Christmas in Times Square, 1970

I checked my watch for the fifth time and peered through the hotel’s lobby window, almost willing my taxi to get there. My flight was scheduled to leave in less than two hours, despite the weather.

“Departures are stacked up, but they’re moving,” the airline representative assured me. “Even with all the snow, our crews are on top of it.”

If only I could rely on ground transportation the same way.

Eight-thirty and no cab. Picking up my bag, I hurried over to the front desk and waited until the elderly harried clerk finished with her current guest before she turned to me.

“Still waiting, sir?” she asked, a patient smile on her face.

“Yes, but I’m running out of time,” I replied, pointing to my watch. “Do I have any other options?”

She shook her head. “You could take the subway, I guess. I wouldn’t recommend it, though. With everything slow or disabled, you’d be stuck watching for an empty car for hours.”

I glanced over my shoulder. “I always heard New York cabbies could drive through anything.”

Her eyes told me that wasn’t the right thing to say, but to her credit, her smile never faded.

“It’s only be fifteen minutes, sir.”

“Twenty-five,” I corrected. “My wife’s not going to be happy with me when I return.”

The clerk patted by hand. “I’m sure she’ll overlook your late arrival as long as you made it there safely.”

“You don’t understand,” I said, rubbing my eyes to ease the pressure in my skull. “She warned me if I didn’t get home by Christmas Eve, she was leaving me.”

The woman cocked her head. “Forgive me, but what’s so God awful important that your wife would demand you arrive at a predetermined time despite extenuating circumstances?”

I felt my cheeks redden. “I’ve run out of excuses.”

“Sir?”

“It’s because of my kids,” I said with a heavy sigh. “I have exactly been the best father.”

The clerk nodded. “You’re on the road a lot?”

“Yes, but it’s even more than that.”

Another guest approach the desk, so I occupied myself with the postcard rack while the clerk helped him. Every once in a while, I checked the street in front of the hotel for the cab, but few cars passed by. A true snow shutdown.

“I’m sorry, sir, you were saying?” she asked when she returned.

I smiled. “Never mind. I don’t mean to burden you with my problems. I think I’ll just wait by the front door.”

“Do you want me to call the taxi service again?” she said.

I shook my head. “Patience, right?”

I went back to my scouting location and pressed my forehead against the glass, feeling the winter chill cooling my skin and easing my growing migraine.

Pedestrians strode by me, all intent on getting to their destinations before the storm worsened. Two or three times, their sudden movements caused them to slip and fall on the icy sidewalk. Others passed by them without even pausing, leaving the poor souls to drag themselves back to their feet by hook or crook.

After a while, I returned to the front desk. My agony must have been obvious by the concerned expression on the clerk’s face.

“Are you okay, sir? You look pale, if you’ll pardon my observation,” she said.

“I could use a couple of aspirin.”

“Why didn’t you say so? Give me a moment.”

The woman disappeared into the office behind her and quickly returned carrying her purse. She rummaged around inside until she pulled out a small tin, removed two white pills, and handed them to me.

“I’ll get you some water,” she said.

As I waited, I turned to watch a young couple heading toward me with a child of barely four in tow. They wore the worn-out parent look I recognized from my own face and smiled at them.

“Christmas is hectic, isn’t it?” I said.

The man rolled his eyes, but his wife flashed me a grin. The child, a girl from what I could tell bundled up in neutral winter clothing, clutched her little fists and yawning.

“Terrible storm out there,” the husband said, pointing to the snowy scene behind me. “I didn’t think we should venture out into this much bad weather, but my wife thought our daughter deserved an adventure. We never have snow where we live.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Never? Are you from Southern California?”

“We are,” the woman said, with an obvious tinge of pride.

“Same here,” I said with a chuckle. “Trying to get home has been hard.”

The man let out a low whistle. “You’re not going to fly in this mess, are you?”

“I have to,” I replied with a resigned smile. “My family’s waiting for me.”

“Good luck,” he said. “Better you than me.”

“Us,” his wife reminded him.

The clerk returned with a glass of water and handed it to me. I stepped aside to swallow the pills as the couple spoke in hushed tones to her. I only caught a few words, but one of them was “Santa.”

I waited until the family left the lobby for the bitter winter evening before thanking the clerk and returning her glass.

“I hope you feel better, dear,” she said, touching my hand. “I’m sure you’ll be leaving soon, though.”

I glanced at my watch for the umpteenth time. “It’s getting pretty tight.”

“Maybe you should call her?” she suggested. “She’ll probably understand.”

I shook my head. “No, she’s not home right now. You know, running around for last minute gifts and such.”

“That’s too bad. Well, you’re welcome to lie down on the sofa over there if you believe that will help you feel better.”

“Thanks, but I think I should stay up to watch for my ride.”

She stood staring me for a few moments.

“Is something wrong?” I finally asked, eyebrows arched.

The clerk shook her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“That’s okay. What is it?”

She frowned. “You mentioned you have children?”

“Yes, a boy and a girl. Twins.”

“Twins! How lovely. I was just thinking about my kids,” she said, tearing up. “They’re all grown and moved away, of course, but I know how much I would’ve hated being without them on Christmas.”

