My Love Letter to You

By Mary Farris

Meet Charles, a man with an IQ matching Einstein’s but looking like an escapee from some B-rated Western. Mischievous, sparkling green eyes, twitching chestnut moustache, and curly, dark hair. How does this curious Irishman teach those around him about love, honor, integrity, and endurance? From his own words to words shared by others, join in this wonderful love story that transcends even death. Enjoy the prankster, giggling as karma catches up and gets even, and marvel at his legacy that lives on after him. Meet Charles and be blessed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662455643

Book preview

cover.jpg

My Love Letter to You

Mary Farris

Copyright © 2021 Mary Farris

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2021

ISBN 978-1-6624-5547-6 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-5564-3 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

James Bond Comes to Town

Thunderstorm

Our Beginning, October 1977

Our First House, March 1978

The Wyoming Years 1980–1985

The Newkirk Years, 1985–2005

Charlie Plays Matchmaker

Finally, a Real Honeymoon

Charlie’s Side of the Story

My Side of the Story

New Neighbors

Baby Claire’s First Plane Ride—2008

Christmas Letter 2007

Christmas Letter 2008

Charlie’s Hat

Flag Day

Charlie’s Christmas Gift 2010

Christmas Letter 2010

Blizzards, Onion Rings, and Blue Fog

Electric Wasps

How Not to Use the Tilt Table

Tractor Fun

Tractor Fun

Tractor Fun

Overview of All Our Babies

Molly’s New Broom

Molly’s Gas Problem

How Charlie Came to Live with Me

On Guard

My Life and Times with Charlie

For every hour

And every mile,

I send a dream, a kiss, a smile,

Just to let you know, my heart is

with you all the while.

Why This Title

Out of the millions of women in this world, I consider myself one of the most blessed and lucky. For thirty-three years I was loved and cherished, protected and challenged. I saw and learned more of the world around me than many see in a lifetime.

There were times I didn’t understand what I had nor did I always appreciate the tedium that could travel with Charlie, but more and more I realized that nearly the last words he spoke to me summed up the gift he had given me for those thirty-three years: I love you, and I always have.

Through the delirium and pain, he was trying to tell me goodbye. But I wasn’t ready to give up hope. I still wanted to believe I would take him home with me in a few days. Not until I was forced to say goodbye a few hours later did I release him and wish him well on the next leg of his journey.

As you read our story, I hope you begin to understand both what kind of a person Charlie was and his impact on those around him. Sometimes, during a lifetime, the changes we go through are not witnessed by all we come in contact with, and we only allow certain ones to see our deepest recesses. I know that Charlie changed in many ways during our marriage, and I know that I did too. We changed together, balancing each other in so many ways. I see so many marriages today falling apart over selfish, insignificant things, leaving two bitter, disappointed people behind. I wonder, if they could only have hung in there more, could they have had what I did? Could they have found that once-in-a-lifetime love? One that would shatter them when the other had to go? Would they also grow stronger and more tolerant as they journeyed side by side?

Though I don’t normally let others see me grieve, or want others to see my weaknesses or mistakes, I am willing to open a window into my soul so that others might get to meet this wonderful, eccentric, brilliant, and mischievous character that taught me so much about honor, integrity, and love.

Here is my farewell love letter to my husband, Charlie.

MHF

Section 1

Before Us

Charles as a young teenager

James Bond Comes to Town

Operation Snap-Shot

It was blistering hot as only a July Saturday evening in Kansas can be. I was seventeen, and my best friend, Joe, had been gone for just over a year. He had joined the Marines right out of high school and been sent to Vietnam just a few months later. It wasn’t fair! I thought. Here I am, stuck in this dirty oven of a town, while most of my friends are out of school and out in the real world, having fun.

This last thought was not entirely accurate as I had several friends still in school. As a matter of fact, sitting across from me on the passenger side of the car was Bobby Mosbey, my current cohort in crime. Bobby’s father was a coach at school, but that didn’t keep him from being an all-right guy, anyway.

