A Summer in Iowa

Part 17 — The Voyage Home

Saturday, August 5, 1972

It was a five-to-six-hour drive from Indianapolis to Iowa City, so the round trip was doable in one very long day. We figured that Mom could drive out and I’d drive back, and that way she wouldn’t have to stay in a hotel overnight. I had second thoughts in the morning at 7:00, when she called to say she was on her way. Paul and I had only gotten to sleep a few hours before.

We had to wash up in our sink before we were presentable enough to leave our room to take our showers. First, however, we stripped our beds and opened the window. After getting dressed, we took our sheets and towels downstairs to the laundry. We had them washed, dried and folded before our friends were up and ready to go to breakfast.

It was a bittersweet time as we ate what was our last meal together. With the exception of Brandon, whose parents were driving up from Nashville and would be staying overnight, we would all be heading home today. Most likely, I’d never see any of them again.

On the way over to the Quad, I picked up a copy of the Daily Iowan for the last time and perused the front page as we waited in line. For six weeks, this had been my routine. This had been my life. These were my friends. I knew that in spite of promises made to keep in touch, I’d never bother to write any of them, not even Paul. Nor did I expect that any of them would write to me. With Paul, in particular, it would just be too painful. And forget about calling — long distance was too damn expensive.

Once we got to the head of the line, perhaps I overcompensated for my emotions by taking more than I possibly could eat. I took a stack of pancakes, scrambled eggs, hash browns with peppers, three strips of bacon, three sausage links, a bowl of oatmeal with brown sugar and my ever-present cup of Earl Gray tea.

As we sat down and started eating, the mood was somber and the conversation was muted. After a while, Larry joined us to everyone’s surprise. Even though he’d stormed out and gone his own way, regardless, he was Kyle’s roommate and our friend. Still, the graffiti had continued in the restrooms and I’d assumed he was behind it.

“Listen, guys,” he began, “I can’t say I understand why you chose a queer over me…”

“We didn’t choose,” Greg interrupted. “You chose to leave us rather than listen to what we had to say. I don’t know if Jeff’s gay or not, and I don’t really fuckin’ care. He’s our friend. You are too. You’re welcome to sit here, but not if you’re gonna try to make us choose between the two of you. Besides, it’s not like I’m ever gonna see either of you again.”

“I guess I was an asshole,” Larry responded, “and I’m sorry.” I couldn’t help but notice that he never once looked my way. I wondered how Kyle had been able to stand being his roommate. Looking at Paul, and having him look at me, I realized how lucky we’d been in that regard.

After breakfast, we all went back to our rooms and packed the rest of our things for our trips home. Mom would be bringing my suitcases and some boxes with her, so I stacked everything neatly in piles, ready to pack up my things when she arrived. I threw the tapes that Larry had marked up into the trash. That way, I wouldn’t have to explain to Mom how the graffiti got there. I’d simply rerecord new tapes when I got home. It really pissed me off that I’d hafta buy new blank tapes though.

Paul’s parents and sister were the first to arrive. It was interesting to meet them. His sister was a spitting image of Paul, but with her hair done up in curls. She was rather shy — so unlike her brother. She was eleven and would be starting in the seventh grade at Lewis Central Junior High in the fall. His mother was tall, blond and had a very outgoing personality. His father was a bit shorter than his mother. He had light brown curly hair and was reticent.

I helped the Moore family pack up Paul’s things and take them out to their car. It was a 1969 green Ford LTD like my own, but it was a Country Squire Station Wagon, with fake wood panels on the sides. My mom arrived just as we finished loading Paul’s things, and I introduced her to Paul’s family. They stayed and helped me pack up my things and carry them out to my car, and laughed that we both drove 1969 green Ford LTDs, even if theirs was a station wagon and mine was a sedan with a vinyl roof.

Paul and I went back inside to drop off our student ID cards and keys at the front desk, and then we returned to our families in the parking lot. We hugged each other tightly. When we parted, I thought Paul was gonna cry. I felt the same way.

