Uncle Wendell
Wendell Cutting is a pretty remarkable guy. If I remember correctly, he was the youngest mayor ever elected in California, (San Jacinto); and as a young man, was an influential operative in that state’s Republican Party. He went on to success in private industry and government, (you can read a fuller biography here: http://www.rescuetaskforce.org/pages/wendell.html). Finally, and perhaps most importantly, he's been a key member of an extraordinary group called the Rescue Task Force, which I’d recommend folks check out at: http://www.rescuetaskforce.org/index.html . A very interesting person, and quite fun to hang out with.
I’ve only done so once, and although it was thirty years ago, I still remember it with great affection. I was vacationing in California, and visiting various relatives. I’d been in the town of Santa Maria with my Uncle Edward and his family. From there, my cousin Rosemary and I drove up to visit her brother Lee in the suburbs of San Francisco. We arrived late Friday afternoon at his house. He already had one guest in residence – his old college chum, Wendell. I still remember walking into the living room to meet Wendell, and there he was – wearing some khaki boxer shorts and a dirty undershirt, sitting in Lee’s easychair, surrounded by a hill of empty beer cans. Lee made introductions, and his friend insisted we call him “Uncle Wendell”. Knowing my interest in politics, Lee also brought me up to speed on Wendell’s own experience and interests and we were off! (Despite being from rather opposite sides of most questions, true politicos can always find common ground for fun and understanding). I quickly unpacked the wine I’d brought along and proceeded to play catch-up, (no Boy Scout is better prepared than me for social challenges). It was a grand time – talking politics while watching The Towering Inferno on TV and making rude comments about the story. Lee had a date that night, and in a magnanimous gesture, dropped a few sawbucks on the table for us to get dinner as he exited the premises. The conversation, and drinking, continued into the evening. Finally, it was decided to go down to the nearest pizza parlor to take out some grub. Rosemary drove, being the only one capable at that point. She and “Uncle” Wendell climbed into the cab of her pickup truck, while I hauled myself onto the back bed. As we started down towards the pizza shop, I, (inspired by the recently released film of Patton), stood up behind the cab and proceeded to yell out orders and challenges to various cars and pedestrians that we passed. Upon witnessing this, Wendell was not to be denied and he immediately ordered Rosemary to stop the truck, at which point he joined me in the back, providing a stereophonic element to my Patton imitation, and we bounced through the neighborhood while Rosemary did her best to hide behind the wheel, acting as if total strangers had somehow materialized in the back of her truck. Shame radiated from the cab. It was a wonderful ride.
We eventually reached the pizza parlor, and as I remember it, managed to somehow order, pay for, and retreat with pizzas with a minimal loss of life or dignity. The rest of the evening was a wonderful blur of more drinking, the handicapping of Reagan’s chances at winning the Presidency, and running out of beer. Saturday I spent sightseeing and Sunday morning we left, but I’ll always remember that as a very funny, charming, and interesting time. Wendell and I exchanged an email or two a few years ago, but other than that I lost touch with him, totally unaware of the fantastic and rewarding turns his life had taken.
I asked cousin Lee about Wendell a short time ago, and was told that he’s now dying of cancer, and not expected to last long, (he’s only about ten years older than me). I always wish I could say something profound or helpful when others face death, and I always fail to come up with anything beyond that of sorrow, fear, and sputtering outrage. I can only state that, for all the briefness of our encounter, I really liked him, and would have enjoyed hanging out with him more. And I’m sorry for what he’s going through, and for what he faces. And sorry we couldn’t have had a few more beers down the road.
Take care, Uncle Wendell…
I’ve only done so once, and although it was thirty years ago, I still remember it with great affection. I was vacationing in California, and visiting various relatives. I’d been in the town of Santa Maria with my Uncle Edward and his family. From there, my cousin Rosemary and I drove up to visit her brother Lee in the suburbs of San Francisco. We arrived late Friday afternoon at his house. He already had one guest in residence – his old college chum, Wendell. I still remember walking into the living room to meet Wendell, and there he was – wearing some khaki boxer shorts and a dirty undershirt, sitting in Lee’s easychair, surrounded by a hill of empty beer cans. Lee made introductions, and his friend insisted we call him “Uncle Wendell”. Knowing my interest in politics, Lee also brought me up to speed on Wendell’s own experience and interests and we were off! (Despite being from rather opposite sides of most questions, true politicos can always find common ground for fun and understanding). I quickly unpacked the wine I’d brought along and proceeded to play catch-up, (no Boy Scout is better prepared than me for social challenges). It was a grand time – talking politics while watching The Towering Inferno on TV and making rude comments about the story. Lee had a date that night, and in a magnanimous gesture, dropped a few sawbucks on the table for us to get dinner as he exited the premises. The conversation, and drinking, continued into the evening. Finally, it was decided to go down to the nearest pizza parlor to take out some grub. Rosemary drove, being the only one capable at that point. She and “Uncle” Wendell climbed into the cab of her pickup truck, while I hauled myself onto the back bed. As we started down towards the pizza shop, I, (inspired by the recently released film of Patton), stood up behind the cab and proceeded to yell out orders and challenges to various cars and pedestrians that we passed. Upon witnessing this, Wendell was not to be denied and he immediately ordered Rosemary to stop the truck, at which point he joined me in the back, providing a stereophonic element to my Patton imitation, and we bounced through the neighborhood while Rosemary did her best to hide behind the wheel, acting as if total strangers had somehow materialized in the back of her truck. Shame radiated from the cab. It was a wonderful ride.
We eventually reached the pizza parlor, and as I remember it, managed to somehow order, pay for, and retreat with pizzas with a minimal loss of life or dignity. The rest of the evening was a wonderful blur of more drinking, the handicapping of Reagan’s chances at winning the Presidency, and running out of beer. Saturday I spent sightseeing and Sunday morning we left, but I’ll always remember that as a very funny, charming, and interesting time. Wendell and I exchanged an email or two a few years ago, but other than that I lost touch with him, totally unaware of the fantastic and rewarding turns his life had taken.
I asked cousin Lee about Wendell a short time ago, and was told that he’s now dying of cancer, and not expected to last long, (he’s only about ten years older than me). I always wish I could say something profound or helpful when others face death, and I always fail to come up with anything beyond that of sorrow, fear, and sputtering outrage. I can only state that, for all the briefness of our encounter, I really liked him, and would have enjoyed hanging out with him more. And I’m sorry for what he’s going through, and for what he faces. And sorry we couldn’t have had a few more beers down the road.
Take care, Uncle Wendell…
posted by mendip at
9:25 PM
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