Mark Dunn - Ibid - A Life

Eleven years passed before Davison saw Vicki again. Now a young woman, she visited him at his home in Levittown during spring break from her studies as sophomore at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. “You’re the closest thing to a father, war hero and/or fireman I’ve ever known,” she confessed, kissing the old man affectionately on the cheek. “By the way, I’m so sorry I’m late. I had trouble finding the house.” Then she volunteered to rake up all the leaves in his yard. Touched by her offer and even more so by the visit itself, he replied, “You didn’t come all this way just to rake my leaves. But if you like…maybe you could clip the hedge.” Together Davison and Vicki spent the afternoon doing yard work and rekindling a friendship.

The two stayed in touch for the remainder of Davison’s life. Although he had never gotten himself a wife, Harlan Davison had, in a way, found himself a daughter.

11. “I Took a Spill.”Jonathan Blashette to Andrew Bloor, 4 February 1959. An excerpt from the letter follows.

“You know, Dr. Bloor — I never thought I’d be one of those old farts who go and break their hip as soon as they turn seventy. (In my case, I suppose I got a seven-month grace period!) When did these bones get so brittle? How is it that you, several years my senior, haven’t had an equally difficult time with the ravages of advanced years?

I have had to do what I never thought I’d do and that is hire a live-in valet or nurse or what have you. A gentleman was recommended to me by the name of Uriah Hensley — a good man, very active in the Negro equality movement. I commend his efforts and those of his son Zachary who is quite a mover and shaker in Civil Rights.

Still, I have never been comfortable with servants except for Miss Cook. I suppose I am basically too much the egalitarian. And how be you these days, sir?”

12. “ I, too, took a spill.”Andrew Bloor to Jonathan Blashette, 8 February 1959. An excerpt from Bloor’s response follows.

“Were we, Jonny, at one point joined at the hip? A very frangible hip, I might add. Yes, I also took a spill, and am likewise incapacitated. You are right. It is a depressing development (although Evetta is taking good care of me), serving only to remind me of my easily verifiable mortality.

For goodness sake, man — if you must have a manservant, don’t spend your days apologizing to the gentleman. He expects to be treated as employee and expects you to comfortably assume the role of employer. Anything less will throw the whole universe out of balance.

And speaking of the universe, have you figured out your place in it, yet?

Just curious.”

13. Zachary Hensley’s commitment to civil rights was undisputed.Zachary’s involvement in the Freedom March from Selma to Montgomery and his participation in other historic moments of the Civil Rights movement of the fifties and sixties were complemented by his instigation of the Taylorville, North Carolina, Barbecue Pig Hut sit-in of March 3, 1960. Inspired by the sit-in at the Greensboro Woolworth lunch counter a month before, Zachary and five college compatriots settled themselves down at the whites-only service counter of the barbecue establishment only to be instantly threatened and harassed by the regulars. Hensley’s quick thinking turned what might have been a violent, unilateral food-fight into a strong statement for racial tolerance. Learning that one of their number had a white grandmother, Hensley negotiated a service stance for the young woman next to her stool with one hand permitted to touch the counter and the other hanging at her side. For a young man who was half-black and half-Asian, successful bargaining from Hensley resulted in the man being allowed to sit on the stool in alternate three-minute segments. Another young woman, one quarter Cherokee, was allowed to stand behind her half-Asian Freedom-fighting comrade and be fed by him in small modest bites, each followed by understated chewing. Hensley did not fare as well when it came to his own requested allowance. He left the restaurant wearing a headdress of barbecue sauce. Parker Noell , Claiming our Stools: History-making Sit Ins of the Civil Rights Movement (Los Angeles: Locklear Kun and Sons, 1988), 88–98.

14. “ Her name is Silvana. Jonny, I actually think she’s the one.”Harlan Davison to Jonathan Blashette, 22 March 1959.

15. “So sorry. My mistake. She isn’t the one.”Harlan Davison to Jonathan Blashette, 23 March 1959.

