Celebration of Life

My brother-in-law sent me the invitation for Go-Go's upcoming memorial service in August. I don't know why we decided to wait until August to have her "Celebration of Life," considering she died on January 3rd. Maybe it has to do with some unconscious honoring of Midwest tradition- those who die in the winter are stored in the Church mausoleum until the ground thaws when they can be buried. It's not like we needed to wait; Go-Go was cremated in a cardboard box in a low budget crematorium in Bradenton Florida on January 5th. We decided to have her memorial in Wisconsin on her birthday, and at the time it made sense. The fact that we would wait nearly seven months after her death to have closure never occurred to us as a bad idea.

When I opened the invitation and saw the attached photo of her, I felt so sad that she is dead. I might have even said out loud: "damn, you are dead." Then I noticed that the photo was taken in my home in Bernal Heights! Go-Go had only been to my house a few times, and I'm pretty sure this picture was taken the last time she visited. She and Roger sold their place in Naples and decided to take a road trip out to California. They stopped at every gambling establishment between Florida and California. By the time they arrived, a week or so later than scheduled, they were so hungover it was astounding. They were cranky and exhausted and had a bunch of money they were spending like lottery winners, rather than retirees on a fixed income.

One day Trish agreed to take Go-Go, Roger and I shopping to Crate and Barrel in Union Square. Go-Go loved Crate and Barrel and had never seen the San Francisco store. She was beside herself with shopping madness. Moments after arriving inside the store, she began waving her arms in the air while yelling my name with her raspy cigarette and alcohol voice, "Diane, oh, Diane, come here and look at this." My girl was cringing and fighting an urge to hide from us. But Go-Go was oblivious to the inappropriateness of her shouting across the store-she was in shopping heaven. Trish does a great imitation of her inside the Crate and Barrel complete with overhead arm waving. They bought a ton of stuff for my home, stuff that was meant to make me feel loved and cared for, but rather fills me with regret and confusion. She died penniless.

Whenever Go-Go gambled she developed a sleepy eye. It was a combination of lack of sleep and alcohol consumption. I also have one lazy eye, that drifts out of focus when I am over tired. Her right eye was the one that drooped a bit after a night at the casino. In this photo, after weeks of gambling, I recognized the eye tiredness right away. Most people don't even see it. It's like her voice after a few drinks, I always noticed the elongated syllables and slurry cadence, but others looked at me like I was crazy. In this picture she is swollen from years of Prednisone, poor diet and too much booze, and she looks incredibly familiar-like herself. I did not recognize what my feelings were until my friend Jane put a name to them. Seeing that photo made me miss her terribly.

Holding Court

hold·ing (hldng) n.

1. Tending to impede or delay progress: a holding action.

2. Designed for usually short-term storage or retention: a holding tank; a holding cell.

court (kôrt, krt)n.

1. The retinue of a sovereign, including the royal family and personal servants, advisers, and ministers.

2. A formal meeting or reception presided over by a sovereign.

I woke up in the middle of the night to someone pounding on the glass door in the back of the house. I felt a rush of fear and dread. I somehow knew, even in my sleepy stupor, this ruckus was related to me. I was spending the night at Tracy Higgs’ house and I heard her Mom and brother walk down the stairs toward the disturbance, whispering anxiously to one another. And then I heard Go-Go. The humiliation was excruciating. Up until now, the Higgs’ home had been a sanctuary for me –a place Go-Go had never been or seen. A place free from her bad behavior. I lay frozen in bed as long as I could stand it, hoping that the house would go quiet again and it would be over as quickly as it began. But that was not Go-Go’s way. Once she had it in her mind to have a conversation with someone after the bars closed, there was very little anyone could do to stop her.

Go-Go began to get nervous whenever I formed relationships with girls whose homes I preferred to spend more time in than my own. I was only eleven, but I was already starting my pre-teen rejection of her. The Higgs’ family adopted me for dinners, sleepovers, after school snacks, and weekend outings-I was even enlisted to canvas for George McGovern for President. The family was from Colorado and I guess you could say they were hippies. Tracy’s Mom, who insisted I call her Barbara, had long hair which she wore in a thick braid down her back. She wore long skirts, Birkenstocks, and drove a Volkswagen bus. She was raising her four kids by herself, which was just one more reason Go-Go was suspicious of her – that and the peace sign on the back of her VW bus.

