Welcome to the World, Baby Girl! (34 page)

Arnie was a lanky, slender guy with a bobbing Adam’s apple, who wore thick, black-framed glasses and could hardly believe his good fortune to find himself sitting with this goddess in a bar high above Fifth Avenue. They had finished their second drink when Dena asked him if he had ever heard any rumors about her and Howard Kingsley.

Arnie became visibly uneasy.

“Tell me. I need to know.”

Arnie hemmed and hawed. “Yeah … I guess … Well, I guess there was some talk.”

“What do you mean some talk? About …?”

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat and swallowed hard. “You know how things get around; you know, the usual jokes.”

“What jokes?”

“Silly stuff, you know.”

“No, I don’t know,” Dena said. “Tell me.”

Arnie stammered and turned red. “No, I really don’t think I should.”

“Arnie, you have to tell me.”

He squirmed in his seat and glanced around the room. “Well, things like … and I didn’t say it, but …” He lowered his voice and said almost apologetically, “There was one … uh, what’s old and wrinkled, has great boobs, and gets laid on Fridays? But, hey, nobody blamed him. Hell, every guy around here would have taken a shot at you if we thought we would have a chance.”

Dena sat back in the booth, bewildered, humiliated, and disgusted. Is that what everybody thought? Was that all her friendship with Howard was made out to be? Just somebody’s dirty little office joke, some twelve-year-old’s bathroom humor?

Arnie saw the look on her face and panicked. “Hey, Dena, you’re not gonna be mad at me, now, are you—you asked.”

“No, I’m not mad at you, Arnie. And Ira is right. I guess I don’t know what people are really like.”

Neighbor Dorothy greeted her listeners with a great big “Good morning, everybody … How is everybody over at your house this morning? We’re so glad all our radio neighbors are with us because as Little Annie Rooney says, it’s going to be a Grand Dandy day. So pour yourself a cup of coffee and put your feet up. As you know, this is one of our favorite days of the year. Today is our annual Aren’t People Wonderful Day and it’s devoted entirely to all of you out there who make up this wonderful old world.

“Every year we ask all of you to send in your letters telling us the nicest thing a neighbor did for you and we have received hundreds … but before we get to our letters this morning, we want to especially thank each and every one of you who sent in money for Bernice’s Seeing Eye dog. You know, I’ll never get over how sweet people are. So many of you sent in your hard-earned dimes, and I know how hard you work for them; thanks to all of you that held bake sales, sold eggs, and you Scouts who held car washes, and all of the numerous things you did to make this wish come true. And I am happy to announce that on Friday afternoon, Bernice’s guide dog was delivered. Her name is Honey, and she is a yellow Lab and was raised and trained by Mr. Dan Martin and family of Elgin, Illinois,
and, oh, I wish all of you could have been there. Mr. Martin came up the sidewalk with Honey, and when he walked up those steps with her it was like that dog knew who Bernice was. We were all out on the porch but Honey went over to Bernice and sat down right beside her, just like she knew who she belonged to. Mr. Martin said, ‘The Guide Dog Association is proud to hand over your dog … and from this moment forth she will be your faithful and loving companion until the day she dies,’ and with that he placed the lead in her hands and stepped back, and I wish you all could have seen the look on Bernice’s face when Honey rubbed her face against her hand.… Well … I just don’t have the words to describe it.… I know it must be hard for Mr. Martin to hand Honey over to someone else—he raised her since she was a puppy—but he will be here with us for a week to train Bernice how to walk with Honey … so all of you out there who have been so kind and generous, if you want to see a real miracle, drive by and you can see the three of them walking up and down the sidewalk. Yesterday they walked all the way downtown, past the barbershop, past the theater, down to the corner and back … I’ll tell you … it makes me proud to be a member of the human race.

“And now, we’d better get on with our letters because we want to try and get as many on the air as possible … so we will start with this one … and it comes to us from Reverend Raymond Rodgers of Sedilia, Missouri. He writes, ‘Dear Neighbor Dorothy, when I came back to my congregation after serving four years in the war as army chaplain, I came home not sure I could continue my ministry. I had experienced so many horrible things overseas, my faith had been shaken, and when I came home I was not the same man that had left four years ago. Sadly I expressed this to my congregation and was ready to step down as pastor when to my surprise, the next day I received a telegram that read, “That’s all right, Pastor … we are not the same congregation that you left behind, either.” And it was signed by every member of the church. Needless to say, I am still here.…’ Well, Reverend, it sounds like you have a mighty wonderful congregation and they have a wonderful pastor as well.… The next letter comes from Glaydes Speller of Moorland, Indiana. ‘Dear Neighbor Dorothy, six years ago my husband and I were with our
daughter, who was deathly ill in the hospital for a heart operation. While we were gone, we heard the news that our farm home had been completely destroyed by a tornado. We were heavy of heart and when we came home to survey the damage, imagine our surprise to see a shiny white, brand-new farmhouse sitting on the same spot where our old farmhouse had been and inside was new furniture, placed in exactly the same place as the old furniture. No one in our little community will take credit for it and deny they had anything to do with it. How joyful it was to bring our daughter home to her new home! There isn’t a day I wake up in our beautiful home and don’t remember the kindness of my neighbors. I hope you read this so I can say thank you to all my good neighbors.’

