I would like to depart from the customary format in order to share the highlights of the recent West Coast trip from which my wife Patti and I recently returned.
As I revealed in this column several weeks ago, the younger of our two sons, Coley O'Brien, left Attleboro following his graduation in 1992 in order to seek his fortune in the Los Angeles area (from what I've now seen of the beaches and the "California Girls," he may have been seeking something more, but then, that would be another story). That was 22 years ago, and as he boarded his plane, my wife cried in my arms, "Tom, we'll never see him again - my baby's gone!" Attempting to calm and reassure her, I told her, "Honey, he's only been away from home on sleepovers, and you can count those on one hand. He's a hothouse flower and he'll be back within two months!"
Well, as I mentioned in my reception toast to the bride and bridegroom, the clock is still ticking on that. He has raised three fantastic sons from a previous union, worked his way through Chapman University, helped found a very professional theater group in which he has acted and directed in virtually all their productions over the years, and all while holding down a demanding job in the management of a casino. Had I ordered a son to specs, I couldn't have asked for better.
Coley has been keeping company with a young lady hailing from Colorado by the name of Wendy Crawford over the past two years, and they are so simpatico that it's almost spooky. She adores the boys and the feeling is mutual. Patti and I knew the first time we spoke to Coley and Wendy on the phone that she would be the woman in his life, and we couldn't be more pleased. Not only is she a marvelous and highly principled young lady, but her family members (with whom we dined almost every evening) from all over this nation are all delightful people.
Anyhow, so much for the background particulars. When my son phoned asking if I would serve as his best man, I felt so honored that I immediately accepted. Our son had been his usual thoughtful self. Knowing how we hate navigating Logan, he arranged our flights for us and refused to take payment. We flew out of Providence Feb. 24 at 7:15 a.m., landing at the Baltimore/D.C. Airport about two hours later. Following a layover of only one and a half hours, we took off for the cross-country leg to San Diego.
A short word about the flights; one has to understand that my dear wife climbs the car's headliner every summer as I cross the Bourne Bridge. If I drift over to an inside lane so that I may look down upon the boats in the canal, I steer with my left and defend myself with my right from having my face shredded. This has never changed in the 40 years of our relationship, so you may imagine my apprehension of having Patti as my seat mate at 40,000 feet. I am delighted to report however, that through the kind offices of her physician and the minor miracle of a calming pharmaceutical called Lozapam, she gazed out the window at the tops of clouds far below with it beatific smile. Amazing.
Following the flight of five-plus hours, we touched down in San Diego where our son and his bride-to-be dutifully awaited us. We were quite surprised at his well-appointed living quarters, and following a brief discussion, my wife and I passed out in our bed.
Coley said the next morning that my lifelong affinity for thunderstorms had come with me from Attleboro, as the next three days poured rain in volumes seldom seen in Southern California. That left indoor activities, however, and Coley and Wendy took us to the astounding Pala casino where they both work. We were introduced to many of their co-workers, nearly all of whom expressed their love and affection for our boy and his intended, and that is always good for a parent to hear. The casino features a buffet which is simply not to be believed. We actually tried thinking of foods common and exotic that were not in the buffet, but failed - and each was absolutely delicious.
The wedding on Saturday, March 1 was simply fantastic, and the natural beauty of their church and its surroundings in the California foothills among waterfalls and pine groves lent their wonders to the ceremony. The reception later that evening was another masterpiece of the culinary art and good fellowship, and I'm very pleased to report that my off-the-cuff toast was very well received. You can bet I didn't want to muck that up!
The four of us drove into Hollywood to take the tour, see the lights and the stars. We boarded on the famous Walk of Fame, and our driver was a young man extremely knowledgeable regarding Hollywood and the celebrities, but somewhat lacking in the principles of conducting a tour. I don't know if he had a big date or an impending deal, but the way we flew around Hollywood I whispered to Pat that we may be unwitting extras in a modern-day Mack Sennett comedy. I figure it's going to be hilarious when I get my pictures back. "Hey, there's the Playboy mansion, that may be Hugh in the yard, snap a picture," the kid says as we take the corner on two wheels at 50 mph. Every celebrity's house is blocked by a high hedge, and the richer they are, the higher the hedge, so I know all my pictures of Hollywood will be of blurred trees, bushes and phone poles or enormous hedges and massive gates.
The flights out and back were on Southwest Airlines, and I can say that they have always treated us wonderfully; the entire experience was gratifying in the extreme, and it's hard to express the fantastic memories we will have. The whirlwind 10 days was tiring, however, and when we finally pulled into the yard on County Street, as always, it was nice to be home.
Best wishes go out to our monthly Saturday morning coffee club member, Bob Langlois, now recovering from complications following surgery. Many years ago, Bob owned and ran the gas station at County Square.
Please be good to one another out there and try to do a good turn daily remember the less fortunate and the Golden Rule. Peace.
Thomas McAvoy's commentaries appear in this space every Tuesday.