When I came downstairs Go-Go was sitting on the couch, Barbara Higgs and her oldest son Mark were sitting across from her, held hostage by their own politeness and maybe their love for me. I don’t know what was more humiliating, her smeared makeup and slurry speech or watching my friends sit, like statues, unable to interrupt this bizarre and crazy night time intruder, my mom. She went on and on, which was her way when she was this smashed, speaking about things she would otherwise never dare mention; politics and the upcoming election between Nixon and McGovern, how strange their family was to her, how she wondered why I liked them better than my own family, and much, much more.

I don’t remember how long she stayed or how she got home. In my fantasy I imagine a light suddenly going off for her and she stands up and says goodnight – maybe even recognizing how pointless it is to torture these innocents. A more likely scenario is that one of the boys walked her home-our apartment was only a couple hundred feet away. I do recall pleading with her to please leave and let the family go to sleep. Maybe I was the one who finally got my clothes on and dragged her out of the house and aided with her stagger home. Maybe I stayed home rather than wake up the following morning to face the humiliation of the Higgs family seeing me for who I truly was. Maybe I went back to sleep with the rest of the Higgs family and pretended it never happened. Or maybe I apologized for her, which would also have been my way.

Nine Hours to New Jersey

My brother was waiting to get shipped to Vietnam by the U.S. Army. In 1970 a tour in Vietnam meant there was a good chance of returning in a body bag or wheel chair and this was not something Go-Go dealt with well. One night, she and some of the kids from "the farm" including my brother Tim, were partying and talking about how messed up Vietnam was and debating about whether Tom, who was an electrical technician, would be sent to the front line or not.

The Farm was a house outside of town where a group of young hippies lived, including Tim. Go-Go spent a lot of time out there drinking and getting high, sometimes not coming home until the morning. She didn't approve of hippies until they became convenient party pals. She partied with a lot of people she didn't otherwise approve of.

They must have whipped themselves into quite a frenzy that night because around one in the morning Go-Go, Tim, and two others piled into Roger's Buick and headed to New Jersey where Tom was stationed. They had to see him one more time. Before leaving they stopped at a liquor store and loaded up on booze. I don’t know if they traded off driving or if Go-Go, the “adult” in the group, did all the driving. I can only imagine what they must have looked like piling out of the car at gas stations and truck stops on the highway-Go-Go and the three teenage hippies who were half her age.

I wonder if after she woke up the first morning she was devastated to realize what she had done. She left five children at home between the ages of 6 and 16. Was she mortified? Roger was around, but he wasn’t in the habit of caring for us. When we woke, we assumed she was at the farm, but later she called and told us she was in New Jersey.

According to Tom, they were so hung over all they wanted to when they arrived was sleep. I think he was proud that his crazy Mom and brother got drunk and spontaneously decided to visit him - it was after all the the tale end of the sixties. He didn't know what was in store for him and was probably happy to see some familiar faces. He took them to his favorite beach and to a local dive and introduced them to his pals from the base. I don’t think Go Go was too excited about sobering up with the hippy kids so they headed back after spending two nights. Driving drunk was a common occurrence in my family but no one but Go-Go could claim to have driven from Wisconsin to New Jersey under the influence.

Orange Sunshine

The effects of the drug began to take hold - it was so powerful I had to leave the party. I left with a group of kids who were also on acid. Earlier, on the way to the party, an older boy offered me a tiny square of paper and told me to let it sit under my tongue and not swallow it. I did as I was told.

We went to a park where I began to have intense visual hallucinations looking into the face of one of the boys. When he spoke a light and shape concert would arise behind his face, turning him into a dance of patterns and lights and when he stopped talking he would turn back to his normal self - only in black and white. If I waved my hand trails of light followed my movements. I was enjoying my hallucinations so much I lost track of the time. When I realized it was nearly midnight, I raced home as fast as I could, fearing I would run into Go-Go - after all, I was still only eleven.

