There was a powerful rivalry between Edward and Blake Thaxter that was destined to
continue until one of them drew his last breath. Their biggest challenge
was learning how to use the computers their offspring had prescribed for
them. Ed called his “the machine,” along with other less civilized terms.
To: Barbara Malley
Date: Thursday, May 10,
2001 5:21 PM
I
want you to know I'm thinking of you and will think of you on Sunday, which is
Mother's Day. I wish you were still here, the mother of my wonderful
children, my wonderful ex-wife. I do love you, dear. I wish we had
more time together. Goodbye.
ps
john stark helped me with this
To: Ed Malley
Sent: Thursday, May 10,
2001 6:15 PM
Subject: welcome
welcome to the world
of email!!!
Love,
Barbara
From: Ed Malley
To: Kathie
malley-morrison
July 05, 2001 10:22 AM
Subject: I love
you very much
From: Kathie
malley-morrison
To: Ed Malley
Sent: Thursday, July 05,
2001 12:34 PM
Subject: I love you
very much
WHAT A LOVELY
MESSAGE. THANK YOU DAD. AND I LOVE YOU TO PIECES.
XX
KK
From: Ed Malley
To: Kathie malley-morrison
Subject: save your
Confederate money the south will rise again
From: Kathie
malley-morrison
To: Ed Malley
Cc: Barbara Malley
Sent: Monday, July 09,
2001 5:05 PM
Subject: Re: save your
Confederate money the south will rise again
hi, daddy. that's
definitely one of the old favorite daddy malley
expressions. it
was fun to get it.
love,
kk
From: Barbara Malley
To: Ed Malley
Subject: Re: reply to
outlook express
Date: Wednesday, August
08, 2001 1:33 PM
Congratulations
Ed! That's the best message you have sent yet. I'd love to see
more, more, more. But not of naked ladies. Naked gentlemen would be
okay. Now I'm going to try sending you a joke I sent before.
When you see the beginning, remember to scroll down with the little black triangle on
the right so you will gradually be able to read the entire joke.
I'm also forwarding some pointers on
sending e-mails.
Love,
Barbara
From: Ed Malley
To: Barbara Malley
Sent: Wednesday, August
08, 2001 1:20 PM
Subject: reply to
outlook express
I will never know
how to thank you for sending me that ?summary for outlook express. a funny
thing happened when i started to type this i heard the machinwhene begin
but could not see the actual typing imagine my
surprise when i did start typing i
ALL
MYLOVE
From: Ed Malley
To: Barbara Malley
Cc: Kathie
malley-morrison
Sent: Friday, August 24,
2001 12:22 PM
Subject: what is knew ?
i know love you.
From: Barbara Malley
To: Ed Malley
Subject: Re: what is
knew ? i know love you.
Date: Friday, August 24,
2001 3:20 PM
That is a charming
subject and so beautifully put. I only wish you had written something
under the subject. I love you too, dear. Can you see, when you
scroll down, you left the page blank? Did you mean to do
that?
Much love, Barbara
From: Barbara Malley
To: Ed Malley
Subject: my long e-mail
to you
Date: Saturday, August
25, 2001 9:50 AM
You seem to have
the hang of how to read beyond what's in the space I'm writing in now. I
told Kathie how well you had read to me a long joke I sent you, expertly
"scrolling down" with the little black triangle on the lower
right of this screen.
I'll be around much of
the time today if you need help. I will want to watch the tennis at 2:00
and the golf at 4:00 (because Tiger is in it and doing well), but I would still
have time for you if you call.
Love, Barbara
From: Ed Malley
To: Barbara Malley
Sent: Saturday, August
25, 2001 5:01 PM
Subject: Re: have missed
you
From: Barbara Malley
To: Ed Malley
Subject: Re: have missed
you
Date: Saturday, August
25, 2001 5:14 PM
Tsk tsk, you hit Reply
okay, but you didn't write a message in the white space, like this one I'm
writing in. I WANT A MESSAGE! Do try to write me a couple of lines
next time. Love, Barbara
From: Ed Malley
To: Barbara Malley
Sent: Monday, August 27,
2001 10:45 AM
Subject: re: john stark
we
have been plauying aound so decided to call .
