Night Owls: A Tribute to Dad
Dedicated to my father Jack H. Norris
Jack Norris behind his desk Greyhound Bus Terminal, Cleveland 1949
I’m a night owl, and my father is to blame. He worked two jobs to support his brood so in order to get my one-on-one I stayed up late, very late. After homework, approved television was a diet of news, travel journals and variety shows but following the last newscast father and “daughter number three” shared old movies while munching on sardines in mustard sauce and saltines. Dad was fond of operettas like Rose Marie or Naughty Marietta starring Jeanette McDonald & Nelson Eddie. “Ah! Sweet mystery of life at last I’ve found thee,” we’d sing. More intriguing to me was Lena Horne in Cabin in the Sky an all African-American cast. Dad proclaimed Lena a “torch singer” and then (like always when introducing new words) he proceeded to define the term. It was at that pivotal moment I declared myself a fan of “torch singers”. During commercials dad critiqued the movie du jour. He pointed out great dialog or retched triteness, historic accuracy or slipshod inaccuracy. He expressed disdain for predictability or lackluster lyrics. I never asked questions but waited for my father’s effusive explanations.
The emergence of the penny stash in the majolica sugar bowl signaled gin rummy night with Uncles and buddies. Hours after siblings scooted off to bed I remained. I didn’t ever ask to stay up I was just never told to go to bed because I was unobtrusively quiet and most helpful. I fetched beer and refilled the pretzel bowl. Selfishly I stayed up to learn gin rummy by my father’s side watching over his shoulder as he played. He would (without utterance) point out possible run combinations. I watched intently as he drew and discarded. His movements were deliberate as if recorded in slow motion so I could catch on. After sufficient amount of “lessons” dad suggested his 8 year-old play a hand. I was paired with Ted, a bus driver, who had honed his skills on layovers. There was great amusement among the observers when demonstrated that I had not only grasped technique but after a few verbal slings of “mini snatcher” “are you fishing?” I also talked the talk. The “ah hah” moment came when I timidly announced “Gin” and scooped up the pennies.
Yes, music, vocabulary, history, critical thinking, strategy and a million things taught in stealth manner by my father who avoided triteness, sang like Nelson Eddie and delivered the most amazing dialog.
Susan, Lucy, Dad and Me 1947 Rocky River, OH
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