I ran the entire mile to my family’s apartment and felt like I could run another mile. I had so much energy. I went up to my room, relieved to have avoided Go-Go. With Neil Young playing on my stereo, I laid in bed enjoying the curious feelings in my body. There were posters all over my walls and one of them was the album insert with a copy of Neil Young’s hand written lyrics. I stood on my bed to read the poster so I could sing along. The words dripped and pooled into little puddles. When he stopped singing, the words would turn back into letters. It happened over and over and each time I would laugh out loud.

My fun was abruptly interrupted when I heard Go-Go drive up, stumble out of her car and come into the house. I quickly turned the light and stereo off and lay in my bed trying to hide in my stillness - she had a way of knowing when I was up to something. I heard her rustling outside my door and before I could breathe again, the door to my room opened. “Diane, we have to talk.”

She climbed into bed next to me, and began to talk about all her children and what they all meant to her - each-child’s special qualities and why she loved that person but why I was particularly special. “Tim is smart”, she began, in her sentimental drunk voice, syrupy and slurry “he’s not very ambitious but he’s smart and someday he’ll settle down,” “but you Diane, you are so special.” She went on and on through every one of my siblings, punctuating each child’s greatness with mine.

And then the hallucinations started again. I had my back to her and was staring at my radio alarm clock. Each time she spoke the clock would disintegrate into a pile of melted metal and white tiled numbers, and when she stopped talking it would pop back into full form. The radio melted and formed, melted and formed, offering me solace from the torture I felt listening to her pathetic drivel. I thought it would go on forever but finally she fell asleep.

I laid in bed for hours, trying not to move for fear I would wake her. As the effects began to wear off, I got more and more uncomfortable but still couldn’t sleep. I finally dozed off and when I woke up she was gone.

My Dad

The first Christmas after the divorce my Dad gave me a pair of ice skates that were much two big. He promised to return them for the right size and bring the skates the following week. I couldn’t risk it. I hid in the closet clutching my skates and refused to come out until he promised not to take them away. I was sure the store would not have the same pair with the powder blue checks and furry strip on top of the boot. I couldn’t bear to lose any more of him.

Go-Go married her BF, Roger, in 1969. They went away one weekend and returned with a diamond on her finger. She was radiant. I was crushed. I vowed to hate Roger for as long as I lived. Living in our apartment in Madison with Go-Go and Roger, I ached for my Dad.

Dad visited us in Madison every Sunday and took us up north to Phillips to visit his Mom every holiday. His dedication to us made me so happy, and so sad. I would imagine him being alone and make myself sick with sadness. I would think about him eating alone, shopping alone, watching television alone and living alone, all things he so recently did with us. I used to get sad before he visited because I would anticipate his leaving at the end of the day. Sundays were always sad days. I loved him desperately and at the end of the visit, he dropped us off and left.

In the beginning there were car loads of kids going off on adventures with him-my siblings, our friends, he never said no - but by the time I was in high school it was frequently just my little brother and I. Those trips were some of the most precious to me because I would have him mostly to myself. We would talk about everything-politics, the educational system, his family, how cars operate, and my favorite, what happened to him in World War II when his plane was shot down over Normandy.

He told me I was smart and I should use my brains. Encouraged me by calling me college material. Go-Go taught me to clean and cook so I could get and keep a man, but my Dad insisted that I get a career, and then worry about marriage and all that. He helped me get my first apartment at sixteen, sent me money when I went to college, and most importantly, wrote me a letter every week, without fail. His letters were never scolding, despite how often I was failing at the things I set out to do. He died when I was twenty six, at a time in my life when I was too screwed up to properly say goodbye.

He'd been dead twelve years when I learned he wasn't actually my Dad. I was visiting Go-Go that summer and she woke me up at three in the morning, inebriated. “Diane, we have to talk.” I was now sober enough and old enough to realize this was likely the thing she had been trying to tell me my whole life. But why now? I was thirty five years old and suddenly I felt so trapped in this hideous childhood dynamic. She went on, “Now I know for sure, I mean, I’ve always known, but I didn’t know absolutely.” “Oh Diane, when I saw you walk off that plane it was so obvious". “You know honey, Roger is your father.”

Her words exploded in my heart, or maybe my stomach, because I jumped out of bed and puked.

Milk and Money

When Go-Go first met Roger in the 50's he was a milk man. He owned his route and was responsible for his truck and cooling systems, ordering and delivering his product, billing and collecting payments from his customers, and giving a percentage to Bowman's Dairy, the owner of the product. He was a veteran of the Korean War, a hard worker and a good money saver.