I smiled politely.

She wiped her eyes with a tissue. “Don’t mind me. I’m an old softie, I guess.”

“The problem is my job keeps me out of town a lot,” I explained. “My client can’t tell the difference between a holiday or a regular day. I work most weekends, too.”

“It must be worth it, right?”

I considered this for a while. My career allowed me to provide for my family in ways I couldn’t if I had chosen a different path. My kids had attended private schools since they were old enough to go. We had a nice house with a pool in a gorgeous neighborhood. And yet…

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” the clerk said, stuffing her used tissue in her sweater sleeve.

“That’s okay,” I assured her. “And thanks for asking. Gives me something to ponder about on my flight home.”

She glanced at the clock on the wall across the room and frowned. “I’m starting to worry the taxi’s not going to show. Do you want me to help you with other arrangements?”

“Will a bus work?”

“No, I think they’re on an adjusted schedule because of the street closures,” she replied. “I could make a couple of calls, though.”

“Would you mind?”

“Not at all. Why don’t you have a seat in the lobby and wait?”

I resigned myself to spending another night at this hotel as I slid into the soft cushions of the well-worn sofa. Things could be worse than an extended stay at the Astor, but I would pay dearly for the delay.

I must’ve drifted off because the desk clerk’s voice startled me more than it should’ve.

“I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t think I should let you sleep too long,” she said with an apologetic smile.

“That’s fine,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “Did you find something?”

“No, but I did call the taxi company again. They said your cab will be here in five minutes, ten tops.”

I rose and stretched my tired limbs. “Thank goodness. I appreciate your help.”

“No bother at all, sir. That’s the service we provide here.” She extended her hand. “It’s been a pleasure. Have a safe trip.”

I shook it with a nod and headed back to the front door.

True to her word, the cabbie skidded to a slippery stop in front of the hotel five minutes later. I ducked into the wind as I climbed into the backseat, throwing my luggage to the other side.

“You’re going to JFK, mac?” the driver asked as he slid into his seat.

“Um, yeah. American Airlines. Can you hurry? My plane takes off at eleven o’clock. I’m going to be cutting it pretty close as it is.”

He glanced at me in his rear view mirror. “I’ll do what I can, but no guarantees. The roads are bad in spots.”

“That’s all I can ask,” I replied, leaning back in my seat.

The cabbie drove through Time Square, only slowing for red lights and meandering pedestrians shuffling through the snow. My headache had finally started to fade, so I closed my eyes to prevent the stress from watching the traffic bring it to the fore.

I must’ve fallen asleep again, because the low, sonorous blast of a truck horn startled me to consciousness.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Another jerk on the road, that’s all.”

“Where are we?”

I could see his grin in the rear view mirror.

“The Belt Parkway. You’re going to make your flight with minutes to spare,” he bragged.

“How did you manage that?”

He threw his hands up in the air. “Hey, I’m that good, ya know?”

I chuckled, making a mental note to give him a generous tip when the time came.

Traffic within the airport slowed to a halt. My driver took every opportunity to steal another car length as he swore and gestured at the other drivers, paying particular care to level most of his abuse at his fellow cabbies.

“Lousy hacks can’t drive their way out of a paper bag,” I heard him muttering.

“Will we make it?” I asked, but one glance at his face told me that wasn’t a good time to nag him.

Multiple car horns blared into a single cacophony, forcing my migraine back to the surface. I kept silent, though, figuring there was nothing I could do to help us through the tangle.

“What terminal is American in?” I asked after a long while.

“Eight,” the cabbie said. “Just on the other side of this snarl. If we ever get through it, that is.”

“What’s the hold up, do you think?”

He shrugged. “Probably an accident. Someone tried to take the other driver’s half of the middle or something, who knows?”

I smiled at that expression. More a Chicago expression than a New York one, I thought. I wanted to ask him where he was from, but he didn’t seem to be the type to engage in small talk.

Fifteen minutes later, cars began moving again. I stared out the window as we passed bythe cause of the traffic jam.

“Pretty bad wreck,” the cabbie said as he brought the cab back up to speed. “Hard to believe people are that stupid.”

“It’s slippery out there,” I mused.

“Yeah, so you don’t drive like an idiot,” he replied, laughing for the first time the entire trip.

We encountered no further delays all the way to the terminal. I hurried out of the taxi and shoved a fistful of cash into the cabbie’s waiting hands.

“Hey, this is too much?” he protested. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” I replied, turning to the entrance. “Merry Christmas!”

“Happy New Year to you, too,” he shouted.

To my surprise, there wasn’t a throng of travelers crowding the inside of the terminal. I found the first class check-in nearly empty and in short order I had my boarding pass.

It took clever maneuvering to thread my way through the mass of humanity seeking their connections, but finally, after hours of waiting, I made it to my gate. The exhausted agent glanced at my boarding pass and typed a few keys on her keyboard.

“You’re ready to go, sir,” she said, handing it back to me. “We board in ten minutes.”

“We’ll be leaving on time?”

