Nancy Mahl - Miss Larchmont Returns

 

 

Thank you. It was a regular Tuesday at work. It was a beautiful day. I was standing on the roof of the New York Times building in Times Square. I was on the roof, because I'm an elevator mechanic and that's where the elevator machine rooms are. I was drinking a cup of coffee and watching the traffic below, and I heard the phone ring in the motor room. That usually is a bad thing. It means somebody stuck in an elevator or somebody's complaining about something. So, I went in to answer the phone. And it was my mother. 

 

Now, I hadn't spoken to my mother in maybe two years. So, it was strange on so many levels. [audience laughter] It was strange that she would call me on the roof of the New York Times, that she would know that I was on the roof of the New York Times. And she said, “Are you okay?” I said, “I'm fine. Sorry I haven't called.” And she's like, “No, really, are you okay?” And I said, “I'm okay. Are you okay?” She said, “I'm okay.” I said, “Okay, that's great.” [audience chuckle] She said, “A plane hit the World Trade Center, and I was worried about you.” I said, “Well, that's sad.” And she said, “No, really, it's serious. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” And I said, “Okay, I'm okay” and we hung up. I know how the rest of the day went. 

 

The next day, I was back at work and the phone rang in the motor room. And it was my mother. She said, “How are you doing? Are your friends okay? Where do you live? Is your house okay?” And I said, “Most of my friends are accounted for, and the house is okay. And I'm back in Times Square. I'm safe.” And she said, “Well, how's my city?” Let me preface this by saying my mother was a New Yorker. She lived in Jackson Heights, Queens and then in Murray Hill. In 1937, she was Miss Larchmont. She'd have, you know? [audience laughter] 

 

Well, we didn't get along. We didn't agree on really much of anything. She was a Republican and I, a Democrat, sliding toward Communist. [audience laughter] She's a devoutly Catholic person and I'm very much not. She was straight and I'm gay. She had a really hard time with that. And so, anytime we tried to talk about anything, food, movies, politics, religion, we'd end up in opposite corners of the room, hissing at each other. We just gave up, because there wasn't much in the relationship that fed either of us. Every time we got together, it ended in a terrible fight and we just let it go. 

 

So, here she was calling me a second time. I was really touched. It seemed like she actually cared, which I did not think she did. And she said, “You know, during the war, when your father was overseas, all us ladies had to go out and keep everything open. We had to go to concerts, and sports events and museums. You're going to have to do that. You're going to have to keep my city alive for me.” 

 

My mother had left New York, and gone out to take care of a sick relative in South Dakota and was foolish enough to marry a cowboy. [audience chuckle] So, she was calling me from the West. She hadn't been back to New York in decades, but she still thought New York was her city and she wanted to know how it was. So, we developed a kind of a rhythm. Every morning I'd get a little five-minute phone call from my mother to see how our city was. She'd asked me what I was doing. And so, I said, “Well, I got tickets to Joe's Pub, and I saw Justin Vivian Bond and they sang Benny Goodman songs to keep everyone's spirits up.” 

 

She told me about going to the Waldorf Astoria and dancing to Benny Goodman. And she said, “What are you going to do tomorrow?” So, every day I had to come up with a little, what did I do and how was I keeping her city alive? I was going to theater and I was going to sports events, which I hate. [audience laughter] One night, I was on emergency callback, walking through Times Square, going up 6th Avenue. My little flip phone rang and it was my mother, because at this point, she'd gotten my phone number, so she could call me whenever she wanted to. And she said, “How's my city doing? Tell me about it. Hold up your phone and let me hear.” 

 

So, I walked along 6th Avenue. She could hear the horses clapping around Central Park and she could hear the taxis honking. And she said, “What's it look like?” And I said, “Well, every taxi’s got this little plastic flag hanging out of the window. Every business has a flag on it. Even the gay bars have flags on them.” [coughs] I said, “It looks like Kansas.” [audience laughter] My mother found that touching, and she’s like, “Well, I’m glad you finally got some patriotism.” [audience laughter] She said, “I’m thinking about visiting you, so just put that in your mind.” [audience laughter] 

 

This was a scary thought. So, I thought, I’ll just keep her at bay with a few more stories. [coughs] I got tickets to the opera. So, the opera was something I never wanted to go to. I spent four hours listening to this Mozart thing that went on and on and on. Everybody was dressed like my mother, and it was very stuffy and it was very boring. And then, at the end, this red-haired lady came out and she sang this aria and it was gorgeous. I knew nothing about opera, but I discovered that night that they sing without microphones. They’re just freaks of nature and they can fill this huge auditorium with just what God gave them. At the end of this aria, all these stiff-looking people stood up and they started pounding on the boxes, and screaming, and throwing flowers, and shrieking and stomping. It was like Yankee Stadium in the cheap seats. [audience chuckle] And I was like, “This is really raw. This is really visceral. I get opera.” [audience laughter] 

 

So, when I told my mother about that, she said, “We’re going together. I’m coming. I'm coming to JFK, come and pick me up.” So, I drive out to the airport. I’m terrified, because we’ve been having this beautiful little relationship, where I make the city come alive for her and she makes the city come alive for me and everything’s great in five-minute increments, but now we’re going to be stuck together for a week. I don’t know how smart this is, because it’s a beautiful thing and I think it’s all going to go. [audience laughter] 

 

So, I pick her up, I get her gigantic suitcases, I put in the car and we’re driving in semi-silence, because I think she’s also scared and she says, “So, have you been going to Mass?” [audience chuckle] I just let that sit there for a minute, [audience laughter] and I was like, “No.” [audience laughter] And then, there was silence. And then, she said, “Well, I have some things in the suitcase for you, and [whispers] I’m hoping chocolate chip cookies. Chocolate chip cookies.” It turns out the Legion of Mary went all over Sun City and bought every dust mask they could find, which was really sweet, because we had none. All of the people who were working downtown were out, and we appreciated that. And she said, “And I’ve got something else for you.” 

 

So, we got back to Jersey City to my little skinny, 12-foot-wide house. We went upstairs to the guest room, and she unzipped this bag, and inside it was the flag from my father’s coffin. I think I mentioned he was a B-17 pilot in World War II. And those coffin flags are big and my house is small. And she said, “Do you mind if we hang it on the house? I know you’re not patriotic.” But I said, “Yeah, I would love it.” So, we opened the two windows and we dropped it down the front of the house and it basically covered the whole house. [audience laughter] So, if anybody doubted my patriotism, they doubted it no longer. [audience laughter]

 

And the rest of the week went really well. We had one little fight and we worked it out. We stayed away from religion, and we stayed away from politics and we stayed on culture. We went to things together, and we loved each other and we enjoyed each other. We had those five-minute phone calls for the next nine years of her life. I miss every one of them. And I have tickets to the opera for next Saturday.