Separate Paths
Devastating Accident
Shortly after my seventh birthday, I was invited to spend several days with John P. Adams, my very first friend, to visit his grandfather’s rustic cabin in Canaan, upstate New York. John’s family lived across town on Wolfe Street in “Old Town” Alexandria. Perhaps our parents had met somewhere on the “Washington scene” where Colonel Adams was assigned to Army intelligence. John was a fearless, outspoken boy with a ruddy complexion, freckles and, as I was to discover, a temper of sorts.
John’s mother was returning us boys home following a week’s vacation at the Adams’ remote cabin. As the car approached Prince Street, we saw a commotion outside. Our front door was ajar. After saying a quick thank-you to the Adamses and leaving my suitcase on the sidewalk, I ran inside to find my mother. When I found her, it was obvious something had gone terribly wrong. She was grief-stricken, more so than I had ever seen her before -- or since. In her usual way of sheltering her children from ugly situations, she tried to remain calm as she helped carry my bag in off the sidewalk. I was urged to go upstairs and clean up before joining her in the kitchen for cambric tea and cookies. In this way, I gathered Mom’s ploy gave her time to rethink through the bad news she planned to share with me.
Once in the kitchen, she looked directly at me and said that Jock had fallen down the narrow stairwell of our house not long before I had arrived. From the third floor, he had begun to slide down the bannister when he lost his grip and then his balance before plunging almost three floors to the ground level. At the time, my sister and younger brother had been somewhere else in the house with Mom. An ambulance had been summoned to take Jock to the hospital. She assured me that Dad had already left work to meet the ambulance with Jock at the hospital. Mom avoided discussing any further particulars. But, even the limited news was terribly disturbing. I recall weeping deeply for a long while. After all, Jock and I were close partners-in-play.
For days, little was said to any of the children about the incident because of our emotional state. Occasionally, one or more of us would suddenly break into tears. Soon it became known that, while Jock did not have any broken bones, he had injured his head as his body bounced from bannister to bannister down through the stairwell to the ground floor. I was never told how long he had remained unconscious. The family was informed that one of Jock’s ears, badly torn during the fall, had been successfully repaired. I wasn’t permitted to visit him at the hospital. Over time, our family would put the gruesome incident firmly behind all of us. To my knowledge the accident was never discussed within the family.
Waning Brotherly Love
Following Jock’s accident, I often wondered why, from 1944 to 1957, did he and I begin to head in different directions.
In the year of his accident, Jock was enrolled in St. Stephens, a newly-founded boys’ school in Alexandria. Heather and I were enrolled at Sidwell Friends, a Quaker school in Washington.
The last time Jock and I would attend the same school for an entire year was in 1950-51. Dad had been assigned to the American Embassy in Italy. Our entire family of six had moved to Rome. That year, Jock and I were enrolled at Le Rosey, a prestigious, multinational boarding school in Switzerland, he in ninth grade and I in eighth.
The following year, my father was assigned to the U.S. Naval War College in Newport, RI. Once our family settled in Newport, our parents wasted little time reviewing school options for all of us. Given the lack of time, Jock and I were placed in Newport’s public school, Rogers High. A week or two later, Dad approached both of us with the opportunity to transfer from Rogers High to St. George’s School, a well regarded, independent preparatory school in nearby Middletown, RI.
Our parents always encouraged us children to engage in the very best education available. Mom and Dad had long discussions with Jock and me hoping we both would transfer to the more challenging St. George’s.
Listening to my parents about St. George’s, I chose the boys’ school without hesitation. On the other hand, Jock, who continued at loggerheads within the family, opted in favor of remaining at the co-ed high school. He argued his points with Mom and Dad. There was a new Rogers High girl in his life and, even more importantly, he had become passionately involved with his newly acquired, souped-up hotrod, a 1940/1941 V-8 Ford. Also, Jock didn’t like the idea of attending a school on Saturday mornings and he had an aversion to wearing a coat and tie to school daily. Thus, St. George’s was out of the question for Jock. Looking over at Dad, I saw him wince.