“Well … I say thank you to all you sweet people of Moorland. You have truly earned stars in your crown. We’ll be right back with more of your letters, but first, in your honor, Ernest Koonitz, our Elmwood Springs band director, is going to render a tuba solo played in honor of all the good neighbors out there. So here he is now, with Mother Smith on the organ playing ‘How Great Thou Art.’ ”

Howard Kingsley was becoming more and more agitated as the weeks went by. He was getting tired of having to deal with the latest news director, Gordon, an aggressive thirty-five-year-old bastard who had no respect for Howard and could not wait to get rid of him. Gordon wanted someone he could control. At first he was careful not to upset Howard, but as soon as the ratings started to slip slightly, he began to make Howard’s life miserable. Film pieces were switched, TelePrompTers started breaking down, on-air signals were late being called from the control booth, all calculated to make Howard look bad, and they did. But upstairs had a problem. They, too, were anxious to have News go in a new direction, to update it; still, Howard was the grand old man of broadcasting and they could not fire him outright. They did hope to maybe hasten his retirement a bit and seemed not to notice what was happening to Howard on the set. Even if it was at the expense of a few points in the ratings, they first needed something to justify getting him off the air. Yet Howard was stubborn and he hung in there, and fought as long as he could—until he had a little scare with his heart.

As it turned out the problem was said not to be serious, but it was serious enough for his wife and daughter to beg him to quit before it
was too late. He hated to do it but he knew he was fighting a losing battle. And so, one Monday morning, Howard went upstairs to the president’s office. Ned Thomson III got up from his chair to meet him at the door.

“Howard, why didn’t you call me? I could have come downstairs, for God’s sake. How are you? Come sit down.”

Howard said, “I’m fine, absolutely fine.”

“Can I get you coffee, tea?”

Howard sat in the visitor’s chair. “No, thanks. I just want to say that I have made the decision to retire and I wanted to let you know, give you a couple of months to get everything in place.”

Thomson looked shocked. “My God, Howard … are you sure? I mean, this is so sudden. Are you sure—is there anything we can do to change your mind?”

“No, not a thing.”

“I don’t know; this is quite a blow. I mean, you’ve been the backbone of this network, hell, you
are
this network. Isn’t there something we can do?”

“Yes, there is. I want you to keep this as quiet as possible. I want you to promise me there will be no tributes, no awards, none of that. I want to leave with as little fanfare as possible. Will you do that for me?”

“Of course. Any way you want it handled. We’ll respect however you want to do it, you know that.”

Howard stood up. “Good.”

“Now, when you say a couple of months, do you mean … two, three? How long do we have?”

“Two.”

“I see. Well, after all these years—you were here before Dad, even—I still can’t believe it. But if this is what you want—”

“It is.” Howard spoke with certainty.

Thomson walked to the door and put his hand on Howard’s shoulder.

“All I can say is, it’s going to be hell trying to find a guy to replace you—hell, you can’t be replaced. You’re an institution. This is going to be tough.”

Howard turned to him. “Then why don’t you just get on the phone and tell that son of a bitch you hired to get rid of me that I’m out and his boy is in. That can’t be too tough, can it?”

Ned watched Howard walk past his secretary and down the hall. He buzzed the control booth. The news director picked up.

“Two months, Gordon. Call David … tell him to get ready. I’ll get publicity to start the ball rolling. He just walked in here and said he was retiring, whammo, just like that. Yeah, and listen: you might want to lay off of him. I think he smells a rat and we can’t afford to have him say anything. He still carries a lot of weight with the board. We want to get out with our noses clean, OK?”

Two months later, exactly, Howard finished his broadcast as he usually did, “And so ends another day.” But this night after the signoff, he continued. In the booth, the news director ordered camera three in for a close-up. Howard took his glasses off, looked into the camera, and said, “As some of you may know, tonight ends for me what has been as exciting and as rewarding a career as a man can have. I have been proud and humbled by the support and trust you have so graciously allowed me throughout the years and I only hope I have been worthy of the task. I wish you well and may God bless you all. Good night and good-bye.”

The camera pulled back as he put his glasses back on and gathered his papers off his desk as he had for so many years. Upstairs, in the booth, a crowd had gathered to watch. After the news went off the air, they all stood in silence. It was quiet downstairs on the floor as well. Howard stood up and removed his mike and quietly shook hands with a few cameramen and his makeup woman, who had come up to his desk. Then he walked over to the edge of the set, where his wife and daughter were waiting to take him home.

By now, Dena had long forgotten about her stay in Missouri, but they had not forgotten her. Dena’s secretary put a letter on her desk.

The November after Howard Kingsley had retired, he and his wife, Lee, invited Dena to come and spend Thanksgiving on their farm in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. From the moment she arrived, she could see that Howard was almost a different person. He seemed much more relaxed and looked like a true country squire in his khaki pants and his thick red-and-black-plaid shirt, and after a half day Dena began to relax a little, too. The house was an old stone farmhouse built in 1789 that sat on twenty acres. Dena was helpless in the kitchen so on Thanksgiving Day, she and Howard went for a long walk across the fields, behind the house, and into the woods. There she saw quail and pheasants for the first time in her life. It was a wonderful autumn afternoon.