A good man
I have thought of writing a play or musical about my father-in-law. It would be called, “A Good Man”. It would tell his life story in brief, with vignettes from his childhood and scenes as an adult. It would show the conflict inherent in defining a good man.
He was born Clarence, son of an unmarried woman in the 1930s in a small town in Pennsylvania. When he was four his mother, Agnes, married Walter Ambrose, and young Clarence took his last name. They had several more children together. I say together, because it’s fairly certain Walter was the father of the lot of them, six or seven of them. But Walter wasn’t a good provider and sometimes wasn’t even present. He resented Clarence; he called Clarence a bastard and stood him up before his younger siblings as a bad example. He hit him.
Having a child out of wedlock was shameful and there was no government support for moms then; Agnes married partly because it was expected and she needed Walter’s income. Once in marriage, divorce was equally shameful. Agnes allowed Walter to return again and again, not that he would have accepted being kept out. He was the man of the house.
Walter drank, a lot. Agnes sent Clarence to the bar when he was six or seven, to stand at his father’s elbow, a little behind him. When Walter paid for a drink, Clarence had to dart forward and pick up the change the bartender set down. That was what Agnes had to live on.
Agnes had a brother, Abe. Uncle Abe became the father and supporter these children needed. Abe worked hard, never married, cared for his nieces and nephews, helped Agnes, did what he could to make up for what Walter didn’t do.
Finally at age 17 Clarence got out. He lied about his age, joined the military, and served in the Korean War. At some point he got the nickname, Sonny, and ever after that was his name. If you called him Clarence he would be furious. He learned from the best how to be angry. But he also learned not to be angry.
He became a supply sergeant in the Air Force. For three years he served. And then, something happened. Walter wasn’t there and Abe wasn’t there and his mother needed him home. Sonny took a hardship discharge. He left the Air Force, where his hard work had led to success, and he went back to that small town in Pennsylvania.
He was all of 20 years old, with a mother and several younger children to support. His brothers and sisters grew up and got jobs themselves, probably as soon as ever they could. One of them, Thelma, was best friends with Patricia McCloskey, a pretty girl who worked as a telephone operator. Sonny liked Patty. She worked hard and laughed.
Patty’s father also drank and disappeared periodically, but with less child abuse. Well, less that we know of; nobody talked about it, and corporal punishment was expected, not worthy of special notice. Patty’s mother worked as a housekeeper in the local hotel. She scrimped and saved, never throwing out anything useful. She brought home worn out rugs from the hotel and used them as padding under her couch cover.
When Sonny married Patty, they moved into the house Patty’s mother lived in. I don’t know who paid it off, but by the time I married Sonny and Patty’s son, they had paid off her mom’s house and another house that her mom and sister moved into. They had completely redone the inside of their 1890s house and started work on her mom’s house.
Sonny’s and Patty’s families relationships grew together. They held family picnics, went camping, and went to Kennywood, a roller-coaster park near Pittsburgh. I heard tales of their adventures: to the cabin they jointly bought near Kane, Pa., to Kinzua Dam, boating, fishing, hunting.
At one point Sonny and his brothers drove to Kane, stopping at every bar on the way. While Sonny was not looking his brothers stole a goat and took it with them to the cabin. My husband, then about 16 years old, and his teenage friend, laughed and laughed when the goat climbed up on the table and pooped there. Sonny was furious at his brothers for stealing a goat!
They helped each other. Sonny taught himself how to renovate houses; Patty’s brother-in-law, her sister Rose’s husband, ran an auction house and willingly helped his relatives find good inexpensive furniture. They showed up for each other, and as adults with income, they helped each other’s children and grandchildren.
There were conflicts, too; some family members told me about secrets kept and relatives who didn’t speak to each other for years. But by and large, they helped each other. Sonny, who had been held up as a bad example, worked hard all his life, restrained his drinking, showed up on time and did quality work. He kept up friendships; many people came to his funeral and praised him.
I couldn’t see that at first; I met him when I had been married almost a year and had a baby to care for. He was gruff and stand-offish. After two years he had to ask me to call him Dad, because I still called him Sonny. He wasn’t like my own father on the outside. It took a long time for me to see that underneath, they’re both generous, thoughtful, considerate people, because Sonny’s exterior prickled.