“As far as I know, Mr. Dillon. They’re deicing the jet right now. The runways are clear, so there’s nothing stopping us for the rest of the trip.”

“Good. Thanks.”

I stood aside to allow the few stragglers behind me check in. From the crowds hugging the wall and filling the seats, it looked like the plane would be full. Everyone wanted out from the winter blues and into the Los Angeles sunshine, I mused.

“Attention passengers for American flight 255, boarding will begin for our first class travelers shortly. You may proceed to the jetway entrance. Please make sure you have your boarding passes handy for our gate attendants,” a metallic voice intoned.

I nudged past a gaggle of families blocking my way until I reached the front.

“Good evening, sir, welcome to American Airlines,” a young woman said with a glowing smile. “Boarding pass?”

I handed her the card and waited until she checked my name off the manifest. She then gave it back to me.

“Have a pleasant flight, Mr. Dillon.”

I nodded my thanks and proceeded down the jetway.

Despite all the delays getting on the plane, the take-off and subsequent flight were problem-free. I slept most of the way, only waking to have a late dinner and a couple of glasses of champagne.

“We’re about to land, sir,” a smiling flight attendant told me, shaking me awake. “You need to put your seat up and buckle up your seatbelt.”

I thanked her and complied. My seatmate kept her eyes out the window, lost in thought.

“We have to prepare for landing,” I told her.

She spun around and stared at me. “I’m sorry?”

I pointed at the seatbelt clasped across my waist and shrugged. “We’re almost there.”

“Oh,” she replied, my words finally registering. “I apologize, it’s just that…”

Her voice trailed off, but I didn’t press her for more. We all have our minds elsewhere or wish we did.

It took forever for them to open the doors to let us out, but then we were freed from our metal prison at last. After I picked up my suitcase, I jumped aboard a shuttle bus to long-term parking.

By eight o’clock, I was speeding north on Sepulveda in my tan Cadillac, desperate to make it to Burbank by nine. Luckily for me, most of the holiday travelers stayed off freeway, getting me to the outskirts of the city in record time.

I drove by my house before I turned the car onto Buena Vista. The hospital rose over the palms lining the street. I pulled into the parking lot and hurried to the entrance.

After checking in and receiving my visitor’s badge, I got in the elevator to the third floor. The nurse at the welcome desk checked my ID and called for an orderly to escort me inside.

“How is she?” I asked.

“The same, Mr. Dillon,” she said, her eyes warm and sympathetic. “Well, you’ll see.”

The orderly arrived, and I followed him down the hallway through a locked door into another shorter corridor. We stopped in front of one of many nondescript rooms. He turned the key and stepped aside.

She lay on her side facing the window. Her arms and legs remained secured to the bed frame. I approached on tiptoes, trying not to disturb her, but she rolled over and faced toward me, her eyes vacant.

“Hi, Susan,” I said, stooping low to kiss her on the forehead, but she said nothing. She didn’t even smile.

There were still bandages on her wrists though less bulky than when I last saw her. At least she was healing physically.

“Have you seen the kids yet?” she said, her voice dry and raspy.

“No,” I told her, taking a seat next to her and grasping her hand. “I will after I leave here. How are you feeling, honey?”

She glanced down at her restraints. “Why?”

“You don’t remember?”

Susan shook her head.

“It’s probably for the best.”

We sat in silence for some time, our hands clasped, gazing at each other. There were some many things I wanted to tell her, but decided none of them were worth it right then.

“Sorry I was away,” I finally said. “The snow in New York was crazy.”

Her eyes widened. “You were away?”

I nodded. “Work, you know.”

“What about the kids?”

I looked up out the window and saw a plane flying over the mountain to the north. “They’re okay. Someone’s watching them.”

“Who?”

“My brother and his wife.”

She smiled for the first time. “They’ll spoil them.”

“That’s what the best uncles and aunts do.”

Susan laughed at that. Good, she still had her sense of humor. That was something.

I glanced at my watch. “I have to run out for a while. Stop by and see the kids, pick up a few things at the store. I’ll swing by later and check on you, okay?”

“Sure,” she said, dropping my hand.

I bent down to kiss her again and then turned away.

“Jack?” she called.

I stopped and faced her.

“Tell them I said hi, okay?”

“Of course, honey, I will.”

I left the room and walked down the corridor to the locked door, pressing the button to summon an escort to pick me up.

“Thanks,” I told the nurse at the desk. “I understand what you mean.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied. “I hope you have a Merry Christmas.”

“You, too.”

I pulled out of the parking lot and got back on the freeway. It didn’t take me long to get to my exit.

Fifteen minutes later, I was driving past the towering gates to the main road that went through the center of the park. I took the scenic route until I reached the fountain that stood at the intersection.

I walked the well-manicured lawn, stopping at points to read the markers along the way. When I arrived my destination, I halted as though it was the first time.

The inscription on their stone told the whole story:

Here lies


Scott Anthony Dillon and Sarah Ann Dillon


Born July 4th, 1962


Died Christmas Day, 1969


May God grant them eternal rest

I touched the headstone and said a quick prayer.

Would it ever be Christmas again?

#Christmas #1970s #New_York_City #NYC #trauma