“You two seem to have become close,” my mother commented.

“Paul’s my best friend, ever,” I replied.

“It’s a shame we live so far away,” Paul chimed in.

“You’re welcome to come visit any time,” Paul’s father suggested. “Maybe next summer.”

“I’ll be going to summer school then, taking the final two courses I’ll need to graduate,” I replied dejectedly.

“Perhaps for spring break then,” Mom suggested, “and Paul would be welcome to stay with us too.”

“Except I’ll be on the University of Iowa’s schedule,” Paul noted, “and their spring break isn’t anytime near Easter.”

“It would have to be for Christmas break, and that’s not the best time to travel,” I responded. “It’s a good day’s drive between Indianapolis and Omaha, and the roads may be icy. Of course Paul won’t have his license yet, which means…”

“There’s no way I’m letting you drive by yourself across the country at your age,” Mom interrupted. “Not in the summer, let alone the winter.”

I suggested, “Perhaps I could fly…”

“Do you have any idea how much a ticket costs?” Mom asked.

“Maybe by bus or train,” Paul added.

“That’s a possibility, at least for you, Jeff,” Mom replied, “but you’d have to fund it out of your allowance. No way are you going to use your survivor benefits for anything other than your education.”

“That would take nearly my entire allowance between now and December,” I complained.

“I could pitch in half,” Paul suggested.

“You’re going to need that money for your expenses in college,” Paul’s mother countered.

“Well, we’ll keep in touch anyway,” I said, knowing full well that as much as I wanted to maintain my connection to Paul, writing would just be too painful. It would never happen.

Paul got into the back seat of his car with his sister, and I got behind the wheel of mine, and we drove away.

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I was amazed at how much driving Mom was letting me do. For some reason, she was having us take I-80 all the way to I-65 rather than I-74, which was the much more direct route to Indy. Maybe it was because we lived much closer to I-65. Still, it was out of the way and it took us right through the southern suburbs of Chicago, with all of the traffic that involved.

As I drove, we talked about my experience over the summer and how much I liked it. Actually, I loved it. I told her about the group of friends I’d made, thanks to Paul, and how we congregated in Greg and Gary’s room and listened to Greg’s stereo every evening. I didn’t tell her about Larry’s leaving the group or about the graffiti in the restrooms. That would've led to a very uncomfortable discussion of my being accused of being queer.

Of course I didn’t mention reading the Sex to Sexty comic books or the racy topics we discussed and our use of foul language. Surely, she knew the sorts of things teenage boys got into when they got together, but I wasn’t about to talk to my mom about that. I didn’t tell her about the sorts of things Paul and I did in bed at night either. I was never gonna tell her about that.

Then from out of the blue, Mom asked me point blank if I’d done any drinking while there. I guess we were gonna talk about some of the things teenage boys did when they got together. I could feel myself color up and the silence pretty much answered her question.

Finally after perhaps a half-minute, I answered, “Yes, we all did. Dinner wasn’t provided on the weekends, and we had to go out to eat. We usually drank beer when we did. Not once did they ask for ID, even though Paul was so obviously underage.

“We usually ordered two or three pitchers of beer for the table. With ten of us, it amounted to a couple of beers apiece. I realize I could have and probably should have abstained, but it would’ve been awkward. Truthfully, I didn’t even really like the taste of beer, but I found it was refreshing with burgers or with pizza. I never got drunk or got a hangover.”

“Did you smoke any pot?” Mom asked.

“No, never!” I answered honestly. “It wasn’t offered and even if it was, I wasn’t interested.”

“What if all your friends were passing a joint and they passed it to you?” She added. “Would you feel awkward not smoking it if then?”

“At least with pot I’d have an excuse to refuse it. I’m severely allergic to leaf smoke. You know that. I’d just point out that pot is a leaf, and I’d get asthma from inhaling the smoke.”

“So you’re saying you’d smoke it if you weren’t allergic?” Gees, she wasn’t gonna let it go.

