August 1956

Summer was almost over and I wasn’t looking forward to starting my junior year at Marin Catholic.

Dad was back in the hospital after another stroke and Mom had just been released, with a combination of heart and liver problems. They were both too sick to work and the family was broke.

“Boys, I’m taking you out for a treat, lunch at Marin Joe’s,” Mom announced one morning before Bud and I could vanish for the day.

This is odd, I thought. Taking the family out and spending the last pennies on food was Dad’s trip. For Mom, restaurants were more of an excuse to hang out at a bar and get loaded.

Marin Joe’s was one of Dad’s favorites. I remembered the good old days when the family would drive from Grandpa Collins’ ranch in Inverness Park to Joe’s in San Rafael for dinner and a movie.

When we got there, the waitress recognized our family and seated us at a nice table in the window.

“Boys, order whatever you want,” Mom said.

Our fridge was always too empty for our ravenous appetites. We ordered full steak dinners with sides of ravioli, and chocolate sundaes for dessert. When the food arrived, we dug in. Whatever Mom had to tell us, it was not likely to be good news. I wondered which it would be, another eviction notice, a welfare visit, or PG&E pulling the plug again.

Mom belted gin and tonics while we wolfed down the food. She looked tired. Her bad health, the worries of being poor and taking care of a sick husband were wearing her down.

“Boys, Dad’s not going to make it,” she blurted out.

“Oh, come on Mom,” I said. “He’s a survivor. Dad always pulls through.”

“No, they just told me,” she sobbed. “He’s not going to make it. How can I live without him? He’s the love of my life.”

“Don’t worry.” I hugged her.

“What am I going to do? I’m too sick to work.”

I didn’t want to go back to Marin Catholic. “We’ll dropout and get jobs,” I offered whole-heartedly.

Bud was less enthusiastic but he went along with me.