600 Hours of Edward (26 page)

And now my mother is shocking me, because she is actually saying, aloud, in front of these people, “Edward, please say a few words.”

I can see Jay L. Lamb, and he looks as though he wants to dig a hole in the stone floor of this house and climb into it.

“Mother…” I say in protest.

“Just a few words, dear.”

I step out of the gathered throng. I can hear my heart throbbing as if it is in my cranium. And then I am surprised to hear words leaving my mouth.

“I…I can’t think of a funny story about my father.”

Everybody is looking at me.

“I liked to watch Dallas Cowboys games with him.”

There is now a bit of laughter, and someone says, jokingly, “Ted, watch the Cowboys? Never!”

“I’m not good at public speaking,” I continue. “When I have thought of my father since he died, I think of the words to a song I like. It is by Matthew Sweet.”

I see quizzical looks on the faces in front of me.

I recite the lyrics to “Life Without You.” It is a song about loss and helplessness, and that’s how I feel about my father. I say the words quickly, because I am not a public speaker and I don’t feel comfortable. When I look up as I’m talking, I see people looking at me in quizzical ways. I don’t like this, so I don’t look up anymore.

When I finish, the room is silent. Maybe I should have tried harder to tell a funny story. The governor is looking at me as if I’m a loon. And my mother’s shoulders are heaving as she tries to muffle her cries.

– • –

My father’s death hasn’t changed one thing: I am always relieved to be out of his house and back in mine. I decided to leave after Dave Akers approached Rolf Eklund, my father’s county commission colleague, and poked a finger in his chest as they argued. After the brief scuffle was quelled and my mother had tried her best to act as if the gathering hadn’t been marred, I decided that I should go.

So I did.

– • –

At 10:00, I cue up tonight’s episode of
Dragnet
. It is the twelfth installment of the first season of color episodes, called “The Hit-and-Run Driver,” and it is one of my favorites.

In this episode, which originally aired on April 6, 1967, Sergeant Joe Friday and Officer Bill Gannon track down an executive named Clayton Fillmore (played by Robert Clarke) who clipped an old woman and an old man in a crosswalk, killing them. By the time the cops catch up to him the next day, they suspect that he was drunk, but they can’t prove it. Clayton Fillmore is a cavalier man—he doesn’t care that the old people are dead, and his wife is about to leave him because he disregards her. But somehow, he gets off with a suspended sentence.

Soon enough, however, he drives drunk again. He has a bad crash, killing two teenage girls and critically injuring a couple. His wife, who decided to stay with him, is also hurt, and Clayton Fillmore loses his legs.

I think that is what is called karma, although karma is difficult to prove. Like Sergeant Joe Friday, I prefer facts.

– • –

After
Dragnet
, I prepare yet another green office folder.

God:

I have to admit something: It feels odd to be writing to something or someone that I don’t know exists. I do not mean to be disrespectful. I believe in science, I believe in things that I can witness, I believe in things that can be
empirically proved. The Judeo-Christian image of God—or even the ones revered by Muslims or Buddhists or Taoists—is not something that can be proved in that way. I hope you understand my hesitancy about this, assuming you exist to understand it. I don’t like to assume. I prefer facts.

Despite all of that, it would give me some comfort to believe that you exist, especially at this difficult time for me and my mother. I hope you do exist. Even though hope is as intangible as belief, I am not hostile to it. Hope gives me comfort.

So here is my hope: That you will take care of my father. That you will let him know that I am trying hard to forgive him, even though I will not deify him like my mother does. That you will let him know that I love him. That you will let him know that we miss him.

I realize that this is not a letter of complaint. I hope you understand. I don’t feel like complaining today, though there is much I could complain about. I’m just looking for some peace. It has been a hard week. It was a hard week before my father died. It’s harder now.

I have one more hope, God, if you have the time or inclination: Could you see your way clear to send some peace our way?

With regards,

Edward Stanton

When I awake at 7:37 a.m. for the nineteenth time this year (because it’s a leap year), I quickly note two things:

First, this will be the third full day without my father. I make the notation in my notebook accordingly.

Second, this day will bring the first Dallas Cowboys game of my life without him.

