by Fannie Flagg
“I see. And are you still living at home with your parents?”
“Oh, no. I’m a fifty … uh … sixty-year-old woman with a husband and four grown children.”
“I’m sorry. You sounded younger. Well, could you go into a little more detail?”
“This phone call isn’t being recorded, is it?”
“No.”
“Well, I’ve just had a terrible shock. I just found out I could be the daughter of a Polish nun from Wisconsin and that I am not who I thought I was at all. Dena, my friend, said I need professional help. She’s married to a psychiatrist. Then today, when I wanted to strangle my mother, I realized she was right. Dena had already suggested that I call you, but I didn’t. But now I’m worried that I could be having a nervous breakdown. I might need medication, but I’m not sure. Can you prescribe something over the phone?”
“No, I would need to see you first.”
“Oh … darn.”
“But I guess I could see you at your house, if you’d like.”
“You could?”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful. When?”
“Just a second … uh … I have an hour open at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Would that work?”
“Absolutely. Let me give you my address. It’s … oh … you know, Dr. Shapiro, on second thought, that might not be a good idea. My mother lives just one house down from me, and she could just pop in any minute. And she never knocks. I know it’s a lot to ask, but could we possibly meet somewhere else?”
“All right. If that would make you more comfortable. Where?”
“Uh, let’s see—oh I know. How about the Waffle House on Highway 98?”
“Fine. And could you give me your name?”
There was a pause. “I’d really rather not … if you don’t mind. I would prefer it not get around that I was seeing a psychiatrist.”
“Okay, then. But how will I recognize you?”
“Oh, dear. Well, I’ll tell you what. I’ll be wearing a hat—and pink sneakers with pom-poms. Is that all right?”
“Okay.”
“Oh, and how much will it be?”
“Well, let’s just meet first and see where we need to go from there.”
After Dr. Shapiro hung up, he was a little apprehensive. He had never met a patient outside of his office before and certainly never at a Waffle House, but the poor lady on the phone was either a paranoid schizophrenic or one of the craziest people he had ever talked to. Either way, she obviously needed help.
PULASKI, WISCONSIN
MAY 1941
WINK HAD GRADUATED FROM HIGH SCHOOL AND WAS NOW WORKING full-time at the filling station with his cousin Florian. He knew his parents needed him at home. His father was slowing down a bit and was not as strong as he used to be. Years of sleeping on a cot in the back of the filling station, being up and down all night, and going out in the freezing cold had started to take its toll. But secretly, Wink, who had his pilot’s license, was chomping at the bit to get into the fight overseas. A few of his friends had snuck into Canada and joined the RAF and had been sent to England and were already in the thick of the fighting. But he had promised his girlfriend, Angie, who was two years younger, that he would take her to the senior prom, and at this point, anything Angie wanted, she got, and he didn’t want to go off and leave her still single in a town full of bohunks like himself. He was not sure what to do, so he called Fritzi and asked her what she thought. She said, “Well, Wink-a-Dink, the old ball-and-chain bit’s not for me, but if that’s what you want, you’ve got yourself a great gal. You know I’ve always liked Angie, so I say full speed ahead.”
“Okay! Thanks, Fritzi.”
“Hey, do you have enough to buy a ring?”
“Oh … I forgot about that.”
“Well, don’t worry. I happen to be a little flush right now. Had some luck at a poker game up in Des Moines last week, so I’ll send you a little when she says yes—and she will.”
“Oh, thanks, Fritzi. But I don’t know. I may have waited too long. She’s been getting pretty popular lately.”
“Well, get off the phone, knucklehead, and get over there.”
WINK NEEDN’T HAVE WORRIED. Angie Broukowski had been madly in love with him since she was in the eighth grade. To her, Wink was the most handsome, most wonderful, sweetest boy in the world. She had only one goal in life: to become Mrs. Wencent Jurdabralinski, so of course she said yes, and they set a date in June. Between both families, there were to be more than two hundred relatives at the actual wedding, and the number of people coming to the reception afterward was so large that it had to be held at Zeilinski’s Ballroom outside of town.