From: “Barbara Malley”
To: "Ed
Malley"
Subject: Re: john stark
Date: Monday, August 27,
2001 4:13 PM
Hi, I got word that you
have been playing around. You were always pretty good at that--chuckle,
chuckle. Love, Barb
From: Ed Malley
To: Ted Malley
Sent: Monday, August 27,
2001 3:35 PM
Subject: it has been a
long timeof
how are all your
business problems going? how about your family? how about you?
after all YOU are the compass and pater faimilias and responsible fo r
all of us the rest of us.
somerhing went wrong how
in the name of the devil did i get down
here????
All my love THE OLDE BUZZARD
From: Barbara Malley
To: Ed Malley
Subject: thinking of you
Date: Monday, September
03, 2001 2:58 PM
I'm so glad you didn't have to stay at the hospital. That's a good sign
that your mini-stroke was a mini-problem.
Have you been watching the U.S. Open? When I see the great ones smashing
the ball back and forth, it makes me think of our younger days with the
Thaxters. Cruising to Nantucket, going ashore for tennis and lunch, an
afternoon at the beach, back to the boat for Happy Hour--didn't we have a great
time? Love,
Barbara
From: Tim Malley
To: Barbara Malley
Sent: Tuesday, September
04, 2001 7:12 PM
Subject: Update
from Florida
Hi Mom-
Spoke
to Dad when he first arrived home from the hospital tonight. Got a little
choked up as if to prove my basically maudlin nature. I admit to crying
over second rate TV shows and hope that characteristic doesn't undercut the
true depth of the love I feel for all my family.
Tim
From: Ed Malley
To: Barbara Malley
Subject: reply to
yours of9 4 01
Date: Friday, September
07, 2001 10:43 AM
i am supposed to
rest for a weekbut i could not resist your loving letter of those Happy Days
From: Ed Malley
To: Barbara Malley
Cc: Barbara Malley
Sent: Wednesday,
September 19, 2001 11:41 AM
Subject: i still cant
understand why every thin goes wrong at this point
????love you forever old
old dad
From: Barbara Malley
To: Ed Malley
Subject: the mail came
through!
Date: Wednesday,
September 19, 2001 11:55 AM
Hi dear, I love you
forever too. I was so glad to see you had successfully sent me that
lovely message.
Love, old, old Mom
From: Ed Malley
To: Barbara Malley
Sent: Monday, October
01, 2001 3:44 PM
but it is|nt stll get problems with that interrupts when i
try to enter NEW MAIL john is so busy he not available
until
saturday. meanwhile please send with
your material instruction to print so i may heth h save for
my files i sti
the l think you are he\\\\\\\ ll
[nn ow what in ell
lha vihinkhave i done wrong now/ISTILLthink yiue o are the
greatest
old buzzard
From: Barbara Malley
To: Kathie malley-morrison
Sent: Mondday, October 01, 2001 8:16 pm
I wrote Dad that I thought he might be clicking on New Mail, thinking
he was then sending a message. I reminded him to click on Send
instead. I have two other shorter messages, full of frustration over
working for 4 hours with little progress. Poor old Buzzard.
Love, Mom
From: "kathleen malley-morrison"
To: “Barbara Malley”
Subject: Re: Old Buzzard
Date: Monday, October
01, 2001 9:08 PM
oh, poor dad. but that's
priceless!
love,
kk
From: Ed Malley
To: Barbara Malley
Subject: bring you up to
date
Date: Friday, October
05, 2001 11:33 AM
sure and begorry tis a
beautiffffffuuumorning hope it stays that way
wednesday was certainly
a disasterrrrrr this is my first attempt since.
keep in touch all my
love
..
the old buzzard
From: Barbara Malley
To: Ed Malley
Subject: Re: bring you
up to date
Date: Friday, October 05
2001 2:36 PM
Honey, all you have
to do when you hit a few letters too mmmmmany is to gently back space, using back space key to the right of plus and minus key.
Love, Barbbbbb
(Use black triangle on right to see your message and see what I'm talking
aboutttttt.)
