My father was a world-class worrier, mostly about me. He would worry about the darnedest things…and usually not obvious ones. There were times he'd go into Deep Worry Mode and my mother and I would have no idea what was on his mind. We'd ask and he'd say he was worried about something so much, he couldn't talk about it. I could have made up a list of one thousand things that might have been worrying my father…and when we did find out, it was something that wouldn't have appeared on that list.
Here is a story I sometimes tell people to give them an idea of how my father could worry like nobody could worry…and about things no one else would worry about. It took place around 1979. I was living in a little two-bedroom apartment over near where the Beverly Center was soon erected. He was retired and he would come by about once a week to visit with me and talk and offer to run errands…and just generally be near me. Which I liked.
I was then involved with an actress who was doing a lot of television. One night when she slept over, I told her she had to leave around 10 AM because my father was coming by at 11. I didn't want my father to find a woman in my apartment. I thought it would just give him one new thing to worry about.
She said fine, she'd leave shortly after 10. She was working on a show that taped at CBS not far from where I lived. A script was being messengered to her at my place and it was to arrive no later than 10. Once she had her script, she could split. It seemed like it would all work out perfectly.
At 9:50, she was getting out of the shower and I was waiting to get in. The doorbell rang. "That's my script," she exclaimed as she wrapped a towel around herself and added, "I'm about to go give a delivery boy the best thrill of his day." Do you all see this one coming?
I didn't. I was in the shower when she poked her head into the bathroom and told me, with equal notes of panic and amusement, "Mark, I just flashed your father."
Hurriedly, we both dressed. Her script arrived at 10:00 on the button. She grabbed it, mumbled a quick apology to my father and departed. I sat down with him in my living room and we talked about…well, everything except the towel-clad blonde who had greeted him at the door. I was thinking that when we did get around to it, I'd try a little blame-shifting. I'd tell him the encounter was all his fault for not understanding Daylight Saving Time.
But he didn't bring it up. We talked about my career, what I was working on, a letter he'd received from some relatives back east, a problem he was having with his pension checks going to direct deposit, etc. Not a word about my friend. Finally, when it was time for him to leave and I walked him to his car, I felt I had to say something…
"Uh, before you go, I think we need to talk about the welcoming committee when you arrived…"
Standing by his car out there, he turned to me and said, "I'm very happy about that, son."
Okay, let's play a game. The game is called Guess Why Mark's Father Was Happy. I've had others play this and they come up with all sorts of reasons…
- He was happy that his son was enjoying his life.
- He was happy to find out his son was not gay.
- He was happy to get a look at my friend half-wearing her towel.
- He was happy because he thought (wrongly), "Ah, Mark's found a woman and he's obviously going to marry her and settle down and raise a family and make me a grandfather."
And you can stop guessing right now because you're not going to get it. If I gave you a month, you probably wouldn't get it. Not unless you knew my father.
He said to me, "I've been so worried about you living alone. It's not safe. It's good to know that if you had an attack in the middle of the night, there's someone there to drive you to the hospital."
Right. Because when I met her, the first thought I had was, "I've got to get this woman to sleep with me so that if I have an attack during the night, she can drive me to the hospital." What other motive could possibly enter a guy's head?
That was my father. Now, understand that he wasn't this way all the time. Just every so often, he'd get some doom 'n' gloom notion in his head…and I don't think they were ever about his own welfare. They were always about mine or my mother's. If he knew I was driving on a freeway, he'd worry. If he read in the newspaper that there had been a street mugging within ten miles of where I lived, he'd worry. If I was due at his house at 5:00 and I arrived at 5:10, he would have spent ten minutes fretting I'd been in a horrible accident.
Okay, that makes a tiny bit of sense, I guess. But later in his life, when some of his faculties were failing him, we once had this occur: I was due there at 6 PM. I'd learned by now to call ahead if I was going to be even a few minutes late but I wasn't late. I got there at six on the dot. He expressed great relief and admitted he'd been worried I'd been in an accident. I said, "I told you I'd be here at six." He said, "I know. But last time you came over, you were early and I got the idea you'd be early this time, too."
My mother and I tried everything to calm him down and sometimes, we succeeded. My greatest success in this area came when I was 24 and my parents were celebrating their 25th wedding anniversary. To follow this, you need to know two things about my father that I haven't mentioned so far in these essays…
- My father was frugal. His job did not pay well but it paid well enough that we never wanted for anything. As was not uncommon among men who grew up during The Great Depression, he was concerned a lot about money — not making enough and/or spending too much — and would often inconvenience himself in manners that were not cost-efficient to save a dollar or two. He wasn't this way when my mother or I needed something. If we needed it, we got it, no matter what the price. But, for example, when he and my mother went to Las Vegas, as they did often, they stayed in a cheap motel, ate at the lower-priced buffets, played the nickel slots and avoided the big showrooms.
- My father's fave entertainer, at least in the early seventies, was Tony Orlando. He had several Tony Orlando albums he played over and over and over. There was one called New Ragtime Follies that my mother wanted to use as a frisbee and fling into the adjoining zip code.
Now then. By the time my parents were ready to celebrate their 25th year of wedlock, I was working in TV and making rather decent money. Over my father's objections, I sent them to Vegas for their anniversary. He insisted on driving but I booked them and paid for a suite at Caesars Palace. I also arranged for front row seats to see the hotel's featured entertainer who was…wait for it…Tony Orlando!
(How did I arrange this? I was working on Welcome Back, Kotter at the time. One of the other writers there, Neil Rosen, had previously worked on Mr. Orlando's CBS variety series. Tony owed him a batch of favors so Neil, who owed me a few, called and secured the front row seats. He also asked Tony for another favor on my behalf…)
My mother told me this next part. They were sitting there, enjoying the show tremendously…but my father's enjoyment was crippled by the thought of what this was costing me. It wasn't as much as he thought but he whispered to her how uncomfy he was at the thought of "spending the boy's money."
Just then on the stage, Tony Orlando had an announcement: "Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to have in my audience tonight a wonderful couple who's here in Vegas celebrating twenty-five years of Holy Matrimony. Let's have them stand up and give a nice ovation to Bernard and Dorothy Evanier!"
My folks were both stunned, my mother so much so that she couldn't stand up. But my equally-stunned father made it to his feet and looked around, waving and grinning, as the audience in the Caesars Palace showroom applauded. I suspect it was the only time in his life he was ever applauded by a large crowd.
As he sat down, Tony announced the next song was dedicated to them and he launched into "The Anniversary Waltz." My father, about as happy as he'd ever been, whispered again to my mother. He said to her, "You know, if the boy can arrange something like this, maybe I oughta stop worrying so much about him." And thereafter, he didn't worry as much about me. Some but not as much.