Pete A: AL and ME

Peter Allen's Tabor graduation (1988)

With Roie, Lisa, my Mom, me and my other grandma.

Al and me.

My long, cherished relationship with Al had a lot of twists and turns, an unusual grandfather-grandson relationship, so it bears some explaining, in lengthy form-so my apologies in advance!

Unlike some other grandchildren, my relationship with Al did not really begin until late into my first decade, when my father won legal visiting rights and began making the trip down every summer to rural Arkansas, where he’d fetch me and bring me back to Rhode Island. The first year I cried in the backseat for my mother across all of Arkansas, all of Tennessee, and half-way up the eastern seaboard. By the second year, however, those cries were replaced by gleeful chant, that would now begin by Tennessee and get louder and louder as we moved up the coast: ROIE! Soon we would see Roie, and I could hardly contain my excitement.

Al, of course, was Roie’s husband, I knew that. Beyond that, I knew that he was serious, in charge, and in those days, mostly distant. While our life was “All Roie” all the time, his life seemed a secret world, centered around his office in the back of the house on Washington Road, and especially, bridge games. Ted, Sara and I, loved to sneak into that office and clown around--it’s was Al’s zone, and off-limits, which made it all the more, secretively, appealing. Two moments with Al do stand out, though: Al teasing me just after turning 9 on how my next birthday would be “double-digits,” double-digits, he exclaimed, how incredible! (this from a guy that would almost make it to triple-digits!) The other was one I don’t remember myself, but was probably his favorite story he loved to recall in later years: We were all eating dinner in the kitchen, the grandkids and me and Roie and Al. All the grandkids were talking and laughing and going on, but Roie was trying to speak. According to AL, I got up, banged on the table, and said ‘Hey everyone, be quiet, Roie is trying to speak,’ and the whole table went silent. Al must have been impressed because he so loved that story.

Nonetheless, I was a part-time, summer only visitor to Al and the Allen clan. This changed greatly in the mid 1980s. My mom was struggling with her own alcoholism and other demons (not to mention the abysmal Arkansas schools system for me), and entering her second divorce, --somehow she saw that path she was on was not going to be a pretty one, and despite all that must have been going on around her, somehow summoned the courage to call Al. I’m still amazed she did it, but somehow she must have bared her soul pretty good, and made a pretty convincing case, because she convinced Al to take me on. Al graciously agreed to send me to bordering school in New England and support my education and boarding. Indeed, Al the college dropout would go onto become a passionate believer in education, and send all eleven grandchildren to college. (So in some way I am responsible for this, and you guys all owe me!!).

Al and Roie now became something like parents, more than grandparents. Roie took me shopping for clothes, she washed and folded it all, and wrote my name in my underwear and in the collar of every shirt. Al gave me a nice speech on the opportunity and encouraged me to do well. And I knew I owed it to him to do so. Roie and Al dropped me off at my dorm at elite Tabor academy, fresh off 12 years of rural Arkansas education and styling. My main worry was--if only someone had taught me how to tie a tie! My first day, as I knew this idea of “matching” your clothes was important, so I wore all blue--coat, tie, shirt, pants, socks, and for my tie, well, the little end was below my belt, and the fat end near my chin. Over the next three years, as I evolved a lot at Tabor, I saw Roie very frequently as she would visit often. Al would stop by on his trips to the nearby famous Marion, MA golf course, to offer encouragement. I knew during this time that he grew proud of me, at how I was adapting and performing at Tabor. He would laugh and shake his head at me when he saw me--wow! he would say. (and I know each and everyone of you know what it was like when Al said: WoW!)

Alas, our relationship took a turn for the worse, when I moved on to college in Boston. Another of Al’s favorite stories concerning me, was when he called me up in my freshman year to see how I was doing! Great I said, I’ve been going to see a lot of music! Al took this to mean classical music, the symphony. But the next time we talked, he asked how I was liking the symphony, and I had no idea what he was talking about, we figured it out--no rock music I said! And it was true, Boston in the late 1980s to early 1990s was one of the great pioneering spots for alternative rock music, and my roommate and I spent most every other night out at shows. Al loved this story in later life, but at the time, didn’t like this development very much, nor when I came home with died hair, nor when I added an earring. I came remember him so clearly, we were driving on Washington Road and he lit into me, you look awful, what is a matter with you! But for me, it was the first time I had ever really had friends, a social life, and social fun, so, unfortunately, I pretty much ignored his advice!

