29 Nov Fifty Years Is a Long Time

My mother and me in Santa Paula, California

Today marks the 50th anniversary of my mother’s death. It’s hard to believe it’s been that long. I miss her deeply. And I always laugh when I wonder if she’d recognize me if we passed each other on the street. I’m an old guy now. She was 49 when she died. I was 22.

She died after a long bout with breast cancer. Sadly, it wasn’t the only illness she had to deal with. She moved from Detroit to Los Angeles when she was a teenager for her health. She lived with relatives in Boyle Heights until the rest of her family followed.

When I was 11 she was diagnosed with a brain tumor. It was benign, but it changed all of our lives. And the effects of the operation followed us for the rest of her life. But she was loving and giving when she was healthy. And I could always count on her. She was beautiful and in her younger years and attracted a lot of attention on the SoCal beaches. After she was married and had my sister and me, she was active in her women’s club, where she was president.

In the late fifties, she appeared on a national television show on NBC. It was called “It Could Be You.” The program was just like “This is Your Life,” but for the not famous. Unbeknownst to her, her fellow women’s club and my father had been gathering information on her life. The show opened with a bright studio light roaming the audience, suddenly stopping on some unsuspecting person with the announcer saying, “It Could Be You Betty Gates.” They brought her up on stage and told the audience the story of how my father and mother met.

In the early 2000, I read in the Washington Post that NBC had just donated transcripts of all their early 1950s daytime shows to the Library of Congress. “It Could Be You” was part of that donation. So, every other Monday, when I had a day off, I would spend the day searching for the transcript of my mother’s show on microfiche. I almost threw up a few times as I whizzed by the various episodes until I learned to look away as I went through the archive. I had no idea which date the show aired so I had to go through a lot of film. But one day, I FOUND IT! I have the entire transcript of the show which tells the wonderful story of their first meeting in Detroit. Then, after WWII, my father made his way to LA to go to USC where they met up again.

On their first meeting, they exchanged walnuts with each of their names written on the shells. My mother still had hers. It was falling apart and was held together with rubber bands. My father, on the other hand, ate his later on that day.

Today I have lighted a Yarseit candle for her. Yarseit is Yiddish for anniversary and is used on the anniversary of a loved one’s death. I don’t usually do this, but this year I wanted to. I miss her. And I’m sorry that she never got to meet my wife, Susie and my daughters, Lily and Eve. She would have loved them.