Trash Talk, Part 2

Always leave ‘em laughing. Isn’t that what they say in show business?

 

Well, I guess that old rule of thumb didn’t apply in the campus newsletter biz, because in the last week of the school year, and against my protest and better judgment, Mike went ahead and placed a final barb in the final issue directed squarely at good '‘ol  Eileen Hendricks. And did not leave her laughing.

 

Eileen was South Warren's Dorm Mother, a kindly, caring widow all the kids in their home away from home affectionately referred to as "Mom". Counselor, confidant, and friend, I never forgot the extra TLC "Mom" showered on me during my freshman semester, when I was so lost and homesick that I didn't think I'd be able to stick it out or survive. She’d been a lifeline for me back then. And even into the waning days of my senior year living under her South Warren Residence Hall roof, she was still cared and looked after me as she’d been doing during my entire Whitworth tenure. But Mike never liked "Mom" Hendricks. In fact, for whatever reason, he found her worthy of contempt and ridicule. He’d been carrying on a running feud with her- mostly one-sided- for almost the whole year. 

 

And while the blurb about "Mom" in that last issue was short and quick and wouldn't be obvious to most-- I don’t even remember exactly what Mike wrote--nevertheless I began having second thoughts about running it at all. I thought it was unnecessary and beneath us. So I tried to get him to drop it. But my worthless bribery and idle threats had little effect. In fact, none. “Protest noted", were Mike's final words on the subject. It was the only time we ever quarreled over “creative content.” It also left me with a sick feeling inside as the final spring semester edition of “The Trash” went to print.

Yet even after it did, there was still a chance “Mom” wouldn’t see it. At least that’s what I prayed and hoped for once it was out. But when I saw the note on my door tersely indicating she wanted to see me right away, I knew my prayers hadn’t been answered. At least not this one and I put it off as long as I could. But when I sat down in her first floor apartment later that evening to face the music, it felt like someone had died. I've never quite been able to forget the profound sadness I saw on her face.

 

Expressing more than just disappointment, she held up a copy of “The Trash” and asked if I knew anything about the entry in question she’d circled with a bright red marking pen. I hung my head and sheepishly answered, ”Yes”.  Then she started quietly sobbing. In 4 years, I’d never seen “Mom” Hendricks be anything but gracious and accommodating and always with a kind smile on her face. And now she was weeping. I didn’t know what else to say or do. “How could you let that happen? What did I ever do to you?” she cried. Yet it wasn’t an angry cry. It was the cry of a wounded soul.

 

And I was sensitive enough to recognize it, too; just not enough common sense to act on it. Shifting quickly into self-serving justification, I instead managed to practically throw Mike under the bus and covert his ass, all in one breath. Yes, he’d written the item in question but used carefully crafted language designed to blur its subject in ambiguity. It was not one of my finer moments in life. It was also a dreadfully lousy defense. But with nothing principled to defend my line of reasoning was as shallow as a pool of spit. It was nonsense. And “Mom” saw it as if it was a plate glass window. She knew Mike’s cheap shot had been clearly aimed at her. I did too; it’d been his intent from the get-go. I just hoped we/he’d get away with it.

 

“You’ve got to believe me, I tried to get him to take it out. For two days. Really”, I offered, in a desperately lame bid to minimize my role in the fiasco. However this last feeble attempt at damage control was so lame, by then even I didn’t believe it. For sure, "Mom" didn’t. “No, it’s your paper. Yours and Mike’s. You both take the credit when all’s right with the world and you’re getting all the love. But when it’s not all right, when you’re using your platform just to be mean, then you both have to share the credit then, too. You can’t have it both ways.” She was right of course. I just didn’t want to hear it.

 

“But I‘m more disappointed in you, than I am in Mike because I know what he is; he isn’t very nice and doesn’t like me very much. But I thought you and I were friends. I thought I knew you better….” Her voice trailed off. She sniffed and blew her nose, taking a break from her sadness and perhaps waiting for me to say something. But I just stared at her, blank and stupid. "....How could you do this to me?” she asked again, rephrasing an earlier inquiry, but more as a desperate plea than angry outburst. “I….I’m… sorry....I really am….” were the only words I could make stammer out of my mouth. ”I don’t know what to do, how to make this right.”

 

“There’s nothing you can do. Not now. It's done, out there. And even if you weren’t graduating this weekend, I don’t know how we could remain friends. You've used up a lot of trust on this one and I can't tell you how much this hurts me”. There was a long and very uncomfortable pause, and the only sound was a slight drip coming from her kitchen faucet. Then she took a long sigh. ”But now, I’d like it if you’d just leave.” She wasn’t crying anymore. "Mom" was cold serious. I felt like a knife had been stuck between my ribs. How could this be happening? How did something as supposedly innocent and fun as Mike’s and my stupid little lampoon newspaper cause such grief? It wasn’t supposed to be that way. I never wanted it to be that way.

 

But taking one last deep breath, I apologized again and left "Mom" Hendrick's apartment. Closing the door, I felt like the vilest of pond scum. I'd hurt a person who'd been my friend and in my corner for 4 years. And in one afternoon, I’d allowed this long standing relationship to evaporate right before my very eyes.  My heart was breaking. I loved co-writing "The Trash", but at the end wish I'd never been involved. Yet going in, honestly, I knew the risks of dancing with the devil. I knew Mike's character and deep down knew, at some point, he'd probably screw it up. But I don't blame him. Mike was Mike. He couldn't be anything else. I blame me for not standing up to him.

And even though I didn’t write the offending piece and may have only been by proxy, I knew I was as responsible for the damage as Mike was. Just like “Mom” said. Had it been in the classroom this shameful experience would’ve been chalked up merely as an applied lesson in "the power of the pen". How it cuts both ways; used either to uplift and edify or tear down and destroy. But the lesson learned didn’t come out of a textbook or a professor’s lecture. It wasn’t theory. It was real life. Unintentionally but hardly blameless, I'd destroyed what I had with Eileen Hendricks in one literal stroke of the pen. When I told Mooney how hurt “Mom” had been, he just laughed. For him, it was mission accomplished. For me, alone in my room and distraught over what had transpired, I became physically ill. 

 

Unfortunately, I never spoke to “Mom” Hendricks again. If she was at graduation I didn’t see her, and didn’t see her the next morning before vacating the dorm for the last time. I wondered if I was being purposely avoided, but then I got busy being a 23 year old college graduate and sort of put those last couple of days at Whitworth out of mind. Then I moved away to begin my broadcast career at a Lake Tahoe country FM, but when I came  back to Spokane a year later and re-connected with friends, many still on campus, my next plan was to drop in on "Mom" and see how she was doing. “One of these days”, I promised myself.

But "one of those days" never came. Though my intentions were sincere I never got around to following through, to make things right. I was afraid; so afraid of a chancy reception and a head full of other negative ‘what if’s’, that what if I’m forgiven didn’t even cross my mind. But I’ll never know. I kept putting off this risky reunion for over six months later, until on a dark, snowy January afternoon in 1980 I stumbled across “Mom” Hendricks obit in the afternoon paper. She’d passed away in her sleep two days earlier. The news so grabbed me that I dropped the paper, dropped to my knees and openly wept.

The loss broke my heart because I knew I’d forever lost the chance to make amends. It was another really tough life lesson; things I should’ve already learned but hadn’t. There really are some things you can’t take back and can’t be undone. With “Mom” Hendricks death, I had to go on living with this sorry episode, knowing I’d never reach a suitable closure.

It pained me then. It still does.