It was
about ten in the morning, Saturday, July 26th 1958. At that time I
was happily living in the township of Elyria in the State of Ohio,
about 20 miles to the west side of the city of Cleveland. The sun
was shining, the birds were singing, the corn and the tomatoes in
the garden were growing like crazy. Everything was in place.
My first job for the day was to cut the grass to make the place look
spick and span for the weekend. I was in the process of filling up
the mower when a van drove into the driveway. A man got out,
verified the address, then handed me a telegram that had been sent
from my brother John in Earlsferry, Scotland. "This is to let
you know that Tom, (our father) died on Thursday
morning."
My
dad Tom and Jill
What could I do? Send flowers to my
mother? I was thousands of miles away and on the other side of the
Atlantic ocean. After I collected my thoughts I had the impulse that
I had to go, but how. Knowing the Scottish custom as to time
of burial I reasoned that the funeral would be at 3 o'clock on
Sunday afternoon and it would be in the family burial plot in the
churchyard of the Auld Kirk at St. Monans. With the time difference
that would actually be 23 hours away on the clock. An impossible
situation. I was standing in my old clothes for working in the
garden. Other than the
normal amount of on-hand money I had no other money and the banks
did not open on Saturdays. This was in the era before credit cards. ---Flash back---. About a year before,
I had
attended a ball game in the Cleveland Browns stadium. Sitting next
to me was another long time ex Scotsman who owned a small travel
agency business called The Rob Roy Travel Agency, located about ten miles to
the east of Cleveland. For another Scotsman it was an unforgettable name.
The name flashed in front of me and I placed a call to tell of my
plight and desire. When the phone was picked up I recognized the
Scottish burr right away. "Yes, I remember you, how can I
help?" I explained my desire and my situation as to no on-hand
money. " Give me a minute and I'll call you right back."
He did. He remembered that I was not a citizen of the U.S. and non
U.S.
citizens could not exit the country at short notice unless they had a document to prove that they were current with paying their income
tax, in case they didn't come back. On his call back he said, "as a
non citizen you'll never get out of the country without the tax
document but travel across the border into Canada and back is lax. There's a plane that leaves Montreal at 6 o'clock and I'm sure
you will not have a problem in getting out of or back into the U.S. if
you go by way of Canada."
No good.
With that time of departure there was no way I could get there in
time. I said ,"Thanks, but time wise that's no good." I
explained that I would rather take my chances in getting out of the
U.S. from New York and not being questioned. "Let me check again and
I'll call you right back." "There's a plane that's
leaving Cleveland for New York in 50 minutes. Change fast. Don't worry about a
ticket or money. I'll close up shop. Meet me at the front door of
the airport. Get someone to get you to the airport and I'll
have the plane held up for you. Don't forget your passport." In less than 5 minutes we roared out
on to the road and made it to the airport in record time. There, at the front door at the airport and awaiting me was my
Rob Roy friend. "Here's a round trip ticket for you to come back in a
week, and 500 dollars, give me your handshake. Call me when you
get back". The plane was loaded, its engines were running and
it was waiting for me to get on. Before I got on, I found out when the connecting flight from New York would be landing at
Prestwick airport and I arranged for a telegram to be sent to my
brother John to come to Prestwick to pick me up on Sunday morning at
nine. The plane on the flight from Cleveland to the La Guardia, New
York airport was a British Rolls-Royce turboprop Vickers Viscount. The skies were
turbulent and it was a case of flying through solid cloud all the way. The plane developed a
malfunction in that the air system developed a fault that caused vapour from the moisture laden clouds to be sucked into the cabin that
for all the world looked like smoke and that the plane was on
fire. On the intercom the captain calmed and informed the alarmed
passengers as to the problem and that we would keep going to La
Guardia but we would be at least an hour late because of the bad
weather. Planes attempting
to land at La Guardia were stacked up high above the airport as to their order of
landing which would cause further delay. My heart fell. The plane that I was on was already behind
schedule and my transatlantic flight from NewYork's
Idlewilde airport had less than an hour of ground time between my scheduled
flights. With arriving late from Cleveland and the time it would take to get from La
Guardia to Idlewilde I'd never make it. As we approached New York
the captain, I'm sure with some subterfuge, came on the intercom to
inform the passengers that because of the problem of cloud vapour in
the cabin we were to be given emergency and priority to land status.
On getting nearer to New York the stewardess came to me and in a
hushed voice she bent down and told me, "Mr. Reekie, your travel agent has
been keeping informed as to the progress of this flight and he has
requested that you be given every assistance in the getting off from
this plane and transporting you to your connecting flight at
Idlewilde. The captain has informed me that you will be the first to
get off this plane and that a transportation vehicle will be
awaiting you at the foot of the plane's steps to speed you to
Idlewilde. He has requested that you be given one more hour to make
your connecting flight which has been approved." The vehicle
sped through the city. When I got to Idlewilde the plane was almost
an hour beyond its scheduled time of departure, its doors were
closed and all four of its engines were running. Like magic a door opened to let me
on.
The flight
across the Atlantic from Idlewilde to
Prestwick experienced strong headwinds all the way and we would be
at least another two hours late in getting to Prestwick on the
west coast of Scotland.
I got off the plane and looked for my brother John but he was no
where to be seen. I surmised, wrongly, that he was also late so I
called home to let others know that I was on the way. To my grief
John answered the phone. He had not received the telegram to let him
know that I was coming. (It was delivered on Monday afternoon) John
confirmed that the graveside internment was scheduled for 3 o'
clock on Sunday afternoon and that friends and family were already gathering. I
was a hundred miles away, afoot and on the other side of the country. There was nothing I could do but say, " You'll see me when you
see me. Let Mum know I'm here." In these days on a Sunday in
Scotland every business was closed. The few available taxis that I
had seen had all departed. I remembered the name of a friend who
lived in Glasgow and called him to see if he could help. After a
minute of silence he said, "Look around. Hitch-hike, beg,
whatever, find someone who will take you to Glasgow. Meet me at the corner of George
Square. I don't need my car for a while and you're welcome to borrow
it. I'll have it full of petrol for you." As I exited the phone booth
a man drove up to use the phone and I explained my dilemma. The man
responded, "I have a short call to make. Hop in, I am going to
Glasgow." We sped to Glasgow. At George Square my friend was
waiting for me. He handed me the keys and said, "Good
luck but please drive carefully." From Glasgow to Elie, I cut
every corner that I could. As I came flying down Park Place, the
entry road into Elie, I could see ahead of me the funeral procession
as it was passing the intersection at Adamson's corner. I fell in
behind. At the graveside, my mother's hazel eyes just sparkled when
she saw me. She knew I'd be there.
St.
Monans Auld Kirk
I
was in St. Monans, my ancestral home. Twenty three hours ago I was
thousands of miles away on the other side of the Atlantic and leisurely going to cut the grass in Ohio.
Home
and family are indeed powerful magnets.
It's
really amazing that every stranger on this whirlwind trip came
through for me. No questions asked.
My
mother, Katie Reekie