“Mom, I’d like to think I’d have the common sense to avoid situations where there’s pot being smoked. Pot’s illegal, and I want nothing to do with it.”

“But alcohol’s illegal too, at your age, yet you not only put yourself in situations where there was teenage drinking, but you drank beer anyway. Would you have gotten behind the wheel after drinking? Would you have let a friend drive after drinking?”

Protesting vehemently, I replied, “I would never drink and drive. I’d never let a friend drink and drive. I wouldn’t get into a car with anyone if they’d been drinking or using any drugs whatsoever.”

Thinking about the rest of what she said for a minute, I responded, “Yes, I did exactly as you said. I put myself in a bad situation and handled myself poorly. Yet the friends I made were basically good guys. They were all friends you’d have approved of. Perhaps I could’ve made friends who were more nerdy like me, or maybe I wouldn’t have made friends at all. The friends I made were decent boys, and I think the tradeoff of their friendship helped make up for what we did.

“Are you gonna punish me for drinking beer?” I asked.

“If asked, I will categorically deny I ever said what I’m about to say,” Mom began and we both laughed. “Basically, I agree with you. Parents don’t like to admit such things, but teenage drinking is normal male adolescent behavior. It’s pretty normal in girls too. Teenage sex is perhaps even more normal, and that can have dire consequences.

“Basically, I think you did the right thing, but there were ways you could’ve reduced the harm. For example, you probably already realize you could have nurtured your beer, drinking perhaps half as much or even less without drawing attention to yourself. That’s a choice you had but one you ignored. When asked what you thought about going to a place that served beer versus one that didn’t, you could’ve opted for the latter. No one would’ve thought any less of you.

“I agree that having friends was more important, but there are limits. If you get in with a group of friends who decide to go shoplift a bunch of records, clearly it’s time to find a new group of friends. Likewise, if you’re with a group of friends who start out drinking beer on weekends and then progress to hard liquor and binge drinking to get drunk, you need to find new friends.

“I have no delusion that you’ll soon leave home and remain sober and celibate. It’s a rite of passage that you’ll go away to college and experiment with alcohol and sex. If nothing else, I want to help you to recognize that when there are no parents around to set limits, that you need to be the one to set limits. That’s part of what’s involved in becoming an adult.

“However, you did drink beer even knowing I wouldn’t have approved and there will be consequences for that. We’ll talk more about that when we get home.”

“We’re getting near Chicago and starting to hit some heavier traffic,” I noted. “Did you want to take over the driving before we go any further?” I asked.

“No, you’re doing fine,” Mom responded. “Besides, we’re going to be stopping soon anyway.”

After a few minutes, Mom said, “Why don’t you take the next exit and we’ll get something to eat.” Good, I was starving but was afraid to suggest stopping so soon to eat. I’d had an unusually large breakfast, but that had been hours ago.

I signaled my intent and moved over onto the exit ramp. As Mom guided me, I turned right, and after crossing a major thoroughfare, we pulled into the parking lot of a Big Boy restaurant. After we were seated, we opened our menus and when the waitress returned, we both ordered a Big Boy combination plate, consisting of a double cheeseburger with fries and a small salad. Mom ordered a vanilla milkshake while I opted for a chocolate one.

While we waited for the food, Mom got a very serious look on her face — more serious than anything I’d seen since Dad died. She said, “Jeff, you know that Tom Franklin and I have been dating. While you were in Iowa, we spent a lot of time together. We’ve become very close.”

“Gees, you make it sound like you’re getting married or something,” I replied.

“As a matter of fact, Tom has asked me to marry him, and I told him that tentatively, I would.”

Holy fuck! “Tentatively?” I asked.

“I told him that I needed to talk to you first before I made it definite. I told him I couldn’t marry him if you were opposed to it. I’m not asking for your blessing, nor do I want it, but I would like your permission for us to get married.

