Camden's Knife

by John Patrick Kavanagh

  On Tuesday, 30 July 2013, at Todd English’s Ca Va in NYC, I passed a flash drive across the table to Lori who was treating for a three course Restaurant Week lunch. It contained not only the manuscript of Camden’s Knife but also some of the peripherals that were embedded into The Universe. Beside us was a 24x36x2 portfolio I’d brought along containing a number of items for my Show n’ Tell segment—some directly related to CK, others tangentially so, and a few dealing with separate projects. Three hours seemed to pass in a twinkling because Lori is one of those extraordinary individuals who make you feel like the only person in the world when you’ve got her attention. I stress when.

  It would be months until she sent me the tracking edit but as soon as I opened it I had to smile. The tweaks were few, her comments incisive and her touch strong enough to let me know she was hovering in the background but soft enough to assure me the story was in safe hands.

  The second set of fingerprints belong to David Wingrove. On Christmas Eve in 1989, I’d called Susan Hart to wish her a happy one. We’d met 05 June 1981 at a party in suburban Philadelphia held to celebrate the recent marriage of one of her five sisters to Lt. Colonel James M. Kavanagh, my older brother and only sibling. Over the next few years we became good long distance friends but on 08 March 1984 things changed. I’d just arrived back in Chicago on an early morning flight and was walking out of O’Hare when I heard a page over the PA system asking me to contact United Customer Services. I was requested to contact Susan at a number provided so I went to a pay phone and did. Her first words, when she answered, were “John, I’m so sorry. It’s just so tragic.”

  The previous evening, while returning from a dinner to celebrate Jim’s transfer to a plum assignment in Honolulu, a drunk driver had hit their car head on killing him, her parents Mary and Vince, and injuring my sister-in-law Betty Ann (note: the asshole also got himself a direct ticket to Hell). The triple funeral would be held the following Monday, so Susan was handling most of the arrangements there while I’d coordinate transportation for my Mom and Jim’s two daughters from a previous marriage.

  Over the intervening years, the two of us had a rollercoaster relationship that ranged from long conversations about our lives and shared losses to a few romantic periods to one or both of us involved with others to one or both of us getting teed off about the other’s others. The Christmas Eve conversation eventually turned to coulda/woulda/shoulda and I said maybe we ought to just put an end to it one way or another. I had a ton of Marriott Frequent Sleeper points so suggested cashing some in for a whole travel package…maybe somewhere warm? In January? She accepted.

  Late the following month we met at the Fort Myers Airport, picked up a Chrysler convertible and headed to the Marco Island property. I’d previously called a special number (which I’d never used before) that had been given me years before by Sally McNally as a bonus for being one of the top Marriott Rewards members. My request was simple: King on an upper floor with a Gulf view. After check-in we were escorted to a first floor garden view room with two doubles and a broken chair leaning against a table. (In Susan’s telling of this story, she says “He got that look in his eyes so I said I’d go park the car in the lot across the street, but didn’t say I’d walk back very slowly.”).

  I went to the front desk and asked to speak to the Manager on Duty. When he arrived, I outlined the issues. He apologized, said the property was overbooked and perhaps something could be arranged the next day. I requested he call the home office and hand me the receiver when the connection was made, which he did. I asked to speak to Sally and when she picked up, I outlined the issues and she asked that I return the phone to the MoD. He listened a moment, turned away to continue the conversation, then hung up just as Susan joined us. He suggested we have a cocktail (his treat) in the adjacent lounge and that someone would let us know when “an adjustment to your accommodations” was accomplished.

  Twenty minutes later a staffer arrived, introduced herself, apologized for the inconvenience and asked we come with her. Outside, a bellman waited with all our belongings and we headed for the South Tower making small talk. When we exited the elevator, something didn’t look quite right—no hallways. Then I noticed a plaque on the opposite wall indicating 1101 was to the left and 1100 was to the right, which was the direction we turned. Our host smiled as she advised “I think you’ll like this one better.”