The low point in all my years with Al was when Roie died. First, at the time, I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to do with my life, but I loved history and had developed a love for archeology. Through a teacher I had arranged to spend the summer at a dig in Sardinia to see if I liked it, after which, she thought I could apply to grad school in the field. But you had to pay 3,000 up front, which Roie, seeing how excited I was, agreed to do when I saw her about a month before she died. The day of her stroke, I was in class and practice all day, so I didn’t get any news about Roie until I talked to uncle Phil late in the day. We agreed the best plan was for me to take the earliest train I could down to Providence and Phil would pick me up. I remember only 4 things from the next day. First, seeing Phil and Jeff and their faces the next morning at Amtrak station and knowing I was too late to ever see Roie again. Second, arriving at Washington Road and being so happy to see Erma, but not being able to hug her because she had just smashed her own face into her own refrigerator, and was covered in bruises and very large sunglasses!) 3rd, with Ted on the 4th tee talking about Roie. And 4th, when I saw Al: he wasted no time lighting into me for being no good, ugly, and wasting my chance at College. (Here of course, he was right as almost always). And When I saw him next he lit into for trying to exploit Roie for money. Things turned for the worse when summer came and I told him I was dropping out of school--he said he’d never pay for school or support me in anything if I did.

Of course, I knew at the time that Al was really hurting, and that he didn't mean the things he said. I only wished I could have been there for him in a different, more helpful way. I can't imagine the pain he was going through, nor how to help him. So instead, I ended up working the summer in a Newport RI restaurant. Thank god Ted was working at nearby Block Island and was a frequent visitor, and my boss at the Moorings gave me sort-of parental soul to guide me. Al and I ending up having a lot of "talks" that summer, and in the next few years. Somehow I righted myself from the emotional summer, and returned to school in better form than before, and Al and I began once again to grew closer and closer. (Though ironically, the cooking experience I gained that summer enabled me to earn a living as I wandered about in the future, probably the last thing Al would want to encourage!)

This next phase of Al I call the “just GO for it!” Al. Neither Ted or I had any idea what to do with our lives, and we spent a lot of time on shorter or longer layovers in Rhode Island, in between explorations abroad trying to figure out what we were doing, and many, many lunches with Al discussing life in general. These were frequently at the Newport creamery, which still to this day I can not walk into without a mix of apprehension, excitement and love for Al and Roie. Al was constantly encouraging us. Go For It was his mantra. He was right of course, but more often than not, Go for What? was what I wanted to ask him in return. One winter in particular, Ted and I ended up sharing a house in Providence. Al had given me a series of tapes by a motivational speaker, Les Brown to encourage me. Ted and I listened to those tapes again and again, howling with laughter! We soon had the tapes memorized and were citing lines back to Al, telling how much we loved the tapes, though not how we took laughing. Of course, we both knew Al and Les Brown were right--you did have to find something, and you did have to go for it! And the whole experience drove both of us closer to Al, I think. We realized how much he truly cared for us and how much he really felt we could achieve something great. For me it was when I really started to feel like Al was a warm-hearted soul, a kind person who loved us and wanted the best from us. From Les Brown on, the rest of our years together would be marked by this increasing warmness, needed encouragement from his part, and ultimately, friendship.

Eventually, each grandchild (at least the ones in the first generation did--the young ones are only there now!) did find their way, and did start going for it! Ted and I both wandered further, but found our own path, at least we hope so AL!, Sara moved steadily forward into teaching, Katie made it 2 of 3 Allens to graduate William and Mary! Matt we never had to worry about of course, and he went straight through on course, as did Cassie in her way too (being generation 1.5, I know less of their struggles). But none of us would have made it without Al’s encouragement and wisdom to guide us. How much we will miss it going forward!

My last years with Al were somewhat contradictory. Some of the things that happened between us hurt me greatly, and I felt sometimes that I was less a true grandchild than an accidental one, pushed back on him by a mother in a desperate and worsening situation. On the other hand, I was never closer to Al, never felt more like he was my friend, never valued talking to him on phone or in person more. Especially when Erma passed on, and my visits home to New England seemed a little lost, it was Al that increasingly became the highlight of my time there. I wasn’t chanting his name up the eastern seaboard in the back of my dad’s old pinto, but I couldn’t wait to get back to RI and see him, nor to pick up the phone and talk to him from California. Heck, I think I may have talked to him more in the past five years than all the years beforehand, and certainly we connected more often. While my talks with Erma were delightful rambling discursive affairs, wandering throughout family, and red sox, history; Al and I kept it pretty short and moved pretty directly through baseball, the economy, and ultimately--always ultimately--politics. But I loved how his face would light up when he saw me, or how you could hear the same face in his voice when he answered, or the ‘oh boy’s’ that would come talking when we moved to baseball and the Indians. And I loved that laugh he seemed to Al developed, such fun to talk to! (at least one I don’t remember from being young, but I am sure was there). And of course I loved his political vision and disdain for Bush, whether you call it a new one or his old one. But I loved most of all the wisdom, of all those acquired years, in a mind that was smart from youth, but still so active and intelligent in old age. I think he was happy how I turned out, and now even though my path is pretty well set, I feel I could use his advice and wisdom now more than ever. How much I will miss him going forward.