Sam Oliverio ≈ 1932 |
Dear Dad
Please thank Grace and Eleanor
for their role as guardian angels:
Were I to have left Long Beach
as originally intended, my car
might have been the automobile
featured in the Joshua Tree
freeway collapse.
As it was, I traveled on
that stretch of Interstate 10
at approximately 3AM
on the morning
of July 19:
Three hours in advance
of the collapse.
All I saw of Joshua Tree National Park was as pitch black
as everything else in the desert. At 3AM, the surface
of the I-10 was solid asphalt and problem-free.
It was not a matter of luck.
It was a matter of the two most important women
in the 2.0 CarPeo Galaxy assuring that
I completed the cross-country drive
without any disastrous event.
But this letter is addressed
to the most important man
in that Galaxy: YOU
Little did I know that your influence would be withheld
until I passed into the Eastern Standard time zone.
It would have been
a dreamy experience
were I to encounter
a roadside image
such as this ➜
It would have meant
my primary source
of driving energy
was immediately
and conveniently
available.
During their operating hours,
of course.
It also would have meant that Starbucks
was using a copyrighted photograph
I took in 2008.
But in 2015, after driving pure Interstate roads
through ten states, I saw more signage for
Pawn Shops than for Starbucks.
Most of the Pawn Shop signs, lurked high above
Interstate 40 in Amarillo, Texas.
My primary caffeine source through the first ten states
was McDonalds Senior Coffee, never costing more than
eighty eight cents with a free refill.
After driving through Oklahoma City which was
vaguely pretty (compared to the rest of the state),
I ventured north through Missouri to segue
onto Interstate 70.
This was an alternative to driving to Virginia:
Instead of visiting my sister, I got to spend
a god-awfully happy night in Maryland
with a pair of nieces.
That is, I was with two of your grand-daughters plus
your new-born Great-Grandson, who was responsible
for the most-glowing smile ever directed at me.
Carol(a/k/a, Mrs.CarPeo) notwithstanding.
En route to Maryland on I-70, I drove through
a portion of Pennsylvania at noon time
without intention of stopping anywhere.
However, an exit sign read Belle Vernon.
It was immediately followed by
the first traditional STARBUCKS
sign I saw since the first interstate road I traveled
upon 2800 miles ago
in Long Beach,
California.
Slightly more than 99 years ago,
YOU were born in Belle Vernon.
Of course, I stopped there!
Despite that hamlet being developed
into an industrial park, I felt your presence
everywhere, especially when I saw pretty young ladies.
I could not help but think how you might have known
their grandparents but I said not a word
to any of the ladies.
I had much to say to Carol, telephoning her
from the STARBUCKS patio, while slowing
sipping my Vente Bold java.
I believe it was our 99th phone conversation
of the journey.
She loves it when she can hear me cry
over the phone.
This happened on Thursday, July 23, 2015.
It is now Monday, July 28.
I have had sips of that sacred cup of Vente
in four different states on five different days...
including in the sterling
presence of your (and Grace's)
grandchildren.
But that cup of coffee tasted best
in the presence of Carol.
It is as if that paper cup,
purchased in the town
where YOU were born
in 1916 could say,
in 2015:
Mr. Demille,
I am ready for my close-up
Sincerely and Everlovingly,
Your son,
Paul Oliverio
Katonah, NY
1:43PM
________________________________________________________________________________________________
Shouldn't you have done some doctoring
ReplyDeleteon the photograph of your father?
I prefer the photograph
Deletewith its creases and imperfections.
That image of my Father
is too sacred to manipulate.
There are equally untouchable imperfections
in My Personal Mt. Rushmore,
the photograph introducing
the WALL-2-WALL gallery.