Ollie lived with his mother, Gracia, until he was 59 years old. Then he married mine. The two women were both forces to reckon with.
Gracia lost her husband when Ollie was 12; not being one to support herself, she took Ollie out of school (This was the early twentieth century.) so he could work and support her. He got a job at a company that made patterns for women’s shoes. It must have been a lonely life; but I suspect Ollie coped by being a voracious reader, learning to build anything, and keeping his opinions to himself.
Then he met my mother. I’m not sure how that actually happened, but I believe the two met at an Arthur Murray Dance Studio. My mother was never one to share details.
Soon after, Ollie began showing up on Sundays for dinner. The two would play Scrabble and watch TV. As time passed, they began going out mid-week too, although I never really knew where. I think Steak ‘n’ Shake could have been involved.
Ollie’s life with his mother made him the perfect husband for mine. She liked being in charge. She liked people who agreed with her, people who admired her intellect. Ollie was more than happy to accommodate. I recall when Mother and I were in a disagreement, she would often say, “And Ollie agrees with me.”
Once they married, Ollie ate oatmeal for breakfast each morning, because his wife made it for him. I learned years later he didn’t even like oatmeal. And when they went to dinner, he always ordered what she ordered first.
You might roll your eyes at these accommodations, but in return my mother made sure Ollie had many experiences he would never have had otherwise. They traveled all over Europe together, bought a house where his yard became the envy of the neighborhood, and celebrated their wedding anniversary every month. He smiled a lot. And he took care of my mother, so I didn’t have to.
There are people who lodge in your memory, regardless of the passing time. Ollie died 30 years ago today. It is as if it were the blink of an eye.
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