What was our week in the U.S. like? Actually it was far better than I had expected. I suppose I should have known Elise would charm everyone, but I had my doubts about how a French woman would be accepted.
Things got off to a good start in Philadelphia. We got to town in the early afternoon, and rather than go straight to my house, I took Elise down to the historic district so she could see Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell. As luck would have it, we got there in time for the three o’clock re-enactment when some actors do a twenty minute debate summarizing the first Continental Congress in 1814. If you haven’t seen it, you will discover that it is pretty well done. The material is predictable – the British led us into two failed campaigns into the Ohio Valley (no mention of Washington’s role), they talked us into a terrible attack in Quebec, and then got us slaughtered in the Battle of New Orleans. If that is the best they can do as our leaders, who needs them? It is the usual distortion of history you would expect from politicians, but at least the actors use the exact language of the times – all the historical inaccuracies are accurately retold.
Elise was very taken with Andrew Jackson. I explained to her that most of his inaugural address was plagiarized from Thomas Jefferson, but she didn’t seem to mind. A speech about honor and freedom stolen from a slave holder was too much for me, but she insisted Jackson was our best president. I began to wonder if there was some family connection – one more thing for me to research between snowstorms in Green Bay.
By six I could no longer put off going home. I pulled up to our brownstone off Rittenhouse Square hoping Elise would like the place. Before I could say anything, however, the front door opened and half the population of Philadelphia emerged. Not only was my mother and father there, but so were both my sisters, both my brothers, and all my in-laws and nieces and nephews. If your last name was Murphy, you were in Rittenhouse Square that evening.
I very quickly learned four things. First, my mother could speak French. Who knew? All the men had to know French because of our business, but I had never heard my mother speak it. As it turned out, she was very good. Second, I learned that Elise spoke English. We had never spoken English to each other, but I assumed she probably knew a little English from school classes. But she had never been to the U.S. before, so I had no real expectations. But she was good! Third, everyone loved Elise. She was introduced to each one, and she had nice things to say about all the children, and gifts for my mother from her mother and gifts for my sisters and sisters-in-laws from herself (I have no idea how she knew how many there were, much less their names. I have never talked about them.) Fourth, everyone in the family was certain that she was far too good for me. Well, who can argue that?
That first evening went by in a blur. The dining room table looked better than it did at Christmas time, and it was extended out clear into the parlor. We sat for hours and talked and Elise was charming and beautiful through it all.
The next day I discovered that the women of the family had claimed Elise and were going to take her around town. I recognized Wanamakers on the list of destinations, but the rest were a mystery to me. In any case, she seemed happy with the itinerary, and was gone with the rest by ten. I sat at the kitchen table, had a second cup of coffee, and wondered what to do with my day. It was then that I got the phone call that led to the only uncomfortable time on the trip. My father wanted me to have lunch with him at the Capitol. He had an appointment with Senator Dodson, and since I was in town, would I like to join him? I agreed.
Senator Dodson was someone we had known since he was Congressman Dodson. He was now the senior senator from Pennsylvania and had helped us with a number of business matters over the years. We had helped him with his campaigns. Some critics would say we paid him to do our bidding, but it wasn’t quite that simple. He sometimes voted against our interests. But he always listened to our side of the story and usually helped us, especially on international trade issues. I knew my father lunched with him several times a year, and they talked about golfing together, but I think that had just happened once. So how would I characterize their relationship? They were business acquaintances of long standing.
I arranged to meet my father in one of the parking garages near the Capitol – one of the many garages hidden under the lawns along the Delaware. I have always appreciated the job they have done in keeping the area along the river green, but the price you pay is that you always park underground. I had no trouble finding my father’s limo and we quickly passed through a variety of security checks on our way to the Senate Dining room. The dining room was incredibly opulent, but then, that was its point – to make those who were invited to dine there feel special. Our invitation to join the Senator there was a kind of gift from him to us.
He and a young aide were waiting for us when we arrived, which surprised me a lot. I don’t know the man well, but he seemed the kind to make us wait a bit so he could make an entrance. But this time he was there before us, a waiter at his elbow to take us immediately to our seats. My next surprise was that he did not begin the meal with apologies for having to leave early to vote on something urgent or solve some national crisis. He seemed perfectly prepared to spend a very leisurely meal with us. I suppose that should have made me nervous, but I was too naïve to know what was coming.
