alt.obituaries Memorial Deadpool
My first job out of college was in the
Chrysler Building in New York, 1983. As luck would have it, Annie, a neighbor
and close friend of my mom, worked in the same building, for American Airlines.
Annie was a great help in getting cheap airline tickets for me in those days
before Expedia and Travelocity. I'd call her, tell her when I wanted to travel,
go see her at lunchtime, pay her, and she would hand my tickets to me.
On one of those occasions, when I walked into
her office, there was a striking woman, maybe 60, sitting at Annie's desk. Annie
introduced the two of us—first names only—and excused herself to go to another
room to print out my tickets. We struck up a conversation. Turned out she was
there for the same reason I was: Annie was getting her tickets.
Over the course of the conversation, I came to
the unshakeable conclusion that I had met this woman before. When I mentioned
this to her, she politely said, "No, I don't think so." I continued
to press the attack: "Are you from Seaford? Are you a friend of my mom's?"
All queries were met with a smile and a shake of the head. But I was
determined to figure out where we'd met.
When Annie returned to the room a few minutes
later (with a mischievous smile that I remember to this day), I told her I was
SURE I'd met Maureen before. Where would that have happened? She walked up to
me, smacked me in the back of the head, pointed, and said, "That's Maureen
I turned and stared, and it hit me: Of COURSE it's Maureen O'Hara, you f$%king
idiot. The red hair, the crazy green eyes, faint remnant of a brogue. And
in that second I went from relaxed conversation to stammering embarrassment,
with scenes from The Quiet Man and Miracle on 34th Street playing in
Annie reminded me that one of her
responsibilities was making last-minute arrangements for the airline's VIP
travelers, of which Maureen O'Hara was one. I apologized to Maureen for not
recognizing her. She told me apologies weren't necessary, shook my hand, and
told me it was lovely chatting with me. I took my tickets and headed back to my
office shaking my head in disbelief. "Are you a friend of my mom's?" Jesus . . .
R.I.P., Maureen O'Hara. It was lovely chatting
with you, too. Hope you're a long time in heaven before the devil knows you're
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