From: Ed Malley
To: Barbara Malley
Sent: Saturday, October
27, 2001 10:56 AM
Subject: HOO HOO HOORAY
I,M OUT TO WORK TODAY
we had a great but quiet
time. basically it was fun to have no responsibilities hpoe you get this
From: Barbara Malley
To: Ed Malley
Sent: Saturday, October
27, 2001 11:24 PM
Subject: Re: HOO HOO
HOORAY I,M OUT TO WORK TODAY
Hi dear, welcome
back. You stole your subject from the Seven Dwarves--right? I'm
glad you had a good
vacation.
Much love, Barbara
From: Ed Malley
To: Barbara Malley
Subject: i am back right
now i am completely frustrated i hate this damn machine
Date: Saturday, October 27,
2001 1:41 PM
EDWARD W MALLEY JR.
From: Barbara Malley
To: Ed Malley
Subject: Re: i am back
right now i am completely frustrated i hate this damn machine
Date: Saturday, October
27, 2001 2:10 PM
You asked on the phone
if I got anything else. I got this with your message contained in the
subject. Down below, where the message should be, you wrote your name in
capitals. When you were there, that's when you could have written a much
longer message. It shows you know how to get there, anyway.
Much love, Barbara
(below, using
black triangle on right--you will see another message from me under your
subject)
It sounds like you feel
about the damn machine the way I used to feel about the damn golf.
From: Ed Malley
To: Barbara Malley
Sent: Tuesday, November
13, 2001 2:01 PM
Subject: just a little
practise
there was a young man
from Racine who invented a sexy machine it was both
concave and convex would fit either sex and
was the damndest thing ever seen). a
l[ttle wickedness
From: Barbara Malley
To: Kathie
malley-morrison
Subject: Dad’s
novel & Blake Thaxter
Date: Friday,
November 23, 1:50 PM
Dad
just called. Blake has bought a machine and thought he could get a
guy to teach him for less than $60 an hour. After all was said
and done, Blake is paying the same, to Dad's obvious glee. Moreover
Dad's guy stops by to see how he's doing and charges nothing.
Then
he went on to tell me he will be starting work on a book about himself,
only it will be written in novel form. Did you know about this,
Kathie? The title is The Wastrel, and it won't have anything in it
about his family, it will be only about him.
What a coincidence, that
the three of us should all decide to write a book about Ed. I do hope the
old dear won't get discouraged. He used to be a marvelous writer, so who
knows what he might be able to come up
with.
Love, Mom
From: Ed Malley
To: Kathie
malley-morrison
Cc: Barbara Malley
Sent: Monday, November
19, 2001 4:21 PM
Subject: dear ladies
such a week as i have had ?ikeep doing very well
and then some thing goeg
wrong and i have one half page spoiled and to make
matters even worse i fool around for
another half hour as you probably know the past week has been one thing after
another.at the moment itn is that damn mouse . the one that i have been using
is a fancy thing that just quit. forjunately it came already installed on the
pc.again fortunatelye were able to use it. now UNFORTUNATELY
there is no question but that old age has finally got to me .more
tomorrow if i blow this
and Blaje leqrns this before i do shall hang my self from the highest tree if i
can fimnd one O B .
From: Barbara Malley
To: Ed Malley
Sent: Monday, November
19, 2001 4:46
PM
Ed, this is absolutely
the best e-mail you've written yet. I am truly impressed with what you've accomplished. You're getting
there, so stay away from that tree and noose--we all love you and
need you to be around, sending more wonderful e-mails.
Much love, Barbara
9-9-02
Attachment from Tim
after visit to his father and Aliceann
It’s
hard to write anecdotes about the Old Buzzard after managing to contain the
welling sense of sadness and loss just long enough to make my exit. Some of it
spilled on Aliceann in the driveway, as she in turn spilled hers, but most of
it flooded out in the first few miles on the Turnpike. It was too brutal a look
at the disintegration of a man who was such a large part of our lives.
One
thing I did notice about Dad is that he has gotten creepy. I think it must come
from Aliceann telling him so often, as I later learned, to “…stay put, Edward.”
In secret rebellion he inches along in his chair (forwards or backwards, no
matter), creeping to some destination known only to him. He is guided by lines
of black tape on the tiled floors of the house, an ILS [Instrument Landing
System] for the disabled pilot.