FRITZI CAME HOME A few days before the ceremony to help out with the festivities, and everybody in town was glad to see her. Since she’d started flying with the Billy Bevins Flying Circus, she’d had several write-ups in the local paper, and everybody was so proud of her. They felt like she was their very own Polish movie star. Her younger sisters, who had never been out of Pulaski and had grown up wearing mostly handmade dresses that Momma made, could hardly believe they had such a glamorous sister who had actually been to Chicago.
They sat in her room and stared at her in awe as she put on clothes that they had seen only in magazines. Fritzi even wore a tiny gold ankle bracelet, the height of sophistication, they thought, and just when they thought they had seen it all, the little white frilly cocktail hat she pulled out of a box was so elegant and saucy, they all screamed.
The next morning, Wink came into the kitchen and asked where Fritzi was, and Momma said, “Oh, you know your sister. She and your dad are already out walking around town, big-shotting it.” Momma said it like she didn’t approve, but she was really glad about it. She hadn’t seen Poppa this happy in a long time.
Fritzi had tried to get Billy to come home for the wedding with her, but he’d refused. He said he was allergic to anything that involved church or him having to wear a tie.
However, on the day of the wedding, Fritzi figured that he either felt bad because he hadn’t come or else he was drunk or both, because as the bride and groom came out of the church, Billy was flying around up above and had written inside a big heart “Congratulations, Wink and Angie,” and then flew on back to Grand Rapids. As mad as she was at him, Fritzi had to laugh at the fool. He must have hijacked the plane right off the field, because he wasn’t working that weekend. But that was Billy.
THE WAFFLE HOUSE
DR. SHAPIRO, A NICE-LOOKING YOUNG MAN IN GLASSES, WAS THERE A few minutes early and now wondered if the lady would even show up. But, suddenly, a woman wearing pink tennis shoes with pom-poms, large white plastic sunglasses in the shape of two hearts, and a man’s fishing hat with lures all over it appeared at the plate glass window and was peering in. She then came in the door and quickly looked around the room, spotted him, hurried back to the booth, and said, “Dr. Shapiro?”
“Yes.”
“It’s me. Your patient.”
He had the urge to say, “I never would have guessed,” but his wife said people in the South didn’t like his New York humor, so he said, “Please sit down.”
She took her seat and slumped way down in the booth. The minute she did so, a large waitress in a pink uniform came over and said cheerfully, “Oh, hi, Mrs. Poole, I haven’t seen you in here in a long time.”
“Well, so much for anonymity,” thought Sookie. “Oh, hello, Jewel,” she said.
Jewel looked at Dr. Shapiro and asked Sookie, “Is this your cute son, the one your mother’s always talking about?”
“No … just a friend.”
“Oh. Well, what y’all gonna have today?”
“Just coffee, please. Decaf,” said Sookie.
Dr. Shapiro added, “Make that two.”
After Jewel walked away, Sookie said, “First of all, thank you so much for meeting me.”
“Of course. How can I help you? You say you have a problem?”
“Yes, I do. And it
’s a very long story. Well, let me start at the beginning. A few weeks ago, I was feeding my birds. I have a terrible blue jay problem. I had thought I would try just putting sunflower seeds in the backyard and just the plain Pretty Boy small-bird seed in the front.…”
Thirty minutes and three cups of coffee later, when she finally got around to telling him just who her mother was, he suddenly understood. No wonder this lady was a nervous wreck. He’d met the mother. Who wouldn’t be?
At eight A.M. the first morning after Dr. Shapiro and his wife had moved into their new house, they were awakened by what he thought sounded like a band of Hare Krishnas jingling up the front stairs. When he opened the door, he was greeted by a large, imposing-looking woman in a cape, holding a huge basket with a ribbon on it, who announced in a loud voice, “Good morning. I am Lenore Simmons Krackenberry, president of the Point Clear Welcome Wagon Committee, and on behalf of the entire committee, I want to say …” and then she sang at the top of her voice to the tune of “Shuffle Off to Buffalo,” “Welcome! Welcome! Welcome! May we help ya, help ya, help ya! With your brand-new move!” Then she shoved the basket at him and said, “The rest of the girls will be along in a minute, but I wanted to get here first.” And with that, she stormed right past him and into the house, calling out, “Oh, Mrs. Shapirooo … put the coffee on. You’ve got company!” He had spent only one hour with her, but it seemed obvious that the mother was the one who needed medication, not this poor woman. But he let Sookie continue to talk, because she seemed to be in such distress.
