Impartial and independent observers have assured me that the readers of Ezra’s essays have been purged of Southern Baptists, Nazarenes, Pentecostals, Holy Rollers, and other evangelical sects. That is a lovely development in view of the fact that before this essay is finished, there will be references to female horniness. I grit my teeth when I am forced to discuss this subject but I intend to do my duty. In any case, the horniness issue will not arise until the latter paragraphs of this essay.
The events that took place that form the undergirding of this essay occurred between 1948 and July of 1951. The main character that we are discussing here today is a gentleman named Richard J. Darling. To all of us who knew him, he was plain Joe Darling.
Joe was the president of a local union in upstate New York that was part of the Federation of Long Lines Telephone Workers. During the period in this discussion, Joe had been elected to the Executive Board of that union and was also a member of the national five-person bargaining team. As a result, he spent a good bit of time in New York.
In St. Louis, I held the presidency of a Midwestern unit involving the same federation. I had the good fortune over those years to also be elected to the Executive Board as well as to the bargaining committee. As a result, Joe Darling and I saw a good bit of each other during the years in question. In addition to the meetings in New York, there were frequent regional meetings taking place in such towns as Chicago, Cleveland, and Detroit. Because of our positions in the union, Joe and I attended all of those meetings and again saw much of each other.
In those years, I was in the latter half of my twenties while Joe was much nearer the beginning of his fifties. The twenty-year difference in our ages seemed not to matter because we tended to enjoy the same things, such as restaurants, and our sense of humor seemed to match. For example, while the other representatives at these meetings tended to dine on enormous steaks, Joe and I frequently looked up local tea rooms where the offerings were adequate but not overwhelming. But more than that, Joe was a mentor to me. In the labor business, there are long pauses while each side tries to figure out what to do about the opposing side’s next move. And so it was that we had plenty of time to spend with each other. At the same time, the Federation of Long Lines Telephone Workers was not rolling in cash. It was customary for delegates to share a room with other delegates of the same sex. Joe Darling and I often found ourselves as roommates. Joe did not smoke or chew tobacco and was an ideal roommate.
Joe was a philosophical type who tended to reflect the view that he had been there and done that. In point of fact, Joe had been there and had done that. Joe realized that he was a test room employee in Utica, New York, and would probably remain in that position for the rest of his AT&T career. This was a horrendous miscarriage of justice, because while he was working, Joe had earned a legal degree and was admitted to the Bar Association of New York. But the AT&T company preferred lawyers from Yale and other prestigious schools. Thus it was that Joe languished in AT&T’s test rooms in upstate New York. Joe wrote wills, guided the settlements on property, and occasionally appeared in court. There were times when his clients gave him some property in lieu of payment of his fees, and so it was that he became a holder of properties in and around Utica, New York.
Joe was my mentor, my teacher, my good friend, and my roommate. But Brother Darling had something that I could only marvel at. Joe Darling was a very handsome man. He was about six feet tall and weighed no more than 180 pounds, and his hair had turned prematurely gray. His suits fit perfectly and he wore no glasses. While he was nearing or had just passed his 50th birthday, it is likely that many people would consider Joe to be only in his late 30s.
Now at these meetings that I have mentioned previously, the delegates were all required to wear a name tag. The name tags, worn on the coat pocket, stated your name and your home town. Everyone in the labor movement tends to shake hands with each other and introduce themselves. And so it was that Joe Darling and I wandered around the room, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries.
Warning: now comes the horniness part.
As Joe, with his extraordinarily good looks, would wander around the room, I have heard women say openly to him, “Oh my, you are a darling.” Or they might say to another woman, “That man is a darling.”
My infallible rule is that when people go to other big towns and find themselves in a hotel room where booze is served at the cocktail hour before dinner arrives, horniness tends to set in.
Joe was fully aware of his attractiveness to the other sex but never tried to exploit it. He considered it a source of humor.
When Joe and I roomed together, which was often, I would say to
Mr. Darling that if he wished to use the room alone as a result of meeting on of these horny females, I would take off for two or three hours and leave him undisturbed. I considered myself a full-fledged gentleman and it seemed to me that this was the thing to do when a stranger would say to Joe, “Oh my, you are a darling.” Invariably, however, Joe would say to me, “I’ve got all I can handle at home.”
Joe was married to a woman he called Jo-Jo who was about 20 years younger than he was. During the bargaining sessions, Joe would go to Grand Central Railroad Station and get on a train to Utica on Friday evening. He left in time to get home for dinner. Joe did not return until 9 or 10 o’clock on Monday morning. Thus it was that I concluded that Brother Darling was in fact taking care of his business at home. In the three years that Joe and I were associated, he taught me much that I have carried through the rest of my life. Again, he was my mentor, my good friend, and my roommate. No one could ask for anything more than that.
The end of the story came a few years ago when I tried to call Joe. By that time, I suspect that he was in his 90s. From all that my wife Judy and I could determine from the speakerphone, Joe was in the grip of Alzheimer’s Disease. He seemed not to remember me or any other characters that were involved in our escapades.
I am sorry for this unhappy ending but you will recall that in the beginning of this essay I merely set out to recount a matter of female horniness. I believe that I have accomplished my duty with great distinction. That is worthy of the Victoria Cross. If there are complaints about my deportment, they should be referred to the local chapter of the Salvation Army.
E. E. CARR
January 19, 2008
Essay 285
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Kevin’s commentary: Well clearly Joe has a little bit of an edge over the mayor of Toronto. “I’ve got all I can handle at home” would have easily been sufficient for ol’ Mr. Ford but he chose to go with a somewhat more uncouth saying.
That aside, he seemed like a very good fellow. Alzheimer’s is a bitch. I am very often glad that Pop’s memory and wits have remained sharp over the years. I feel like writing the essays probably helps keep them that way.