Fifteen years ago, 1977, on the Fourth of July, I moved out of 734 Chandler Street for the last time and went some four blocks or so to an apartment. It was the technical end of my relationship with Katherine. It was, in fact, a culmination of a marital relationship that really had been over some ten years before.
I’ve often tried to gauge how I feel or felt about that separation and ultimate termination of the marriage. I know at the time there was a great deal of anger and fault finding – attempts to justify this “failure.” Looking back, with benefit of hindsights, sans anger, it was less a failure and more something that should never have been. Even so, it produced a great deal of happiness in the seven children and now grandchildren. Like most things, it wasn’t all bad. Shortly after the separation, I sent Katherine a note expressing the opinion that maybe it was for the best and reminding her that we did have many happy moments. Regrettably, her reply was that she could think of none. I hope it has changed for her since then, but at the time, in anger I felt vindication. Now I feel that if it was true, she had no good memories, I feel pity.
It was not meant to be. I spent so much time trying to find reasons to relieve my guilt that now it seems so ridiculous. The then current attitude was to justify – find a fault – your parents, each other, money, children, anything that would exorcise the guilt, the pain of having failed or believing you had failed. I no longer do so. I do believe we both brought very distorted, unrealistic and naive ideas of what marriage was or is, to the relationship. We could point our fingers at our parents, our church, our educational backgrounds, but even with the benefit of hindsight, it is difficult to designate a “cause.” It just was a mistake. Now, fifteen years later, I regret only the pain and no longer seek a “reason.” The happiness of my life with June blurs all “fault-finding” and makes me sigh how lucky I am! I can’t speak for Katherine, though she seems to have found peace without, for whatever reason, having a marital relationship.
I don’t wish to imply by what I’ve written that I had no faults or caused no pain – “au contrare” – the scenes I caused when intoxicated, and even sober, are not in the “Happy Memory” column. I wish, as anyone would (any sane person) they were “un”done, but even more, I wish that I could remove the hurt and scars that surely must have occurred and remain.
7/25/92:
As the year 1971 came to a close, my term as Commissioner of Records was also expiring. Each Commissioner serves at the wish of the Mayor. Mayor James H. J. Tate who appointed me could not run and he was being succeeded by Frank Rizzo. Therefore, come January 6, 1972, with the inauguration of Frank Rizzo as Mayor, and with the presumed appointment of a new Commissioner of Records, my term would be over.
However, around December 27th or 28th I received a phone call from the incoming Managing Director, Hillel Levinson. He advised that the new Mayor wanted to make “some changes in my office.” I played dumb and agreed that some changes would be welcome, like new drapes, new carpet, etc. Hillel quickly corrected me as to what “office” he was referring, i.e., Commissioner of Records. He wished, as did the new Mayor, for me to resign so a new Commissioner of Records could be appointed. I agreed to contact the then Managing Director, Fred Corletto, and submit my resignation.
I no sooner hung up the phone than it rang with the present Mayor, James H. J. Tate, on the line inquiring “Why in the hell I was resigning?” Talk about news travelling fast! I explained to “Hiz Honor” that I thought he had directed us to cooperate with the incoming administration. He apparently had forgotten those instructions, or, in his anger at the swiftness with which the new Mayor (whom he made) was ignoring him, decided he never so instructed. I agreed to call Mr. Levinson and since nothing had been submitted in writing, thought the matter would be ended.
I advised Mr. Levinson of my new decision and added that I thought Frank should call me since, after all, we served together for 4 years, he as Police Commissioner and I as Deputy Commissioner of Property and Commissioner of Records. He, Mr. Levinson, agreed and said “Frank would call!”
This all happened late in the afternoon, and as I left the office around 5:00 p.m. I purchased an Evening Bulletin as my usual companion for the ride home. Lo and behold! There was a front page story “Deputy Fire Commissioner Eccles and Commissioner of Records McSorley Resign.”
I ran into Hillel some four years later (with Arlen Spector, another non-friend of mine). It was during Frank’s re-election campaign in 1976 and reminded him I was still waiting for Frank’s call. He lamented that “Frank’s been very busy! But he’ll call.” He hasn’t yet.