  1100 came with three bedrooms, two full baths and a powder room, an expansive living room, a formal dining room including a table seating twelve, a full kitchen and a penthouse patio that could host a party for 200 with room to spare. All ours for nine nights. (Thank you again, Sally, wherever you might be).

  On a Sunday morning a few weeks earlier, I was searching the Chicago Tribune’s Book section in search of pleasure reading and came upon a full page article/review concerning another first-time novelist’s work, but a newbie who’d done a tad better with his first outing. Chung Kuo—The Middle Kingdom was the first of an eight volume series set 200 years in the future focused on seven Chinese families trying to retain control of the entire planet in the face of an uprising led by a group of European Dispersionists. The writer’s publishing contract was groundbreaking and the epic had already been placed for translation in a dozen languages. I drove to the Woodfield Mall and picked up a copy at K&B.

  The afternoon of our first full day in Marco Island following a couple hours on the sand, I returned to 1100, took a shower then moved to a huge lounge chair/ottoman combo in the living room to give The Middle Kingdom a look, amazed at what I discovered. At over 600 pages, it was a long one to be sure, but the early and end pages really grabbed my attention. Following the Chapters list were short bios of 12 major characters then single lines devoted to another 100 players. Bookending this opening was a primer on Chinese translations, Mandarin vocal pronunciations, a glossary/definition of three dozen terms used in the manuscript, his Author’s Notes and a three page afterword titled In Times To Come…

  Two pages into the Prologue I was hooked, and for the next week I relished each day’s Chung Kuo Hour when I settled in to learn more about the unfolding epic and the many characters populating Wingrove’s universe. The writing was superb, the attention to detail outstanding. When I reached End of Book I on our final afternoon in Sally’s Suite I felt a pleasantly exhausted elation, and more than a bit of envy of the craftsmanship I’d experienced. On the flight back to Chicago the next day, I wrote a fan letter from one rookie writer to another. Mentioning it to Lori, she said she knew of the Chung Kuo project and the writer’s American editor, so would be happy to pass my letter along to her for delivery to him.

  Weeks later, I received a bulky packing envelope in the post bearing British stamps and a Customs dec. Inside I was delighted to find a typed, two page single spaced letter from David along with a signed copy of The Middle Kingdom sent as a swap, offered because he had a copy of the Publisher’s Weekly review of Sixers tacked to the bulletin board. He wanted a copy because it mentioned a disease that had been created through genetic engineering, GE being a main element in his own work. I was happy to oblige.

  In 1990, the internet as we know it today was nonexistent and USA-UK phone calls ran around $1/min, so we began an exchange of letters. A year later email was still in its infancy but we now both had fax machines so our communications became more frequent. In October 1991, Wing faxed that he was thinking about a screenplay that would occur between the action in Books IV and V and knowing I’d written a couple of specs, queried if I’d be interested in collaborating. More faxes followed as we cobbled together an outline and character roster, and in November we had our first telephone conversation.

  By late March we’d completed a 110-page script, but agreed we should probably get together in person for some polishing before submitting it. David said he needed to come to America to visit Doubleday so arranged meetings to be followed by a visit with me. In late April at the Princeton Junction NJ train station, we finally met and immediately h
it it off; like we’d known each other forever.

  Susan and I held a party in his honor that Saturday night, and the next morning the two of us left for Avalon NJ to spend four days at a beach block retreat we owned with four of her siblings. Long morning walks on the empty beach and boardwalk discussing everything under the warming Spring sun were followed by breakfast at a local diner, then came afternoons spent ripping Empire Of Ice to shreds and evenings drinking Wing’s fave brew, Newcastle Brown, while watching films that we frequently paused to debate plot points and characters. But my favorite recollections deal with detours taken during the rewrite process and the parallel spoof we’d conjured titled Empire of Rice. More than once, one of us literally had to step outside to recover from Hall of Fame-worthy laughing fits interrupting the serious stuff.