“So as I told Dena, I just feel all wicky-wacky. One minute, I’m mad at my mother and then I feel guilty and then I get mad at her all over again. So do you think I’m having a nervous breakdown?”
“I think under the circumstances, anger and confusion are perfectly natural.”
“You do? You think it’s natural to want to strangle your mother?”
“Under certain circumstances, yes. You feel betrayed and hurt and, naturally, you want to lash out.”
“That’s right. Yes, I do.”
“Nobody likes to be lied to.”
“No, they don’t, do they? Oh, I feel so much better already. Dr. Shapiro, you’re a professional, so you would know if someone was having a breakdown, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“So in your opinion, I’m not getting ready to flip out or anything?”
“I think it’s highly unlikely.”
Sookie sighed a huge sigh of relief. “Well, I just can’t thank you enough. And this wasn’t nearly as scary as I thought it would be. I’m sure you’ve heard this before, but you’re such a good listener.”
“Well, thank you.”
“And you must think I’m very rude. Here I am going on and on about my problems, and I haven’t asked you a thing about yourself.”
“That’s perfectly fine, Mrs. Poole. I’m here to listen to you.”
“Oh, before I forget, how much do I owe you for this? And do you mind if I pay you in cash? I don’t want the people at the bank to know that I had to see a psychiatrist. They might not say anything, but you never know. I’ve enjoyed this so much, could we do it again? Same time next week, same booth?”
To his surprise, Dr. Shapiro found himself agreeing.
After Dr. Shapiro got back to his office, he jotted down a few notes.
New patient: Mild situational anxiety and very nice lady.
Mother of patient: Narcissist with mild to severe illusions of grandeur.
WAR
PULASKI, WISCONSIN
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7, 1941
BEFORE THE SUNDAY MASS STARTED, FATHER SOBIESKI HAD GONE TO the side door of the vestry and motioned for Stanislaw Jurdabralinski, who always sat in the first row, to come around to the back of the church. His altar boy had not shown up, and he needed him to fill in. It was kind of funny to see the five-foot-nine-inch priest enter the altar with the six-foot-four Stanislaw, wearing a black-and-white altar boy vestment that, on him, looked more like a blouse, but the mass came off without a hitch. After mass, the Jurdabralinskis walked home together, except for the youngest, Sophie, who always stayed and helped the nuns wash and iron the vestments for the next week’s service.
Later that day, Gertrude and Tula were over at the Rainbow Skating Rink, practicing their routine for the big skating contest that was coming up, when Mrs. Wanda Glinski, the organist, abruptly stopped playing, right in the middle of “Blue Skies,” and everyone wondered what had happened. A few seconds later, an announcement was made over the loudspeaker that the Japanese had just attacked Pearl Harbor and that the rink was closing. As stunned skaters slowly started heading off the floor, Mrs. Glinski began playing “God Bless America.”
A few blocks away at the Pulaski theater, people were watching How Green Was My Valley, starring Maureen O’Hara and Walter Pidgeon. Wink’s wife, Angie, and a girlfriend were seeing it for the second time, when the screen began to slowly fade, and the house lights came on. The theater manager walked out on the stage and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, we just got word that the Japanese have attacked Pearl Harbor, and all servicemen are to report to their bases immediately.” As confused people got up out of their seats, gathering their things and silently beginning to file out down the aisles, a picture of the American flag suddenly appeared on the screen.
Most of them had no idea where Pearl Harbor was or why it had anything to do with them, but those few who did were somber. One man said, “Well, we’re all in it now.”