I noticed the same behavior at the golf course, when on the second hole I
decided it would be nice (and hopefully non-lethal to our three-and-a-halfsome)
to let him drive our cart. In unknowing mimicry of Aliceann, I advised him at
each stopping point (reached at somewhat less than a walking pace) to “stay
right here in the shade, Dad.” I would take my shot and return to the cart to
find it…turned 180 degrees. Or behind our companion’s cart when it had clearly
been in front of it. Or impossibly placed between two trees Concerned that I
might find him impossibly placed in a tree I began trying to catch
him in the act, but it was several holes later before I found him creeping
imperceptibly from the quiet shade of an old Eucalyptus to a nearby concrete
slab that must have been used to park idle equipment. When I asked him where he
was going, he said “Oh, nowhere, just moving around.”
Flashback to Summer
1985
Although he’s creeping up on seventy, Ed
is as dauntless, bold, and calamity prone as ever. Take away his boat and his airplane with all
their potential for misfortune, and you’d think the man might welcome a spell
of tranquility. But no. Even amid such serene surroundings as a golf
course, Edward seeks out adventure where lesser men might hang back.
Take the new water hazards that some
fiendish engineer claimed would solve the drainage problem at the golf club. They wind picturesquely across fairways that
could now be called un‑fairways.
The pro shop is doing a lively business in twenty‑five-dollar retrievers
because there’s no way the average golfer isn’t going to lose a lot of balls in
those damn ditches.
But who ever accused Ed of being
average? He’s not about to sacrifice any
of his 25‑cent second‑hand balls (he kindly keeps me supplied, too) if he
has anything to say about it.
Not long ago we were on the fifth hole
when I hit my second shot into the ditch.
We’d had a lot of rain, so there was more than the usual amount of muddy
water for the ball to conceal itself in.
Poking around with a golf club, Ed gives an exclamation of triumph when
he spots it.
“Careful, dear, the bank looks
slippery,” I say, as he starts over the edge.
In his hurry to join me, he is wearing sneakers instead of cleated golf
shoes. One foot skids, then the other,
and down the bank he slides, looking rather like an otter, only less playful.
Not neglecting to rescue my ball, Edward
clambers up the bank and stands there, his shirt and pants covered with mud.
“You go on without me,” he says. “I’ll walk back to the club and go home.”
It’s such a beautiful, balmy October
day, easily in the seventies, that I hate to see him leave. “Gee, honey, it’s so warm out, I bet that
mud’ll dry right out. Do you really have
to go home? Couldn’t you keep on
playing?”
“Okay, why not,” Ed says agreeably. We continue on to the next hole where there
is a foursome of men on an adjoining tee.
It isn’t hard for them to guess what happened to Ed.
“And he was going after my ball,”
I report.
“You must be pretty grateful,” one of
the golfers says.
“Oh, I am,” I say. “But I thought it was a shame he didn’t stay
in there and find a few more while he was at it. Couldn’t convince him, though.”
The golfer studies me thoughtfully. “And your relationship to him is . . .?”
“Well—um—“ (I cannot tell a lie), “I’m
his ex‑wife.”
The foursome looks at Ed as if to say,
“No wonder!” and go on their way.
 |
ED AND FOURTH-BORN CHILD
|
North Palm Beach
From Tim:
Halfway up the ninth fairway, looking for
my drive, which I had clobbered but sent among some trees scattered on the edge
of the fairway, I realized that it was 12:15 and time for Dad's pills. Our companions
were on the other side of the fairway. I stopped under the shade of the trees
and gave him his pills along with a bottle of water. He took them in groups of
twos and sips of water, but on washing down the last pair he swallowed wrong
and choked. I had seen him when we went out to dinner the night before
struggle to contain a choking fit, but this was worse. He could not get a
breath to clear the obstruction.
With increasing anxiety I stupidly patted
his back and then he suddenly slumped over, absolutely motionless. I yelled at
him, a million awful thoughts running through my mind in that split second,
mostly that my father was going to die and I was totally unprepared to help
him. I grabbed his head, planted my mouth over his, held his nose and blew. He
stirred a little, and I did it again. His head weaved a bit, his eyes opened;
he gave a little cough and mumbled that something had caught in his
throat. The whole thing couldn’t have lasted more than thirty seconds.