  Over the years I’ve visited London three times (once on a weeklong stay joined by my Susan) and David’s returned twice more (once with his Susan and their four daughters for seven days in Avalon). We completed a second spec, Capital America (a parallel universe piece) and developed the story for a third, Angel Junction.

  As I began the deconstruction of Sixers and the new construction of CK, it became clear that I was working with better focused eyes and sharpened skills. Equally clear was from where much of those benefits derived—studying with a genuinely masterful writer—not to mention cribbing some of his licks (for instance, I highly doubt Julia Garcy’s Curator’s Notes would exist had I not been writing under his influence). And when I’d noticed I might be taking my work a shade too seriously, I kept recalling an observation David had shared in his first letter to me: “We build things that hopefully entertain people. Beyond that, who’s to say?”

  The third set of fingerprints belongs to Dave Lersch.

  You need only read Chapter 12, Jip and Stonetree having lunch, to know how and when I met him, as the Homeroom sequence is lifted directly from our personal histories, as are many of the snippets. To say he’s been my best friend for over 40 years is certainly true, despite the fact that for 22 we’ve been separated by 700 miles of real estate. But it goes deeper than that.

  Our first collaboration was in junior year at St. Joseph’s HS, Westchester IL when I ran for Student Council and he worked up my campaign posters. Back then, and carrying through to the present, Dave has been in charge of the visuals while I handled the words. The entire Sixers dust jacket, including my photograph, was the result of his first try at constructing one.

  Many of the pinkiefinger.com images are his creations. The Standoff! and Get It Right! boards are interpretations of mock-ups I sketched. The pinkiefinger and Court Records logos are based only on the names. Atlantis began with just the concept while Wheel’s Up and Inside The Box were also fabricated from nothing but their titles and a bit of background info. The Suburban Downs poster was created to accompany an album I co-produced while Art4Breakfast is a project he’s just begun. And the grinning blond in One Hit Wonders? That’s my main man (beside our good friend and ace percussionist K. Rick Scanlan) from the final performance of our late but not great band Pine Ridge Clipper (my left hand making a guest appearance on the neck of the EKO 12 string). He has a substantial presence at thecombatartzone.com.

  As I sit here in the loft, I’m surrounded by other favorites. On the far left wall is one of his pen and ink drawings beside a shadowboxed 1x2x1 inch capsule used in the execution of an alternate take of the Sixers cover. Directly behind me above the hutch installation are three of his fanciful acrylics while down the hall leading to our master bedroom is a 16x44 frame containing a fascinating quartet of intricate, whimsical pencil drawings known as The Banana Suite.

  Long distance relationships are often difficult. Can’t get together for lunch, can’t meet for drinks, can’t share a Saturday afternoon college game nor a Sunday NFLer. Can’t even join forces for one of those magical missions to Home Depot in search of the perfect widget. But years ago we came up with a reasonable facsimile dubbed the Conversation Corner.

  Each Saturday morning around 10:40 Eastern, I put on my headset and phone in. Unless Dave’s out handling an emergency for his graphics company or occupied with a domestic that has to be handled, the CC begins. Never running less than an hour and extending to a record 3:45, we cover a broad range of topics from personal to professional, recent perceived traumas inflicted by our SOs, anything vaguely cultural, current events and recurring gripes. The only element always discussed is the previous week’s CBS Sunday Morning show which we watch religiously.

  One of the kindest, easiest-going, intuitive and talented persons one could ever hope to know, our contrapuntal lines have served us very nicely indeed.

  To all three of you, as Uncle Chuck would say…Grazie.

  About the Author

  John Patrick Kavanagh, aside from his writing and design projects, is also a member of the Illinois and California bars. A Chicagoland native, he currently lives in Bucks County, Pennsylvania with his wife Susan.

  johnpatrickkavanagh@facebook.com

  jpk@pinkiefinger.com

  twitter.com@johnpkavanagh

  Camden’s Knife@facebook.com