Neither of us had a date this evening. I had just had an argument with my girlfriend, and Bobby was between girls at the time. So there we were, just driving around town for the breeze in the beat up old ’52 Plymouth that had cost me a precious $25 plus another ten for a battery to get it running. It was almost eight o’clock. The sun still had about another hour until it set, and the walls of the buildings around us still radiated their heat out onto the streets.

I glanced over at Bobby.

Well, what do you want to do? I queried.

I don’t care, just so long as we can find some place cool to do it, he responded.

What’s on at the movie? I asked.

"I don’t know, some spy thing. It’s a new James Bond flick, I think."

That got my attention. I really liked James Bond movies. Old 007 was cool, almost as cool as me.

Let’s go, I said.

Suits me fine, was the reply from the shotgun seat.

As we approached the theatre, it became apparent that we were not the only ones interested in beating the heat by watching a cool movie. From the marquee, a line of people stretched up the block for almost fifty yards. There must have been at least two hundred sweating souls waiting patiently, or not, to get into that palace of air-conditioned bliss.

I was crestfallen.

We’ll never get in with that crowd there, I growled.

Yeah, agreed Bobby. Hey, let’s go over to the roller rink. It’s got air-conditioning.

I don’t like to skate, I muttered sullenly.

So don’t skate. We just go in like we’re looking for somebody. Get a Coke and just hang around. Besides, there might be some unclaimed chicks there too. Ok ay?

Okay, I said. But if it turns out uncool, I’m ditching you there. Right?

Just quit griping and drive, chided Bobby.

I never found out if the roller rink was swarming with chicks or not. As we drove up into the parking lot, the first thing we noticed was the crowd of people waiting outside.

Just great! I shouted, my temper frayed by the heat. Man, just look at that. Isn’t there any place where—

Bobby reached over and punched me in the shoulder, effectively stopping my tirade.

Look. There’s Jim and Willie. I think they’re coming over.

I leaned over the seat so as to look out through the passenger’s window. Jim Murdock and Willie Gates sauntered up to the car and leaned casually against the front fenders.

Hey, Jim. Hey, Willie, I greeted them.

Yeah, I know, not exactly what one would call inspired discourse, but like I said earlier, it was a very hot Saturday evening. It wasn’t until then that I noticed a third member of the party, Pete Miller, aka Petie, who was standing silently behind Jim.

Hey, Petie. How ya doin’?

Petie just nodded his head and smiled a shy smile. Petie was like that. He never said much. He wasn’t slow or anything like that. He just liked listening better than talking. The five of us chatted on nothing for a while, or perhaps I should say the four of us, since Petie doesn’t chat much.

It began to get dark, so we all decided to cruise back down town. We swung back by the theatre to see if the line had gotten any shorter. It hadn’t. It was then that I received my inspiration.

I may have mentioned it earlier, but in case you missed it, I am a genius. I have the gift of insight that allows me to see things within the mundane that mortals are unable to perceive. And it was thus that I now saw the line in front of the theatre in an entirely new light. I had been mistaken when I felt frustrated by its presence. It was not an obstacle. It was an opportunity!

I pulled the Plymouth into a nearby parking lot and quickly outlined my idea to the guys. After some discussion and a little refinement to the basic idea, we had what seemed like a pretty good plan. Within my car, I am King, but since my plan required operations outside its confines, we decided to vote on whether or not to put the plan into action. Jim, Bobby, and I voted yes, Willie was against, and Petie abstained. The plan was approved, and Operation Snap-Shot was put into motion.

We first drove over to Bobby’s house where he jumped out and ran over to the side entrance of his family’s garage. He disappeared briefly and then came back out and ran back to the car.

Did you get it? I asked.

Yeah, I got it. Now get out of here before my folks see us.

Now over to Petie’s place. Are you sure you can get the stuff, Petie? I queried as I glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

Petie just grinned and nodded his head. Petie’s mom was an artist, and our plan depended upon our procuring some important supplies from her stocks.

Petie was gone inside his house for a long time, and I was just starting to wonder about sending out a rescue mission when his front door opened, and out he strolled, a small brown paper sack in one hand. As Pete climbed into the car, he handed the sack to Bobby who promptly displayed the contents: one roll of paper adhesive tape, one medium-sized plastic sandwich bag, and a jar of dry red tempera paint mix.

