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From: Jim Mortellaro <Jsmortell@aol.com>
Date: Tue, 13 Jul 1999 14:35:39 EDT
Fwd Date: Wed, 14 Jul 1999 09:10:33 -0400
Subject: Open letter to Fred Lehmberg... An Ode To An Ode


Hey Fred...

I see him in me, my dad, I mean.  The way he writes with
passion.  The way he looks and acts, the way he just can't be
mean.  The way he has of saying so much with not a word, just a
look.  And that look.  I do that too.  I share his passion and I
share his love.  It cannot be genes alone, can it?

Nah.  Maybe there's a thing with life, where the spirit bears
close resemblance to from whence it came.  Maybe we're a little
like the Big Guy?  Maybe a little like the old guy? Maybe the
spirit has it's own genes, too.  Maybe.

Whatever the answer, it does not belong to me. And so I can,
with impunity, say anything I wish. Because aint nobody else got
a clue to spew.  Who can nay say me?  My theories are just as
good as anyone else's theories.  Let them rank and rant.  Let
them decant.  Let them spite and fight and yell and scream. Let
them dream. I don't much care.

I know better.  I know they know nothing. But neither do I.  Sue
me.

Fred, I know you are somewhere else.  And I also know my dad
will be joining you soon.  He's got that look. And he's pretty
old now.  I saw him just the other day.  He had a spark in his
eye that I haven't seen in a long time.  He took out one of his
old pipes and some of that 40 year old tobacco he's kept since
he quit smoking that long ago, and sat outside in the shade and
had a pipe full.  It was almost like having dad back again, the
young one I miss.  The one with the sharp look in his eyes, the
piercing stare which bored though my heart.  A short smile on
his face.  A lost reverie found.  The old man was my dad again.
But how can that be?  Nothing changed.  Musta been me.

On thinking about it, it was me.  And it was him.  His spirit,
his soul, his life force, call it what you will, burst upon the
scene like an unexpected clap of thunder from a flash seen
almost at the same time.  It shocked me. But then I thought long
and hard and realized that we are not the lump of meat which
begins to die after only a few years on this planet.  It's the
thing within which gives the thing without the means to be.  And
that thing, whatever it is, revealed itself once more. Maybe for
the last time.

So I wept a little as I drove off.  But the feeling went away.
After I read Al's 307, when he said he was no one special
because your spirit left this mortal plane. Everyone loses his
dad.  I had to laugh at that I did.  See, Fred ... you are
special.  Which makes him so.  I know and so does he that you
just had to go.  The ol' bod' couldn't work no more.  But just
you wait, Fred.  He'll be along any time soon.  Just like the
rest of us maroons.  To take the place we all deserve, along
side our dads drinking Grand Reserve.  Reminiscing about all
those times you gave to me and I accepted. I just hope I can say
that I did the same for someone(s) else.  Shit, Fred, you just
can't take without giving. It's not expected.  We don't lose our
dads.  We merely see the thing to which his spirit gave life,
wither and pass.  Wasn't you, wasn't me.  It was a gas, when he
said that.  But then I understand, it's modesty which rears it's
head.

Some son's shame precludes admitting that you are they and they
are you.  "In my father's house there are many mansions, and
each one a' them got a fireproof floor.  Got to have your own
harem when you come through he door.  Got to play your harp
until your lips bleed."  It's the law.  Poor bastards they are.
Ashamed of their dads.  I'm glad I had mine. And I know Al's
glad he had you.

Been really neat knowing you Fred.  I'll pass along my best and,
if you don't mind, do me a favor please.  Tell my granddad, the
one I barely remember, that while mine rarely speaks of him, his
love shows through the sparsity of words.  With my dad it's a
little different.  It's not that he's ashamed, just that it's
hard for him to talk about him.  But shoot, he already knows
that.

Never mind.  Glad we had this talk.

Al? He's gonna be fine.  Just a little ruffled until he comes
through that door, the one on the other side.  Best be sure you
meet him there when he does.  Oh, and I suspect that he's like
my own dad.  Aint gonna talk much about his old man.  Not that
he is ashamed or anything.  It's just that he can't. It's a
thing with some guys...

I'll send along a mass card.  It's more for him than you, you
know.  It's for both your spirits.  One needs the other.  Always
will.  It's a little tough down here alone.  But you know that
too.  You lost yours one day long past.  Didn't you?  Al lost
his.  I will lose mine too.  Shame.  Somehow, I think we brought
all this on ourselves.  Just a feeling.  Just my own opine.

Pray for us, Fred.  It's lonely down here.  Must be one of the
tests they give to us.  If you pass and weep, then you lose what
you keep.  Funny, it aint got nuttin to do with IQ.  Now there's
one for the books.  Something new.  Be seein' ya'.

Love,
Jim