Given how much I like to count things, how much I like the Cowboys, and how much my father liked the Cowboys, I think I have found a new entry for my data sheets. I make the proper notations, and for now, my data is complete.

– • –

Since my father bought this house for me to live in eight years ago—eight years and 106 days ago—he and I have not watched as many Dallas Cowboys games together as we did before, when we lived in the same house. I should have thought to count the games we’ve watched together in those years, but the instances have been erratic, and I am not as interested in random happenings as I am in patterns. I do spend every Thanksgiving Day at my parents’ house—my mother’s house now—and the Dallas Cowboys always
play on Thanksgiving, so those games would account for the majority of the games we have shared in the past eight years and 106 days.

Dallas Cowboys games on Thanksgiving Day are a pattern, and so it should not surprise you that I do keep track of those. In the eight games that the Dallas Cowboys have played on Thanksgiving Day since my father bought this house for me to live in, the Cowboys have won four and lost four. That is a .500 record, and it’s not very good, at least for the Dallas Cowboys. I assume that even with my father now dead, I will spend the upcoming Thanksgiving Day at my parents’ house—now my mother’s house—and will see the Dallas Cowboys play the Seattle Seahawks, who stink. The Dallas Cowboys ought to win that game, although at this point it’s all conjecture. I prefer facts.

I guess what I am saying is this: I have seen a lot of Dallas Cowboys games with my father, even when you factor in the relatively few of them in the past eight years and 106 days. It will be odd to think that he is no longer here, on the day that the Dallas Cowboys play the New York Giants, who don’t stink at all. I wish my father were here. He hated the New York Giants.

– • –

I take my morning newspaper—which tells me that yesterday’s high was thirty-one and yesterday’s low was nineteen—with my corn flakes, my orange juice, and my fluoxetine. The
Billings Herald-Gleaner
also tells me that today’s high will be forty-one and the low will be thirty-three, but that’s not as valuable to me as the first two numbers. The first two numbers are facts; the other two are just a forecast. I prefer facts.

Judging by the
Billings Herald-Gleaner
, there is a lot of interest in the presidential race, which will be voted upon Tuesday, two
days from today. I have not been paying a whole lot of attention to the presidential race, if you must know. Politics of any sort are hard to be interested in when you care about facts as much as I do. Presidential candidates often seem much more interested in what is known as “spin”—that is, the twisting of facts to support a position beneficial to them. This is actually praiseworthy in politics. It is considered an art form. I cannot understand that, and so rather than letting it make me crazy (a word I do not love, yet one that is accurate when I allow myself to fret about politics), I simply tune it out. I have been alive for the presidencies of seven of the forty-three presidents in this country’s history—Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan, Bush, Clinton, and Bush the younger—and as far as I can tell, not one of them has made much of a difference in the important things I care about: the high and low temperatures,
Dragnet
, Dallas Cowboys football, R.E.M., or Matthew Sweet. Although, you could make the argument that the Republican presidents inspire angrier music from R.E.M. If you wish to make that argument, I will not dispute it.

Much of the attention on this presidential race is on a man named Barack Obama, who apparently would become the first black president in United States history—although a lot of people seem to think he is an Arab. I don’t care if he’s an Arab or if he’s black. It’s not like the forty-three white men who have been president have all been great shakes. (I love the slang term “great shakes.”)

– • –

Because the Dallas Cowboys’ game does not start until 2:15 p.m., I have decided to embark on a project this morning. I am going to rate the ten greatest Dallas Cowboys games I saw with my father. I think it will be fun to count something like that, and I like remembering good times with my father.

I am not going to include Super Bowl victories among the ten greatest games. Let’s face it: The Dallas Cowboys have won five Super Bowls, and so that would take up almost half of my list right there. I wouldn’t count the Dallas Cowboys’ first Super Bowl victory, 24–3 over the Miami Dolphins in Super Bowl VI, as I was too young to have a memory of the game. I feel confident that my father watched it, as he loved the Dallas Cowboys, and because I was just a little boy, barely three years old (I was three years and seven days old on January 16, 1972, when Super Bowl VI was played), there is a good chance I was with him, but I don’t know for sure. It’s conjecture. I prefer facts.