The Senator briefly introduced his aide, someone from a committee whose name I didn’t catch (mistake number 1), and then he turned things over to my father, who talked about me, my doctorate from the University of Virginia, the work I have been doing for the company in Green Bay, and my return yesterday. I was not surprised that Dodson asked about me and the rest of the family. One of the rules of business is that you try to learning something personal about the people you do business with. It establishes a different relationship – we are not just salesman and customer – we know each other and go way back. It may not guarantee a sale, but it helps. But Dodson seemed to be more curious about me than was required to be polite. I wondered if he was angling for a bigger campaign contribution this year. Was he up for re-election? I couldn’t remember when his term was up. It was the aide who tipped me off to what was really going on.
“Do I understand you came through Versailles Pass on Monday?” he asked. In hindsight I recall that for just a second there was an expression on Dodson’s face that made me think maybe the aide had overstepped whatever role he had been assigned, but I suspect he had gotten impatient with the endless patter about family and friends and wanted to get to the heart of the matter. Now I understood what the heart of the matter was – or at least I thought I did (mistake number two).
“Yes, we came through around three.”
“But I had heard the pass was closed. How did you manage to get through?” he asked. But before I could answer, Dodson decided to take over the conversation. I don’t know if he kicked the aide under the table, but that was the last word we heard from him.
“As you can imagine, Doctor Murphy,” Dodson began. I tried to determine why he called me “Doctor Murphy” rather than “Shawn.” I was grateful he wasn’t attempting false intimacy, but it seemed out of step for a man trying to connect to the family. I had much to learn. “We have many citizens in western Pennsylvania who travel over the pass almost on a daily basis for business and personal reasons. The closing of the pass is a huge problem for them. Anything you could tell us to help us understand the situation up there would be appreciated.”
“Sure.” I described our arrival and what we had seen of the destruction, emphasizing that all hostilities had ceased by the time we had arrived. As I saw it, it was an unfortunate incident, but it was over now and normal passage should not be too far off.
“You were able to get through even though the pass was closed. Was that because you are an American? Are they letting Americans through?” I should have known he already knew the answer to that, but I was too stupid (mistake number three).
“I am traveling with Elise DuPry.
She is an official in the Interior Ministry of Canada, or at least she will be when she starts July first. She did an on-site investigation for the ministry. Afterwards the officials there let us travel on to the U.S.”
“DuPry. Is she a member of the …”
“Yes, she is one of those DuPrys. Her godfather is Claude Jolliet.” What on earth made me say that? Was I bragging? What an idiot. At this point my father jumped in to compound the mistake.
“Shawn is writing a biography of the Jolliet family. He regularly interviews President Jolliet.”
“That must be very interesting. I have met the President on several of his visits. I liked him. Too bad he was almost shot the last time he was in Washington. I suspect he won’t be back for a visit any time soon. But back to the pass. We hear lots of rumors about huge troop concentrations. There’s no possibility they are going to invade us is there?”
That made me laugh so hard I made mistake number five. Or was it six? I was screwing up so badly who could count? “No, there were soldiers in a few trucks, but they were just there to block traffic. It was really a police matter, but I suspect they were grateful for some extra help after a long night.”
“Well, that’s a relief. I hear you will be going back to Green Bay next week. I would like to give you the card of one our embassy people there. And I hope you will call him. Should things get rough there, he has a responsibility to get our citizens out, so please give him a call so he knows where you are. Do you travel to other parts of Canada?”
“I went down to New Orleans for a few weeks last winter. I am not sure if I will do that again or not.”
“Oh, we have a great man down there. I just spoke with him a few weeks ago. Great guy. You will like him. Let me see if I have one of his cards.” Dodson rummaged around in his coat pockets, brought out a stack of cards, and dug through it until he found the one he wanted. “Here it is. And it even has his private number on the back. Why don’t you take that in case you get down there again? And do call him. He already knows every good restaurant in New Orleans.”
