Dream Catcher: A Memoir (77 page)

It was obvious to us all that the relationship between father and son, and indeed between Uncle Sol and the rest of his family, was
strained. “I get the feeling,” Birdie says, “that Sonny didn’t know that his mother was a convert to Judaism until he was in his middle teens. I think something about learning this traumatized him. My theory, which I can’t prove, is that this knowledge changed his attitude. Perhaps he reacted badly because of some twisted attitude concerning his father’s part in this. Someday, I think in Sonny’s writings, when he dies, it will be revealed why in the world he had this animosity toward his father. As far as I can see, Sol was a good father and meant only good for his son, and I know how proud he was of him. My brother Sol was dear to me, but he never really opened up about this. It was sad. . . . But maybe we will never find out.”

Since hearing from Jay, I have had the pleasure of receiving letters from many more Salingers as well as an invitation to a family reunion this summer. As it happens, it falls a few days after Larry’s annual family reunion, and it’s being held just a couple of hours away in the big Midwest.

This year, for the first time, I, too, get to say to my son, “Have fun. Go play with your cousins.” Imagine that.

O
ne of the hardest things, for me, about writing a memoir, was the number of people in my life who deserved volumes and received scant mention, or worse yet, were not included at all. This in no way is a reflection of their importance to me—the shape of the book somehow took on a life of its own. I’d like to use this opportunity to acknowledge my love and gratitude for some friends who are unnamed or unmentioned, for reasons of structure rather than of the heart.

Becky, there was no way to do justice to our childhood adventures, and how much your friendship has meant to me without writing another book entirely. Ava, the same thing about our teenage years. Louise Barraclough, the same starting in our twenties. . . . “It’s just an illusion.” My friends at Cambridge School: Allison and Sara, Revson, Kent, Tremmie and softly falling snow, McCabes all, Brian M., Penny and Tom, Jonathan R., Jane, Ethan, Jocko, Paul B., Larry and his Harley, the late Peter Thompson, Freddy, Aubrey, all the girls in White Farm Dorm who held the walls for me when I thought they were closing in, and Mr. Peirce. My friends at NEC; especially Jay and Amy. My friends at Boston Edison, Local 369 and my boss, the late Kenny Muir. To Ian Frazier and Barbados, “I had the time of my life,” I really did. From Brandeis: Professor Jeffrey Abramson, I learned so much from your classes that has stayed with me, and Susan Hardwicke. My friends from Oxford and London: Barbara and Jonson, Penny Stokes, Daniella Israelachwilli, Stephen P., Joyleen, HJWS, Gregor, Rob London, and classmates Elspeth, Terry, and Adrian. My friends from Harvard: Mary Greer, Henry Klumpenhouwer and Liz Pereboom, Mia and Tys, the Music Lounge gang, Lansing, Gabriel, Dean Guy Martin, and John—“If you hear a song in blue.” My “godfather” Alan Trustman, who always seems to appear just when I need him.

Dr. Peter Gombosi, my love and thanks.

Dr. Richard L. Goldstein, my general physician, you have made bearable the times I was disabled, and made me feel secure in the knowledge that I always can count on your integrity and skill, and your thoughtful, insightful, honest,
human
care. I am truly grateful.

Dr. Bob Blatman, after five miscarriages, I still like to see your face. I wish we’d had better luck, but your kindness and humanity made all the difference.

David Hirson and family, I love you dearly.

Special thanks to Gracia Trosman and Angella Brunelle.

Here I’d like to thank friends who supported me, morally, critically, and/or financially in writing this book: Mary Greer, Drew Ryce, Phyllis Teiko, Peter Gombosi, Matthew Guerreiro, Kevin Starrs, Marilyn Ross, Jill Hooley, my in-laws, Sig Roos and Ruthie Rhode, Brad Bellows and Jacqueline Berthet, Christine Hemp and Badger, Margery Chaikin, Alex Sheers, Holly and Ric Browde, Ted Lowenkopf, Liza Prior Lucy, Wayne and Adrienne Edisis, Mr. and Mrs. Roos, Lou and Eileen York, Linda Morgan, David Hirson, Henry Klumpenhouwer, and Alan Trustman.

I’d like to thank my agent, Robert Gottlieb of the William Morris Agency. I’d also like to thank his former assistant Amy Ziff and current assistant Lauren Sheftell for their thoughtful and intelligent support. My publicist, the elegant Lynn Goldberg, is beyond compare.

The entire team at Washington Square Press has been phenomenal: Judith Curr, publisher and person extraordinaire; Nancy Miller, I couldn’t wish for a more sensitive and intelligent editor, I’m so lucky to have you. May I add that any faults in this book are those I’m sure Nancy tried to talk me out of. Like Nancy, her assistant, Anika Streitfeld, has been a joy to work with and her help has been immeasurable. Linda Dingler, the book looks beautiful inside and out.

Many thanks to my lawyers, Phil Cowan and Stephen Sheppard (at Cowan, DeBaets, Abrahams & Sheppard). For keeping body and soul together, thanks to J.S.N., consummate professional, of Hill & Assoc., and the staff of Gavin de Becker, Inc.

Finally, I’d like to thank my husband and son who are the light of my life.