Authors: Myles (Mickey) Golde
“It’s just that I feel so shitty for Darlene. She doesn’t deserve this. Especially, now since I’ve announced my bid for Congress and I’m getting all sorts of publicity. What if this gets out? The news will kill me and Darlene and I’ll be over.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll handle it”
Bowing his head into his hands, Vic slumped in the chair. “I’m sorry to bother you with this, but I was afraid to talk to any one else.”
“You did the right thing. Just let me know when you have to be in Florida and I’ll work it out with the office. Connie can make the reservations and take care of the details. It’ll be like any other business trip.”
Rubbing his eyes but not looking up Vic, answered quietly, “Thanks Frank. Give me a few minutes and I’ll get you everything you need.”
Standing, Frank put his hand on Vic’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Now get yourself together while I tell Connie. We’re gonna’ need her to stay a little late to make the arrangements. I’ll tell her we’re meeting with an investment group that’s interested in our Buffalo Grove property.”
Closing the door, he left Vic alone.
The Sunday flight to Fort Lauderdale landed at six-thirty.
The next morning, Vic, with Frank in tow, reported to Holy Cross Hospital. Crowds of people were milling around in the light, open lobby as they approached the front desk. A pair of older men in wheelchairs, pushed by orderlies in green scrubs, stared blankly as they waited at the elevator. As people emerged from the elevator to the left of the desk, the orderlies exchanged a high five and moved their patients. A heavyset nurse, conversing with a white-coated doctor bumped Vic and mumbled an apology. Another physician, a stethoscope sticking out of his pocket, hustled to catch the elevator.
Frank, taking charge, maneuvered Vic around a family of four, the mother holding a small child with a bandage over one eye, to a line where they observed others perched nervously in chairs, waiting to hear their names called. Foreign languages mixed with the hum of voices over soft background music filled the air as they moved to the admissions section and found seats after giving Vic’s name at the desk.
After a short wait, they called his name .He registered and was directed to the outpatient surgical area.
Per his request, Shirley was not present. The outpatient waiting room was small, having only six wooden, cloth-backed chairs, light green walls and a worn beige carpet. Out-of-date magazines were strewn across a light maple table and a faint anti-septic odor filled the air.
A white coated female attendant with a long blonde pony- tail, toting a clipboard came in. She checked his name on her list.,
“The doctor will see you shortly, just have a seat. I’ll be at the desk right outside if you need anything before he arrives,” she told them with a cheery smile and returned to her desk. A few minutes later, she escorted a white haired woman and her husband in and delivered the same message.
It was almost a half hour before Dr. Fredericks arrived with his nurse Anita. They shook hands and sat to the left of Vic and Frank.
The doctor, a short, white-haired man, spoke softly and confidently as he explained the donor procedure. Vic was told that he would experience some discomfort but should be fine within a day or two at most; and if no complications occurred, he would be free to travel two days later. He also explained the risks involved for the recipient of the transplant and that it was not in any way a guaranteed cure.
Patting Vic’s arm, the doctor advised him, “David still has a long way to go. He will face several months of recovery and might reject the transplant. He also will be very weak from the ravages of the illness.”
“Will I be able to see or talk to him,” Vic inquired.
“Under the unusual circumstances of this case and David’s weakened condition, I would prefer that he gain some strength before you talk to him.” The doctor paused for a moment and looked away, then turned back. “I don’t know if Mrs. Rabin told you, but she requested that you not be introduced at this time and I have also been instructed not to tell David that you are his father. He believes that you are simply an anonymous donor,” the doctor added, looking over his glasses. He then took Anita aside and quietly conferred with her.
Vic nodded, as the doctor’s words sunk in, “yeah, I understand. I guess it’s best to do whatever is best for the boy,” he mumbled, thinking, probably better for me too.
Frank touched his shoulder, whispering, “I think the Doc is right, wait until he’s stronger. Besides you don’t know what, if anything, Shirley told him about you, so you better talk to her first. Being introduced as his father, might be too much of a shock for him. He should be properly prepared and maybe it’s better this way.”
