to wonder whether we could possibly have missed her and decided to check the passenger manifest.  The office hadn’t received it from the purser as yet.

Another hour went by and still no Mother (at least of mine) but finally, a passenger list.  We read it through three times and found no name that remotely resembled hers.  While I went out to a phone booth to call Lisbon, my wife persuaded a kind customs official to take her back to look over the passengers still waiting in line.  There was no answer at my sister’s home and she was not on the boat.  Disgusted, we piled back in the car to drive back to D.C.  On the way home we conjectured on how a person, even Mother, could manage to disappear from an ocean liner in the middle of the Atlantic.  We discarded the idea of foul play and decided that it was just Mother.

Waiting for us in Washington, after a trip low on accomplishment but high on frustration, was a letter:

 

                                                Lisbon, Portugal

                                                July 13, 1959

Dear Jimmy, Lib, and Anne,

            Well, that strike on the Italian Line is now over.  I hope that Roosevelt and Truman are satisfied.  That nice President Eisenhower wouldn’t have allowed such things to happen, if the damage hadn’t already been done before he took office.  As I have always maintained Col. McCormick was absolutely right but they wouldn’t listen to him.

            I have finally finalized my plans to return home.  I will be on the next sailing of the Vulcania.  I don’t know exactly when it will reach New York but I suggest that you call the Italian Line to find out.  I’d appreciate it if you’d meet the boat.

            Everyone here sends their love.  I wonder why I hadn’t heard from you this week.

 

                                                            Love,

                                                            Mother.