“It’s been a long time since there’s been a man in my life. I don’t know how to explain it to you, but Tom makes me feel like a woman again for the first time since your father died.”

How did I feel about that? Mr. Franklin was one of my favorite teachers of all time, but he was one of my teachers. Could he be my teacher and my father at the same time? Come to think of it, Brian Goldfarb, a classmate of mine, was the principal’s son. I guess there was no reason you couldn’t be a teacher and a father at one time. Besides which, Mr. Franklin taught chemistry, and I was finished with chemistry.

So how did I feel about Mom and Mr. Franklin shacking up? Obviously, they were already doin’ it — not that I wanted to think of either of them having sex. They were old, but they weren’t that old. I certainly hoped I’d still be getting some when I was their age. Shouldn’t they be able to have fun too?

But instinctively I knew that it was about more than sex. Much more. I loved what Paul and I did together, but I loved just being with him even more. Sharing a good meal or reading the same book and then discussing it — those were the things that made ours a relationship. Those were the things that told me I was in love.

The food arrived, but neither of us made a move to eat any of it.

“Well?” Mom asked.

“Do you love him?” I asked in return.

“Very much, Jeff. I haven’t felt this way about someone since your father was alive. I want to spend the rest of my life with him.”

“Then what choice do I have?” I responded. “I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of your happiness. After all, I’ll be heading off to begin my own life in another year.” Finally, realizing how famished I was, I picked up my hamburger and began to eat.

“You need to realize there’ll be some big changes in our lives, and that you’ll be affected too,” Mom replied. “For one thing, Tom would move in with us, probably even before the wedding. It’s silly to maintain two households. Getting used to someone else sharing the house with us will take some patience. It will be an adjustment to be sure.”

Finally, Mom picked up her burger and started to eat as well.

“I’m sure there’ll be some friction at times, as we get acclimated to his annoying traits and he gets used to ours,” I stated between bites of my burger. Mom laughed heartily, but I was very serious. “I can’t think of a nicer guy to move in with us, though.” That got a huge smile from my mom.

I set down my burger, picked up a fry and said before eating it, “I do have a lot of questions. For example, will you take his name or keep Dad’s name.”

“No offense, Jeffy…” I cringed at that and she corrected herself. “I mean Jeff, but I intend to become Betty Franklin. It just feels right.”

“Would that make me a Franklin too?” I asked.

“That wouldn’t happen unless Tom adopted you, and even then, you’d have a choice. We actually already discussed it, as Tom would like to adopt you, but he can’t. If he did, you’d lose your pension and Social Security benefits. Besides which, it doesn’t really matter. At sixteen, your adoption would mean very little.”

Wow! The thought that Mr. Franklin wanted to adopt me nearly brought me to tears. It made me realize just how much I wanted a dad. “What if I want to take his name anyway?” I asked. “It would make us feel like a real family again.”

“I guess you could always go to court to have your name changed, legally,” Mom suggested.

“In that case, yeah, that’s what I want to do,” I replied. “I want to be Jeffrey Lindsey Franklin. That way, I’ll carry both of my dads’ names. And it just so happens that Lindsey is a real given name.”

“Your acceptance is sure a surprise!” Mom exclaimed.

“It’s more than acceptance,” I clarified. “I’m actually excited at the idea of you having a husband again and of me having a dad. Not that it would diminish in any way what we had with Dad, but our family would be complete again, and I really like Mr. Franklin.

“Speaking of my pension, what about yours?” I asked.

“I already checked into it and Dad’s pension is non-contingent,” Mom answered, “which means that I’m entitled to receive it for the rest of my life, regardless of other sources of income or whether or not I remarry. Social Security is another matter, but I’d never planned to take Dad’s spousal benefit. By the time I’m eligible to receive Social Security, my own retirement benefit will be worth far more. Remarrying cuts me off from any entitlement to Dad’s account, but that’s a moot point.”

Nodding my head, I asked, “When do you plan on getting married?” I asked.

