600 Hours of Edward

can’t leave the parking lot. I can’t see.
    – • –
    I’m home at 1:08—I stayed in the law firm’s parking lot for nearly a half hour, crying and listening to R.E.M. and reading and rereading my father’s letter. I dig around in the refrigerator, but there’s little to eat, since I threw out all my food, a decision that I continue to regret. I retreat to the kitchen table and sort through the surprisingly voluminous (I love the word “voluminous”) amount of mail that I brought in after I returned home.
    It’s mostly advertisements—and a box from Amazon.com, which flummoxes me, until I remember ordering that book
He’s Just Not That Into You
, which is of little use to me now. One other letter catches my eye. It has the
Billings Herald-Gleaner
’s logo on the return address.
    I tear it open.
    Dear Edward,
    I was very sorry to read of your father’s passing. He was a good man, and I know how much he cared about you. He’ll be missed by a lot of people.
    I’ve been meaning to drop you a line for a while now, but things have been so busy. When I saw the unfortunate news about your father, I decided that I shouldn’t leave this undone any longer.
    I’d like you to give me a call here at the
Billings Herald-Gleaner
so we can set up a time to chat. You can reach me at 657-1315. I retired from West last year and took a job here as the operations director. It’s a lot different than teaching high school shop, but I like it so far.
    Anyway, we can talk about my big move and what’s going on with you after you call. Please do, Edward. I’m looking forward to hearing from you.
    Best wishes,
    Nathan Withers
    Apprehensively, I dial the number in Mr. Withers’s note.
    “
Herald-Gleaner
, Withers.”
    “Mr. Withers, it’s Edward Stanton.”
    “Edward, my boy. How are you?”
    “Fine.”
    “Glad to hear it, glad to hear it. Edward, I was stunned to hear about your dad. How are you holding up?”
    “OK, I guess.”
    “It’s hard. You live long enough, it happens. Both of my parents are gone.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Ah, it’s OK. Happened a long time ago. That’s the nice thing, Edward. It doesn’t hurt forever. Eventually, you just remember the good things. That’s comforting.”
    “That sounds nice.”
    “So you got my letter, then. I want you to come see me, Edward.”
    “When?”
    “When is good for you?”
    “I’m busy tomorrow, and I’m helping my mother Wednesday.”
    “How about Thursday, then? Ten a.m.? Will that work?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good, Edward, good. I’m looking forward to seeing you.”
    “Yes. Why do you want to see me?”
    “Let’s talk about that when you get here. I’ll see you at ten a.m. Thursday, OK?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good, good. Take care, my boy.”
    – • –
    Tonight’s episode of
Dragnet
, the fourteenth of the first season of color episodes, is called “The Subscription Racket,” and it’s one of my favorites.
    In this one, which originally aired on April 20, 1967, Sergeant Joe Friday and Officer Bill Gannon are investigating a ring of young people who pose as students and fraudulently sell magazine subscriptions door-to-door by telling potential customers that the money will go for good causes rather than telling them the truth: the money will go into their pockets.
    Sergeant Joe Friday and Officer Bill Gannon eventually arrest a young couple who are engaging in fraud—the young woman by changing the dollar amount on a check and the young man by using the Medal of Honor his father posthumously won and passing it off as his own. Sergeant Joe Friday takes a dim view of this.
    The young man declares that his father gave his life for the medal. And Sergeant Joe Friday says that the young man will have to give up a little of his own life for using it. Sergeant Joe Friday seems to think that the young man’s father would not be proud. I’m glad my father was proud of me.
    – • –
    Enough of my letters are turning out to not be complaints that I ought to rethink my description of them. I now have a large collection of complaint letters and a smaller collection of letters of regret, letters of pleading, and now, tonight, a letter of awe and thanks. I prepare a new green office folder for this one.
    Michael Stipe:
    One of your songs made me cry today. I don’t like to cry, but I seem to be doing a lot of it lately, and to be honest, I think I would feel worse if I didn’t cry. Also, to be fair, itwasn’t just your song that made me cry.