Coming back to Vic, the doctor turned him over to Anita.
“You can wait here, Mr. Wayne,” she said to Frank, “or come back in four hours. He’ll be in recovery by then and should be able to leave by late afternoon.”
Looking at Vic, Anita smiled taking his arm, “C’mon, let’s get you ready,” she said.
A half hour later, after being prepped and taking a sedative in a small room adjacent to the surgery, Vic was moved to a gurney by Anita with the help of two nurses and was wheeled into the brightly lit surgery.
Back at the hotel, at five forty five, Frank insisted Vic rest while he went in the bedroom to check with their office in Chicago before it closed. Ten minutes later he returned reporting all was well and ordered a light room service dinner for the two of them.
Vic on the couch in the dimly lit parlor, shifted several times, to find a comfortable position to avoid putting pressure on the hip, where the bone marrow had been removed.
“Now that the anesthesia is wearing off it’s getting a little uncomfortable,” he said popping a pain pill in his mouth.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Hey don’t worry Frank, the doctor said I was doing fine and insisted I take these for pain tonight, so I get a good night’s sleep. He said to take one more early tomorrow and after that every four hours, if necessary.”
“Well just don’t try to be a hero.”
Watching the news a half hour later and sipping some tomato soup, Vic turned to Frank, drowsily sitting with his feet propped up on a hassock in a lounge chair to his right.
“I wonder how much of what is going on here is being told to Shirley’s husband. She’s never discussed him in our meeting, except to say that he’s in jail and doesn’t know he’s not David’s father. She did say though that the one thing in their marriage that was good, was the boy and how devoted he and the boy were to one another. It seems inconceivable that he isn’t curious about who the transplant donor is and where he came from.”
Frank shrugged saying, “I agree, but I don’t think it would be wise to ask. I think your old girlfriend is being very secretive about this whole situation. Once you’re outta here, I doubt you’ll ever hear from her or the kid. As far as I’m concerned, there’s something screwy going on. Did you notice how even Dr. Fredericks was somewhat hesitant when you asked about the kid. I wonder if maybe he’s afraid of your girlfriend or her boyfriend. From what you said, we know she’s no angel and he’s somebody that I don’t think anyone wants to mess with. I think we should get the hell out of here as soon as you’re able to travel.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I noticed the doctor too. He sure didn’t want to talk too much.”
Three days later, Vic was back in Chicago at his desk, looking a little pale when Jim Vogel arrived for an appointment to report on the strategy he was setting up for the campaign. With his briefcase on the floor next to his chair, Jim pulled out a pile of papers, placing them on the edge of the desk. Picking up the top sheets, he glanced at them, nodding and jotting a few notes, and then started talking.
“Here’s the way I see it. The District has been represented by a Republican for ten years and the incumbent has decided to retire. I think it’s because of some personal problems, but he’s also worried because the last election was very close and the seat is vulnerable.”
Vic nodded, fiddling with a pen over a pad on the desk in front
of him
.
“For the first time in twelve years, the Democrats think they have a good chance of winning the seat with a new face as a reform candidate.”
“Okay, I agree,” Vic said, chuckling. “It sounds like a good strategy, but come on, that’s just a bunch of rhetoric. How’s this gonna’ really work?”
“That’s where I come in.” Jim grinned. “What the hell you think I’ve been doin’ for the last several months? Hardly a week goes by when your name isn’t in the news and like I told you, the Crime Commission has worked out great. You’ve earned a solid reputation as a concerned citizen who went after corruption in government without being beholden to any of the old party bosses.”
Vic grinned. “You make me sound like a saint.”
“Didn’t I tell you I knew what I was doing? You’re being viewed as a true independent, with a spotless record, both as a businessman and a political appointee. I’ve also done my homework and know your personal appearances draw respectable crowds, with favorable comments from the media when you’re answering questions. More important than all that, though, is the commitments for campaign funds I’ve gotten from folks willing to support your candidacy.”
