The Book on Mary

My senior year in college I had a good friend who I didn't care to speak to before then.

I had only known Mary Dillon her by her politics and reputation. She was active in the college Republicans and the president of the pro-life group on campus - not a very popular position at our school. She ran for Student Association president junior year and I wouldn’t vote for her. She didn’t win.

I became friends with Mary Dillon (we always called each other by both names- I’m not sure why) the next year when she came to work at the campus TV station where I was program director. She had been a guest on our McLaughlin Group type show in the past and now she wanted to be a news reporter.

I’m sure in the beginning I was still a bit wary of her. I saw her as a prude, a Reagan era conservative. Somehow I thought that these things mattered to our life on campus. I’m sure Mary Dillon accepted me right away. That’s just the kind of person she was- kind and open, funny and hardworking. I soon found out that she wasn’t a stuck-up ideologue I had imagined but actually more fun than most people I knew in school. She was up for almost anything: a basketball game, dinner, a party. She would always have one more drink with me at the local bar if we thought a party had ended too early.

During one of those drinks I told her that I hadn’t voted for her. I don’t remember the discussion exactly, but I know she must have been a bit hurt. Of course she didn’t hold it against me. My image of her had changed so totally from a kind of scary “other” with views I found laughable or dangerous (Star Wars?, trickle down economics?) into one of my most trusted friends.

Of course I saw immediately what a great student leader she would have been. Much better than the fraternity brother who won election mostly on, well…being a fraternity brother. Mary Dillon’s political ideas would not have affected our campus too much - she wouldn’t have had the power or desire to say, remove the funding from the pro-choice group on campus. I was not alone in seeing campus politics like national politics. We didn’t want the best person for the job, but the person we agreed with the most.

I can’t help thinking of Mary Dillon and morals together. Both the kind she held and the kind she taught me. I don't mean to say she changed my mind on any topics - nor did she try to. She taught me to change how I viewed people – not politics. The real lesson here was to go a bit deeper, beyond the simple caricature you have in your head. In college they were teaching us how to become independent, questioning thinkers. From Mary Dillon I learned not to judge a book by its’ cover.

First Assignment

I started taking a writing class last week at Penn. Yes, I know, all of you are saying "its about time" So this is our first assignment- we were given the first line and a format to follow. Apparently I'm usually a bit too long winded, so I had to cut out a lot of good jokes. But this story actually did happen. Kind of like this:


This really bad thing happened to my car. Actually, it wouldn't have been that bad- except that it was my mothers' car. She was always very worried that something would happen to it when she lent it out. Something did.

There was a friendly rivalry at the time between me and my brother Alex: whoever helped Mom with a houshold task or computer problem was deemed, for a few days, the "good son". Of course we put up with it because we love our mother, and we wanted to borrow her car.

Mom's green Mazda was nothing fancy. It had a funny smell and was rarely cleaned. My Mom was in the restaurant business and was constantly hauling food around. There were many stains of indeterminate origin. Sometimes you would find an errant carrot underneath a seat. But a free car is a free car.

Almost every time I asked to borrow her car Mom would tell me about what Alex did wrong the last time he took it.

"You know he changed my radio from NPR to that awful sports station" she'd say.

"So I guess he's not the good son this week?" I would say, putting in a plug for myself.

He should have known that it's part of the code when you borrow anybody's car- especially someone who will always remember what you did wrong. One time after a particularly egregious offense by my brother (I think he brought it back empty) I decided I would do something extra special to secure the "good son" title for all time.

I went to the store and bought all manner of Windex, special "auto wipes" of course heavy-duty auto Febreeze. The first step was removing the bigger debris and then vacuuming. Somehow the car had acquired a layer of dirt. Not your average dirt, but ground in detergent commercial style dirt. The fabric cleaner and some other deodorizers helped to almost get rid of the menu of food smells that had been left behind. I worked hard, but it felt good because Mom would be happy.

I drove around my neighborhood looking for a parking spot and thinking of all the points I would earn. I live in Queen Village which is a very nice neighborhood on the very outside edge of South Philly. In most parts of South Philly there are no laws- not when it comes to parking. A lawn chair put out in your spot will save it. In some places you can park in the middle of the street - right where the median should be. Everyone just knows all this.

Queen Village is a bit different. There are notoriously too few spots and the ticket givers aren't afraid to venture there. When I found a legal spot I could actually get the car into I was surprised. Maybe I was giddy from the smell of all the cleaning products. I’m still not sure. I somehow didn't see the sign post that ripped off the drivers side mirror. Very bad. This was something you couldn't fix with heavy duty epoxy and tape, believe me I tried.

Right away I had lost all my "good son" points. No matter how shiny the car was it didn't matter. The replacement mirror was a completely different color than the rest of the car- always a reminder to me about what I had done.

Mom doesn't worry about her car anymore. She sold it. I walk to the grocery store. And I still help her with her computer.