Driving north on US23, my husband passed a
sign between Ossineke and Alpena. You are
now crossing the 45th Parallel, Halfway between the Equator and the
North Pole.
“Dad
would point to that sign when he drove us to Gram and Gramp’s on Grand Lake,”
Mel said. “Perhaps that planted the seed of my love for geography.”
I
imagined us crossing the 45th Parallel line, our car a speck amongst
millions of vehicles on America’s highways—one reason we chose the road less
traveled to Cheboygan.
We also preferred
the old route with stately homes in small towns with attractions that provoked
Mel’s childhood memories. Pinconning’s vacant Deer Acres Fun Park, for
instance.
“Yeah, Dad stopped
there. And the Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox Park. But someone’s taken them
down.”
“And your dad
probably stopped for ice cream.”
Mel grinned at
another seed his father planted.
We dined on enchilada
and chili relleno in Alpena—checked in to our hotel in charming Cheboygan
before nightfall.
“Thanks for taking
this trip with me,” I said. “The last time Al and I talked, he said, ‘I love
Mel.’ And I said, ‘Al, you love everybody.’”
My husband first
met Al Newman four summers ago during my fiftieth high school reunion for my
graduating class of 1967. There, we met Al’s wife Denise. Sitting under a pavilion within
Stony Creek Metropark, we talked for hours with fellow classmates and their
spouses.
Two Octobers
later, Mel and I met Al and Denise in Mackinac City before we toured Mackinac
Island with other friends. Again, we recalled our past and present families as time
permitted.
From Vietnam’s
jungles to his prison ministry, occupation as an upholsterer, and the joys and
trials of parenthood, Al and Denise kept us in fits of laughter and tears.
As we promised, we
phoned or emailed one another until a good friend notified me of Al’s passing
last month. I called Denise and made travel arrangements.
On the beautiful
Saturday morning of September 18, Cheboygan’s Northshore Community Church
filled with folk honoring the life and times of Albert Newman. Of all blessings,
Mel and I met his son Albert, and Denise found a moment alone with us.
After a fellow
Vietnam vet presented Denise with the American flag, their Pastor spoke the
concluding words. “Al loved the language of Scripture, and he loved to eat. He
anticipated the Supper of the Lamb together with fellow Christians.”
When we stood to
leave the sanctuary, the woman to my left turned to me. “Pardon me. Are you
related to Al?”
 |
| Iris O'Brien and Albert Newman, senior prom 1967 |
“No. We dated our
senior year in high school. He stood by my side through my parents’ divorce,
and broke up with me before I left for college. We met again at our 50th
class reunion.”
Dear Reader, I imagine
Al ascending above the equator, poles, and parallels of Earth into infinite
realms of our Heavenly Father. And I’m watching the signs.
I, too, anticipate
the Supper of the Lamb.