– • –

After clearing away the breakfast dishes, I head into the spare bedroom and fire up the computer. My project flows quickly.

     
TEN MOST MEMORABLE COWBOYS GAMES

     
A memoir of football-watching with my father

     
By Edward M. Stanton Jr.

Game number 1: November 28, 1974

Result: Dallas Cowboys, 24; Washington Redskins, 23

What happened: Rookie quarterback Clint Longley, playing in place of the injured Roger Staubach, threw a fifty-yard touchdown pass to Drew Pearson with twenty-eight seconds remaining to beat the hated Washington Redskins and keep them from clinching a playoff berth. Clint Longley also had a thirty-five-yard touchdown pass to Billy Joe DuPree.

Why I remember it: We watched the game in Texas, with my Grandpa Sid and Grandma Mabel. My father
and I had been on a road trip together, and we had Thanksgiving dinner, and we saw the Dallas Cowboys win. This is the first game I remember watching with my father. He told me after the game, “Teddy, as long as you live, you’ll never see another one like that.” I didn’t like my old nickname, Teddy, but I didn’t mind that day.

Game number 2: December 28, 1975

Result: Cowboys, 17; Minnesota Vikings, 14

What happened: This is the one that is called the “Hail Mary” game, on account of Roger Staubach’s saying that he closed his eyes and threw a prayer of a pass that Drew Pearson caught for the winning touchdown in the playoffs against the heavily favored Vikings. A lot of Vikings fans say that Drew Pearson pushed off illegally, but I think they just feel bad because they lost.

Why I remember it: After Drew Pearson scored the touchdown, my father swept me up in his arms, put me on his shoulder, and paraded me around our living room, saying, “The Cowboys are going to the Super Bowl! The Cowboys are going to the Super Bowl!” It was just conjecture at that point—the Cowboys still had to win the NFC championship game—but he was right: The Cowboys went to the Super Bowl. I just wish they had been able to beat the Pittsburgh Steelers.

Game number 3: January 17, 1993

Result: Cowboys, 30; San Francisco 49ers, 20

What happened: After a Super Bowl drought of fifteen years, the Cowboys got back in the big game by beating the hated 49ers in the muck and mud in San Francisco.
The Cowboys sealed it with a long slant pass from Troy Aikman to Alvin Harper. After that, my father grabbed my shoulder and shook me and said, “That Jimmy Johnson has balls to make a call like that!” I think it was a compliment.

Why I remember it: It took my father a long time to forgive the Cowboys and owner Jerry Jones for firing Tom Landry in 1989. But when the Cowboys got back to the Super Bowl—and especially after they won it—my father buried his grudge. “You can’t stay mad forever, Edward,” he said. I thought that was very nice of him. Also, for at least a year afterward, my father would sometimes look at me and go, “Hey, Edward, you know what? How ’bout them Cowboys!” My father could be pretty funny sometimes.

Game number 4: January 3, 1983

Result: Minnesota Vikings, 31; Cowboys, 27

What happened: Tony Dorsett ran for a ninety-nine-yard touchdown on
Monday Night Football.
A lot of football experts think it’s one of the best runs in National Football League history.

Why I remember it: This is one of only two Dallas Cowboys losses on my top ten, but Tony Dorsett’s run was worth it. My father and I were watching the game on television, and when Tony Dorsett got loose, my father said, “He’s gonna go all the way, Teddy! He’s gonna do it! He’s gonna do it! Oh my God, he did it!” The next day, he and I played catch with the football in our front yard, even though it was a really cold day, and my father pretended that he was Tony Dorsett running for a ninety-nine-yard touchdown.

Game number 5: January 23, 1994

Result: Cowboys, 38; San Francisco 49ers, 21

What happened: For the second straight year, the Cowboys reached the Super Bowl by beating the 49ers. (They would go on to beat the Buffalo Bills in the Super Bowl for the second straight year, too.) This time, the game was at Texas Stadium. Also, Jimmy Johnson called a radio station earlier in the week and guaranteed that the Cowboys would win. “Brass balls, Edward,” my father said. “The man has brass balls.” This is also a compliment, I think.