The Overlook
By Tom Clavin
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When my kids were young, a routine evolved that during the school year I would pick Katy and Brendan up in the afternoon, we would get a snack at a local shop, and then park at the Long Wharf. In my home town of Sag Harbor, the Long Wharf is a remnant of its whaling port past and it is surrounded on three sides by water. For those 45 or so minutes, we would catch up with each other. I worked at a newspaper then that went to press on Tuesday nights, so I had barely seen them the previous two days.
I still park at the Long Wharf several afternoons a week, even if just for 10 minutes, to reflect or for no other reason than I have some time to spare. “The Overlook” columns are posted on Wednesday and this week seeing what would have been Brendan’s 36th birthday, I wanted to share one of my favorite memories.
In May 1999, a book co-written with Bob Bubka and titled The Ryder Cup: Golf’s Greatest Event was published. We were pleased by the favorable attention it received, which included an invitation to give a presentation at the Barnes and Noble on Fifth Avenue. When the morning came for me to drive from Sag Harbor to Manhattan, my son, who was 10, begged to go with me. This was not an anything-to-get-out-of-going-to-school ploy, he really desired to go. Okay, get in the car.
What I recall about the trip in was Brendan suddenly exclaiming, “Look, your book is on that truck.” He had noticed that we were driving behind a yellow Ryder rental truck. I can’t remember how I explained that coincidence. After parking in a nearby lot, we held hands walking to the bookshop – we were, after all, in the big, bad city from which his mother and I had fled 17 years earlier. Upon arrival, it was an especially proud moment for me to witness Brendan’s excitement at seeing an enlarged cover poster and copies of The Ryder Cup on display in the Fifth Avenue window.
Giving the presentation with Bob was a tad nerve-wracking because Brendan, who enjoyed reading, kept leaving my sight to explore another aisle of books. Finally, the last question had been asked and the last copy signed and we were free to go. Then I remembered: On this particular Wednesday afternoon, the Yankees were hosting the Red Sox. Let’s not let this day in New York City end yet.
We hustled over the Grand Central Station and took the #4 to the 161st Street stop. There was the stadium, and I knew my son was seeing it with the same awe and excitement as I had experienced as a 10-year-old. We found a kiosk with two tickets left and began the climb to our seats. Just as we sat and were absorbing the vastness of green grass and tens of thousands of people, Brendan’s favorite player, Tino Martinez, hit a grand slam. And the Yankees would go on to beat the archrival BoSox.
On the drive home Brendan, exhausted, fell asleep. I listened to his easy breathing and thought about what a perfect day it had been.
Brendan died in June 2022. He had bravely fought but lost the battle with the dual demons of addiction and depression for a decade. There were no more perfect days, not even close – the previous ones had become cherished yet tauntingly painful memories. We were reduced to the best days being the ones when he was at least alive, even if it was in a hospital or behind bars. The deepening dread transformed into an inevitability. Still, defying the advice of family members and friends and Al-Anon members who had nothing more to offer but sympathy, we kept reaching down to pull Brendan out . . . even after he begged us not to.
We realized, finally, and with a creeping and despised resignation, that the best we could do was buy time. And then even that ran out.
Sometime I think of what the author John Dos Passos had written about Thomas Jefferson, who went into seclusion after the death of his wife: “He had come to that period in his life, which seems to come to most men, when all the blank checks of youth have been cashed and a man has to face himself as an adult, the way he’s going to be until he dies.”
Today, I’ll have lunch with my daughter and granddaughter and afterward swing by the Long Wharf. Wednesdays will always be a bit special.
Tom Clavin is the bestselling author/co-author of 25 books. His latest book, Bandit Heaven, was published by St. Martin’s Press in October. Please go to your local bookstore or to Bookshop.org, Amazon.com, BN.com, or tomclavin.com to purchase a copy.
Blessings and His peace, Tom. What loving memories you gave to Brendan as he did for you. Joni and I lift you and your family in prayer. Thank you for sharing this story from your heart. I’m calling my friend from my band who lives in NJ to plan a visit. His wife recently passed; John shared a similar story about his son—an apple in his eye, a promising Navy career, all seemed rosy, but . . . I was honored to pipe him home at Washington Crossings Military Cemetery.
Oh my God, Tom. You describe a day of absolute bliss, and days of unimaginable tragedy. And as you say, at one point in our aging, we come to realize who and what we are, and what we will then be. I will think of you always now, cherishing that you still have moments at the Long Wharf.