One day after delivering a families milk, Roger ran over and killed a two year old child. It was a tragic accident but the pain of it made Roger want to get out of the milk delivery business. Later that year he was approached by his friend Mike Gintilly about buying a truck stop outside of Madison. Wracked with guilt about the dead child, Roger decided to take the risk, despite knowing nothing about running a huge operation like a truck stop. Mike later changed his mind and Roger was left to run the operation by himself.

The Madison Truck Plaza was a fueling station, hotel, restaurant, store, and a big rig repair shop. Roger worked day and night trying to stay on top of all the work that needed to be done to own and operate a truck plaza. He came home for dinner, slept, and returned to work around ten or eleven and worked through the night. His business was a success and Go-Go reaped the rewards.

The first evidence of their new prosperity was a vacation for Go-Go and Roger to Las Vegas. Go-Go had never been on a vacation or on an airplane and there was a lot of build up and drama leading up to that trip. They played cards with friends, went to horse races and bet on horses, but Go-Go had never seen anything like Las Vegas. She was a small town girl who had never been out of the state unitl she met Roger.

They stayed in Vegas extra days and when they finally returned home Go-Go had an extra suitcase filled with fringed leather vests for all of the kids and some for our friends (it was the late sixties). She came home with her eyes wide with excitement and stories of what a wonderful place Las Vegas was. She also returned with a gambling compulsion that would eventually ruin them.

Go-Go went to casinos every chance she got. When I was sixteen she took my brother and I to the Bahamas because there were casinos there. I spent nights waiting for her to be done playing black jack, days trapped in hotels, and weeks worrying about the money she had lost. Go-Go continued to gamble long after she could afford to. When she was too sick to gamble she died.

My Friend Jackie

When Russell brought Jackie to dinner at our house, Go-Go was surprised she was a girl. She liked to tell the story of how surprised she was because she just assumed “Jackie” was a little boy.

Jackie was no ordinary girl. She was a tomboy. She played basketball, had a very cool banana seat bike, and wore pants two or three sizes too large. I had never met someone like Jackie, who was fiercely independent, smart, funny, athletic, and a girl. I am certain she is responsible for what has turned out to be a life long attraction to boyish girls.

Jackie was closer to my age than Russell's and I wanted her to be my friend. I didn’t understand her attraction to Russell but mostly, I was unbearably jealous. We were new to the neighborhood and I had no experience making new friends. I began by stealing her bike, well, asking her if I could ride it around the basketball court and then taking off down the street and out of site. I upset her mercilessly. I don’t know why this act of bullying resulted in her befriending me, though I suspect I was relentless.

Jackie had short red hair and freckles and after we became friends, strangers frequently mistook us for sisters. Mom had fun with us. She really liked Jackie and I think she felt sorry for her because Jackie's Mom bought her clothes too large so “she could grow into them”. Go-Go took us shopping and bought identical outfits for us to wear. The first time we dressed alike, I knew Jackie was mine for keeps.

Jackie’s mom was strict. One afternoon I answered the telephone at their house by saying “hello.” Jackie’s mom, Mrs. Consiglio scolded me and then taught me the proper way to greet a caller: “hi, you’ve reached the Consiglio residence, how may I help you?” followed by “one moment please, I’ll call her.” I had never heard anyone talk like that. It was kind of cool. I answered the phone every chance I got so I could practice speaking this strange new language. When I ate dinner at their house I was coached to place my feet squarely on the floor and keep my elbows off the table. Manners were completely foreign to me. I found them strange and alluring. I probably enjoyed the structure but was nervous because I frequently had to be reminded.

Our parents became friends. They had a lot in common, like horse racing and bar hopping between Madison and Chicago where Mr. Consiglio worked. When we were eleven years old Jackie's parents moved to a suburb of Chicago. Luckily, it was close to the race track so my parents visited frequently. Jackie and I spent summers together alternating between her house and mine. We were together when we bought our first bras, smoked our first cigarettes, learned to shop lift (and got caught). We grew up together and I adored her. I think loving her and being loved by her was very important for me.
Here we are as teenagers, many years into our friendship. Go-Go is on the left and we are with Roger.