Over at the church, one of the nuns came in and told Sophie that she was to go home to her family right away, but did not tell her why. When Sophie got to the house, Momma and the other girls had all gathered in the kitchen, and the minute she saw her, Momma grabbed her and held her close. Poppa was sitting at the table with his ear to the radio and kept shaking his head in disbelief as he listened to the same report repeated over and over. After a moment, he looked up at his wife with a stricken expression on his face. “Oh, Linka, we can’t lose America. If we lose America …” Then his voice cracked and the big strong man, who had always been their tower of strength, put his head down on the table and sobbed. All the girls quickly gathered around their father and hugged him, while his wife stood by, helpless and unable to do anything. She knew he was right. If America was lost, then there was no hope—not only for them, but also for the world.
FRITZI AND BILLY HAD just done an air show outside of Akron, Ohio, on Saturday, and as usual on Sunday morning, Billy stayed in bed with a hangover. Fritzi was up and already downstairs in the hotel coffee shop when she heard the news from a bellboy who ran in the door and yelled, “The Japs just bombed Pearl Harbor! It looks like war!” and ran back out, on his way to tell everyone in the hotel and up and down the street.
When Fritzi got back upstairs with his coffee, Billy was wide awake and sitting up. She sat down on the bed and handed the coffee to him. “Honey, have you heard?”
He nodded. “Yeah, some kid just ran down the hall, so I guess it’s true, then?”
Fritzi said, “Yeah, it seems to be.”
He took a few more sips of his coffee, then looked at her and said, “Well, that’s it for me.” He got up, showered and shaved, put his clothes on, and headed out to find the nearest recruiting office. Fritzi tried to call her family back home, but all the circuits were busy.
By the time Billy got downtown, he saw that a line had already formed, and the office had not yet opened, but one of the guys said someone was on the way. Billy was older than most in line, but he was more than willing to go. In fact, he couldn’t wait. Like all the other guys that day, he was mad. How dare those bastards attack America. Just who the hell did they think they were fooling with?
THAT SUNDAY, AS THE news spread across the country, people who hadn’t thought much about it suddenly felt things they hadn’t just a day before. At the big hockey game at Madison Square Garden, after the announcement was made and as all the men in uniform stood up and started filing out of th
e stadium, headed back to their bases, everyone suddenly stood and gave them an ovation that didn’t stop until the last man had left the stadium.
From that day forward, the National Anthem was not just something Americans had to get through before a game started. Now hats came off, hands were held over hearts, and the cheer at the end was heartfelt. They had just gone through one war and a Depression, and nobody wanted war, but now that it was here, there was nothing more to do, except get in there and win it as fast as possible.
Sunday night, Wink came over to the house with a teary-eyed Angie beside him. They sat in the living room with Momma and Poppa, and Wink, just a year out of high school and for the first time looking like a grown man, said, “Poppa, I hate to leave you to run the station, but you know I’m going to be drafted sooner or later, and if I sign up now, I have a shot at getting into the Army Air Corps.”
Momma said, “But, Wink, Angie is going to have a baby.”
Angie looked at Momma. “I tried to talk him out of it, but he won’t listen to me.”
Poppa looked at Wink. “You do what you think is right, son. Don’t worry about the station. We’ll get by.”
“Thanks, Poppa, and listen, while I’m gone, can Angie move into my old room upstairs and stay with you guys until I get back?”
“Of course,” said Momma. “We would love to have her.”
“I can help with the cooking,” said Angie. “I just don’t want to move back home. I think I won’t miss him so much if I’m here.”
AT SIX A.M. THE next morning, Wink, along with almost every boy in his senior class, stood outside the drugstore in the snow, waiting to be picked up by the school buses that were driving them to Green Bay to sign up.
Billy took his army physical in Grand Rapids and would have been 4F because of his liver, but they needed all the experienced pilots they could get and as fast as they could get them, so he and his bad liver were ordered to report to Pensacola, Florida, on December 15. In the next few days, he officially disbanded the Flying Circus and, luckily, was able to sell the planes to a flying school.