I looked back at Petie and asked, You sure your mom’s not going to miss this stuff?

Petie shook his head and said, I asked her for it.

I was dumbfounded. That was the longest single utterance that I had ever heard come out of Petie’s mouth.

Our next stop was a local gas station where we used the men’s room to prepare for the next phase of Operation Snap-Shot. I poured the tempera powder into the plastic bag, mixing it thoroughly to a thick, creamy consistency.

Petie pulled the front of his sweat shirt up, and I quickly taped the bag onto the center of his chest. He then tucked his shirt back into place, and we were ready for the final phase of the plan.

Bobby and I drove slowly up to the front of the theatre. We were alone in the care, having dropped Willie, Jim, and Petie off a block away fifteen minutes earlier. I scanned the line of people, and sure enough, there they were, about two-thirds of the way back toward the end. The tires screeched as I hit the brakes on the Plymouth. Nearly a hundred faces turned toward us as Bobby jumped out of the car and leaned over the roof with his dad’s starter pistol in his hand.

You dirty ——! he screamed. I warned you to stay away from my sister!

The starter gun barked twice as more people turned to face us.

Petie’s hands clapped his chest, and his eyes opened as wide as saucers. A hideous shriek issued from him as great gouts of blood red liquid gushed from between his fingers. He fell over backward. His whole body shook as his heels hammered repeatedly on the sidewalk.

Oh my god! I thought as I rushed up to him.

Bobby got the wrong gun, and we’ve killed Petie!

I felt curiously tight, and everything seemed distant and unreal as I bent over Petie’s still, bloody form. Then Petie open his eyes winked at me and quickly shut them again. Operation Snap-Shot was still underway.

Bobby and I grabbed Petie by the ankles and dragged him quickly to the back of the Plymouth. While we were occupied with Petie, Jim and Willie were busy playing the part of panic stricken bystanders. Using Willie and Jim as examples, the rest of the crowd quickly panicked and thus afforded Bobby and me a clear field of operations.

I opened the trunk of the car and helped Bobby lift Petie into it. Petie played his part well and didn’t help at all. Taking a quick look around at my handiwork before driving off, I was well pleased.

People were screaming and running in all directions. Someone had fainted against the wall of the theatre. But best of all, one fat woman was pointing at the blood-red trail on the sidewalk left by Petie’s corpse while a pale faced man beside her vomited his dinner into the gutter. It was great!

Bobby and I drove back to the gas station, pulled up in back, and let Petie out. As he was cleaning up in the men’s room, Jim arrived on foot and out of breath.

Where’s Willie? I asked.

I don’t know,’ Jim answered. The cops showed up right after you bugged out. They must have been close by and heard shots to have gotten there so fast. Anyway, Willie and I split up. He was going to meet us here as planned."

I thought for a moment.

He might have headed for home, I said. We better go find him.

As I turned, I saw the reflection of red and blue lights spinning across the wall of the gas station. I didn’t need to hear Officer Clifford’s familiar voice behind me to know what it meant. Looking into the back seat of the black-and-white patrol car, I realized that I didn’t need to worry about finding Willie. Good old Willie had found us.

We got a good chewing out at the station, another reminder that my behavior was not that of a model teenager. Jim called his dad and after a long, embarrassed telephone conversation informed us that his dad would come and get us all out, if the night judge would let him. The catch was that Jim’s dad was busy watching a ball game on TV, and we could just sit there and wait for a couple of hours until it was finished.

Oh well, I whispered to Bobby as I tried to find a soft spot on the hard wooden bench, at least this place has air-conditioning.

Thunderstorm

On July 30, 1974, we grabbed a few hours of light sleep, packed the car, and left for the airport. We were airborne at 2:00 a.m. Wednesday morning in a Piper Cherokee Six.

There were six of us. My parents and younger brother, the pilot and his wife, Sue, and me. We were on our way to Guadalajara, Mexico, with a five-year-old aviation map as our guide.

Sunrise found us at Waco, Texas, for fuel, and noon found us at Monterrey, Mexico. We left Monterrey on a heading