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| Cess & Diane, 1956 |
When we got home from our cruise I learned that my close friend from high school, Phoebe Diane Bowman Comstock had died in Indianapolis.
This is what Diane and I had in common in high school. We were both relatively poor, both without mothers, and both with fathers who had serious issues of their own. (Although Diane's father did some loving things for Diane, like moving to an apartment close to Butler University when it was time for college.)
We were kids on our own. Decades later we wondered at how we remained relatively good girls and kept our noses to the grindstone.
Well, we also had this in common: We were both smart. But Diane knew it. It took me a while to figure it out about myself.
Diane went to Butler, married a brilliant, exciting, high maintenance man and had a long, distinguished career as head of the English Department at the very high school we attended.
I got a job, went to business college, married a brilliant, exciting, high maintenance man and left town.
Forty years later, though the magic of technology, we reconnected. We became great pen pals. What could we possibly have in common?
Literature. Not all readers love to write - but all writers love to read. We e-mailed things to each other no one but a literary nut would understand.
One day I wrote her about having to stop in a very small town while traveling through the south to put my husband, Ken, in the hospital for a few hours. I described to her how I had breakfast at 6 AM in a red neck cafe with six men wearing bib overalls.
Her reply: "How Eudora Weltyish of you."
Years later, after seeing yet another adaptation of "The Great Gatsby" at the Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis, and after having just re-read it for my book club, I wrote Diane complaining about how sick I was of Gatsby and how I no longer thought it was the great American classic.
She lit into me. I was forced to learn even more little Gatsby symbolic nuisances.
The last time I saw Diane, about six years ago, I flew to Indianapolis and spent the day with her. She was ill but we got her wheelchair into my rental car, drove downtown and I pushed the chair for blocks while she pointed out new parts of the city. We stopped in a bar for lunch and had burgers and fries.
It was a fun day for both of us.
Good bye Phoebe Diane.
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