“I know most people wait a year or more to get married,” Mom replied. “but neither Tom nor I see the point in putting it off. The best time is when families are off from work and school. We’d do it over Thanksgiving, but that doesn’t leave much time. We’ve decided to hold the wedding between Christmas and New Year’s. That’s another reason why you can’t go visit your friend over Christmas break. Of course Tom will move in before then. His lease is up in September, so he’ll make the move right after our vacation, taking advantage of the Labor Day weekend.

“By the way, would you like some dessert?” Mom asked.

Of course I wanted dessert, in spite of having had a milkshake. I was a teenager, after all. I ordered a slice of apple pie à la mode.

“Speaking of Tom moving in,” Mom continued, “what would you think of Tom coming with us on our vacation to the Blue Ridge Mountains?”

“You’ve got it bad, don’t you?” I responded.

“Yeah, I do,” Mom replied.

“That would mean the three of us sharing a room, wouldn’t it? With the two of you in one bed and me in the other, and the three of us sharing a bathroom?”

“Pretty much,” Mom answered.

“I think that’s a great idea, but there’ll be no hanky-panky during the sixteen days we’re all together.”

Mom laughed and said, “You never cease to surprise me, but I do believe you did a lot of growing up over the last six weeks. And speaking of surprises, I’ve booked two nights in a room in a motel right near here. It’s right by the commuter rail station. I thought it might be nice to spend a couple of days showing you around my hometown. I may have grown up across the state line, in Hammond, but I took every opportunity to take the train into town.

“I didn’t think either of us would want to drive into Chicago itself and certainly not on the bumper car ride known as the Dan Ryan Expressway. Instead, we can take the train in each day. It’s only about an hour to the Loop from here.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I exclaimed. “I guess that’s why we didn’t take I-74 home.”

“I was afraid you’d figure it out and ruin my surprise,” Mom related.

“I guess I was too busy concentrating on driving on the Interstate to think about it,” I replied. “And then there was your bombshell of an announcement that you got engaged. Oh, where’s the ring?”

“It all happened so fast that Tom didn’t even have a chance to buy one yet. We’re going to pick it out together. You’re welcome to come along.”

“I think I’ll pass,” I replied with a laugh.

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Tuesday , August 7, 1972

The two days Mom and I spent in Chicago were amazing. I didn’t consider myself to be a big city person, but I wasn’t a small town guy either. Living in Iowa City had shown me that, and that was a college town with all of the cultural attractions, food and entertainment that an academic environment can bring. No, I couldn’t imagine living in any city smaller than Indianapolis. However, Chicago was a revelation.

I’d never thought of Mom as having grown up as a Chicagoan. To me, Hammond was a suburb of Gary, but the reality is that it’s right on the state line and even as a teenager, she was allowed to take the train into Chicago on her own. I couldn’t imagine ever having that much freedom as a kid.

We packed a lot into the two days we spent there and did a lot. We went to the Museum of Science and Industry, where they had a realistic demonstration coal mine inside. We went to the Field Museum, the Art Institute, the Shedd Aquarium and the Alder Planetarium. Boy, that place was like a circular concert hall with a star projector in the middle. It made the Holden Planetarium at Butler look like the toy planetarium my parents gave me when I was twelve.

Obviously, there wasn’t time to see everything, and we only scratched the surface of the things we did see. We didn’t have time to see Lincoln Park, with the zoo and botanical gardens. We didn’t have time for the much larger Brookfield Zoo either. We didn’t even get to the famous Navy Pier or Wrigley Field. Nevertheless, what we saw was spectacular. We ate a deep dish pizza at a pizzeria called Pizzeria Uno. It was hands down the best pizza I ever had.

Returning to my home in Indianapolis felt strange. It was like returning to another life I’d previously lived, but that wasn’t mine anymore. Iowa had changed me. I felt out of place in my own bedroom. It was surreal. Everything looked smaller than I remembered it. It felt so confining, and that wasn’t only in the physical sense. I felt like an adult who’d been forced to become a child again.