That year, neither Jock nor I realized fully the consequences of our educational decisions made in Dad’s study. It was at that very juncture our paths began to diverge meaningfully.
Clouds On The Horizon
In Dad’s second year at the Naval War College in Newport, he served as a foreign affairs instructor/advisor and was promoted to the rank of admiral. In 1953, he was appointed U.S. Counsel General in Alexandria, Egypt. Mom, Heather and Tom joined him there.
Jock and I remained in the United States to complete our respective high schools. In Jock’s case, his homebase shifted from Rhode Island to GranE’s (our paternal grandmother’s) Leesburg, Florida home. Our family had long been associated with Leesburg going back to the 1880s. GranE’s younger son, Dad’s estranged brother, Richard Ross Edgar (“Uncle Dick”), likewise lived in Leesburg. Jock was enrolled as a senior at Bolles, an all-boys, military boarding school in Jacksonville.
Having completed my sophomore year at St. George’s and in spite of parental urgings to the contrary, I chose to transfer to The Severn School located near Annapolis, a non-military, preparatory school for the U.S. Naval Academy. Accordingly, my homebase was shifted to my nurturing godparents, Shirley and Chisholm Barnhart, in NJ.
That same year, Jock contracted a severe case of shingles and had to withdraw temporarily from Bolles returning to his grandmother’s house where he spent considerable time in dark isolation. Obviously, discouraged with his educational progress, unannounced Jock decided to enlist in the Air Force at the expense of graduation. Then living in Egypt, Mom and Dad were devastated by the news.
Estranged Uncle
Even during Jock’s relatively short stay in Florida, it soon became clear that his uncle had become an influential role model in Jock’s life. Uncle Dick’s interference was extremely troubling to our parents, especially as Dad and his brother had been estranged since 1944.
The estrangement occurred shortly before the end of the war. It was then Dick had abandoned his wife and their three children. From that time on, with rare exception Uncle Dick never reconnected or communicated with any of his immediate family. Even birthday and Christmas gifts were never forthcoming
Dad’s Physical Setback
For a number of years effective communications between Jock and his immediate family failed in favor of his uncle.
In the winter of 1953, Dad, Mom, Heather and Tom returned from Egypt for a brief Christmas vacation. Our family gathered near my godparents, Shirley and Chis Barnhart and the Robert T. Stevens’ family in NJ. As Jock was on active duty, he was unable to join us. During that brief interval I can only speculate that difficult telephone conversations were carried out between Dad, certainly his mother (GranE) and Jock, perhaps Uncle Dick, and most assuredly with family lawyers. In any event, whatever transpired among certain family members during those trying days, led to Dad suffering a heart attack.
New Beginning
It was in 1957 when Dad suffered a second heart attack while in Rio, Brazil. Mom and he had returned to Gunston Hall, VA to recover.
That very year, Jock’s and Ellen’s exciting engagement announcement came as a surprise to the family. I was particularly thrilled when Jock asked me to stand in as best man for Dad. Having seen very little of my big brother in recent years, up until then I had completely decoupled from his influence.
Bright Light
Jock was 22 years old when, on August 3, 1957, he married a lovely, young lady, Ellen Abercrombie, from Boston, GA. His choice of the love-of-his-life could not have been more perfect. Quickly, and with great ease, Ellen won the heart of everyone in our family.
In preparation for the Edgar/Abercrombie marriage, Dad arranged for a private, self contained, Pullman rail car to carry the Edgar family members from Washington to Georgia. He had arranged for berths, a dining section and a fully stocked bar. Afterall, we had heard that Georgia was a “dry state.”
What a thrill that week was leading up to a lovely wedding ceremony. Two wonderful families came together, a new bride was received into our family, following which Jock and Ellen together headed off into their new world.
Then, in 1960, Jock and Ellen invited me to become godfather to their first son, Donald Lee. First, his best man and now godfather to their new son. Both events became important turning points in what had been a somewhat distant relationship. Our bond was resuscitated. In the years to follow, our once rich, fun-loving, caring relationship revived almost effortlessly.