7. Metaphors in Rain
Lynn was floating on her back in the warm ocean off Ocean City, New Jersey, eyes closed, completely relaxed under a clear blue summer sky. I remember how we struggled to get out past a heavy beach break, but Lynn was brave, and we were now gently drifting in the doldrums, where time stands still, between the shore break and the even larger waves out on the sandbar. It was deep there, nearly over her head.
“Tom?” she said in a lazy voice. “This is what it felt like.”
“What?” I asked.
“That moment, when Glenn first brought us into the studio.”
It was years since she’d been on Jeopardy!, but I immediately understood what she’d never been able to quite explain before. I gently pulled her towards me and gave her a hug. As I set her off floating again, she said, “It’s because you were there, like you are now.”
When we first met, before we were married, she asked me if I would take her to the beach in Atlantic City, the place where she and her grandmother would go when Lynn was little. Atlantic City was a very special and emotional place for Lynn. Her grandmother, Elma, basically raised Lynn while Lynn’s divorced mom worked long hours as a legal secretary for a federal judge in Wilmington. Elma—they loved each other dearly —was politically active, and loved traveling to the Democratic National Conventions, taking little Lynn with her in 1964 and 1968. (Chicago 1968 is another story for another time.)
In 1964, the DNC was in Atlantic City. At 9 years old, Lynn, witnessed what was probably the most significant, and certainly the most emotional political speech of the 20th century by the Attorney General of the United States. A watery-eyed Bobby Kennedy gave, after a twelve minute ovation, what has now come to be called the “Stars” speechº less than a year after the assassination of his beloved brother, John. Lynn was precocious, empathetic, and reading on a college level. That speech, that man, had a most profound impact on her. She sensed that Bobby was making a plea to look to the future, acknowledging that the past, through our common effort, makes that future possible. The world’s future was forever shattered 4 years later, plunging us into jeopardy forever. But again, that’s another story.
So we drove the two hours to Atlantic City dressed in our bathing suits. This was before the casinos, when frozen French Canadians would travel south in the summer to this “poor man’s Bahamas” paradise, thaw under the hot sun, and buy “Crème glace!!! Crème glace!!!” from beach vendors who knew their market.
“Let’s just walk along the beach,” she said.
“But look at those waves!” I said. “They’re great!” (I love to bodysurf.)
“I’m scared of the ocean, Tom. I can’t swim. I never really go in. I’m sorry. You go ahead though — I’ll watch from shore.”
“It’s okay. I understand. Come down to the water’s edge: we’ll just stick our feet in and see how cold it is, watch the people.”
We stood ankle-deep in the warm water and talked. I pointed out the people standing just beyond the beach break and that it wasn’t very deep there. “See how people are standing and chatting and bobbing in the swells? The waves never break there, see? So it’s a safe place to enjoy everything.” I showed her how the waves came in sets and weren’t as bad between sets.
“I won’t let anything happen to you; you don’t have to be scared as long as you stay with me. You don’t have to be afraid of the ocean, but you have to respect it. It’s so big, and we’re so small that it doesn’t even know we’re here. It doesn’t want to hurt anybody, and it won’t, as long as you’re aware, and never forget where you are, as long as you respect it.”
She looked up at me, eyes wide open. “Get me out there!” I waited for the pause between the sets of waves, and, holding her tightly, we waded out beyond the beach break and relaxed where it was safe.