I was beginning to understand how attending summer camp had helped shape Paul’s life. Not that an eight-year-old boy was in any way an adult, but the degree of independence acquired from living with a group of his peers under the supervision of teenage counselors had helped him gain the confidence to make his own decisions. Even if I never saw Paul again, I was grateful for what he’d taught me.

When we got back home, there was much work to do. I spent the first day home putting all of my clothes in the laundry and started washing them. At least the sheets and towels were already done and just needed to be put away. I had to sort through everything and find places to keep anything new that I brought back with me from Iowa. There wasn’t much, but I wasn’t about to let anything happen to the punched cards, printouts and reams of notes I’d made while doing research on the background material for my report. Someday I’d probably toss all of it, but for now, it had great meaning to me.

I’d shot a ton of slide film during our trip to Iowa and Mom had dutifully taken it to Hook’s to have it all developed. Now, it was time to look at my slides, but I didn’t even own a slide projector. Even the cheapest Kodak Carousel slide projectors cost $150, and the ones with zoom lenses and autofocus cost double that. A cheap GAF projector could be had for $30 or more if it included a remote control and autofocus. Even $30 was a lot of money on a weekly allowance of $5.

For our upcoming vacation, I was gonna need an electronic flash for my camera, and those weren’t cheap. Perhaps I’d pick something up at Robert’s Camera while downtown for my allergy shot tomorrow. I could take a look at slide projectors while I was there. Perhaps I’d get one of those handheld slide viewers that only cost a couple of bucks. I could use it to look at my slides until I could afford a real projector.

Mom had gone back to work, so I had the house to myself. It felt so strange to be alone for a change. We’d be leaving for our vacation in the Blue Ridge Mountains on Saturday, and there was much I had to do before then. I needed to sort through my clothes and pack up what I’d need for the trip. At least I’d need only casual clothes and would probably be spending most of my time in shorts, socks and sneakers, and when necessary, a T-shirt. I’d need a pair or two of khakis and a light jacket for cooler nights and in case it rained, but nothing more than that.

I was tempted to check over my car myself and top off the fluids as needed but decided better of it. I needed to have the rear bumper inspected for any damage from being rear ended in Michigan. On top of which I’d been told my brake pads were good for only about 5000 more miles, but we’d already driven over a thousand miles in the interim and would be driving much more than that on our vacation. There was a good chance I’d need to replace my brake pads before we left, so I made an appointment with the mechanic for after my allergy shot. I’d probably end up spending the rest of tomorrow at the garage, but better that than having to take time out for car repairs during our trip.

Looking at the clock, I saw that Mom would be home soon, and it was time for me to start getting dinner ready. She’d left a tuna casserole in the fridge, so all I had to do was to remove the lid and put it in the oven at 350 degrees. I filled a saucepan with water and placed it on the stove, turning on the burner to medium heat. I’d bring it to a boil and add a package of green beans from the freezer when I heard Mom drive up. We’d have a salad, but Mom usually made that.

Mom drove up just as the water came to a boil, so I threw a box of green beans into the water and set the timer on the oven. A moment after that, she walked in the door. I gave her a kiss on the cheek as she breezed in and started to put her things away. I washed and set the table as she got out a head of lettuce, a radish and a cucumber. In no time at all, she had a couple of salads ready, just as the timer went off on the oven. I drained the green beans and put them in a serving bowl with a serving spoon and delivered it to the table. The casserole was bubbling and perfectly brown on top, so I turned off the oven and used the potholders I made in day camp when I was eight to bring the dish to the table, placing it on a trivet and adding a serving spoon.

After we sat down to dinner and served ourselves some food, Mom blindsided me by saying, “On the way back home, we talked about the way drinking and sex were normal behavior for teenage boys. We spent quite a lot of time talking about drinking and drugs, but we never got around to talking about sex.” Oh God, no! Of course I’d gotten The Talk from dad before he died, and I’d had a little sex ed in school, but why did Mom have to bring it up now?