Jim reached for more papers and placed them on the desk. He was talking quickly now and pacing back and forth as he held up reports and discussed various statistics gathered throughout the district. He also showed Vic a schedule of meetings and events that he recommended for his approval. Vic listened, made comments and asked questions. Two hours later they parted as Jim hurried off to lunch with a potential campaign contributor.
Vic returned to the pile of papers on his desk, but felt his stomach tighten. Could he go through with this? He had to; so many people were counting on him. And he didn’t mean to be dishonest; he was only trying to do the right thing. But God help him, he thought, if anyone else found out about Shirley and David Rabin.
On the Friday evening before the primary vote, Vic made a campaign appearance at the Unitarian Church in Deerfield. It was one of close to sixty gatherings that he’d attended during the past six months. Deerfield was an important segment of the district because of its diverse, well-educated population that turned out to vote in large numbers and political gatherings this close to an election received a lot of media coverage. The opportunity to strengthen his standing the last few days before the vote was a welcome event. His opponents, Albert Fine, a professor at Loyola University and member of the Chicago Park Board and John Finnegan, a lawyer and former alderman of a ward on Chicago’s North Side had appeared previously at the same forum. Tonight was Vic’s chance to review his platform and answer questions, many of which Jim Vogel had prepped Vic to expect. The crowd was quite large, an indication that the race was heating up and that the Deerfield residents were anxious to
hear him
.
At Jim’s insistence, Vic’s two sons, Ben and Jeff, had arrived with Darlene at their side. After shaking a few hands, they waved and sat in the front row.
Darlene smiled at Ben, “nice to see you in a suit and tie dear, but I think some of the folks think you’re Dad.”
“C’mon Mom, I’m only thirty three, but if they do, it’s probably because you look so young.”
“What about me Mom, don’t I look too old to be Ben’s son,” quipped Jeff.
“Yes Dear, but you could at least worn a tie and gotten a haircut, so you don’t embarrass your father.”
“It’s the eighties Mom, look at this crowd, I fit right in.”
Turning to look both ways behind them, Darlene grinned, “I think you’re right, it’s hard to get used to.”
To the side behind a curtain on the small stage, Vic, seeing Darlene and the boys nudged Jim, “that looks so staged. Did you have to involve them?”
Jim cocked his head and shrugged, “Hey, that’s what I do. The crowd loves a family man and with their good looks, having them in front of a bunch like this so close to the election is worth a lot of votes. Wait till you see the pictures in tomorrow’s newspapers. And don’t worry about Darlene, she’s an old pro at these political rallies. It took only a phone call and a promise that the boys would bring her and she agreed.”
“Hmmm, I’m sorta surprised. She’s been giving me a hard time about the election.”
“Well, I asked her to do it for me as an old friend, and for the boys. They’ll be so proud of their dad if you get elected.”
“Vic shook his head and straightened his tie, “Yeah, I guess so,” he said and without looking at Jim asked, “anything else, before I go out?”
“Not that I know of, but watch out for that old guy from the Tribune when you open up for questions. I hear he’s been bad-
mouthing you
.”
“What?” But before Jim could answer, Vic heard his introduction. Squaring his shoulders he walked briskly, waving as he went to the podium, smiling as he heard a few shouts of “Hi, Vic” amidst the applause.
“Thank you Deerfield,” he began, pausing for the crowd to settle down. “I’m here, as you know, to ask for your vote on Tuesday to be your representative in Congress.”
From there, Vic slid into his usual stump speech about growing up on the North Side of Chicago, attending public schools and receiving his Master degree in Business at DePaul. Hearing a few murmurs of approval, he looked at Jim, who winked and nodded.
“My whole life and career have taken place right here in Northern Illinois. I’ve spent many years in the construction business with our headquarters on Lincoln Avenue in Lincolnwood and for the last two years, I’ve also been working downtown, heading up the Crime Commission, where we have made great strides in our attempts to rid the city and state of corruption. I intend to continue that same type of work in Congress. The Federal Government’s wide range of bloated, over-lapping programs are rife with waste, and need scrutiny. With my experience, I know I can make a difference.”