Am I a complete idiot? What are the odds that he would just happen to have the card of someone from New Orleans? But I took the two cards, put them both in my pocket and didn’t think twice. At this point my father mentioned that he had to get back to work. Somewhere during all the talk, lunch had come and gone and almost two hours had passed. Yet the Senator had sat there as if there was absolutely nothing else on his agenda for the day. Very strange.
We shook hands all around, and my father and I left the Capitol Building. I was glad when he exited out on the river side. That is my favorite way out too, even though it is a longer walk to the parking lots. Standing high atop all those stairs you can look out across the Delaware and see for miles. Only later did I understand how blind I was.
Thursday I went down to my father’s office and explained that I would be leaving the company. I would be teaching for the National University in the fall. He took it much better than I had expected, and we talked for a while about things I might be able to do for the company on a part-time basis.
Friday we drove up to New York. “We” included the whole extended family. Somehow my father had gotten rooms for everyone at the Plaza. We took up half of one floor. But the women were still ruling the day, declaring that going shopping in New York with me would be like going to a museum with a blind man. Elise needed their help. So the women shopped while we men went to a ball game and drank too much beer.
The two scheduled highlights of the New York trip were the Broadway show and mass at St. Patrick’s. Dad hired a limo for the show, so we all arrived like royalty. The women had all worn their new gowns and really did look good. But it was Elise who drew all the attention. I was certain some of the people in the theater thought royalty had arrived, or at least one of the starring actresses. Maybe it was how comfortable she seemed under the lights, how relaxed. She reminded me of how she had looked at the President’s Ball – a stunning beauty who seemed totally unaware of the impact she had. As we walked into the theater I could hear conversations jolt to a stop while heads swiveled from every direction. She took my arm and I tried not to trip over my own feet.
What was the play about? Who knew? I got to sit next to Elise, my hand held in both of hers through the entire performance. I may have glanced at the stage once or twice, but mostly I watched Elise.
The next morning we didn’t go to the early mass as I had promised. The Plaza serves a very fine Sunday brunch and my father insisted we share one more good meal together. But we were at mass by ten, and I was pleased that Elise liked St. Patrick’s. We may be a protestant country, but we do have some fine cathedrals. It was important to me that Elise see that. After the mass it was back to the Plaza to pack and check out. It was noon before we were all back on the street gathered around our cars, the women hugging and exchanging promises to write, call, visit, etc. Nobody wanted Elise to leave. There were a few words for me from my brothers about taking care in Canada and my father made me promise I would come straight home if things got worse, but it was Elise who was the center of concentric circles of well-wishers. I swear we spent a half an hour on that sidewalk.
We were finally beginning to wind down the last of the hugs when Elise called me over. She took my hand in both of hers and then spoke to my family, which was still gathered around her.
“A few weeks ago, Shawn asked me to marry him.” That drew a few cheers and a “way to go Shawn” from my big brother. “I didn’t give him an answer then because a question of such importance deserves serious thought. But having discussed it with my family, and having met all of you, I am ready to answer now. Shawn,” she turned and faced me. “I would be very proud to marry you.” That brought so many cheers traffic stopped on the street. I couldn’t think of anything to say. Fortunately Elise kissed me so I didn’t need to speak.
That ended any thoughts of leaving town early. The attendants parked our cars again and dad led us all back into the Plaza for a huge and noisy lunch. My brothers patted me on the back so much I was sure I was bruised, and my sisters both congratulated me, but the look on both their faces said “What in the world does she see in Shawn?” We were so noisy I was sure the matre'd was going to come over and quiet us, but my father handled it well, talking with people at adjacent tables and explaining the occasion. Sending champagne over to the tables helped as well.
Two hours later we were back on the sidewalk for more hugs, but this time my mother and all my sisters and sisters-in-law were in tears. The parking attendants had to be annoyed by all the time we were taking to collect our cars, but then my father tipped them, I tipped them, and I think even one of my cheap brothers tipped them. Everyone was happy. Finally we got into our cars, us heading north for the highway to Niagara, the rest of the family headed south to the New Jersey turnpike. It had been one heck of a visit.
What was Elise like in the car? She was marvelous. She talked nonstop about the family and about Philadelphia and New York. I plunged on through the traffic while I learned what my family had said and done over the last week. My contribution, about an hour down the road, was to take her hand and say “Thank you.” Then I went back to driving and she continued her description of my family. Fortunately, it appeared I had a good one.
