I Remember Alan

                                                              

"In one of the stars I shall be living. In one of them I shall be laughing. And so it will be as if all the stars were laughing, when you look at the sky at night...You--only you--will have stars that can laugh!" And he laughed again. "And when your sorrow is comforted (time soothes all sorrows) you will be content that you have known me. You will always be my friend. You will want to laugh with me..." The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint Exupery

I love you, my dear brother: Alan Jon Fortney Nov. 18, 1938 - June 21, 2019

I Remember

I have a vague recollection of a goose approaching me, and I was scared and crying, and later, found out it was you who rescued me.

When I tried to put crayon marks on my face (which didn’t work) and tried to impersonate an Indian in a blanket, calling myself, “Me, Big Chief”, you guys ran to the top of the stairs.  I thought I’d fooled you with my disguise, and you said, “Oh, yes, we were fooled, but the Big Chief Indian is going to bed.”

I remember you impersonating the Tomte Gub, when I found no money in the glass in the bathroom, but also, no tooth.

You didn’t know another little boy was tormenting me at Stony Lake Bible Camp, and telling me my parents had left and were never coming back. So, I left him there in the camper and crawled into your lap at the mess hall. The campers were doing a puppet show, putting their heads through cardboard circles, and using their hands for feet.  When I went back, the little boy was anxious and worried and wondered why I’d left him.  I didn’t feel sorry for him…ever.

I remember when you fell down the stairs and broke your arm.  All I saw was a white spot, and Dad said, “He broke it.” And I remember when we visited you from the ground at Hackley Hospital, when you had polio, and you were talking to us from the upstairs window. 

I remember when we buried you in the sand on the beach in North Muskegon.

I remember you inviting me to the home movies, movies, and cartoons, and including me. You helped me watch “Winky Dink” on TV, trying to manipulate a plastic drawing that clung, so W.D. could parachute, but then, the picture moved.

I remember you shoveling manure or something for a garden on Prospect, and saying you were going to grow ponies.

I remember when you and Steve put Tomahawk in marking tape on your suitcases to hitchhike, and when you arrived, made Mom laugh uncontrollably.

I Remember (2) I remember when we went swimming in Crystal Lake, how we formed a pyramid, with you on the bottom, then, Laurel, then, me at the top.  I can’t remember how that turned out.                                        

I remember when you invited me to go with you to your girlfriend’s house, who was also my swimming teacher, and I tasted my first pizza.

I remember you talking to me a lot when you were at the University, and encouraging me, theatrically.

I remember you having me take milk of magnesia to “clean me out”, as I was in stomach pain.

I remember your articles in the Courier-Hub, and how Dad was so proud of them, he collected them in a scrapbook.

I remember you getting off the Greyhound Bus from Europe, smiling and waving, and we were so surprised your beard was red.

I remember walking with you, and you were wearing Lederhosen.

I remember singing with you and the guitar, for others, and also visiting people.

I remember calling you in Madison when I was feeling sad, and you told me to read Ian Fleming’s novel, DR. NO.

I remember calling you on your birthday, and you talking about my future, because you remembered me doing a song and dance routine in the Prospect Street basement.  And there were countless other advice giving sessions, like how we could get a house. You looked at our house, with a sparkle in your eyes, and claimed it was already ours.

I remember, before emails, Mom was worried about me not calling her. So, you called and heard me try to talk with laryngitis, and laughed.  So you could tell her I wasn’t really able to talk.

I remember when I was in the grocery store, getting a call on my cell, picking up my cell anxiously, when I saw it was you.  And you laughed. I always remember how you laugh, and most of all, how you always included me.

3) More memories:  

I think I was looking down the stairs at Sunday School at the church on Yuba Street, and you were telling me, excitedly, that Boots (the feral cat I’d picked up, I think) had 9 kittens. I made a “house” for them in a box, not knowing that they actually like boxes. After awhile, the cat and kittens disappeared. Maybe Mom and Dad gave them away.  So lately, I’ve wondered if that’s why you went to get our dog, Lucky.

I remember you played the flute, which I wanted to play, but I got pushed by a band director into playing the clarinet and never succeeded.  That was my first lesson that I should do what I want to do.

I remember when I went to visit you with Mom and Dad at your UW apartment where you lived with our other brothers.  I was wearing this caramel colored bouffant wig that could be turned into a hat.  Dad thought I’d dyed my hair, looked at me, and said; “oog!” when we informed him it was actually a hat.  I took it off, and you put it on, in its state of disarray, and typed on your typewriter.

I remember, later, you hid behind the kitchen door and had me find you before our wedding.

I remember never landing for Christmas, first to Madison, then, to LaCrosse, then, to Minneapolis, and you were coaching me on the pay phones all the way back.  You said, not to worry, the pilots kept doing this, because they were smart.

I don’t know if it was the same Christmas, but you came back from a basketball game, with an intent look in your eyes, stating that Alex broke his arm, like you had to remedy it.  Maybe that’s because you knew what that was like.

Christmas Eve, 2019: At church and on a walk, all I could think of was how I got a fur-trimmed coat from my parents for Christmas Eve. They insisted I sing in the choir, as usual for the service, which was in the balcony in the back, and I didn't want to. My now late brother Alan, was the only one who figured out and understood that I wanted to wear my coat in the sanctuary and told our parents. I don't know if he talked our parents into letting me skip or not. I think he did. First Christmas (Eve) without him. Love you and miss you, dear brother.