16. Davison saw very little of Silvana after that.Georgia Neilson, When Advice Columnists Go Bad (Los Angeles: Pepper Plum Publishing, 1975), 267-73. Despite widespread syndication throughout the U.S. and the inevitable comparison to popular advice columnists Ann Landers and her twin sister Abigail Van Buren, Silvana Lichtenstein was promptly dismissed and her column deep-sixed. Davison seems to have pounced on this opportunity to break up with the two-hundred-and-fifty-pound, sixty-two-year-old Jersey City native, confessing to Jonathan that the chemistry that he “had thought he felt there in the beginning was maybe never even there at all.” I tracked down a copy of what was to become Miss Lichtenstein’s final column for the Jacobson Syndicate. Much of the advice she dispensed that day seems fairly innocuous. It was the final “confidential” that appears to have been the career-killer.

Confidential to Distressed in Detroit: The body behind the pool house and the other one beneath the gazebo are strong indicators that he may have buried carved-up corpses all over the bloomin’ property! You’d do best to get a steam shovel to help you decide if this is the kind of man you want for a husband and future father of your children. And I’d keep the cutlery on a high shelf when next he comes a’ callin’.

17. This was followed by another death in the Dandy D family.Reinhold, The Story of Dandy-de-odor-o , 245-47. Sadly, Arnold Haverty died before he could even begin his retirement. Addicus Andrew, while trying not to dishonor his father’s venerable lieutenants by kicking them out the corporate door, nonetheless gave none-too-subtle nudgings here and there, sweetened by offers of enticing severance packages. Arnold took the bait, but never reached the fishing boat. As the company clown, he would be missed. His departure also signaled the commencement of a new era at Dandy D — one in which young turks would replace the old guard — a passing of the baton, as it were, that to many of the old-timers (most of them handpicked by Jonathan himself) seemed more like theft.

18. He was waggish in life, impish in death.Ibid. Arnold Haverty’s unique funeral wishes were honored by his wife Constance to the letter. Not only did they include a burial at sea, but Jonathan’s director of product planning had also requested that several hours prior to the ocean drop he be propped up in a deck chair, holding a good book. (“Give me something that’ll have ’em all slapping their sides, like maybe something by Camus. I also thought, Connie, that this might be a nice way to remind you of that great cruise we took to the Bahamas. I sat in my deck chair and slept like ol’ Van Winkle while you did the cha-cha-cha with that Caesar Romero look-alike from Tampa. You said you’ve never been happier.”) Constance kept her word, even whispering private comments to her Hawaiian-shirted exanimate husband as friends and family lined up to pay their respects, and only occasionally addressing mourners to say, “Please don’t shake his hand. It’s cold and stiff. You won’t like it.”

19. Sacco missed the funeral. A false alarm had sent the Sacco family underground for two weeks.Dandy-de-odor-o’s Vice President for Packaging had taken a television civil defense test for the real thing. Thinking the U.S. was under nuclear attack, he had hurried wife Elsie and their three children into the backyard bomb shelter he’d built from a kit only a few months before. Here the nuclear family remained for the next thirteen days. While underground, they were totally cut off from the rest of the world, due in large part to the fact that Sandron Sacco had forgotten to put batteries in the shelter’s transistor radio. Neighbors, friends, and family debated over whether to inform them of their error. Except for one neighbor’s unsuccessful renegade attempt to end the needless entombment, the Saccos were left to discover their mistake on their own. Embarrassment, it was thought, would be ameliorated somewhat if their emergence went unmonitored. Perhaps this way they could move more rapidly toward getting their lives back to normal and this humiliating chapter behind them. Which is exactly what Sandron, Elsie and their three children attempted to do. For all the years that followed, the couple never once mentioned their two weeks in the family bunker (although oldest daughter Lucy was finally able to laugh about it years later in her “My Turn” submission to Newsweek .) Therefore, I considered myself quite fortunate to discover not only that Sandron Sacco had kept a “log,” but also that it was never destroyed. Lucy was happy to give me access. Selected entries follow.