By six the excitement of the day was wearing off and we were getting near the border. Should we push on through Niagara tonight? We decided to spend one more night in America and cross in the morning. What we didn’t say is that neither of us was sure what we would find at the border. It seemed better to deal with such things in the morning. I found a good hotel, got us a suite, and ordered room service. Having shared Elise for a week, I wanted her to myself for the evening. And, being the luckiest man on Planet Earth, that is exactly what I got.
The next morning we were up early. It would be a push, but there was still a chance we could make it back to G
reen Bay by the end of the day. Much would depend upon what happened at the border. We had stayed away from newspapers and broadcast news all week, but we weren’t completely oblivious to what was being said. The “battle” at Versailles Pass was declared over, but the papers were full of ominous stories about riots all over Canada and more people escaping to the U.S. and California. We were not sure what we would find at the border.
We were in the car by seven and at the border by eight. The American side was pretty routine. They checked both our passports pretty carefully, but neither of us had to get out of the car. Since I was an American, I was handed a sheet of paper with a State Department warning. “To all U.S. Citizens traveling to Canada: Be aware…” I glanced at the first few lines, dropped the paper beside my seat, and drove through the gate.
The French side was more complicated, but not as bad as we had feared. We were directed to park our car, and then we went into a small building to have our passports scanned. Elise had the usual effect on the staff. She was wearing a yellow print sun dress, and while the long skirts signaled her French nationality, everything else about her would seem to indicate a woman returning from vacation. But the staff spotted something about her instantly. Every uniform in the room was suddenly turned toward her, and it seemed to me everyone was standing a bit straighter. The French seem to have radar for nobility.
She and I began with the usual passport checks, but as hers was completed she drew out her Interior Ministry identification and asked to speak with the site manager. She was very pleasant about her request, and said “please,” but the passport clerk immediately hustled off as if she had barked a string of commands. The clerk came back with the senior man instantly.
“Thank you,” she smiled at the clerk, and then addressed the site manager. “I don’t wish to trouble you, but it you have a few minutes, it would help me if you could provide me with a summary of how things have been the last few days.”
“Of course, madam. Shall we go into my office? Would you like some coffee?” He looked at me to see if I was to be included, but Elise answered for me.
“Shawn, I will just be a minute. Do you mind?” I of course didn’t mind. I took my stamped passport, walked around the parking lot a bit to stretch, and waited for Elise to come out. I found myself looking at the people who were leaving Canada. There seemed to be a fair number. Of course I had no idea what the normal traffic would be on a Monday morning, but the line was longer than I would have guessed – maybe forty cars. Many were pulling trailers – people taking personal belongings out with them. And they were irritable. The immigration staff greeted each driver politely, but I heard few polite responses. What was said was in monosyllables. One teenager even raised his arm out a window and made an obscene gesture – after the car had made it through the gate.
Elise joined me after a while and we stood together looking at the cars. “I would like to think they are all just going to vacation at Disneyland,” I said. “But this looks a bit more serious.”
“Have the immigration people been acting correctly? They told me that has been a point of emphasis.”
“Yes, they are doing just fine. But they don’t seem to be making any friends.”
“Friends we can hope for later. Right now, we just need fewer enemies.” Elise turned toward where our car was parked. “Shall we get back on the highway?” We alternated driving during the next fourteen hours, and I know we were both very tired of sitting in that stupid Citroen, but it seemed important for Elise to get back. She never said what was discussed with that immigration official, but she seemed a good deal more serious during the remainder of the trip. Her vacation was over.
I got her back to her apartment around ten. Both of us were so tired and stiff it was hard to get out of the car, but we struggled with her bags and got her things back into her rooms. I felt a bit funny about being back on the campus. Elise had graduated and would be moving out in the next month or two. I would be the one moving to the campus – a visiting professor. Soon this would be my professional home.
But that would be another day. For tonight, we just needed to unwind after a very long day. I opened a bottle of wine, and Elise stopped unpacking long enough to make some soup. I stood behind her at the stove and she leaned back into me. We were home in Green Bay, and we were engaged. Life was good.
Chapter Three
Green Bay