We finished the hole and had lunch with Bud and Cheryl from St. Louis, as unprepossessing a couple as you could hope to be paired up
with. Both were in sneakers and playing with rented clubs like me; both were
visiting aging, ailing parents and struggling with the emotional
fallout. Dad was a bit slurry in his attempts at conversation, but I
could hear the underlying charm and sincerity that he always displayed with
strangers he warmed to, and I think they could too.
After saying our goodbyes and leaving the North Palm Beach Country Club we went
to Circuit City to try to find Dad a better mouse. I parked his chair in the
aisle marked “peripherals,” told him to stay put, and began scanning the
shelves for the best mouse for a Parkinson’s victim. Out of the corner of
my eye I watched him slowly leak down the aisle in reverse. I let him go, and
eventually caught up with him in the “printers” aisle, which I have no doubt was
not a destination but an intermediate stop on his journey. By way of
defense he told me that Aliceann is always telling him to stay put, and he
likes to be able to look around. God help us, taking pleasure in such simple
actions.
Back at the house Aliceann confirmed that when she takes Edward food
shopping or to Home Depot or Office Max she finds him creeping off despite her
stern admonitions that he stay put.
We never did get much done with the computer. It only took about 20 minutes to
realize how diminished his ability is to grasp both motor and cognitive skills.
I switched his trackball mouse, a poor choice for a beginning pointing device,
for a regular mouse. Being more intuitive, it should have been much easier, but
for him it was learning all over again. It was easier to line the pointer up
with the target, but then he would have to look at his hand to be sure to stab
the correct mouse button, upon which the pointer would move.
On Saturday I awoke early to a fading thunderstorm, hoping to put together an
instruction manual of sorts, using screen shots to give a visual picture of how
to do things. By 8 o’clock I had all but given up, victim to cheap color
printers incapable of reproducing a readable screen-shot in black-and-white,
and badly sidetracked trying to figure out what had become of his MS Office
Suite, there but unusable. I thumbed through a few of his black three-ring
binders of saved e-mails and invoices from John Stark, impressed by the effort
and deeply saddened by the outcome. Dad got up, struggling at first to put a
coherent sentence together. We had a too-hasty breakfast, during which he
perked up enough to complain intelligibly about his latest aches and pains. I
said my goodbyes to him in the kitchen and walked to the car with Aliceann,
where we both fell apart.
As for her, I give her a B+ for being a person ill-equipped for this kind of
responsibility who has risen to the task with great strength and
dignity.
When Ed succumbed to Parkinson’s two years after his exodus from the Westwood apartment, Aliceann described his final days during our sad phone call:
Palm Beach Gardens
January 9. 2003
Edward
really enjoyed life when we first got back to Florida. . We would go to doll
shows and have a great time. He had an electric wheelchair he loved. I
wouldn’t let him use it in the house and even outside I had to watch him
because he’d be all over the road. Ted came down for a visit and had a
fit when he saw the way Edward careened up the street.
He was in a nursing home and he got out of bed, thinking he could just leave
and go home. A nurse screamed at him to stop, but she was too late. They took x-rays and he had to have surgery on his hip. I told Blake and Blake
came into his room and said, “If you break your other hip, I’m going to shoot
you.”
On Christmas Eve, he fell again in the nursing home. I yelled for
the nurse. He had to have surgery again on his hip.
The morning of January seventh he had hospice in his room. I came in
that afternoon with the kitten we had picked out when it was 2 weeks
old. Edward loved seeing the kitten. Around four o’clock I went
home to feed the kids and take them out for a walk. I went back to the
nursing home. It was dark already and freezing cold—it was when Florida
had that freezing spell. I would get Edward bundled up in that L. L. L .Bean jacket like Frank’s and take him
out for a walk in his wheelchair.
So I was sitting and talking to him and he was tossing and turning. I
said, “We’re going to get through this. I’m going to be okay,
don’t worry about me.” Then I told him I loved him. He didn’t say
anything, so I said, “If you love me, Edward, squeeze my hand.” He did,
and then he died. Aliceann’s voice breaks. Wives #1 and #2 weep
together.
Aliceann is confident she will see her husband in heaven. I remain a doubter, but who knows? Ed proved he was a champion at overcoming obstacles like threshholds. . . . |
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