the war to end all wars had ended.
i was told it was an especially good night to be born.
she gave her life for me.  and for that i am forever grateful.
i found a home.
". i didn't know i was a child. i thought i was like everyone else who lived there, an old man, in my "golden years."
i loved her very much. she was my mother.
some nights, i would have to sleep alone.
i didn't mind. i would listen to the house breathing. all the people sleeping. i felt safe.
it was a place of great routine.  every morning at 5:30, no matter the weather.  general winslow, u.s. army retired.  raised the flag.
breakfast was served promptly at six.
dinner was served promptly at six.
on saturday nights i would go to queenie's church.
now, when i look back on it, it was kind of miraculous.  but you know the saying, ". the lord giveth and the lord taketh away"
there were birthdays.
you could hear when someone left us.  there was a silence in the house.
for everyone that died, someone would come to take their place.
it was thanksgiving 1930, i met the person who changed my life forever.
i never forgot her blue eyes.
". when the baby came things were different"
i moved into my own room in the attic.  i realized, despite a house filled with people that i loved, i was alone.
i spent a lot of time by myself that year.
as hard as i try, i can't remember her name. mrs. lawson, or mrs. hartford, or maybe it was maple? it's funny how sometimes the people we remember the least, make the greatest impression on us.
i remember she wore diamonds.  and she always dressed in fine clothing as if she was going out. although, she never did and nobody would ever come to visit her.
she taught me how to play the piano.
there were many changes going on, some you could see.  some you couldn't.
hair, had started growing, in all sorts of places.
along with other things.
i felt like i could do anything, that i could sprout wings.
these were hard times.  people were doing anything they could to find work.
i was as happy as i could be.  i would do anything.
and i actually was going to be paid for something i would have done for free.
his name was captain mike clark.  he'd been on boats since he was seven.
he took me to meet some friends.
it was a night to remember.
it sure made me understand the value of earning a living.  the things it can buy you.
i loved the weekends when she would come and spend the night with her grandmother.
i had never thought about life or death that way before.
and one fall day.  a familiar visitor came knocking on our door.
she had taught me how to play the piano.
and she taught me what it meant to miss somebody.
i had gone to a whore house, i'd had my first drink, i had said goodbye to one friend and buried another.  in 1937, when i was coming to end of the 17th year of my life, i packed by bag.
and said goodbye.
i knew, life being what it was, i would probably never see them again.
and i went off to sea.
".  with captain mike's crew on the "chelsea""
captain mike had contracted for three years with moran brothers tug and salvage.  the old ship had been refitted with a diesel engine, and a new sea winch.  we went around florida and up the atlantic seaboard.
we were a crew of seven now.  captain mike and me.  the cookie.  prentiss mayes from wilmington, delaware.
the brody twins.  rick and vic.
who got along fine at sea.  but for some reason, once they were on dry land.  couldn't stand the sight of each other.
there was john grimm, who fit his name.  from belvedere, south dakota.
and pleasant curtis who never said a word to anyone.  except to himself.
murmansk is on the barrent sea, the only ice-free ocean port in the soviet union.
we stayed at a small hotel with the grand name, "the winter palace."
everybody, no matter what differences they had, the languages, the color of their skin, had one thing in common.  they were drunk every single night.
her name was elizabeth abbott. she was not beautiful. she was plain as paper.  but she was as pretty as any picture to me.
her husband was walter abbott. he was chief minister of the british trade mission in murmansk.  and he was a spy.
they were long days there.
and longer nights.
one particular night.  when i was having trouble sleeping.
and she told me all the places she had been, and what she had seen.
and we talked until just before the dawn.
and we went back to our rooms.  to our separate lives.
and every night.  we would meet in the middle of the night.
a hotel in the middle of the night can be a magical place.
a mouse stopping and running and stopping.
a radiator hissing. a sink dripping. a floor creaking. a curtain blowing.
there is something peaceful, even comforting, knowing that people you love are asleep in their beds, where nothing can harm them.
elizabeth and i would talk through the night until just before dawn.
it was the first time a woman had ever kissed me. it's something you never forget.
it took me a long time to go to sleep.
she was the first woman who ever loved me.
until one night.
and so, i went to war.
it wasn't the war we expected. we would tow crippled ships.  scraps of metal.
across the high seas.  if there was a war, we didn't see it.
there was a man assigned with us.  the chief gunner loved the navy, and most of all, he loved america.
i worked in the kitchen.
we were towing a british freighter, that had gone dead in the water, 800 miles to halifax for repair.
he had given me all of his pay.  he hadn't spent a dime of it.
there wasn't a sound.
736 men died that day.  i said my goodbyes to the cherokee, dennis smith, john grimm who was right, he was going to die there.  i sent pleasant curtis' wife his money.  i said goodbye to the twin, vic brody.
and to mike clark.  captain of the tugboat "chelsea."
i said goodbye to all the other men.  who had dreams of their own.  all the men who wanted to be plumbers or singers or insurance salesmen or doctors.  or lawyers or indian chiefs.
out here, death didn't seem normal.
it's a funny thing about coming home. smells the same. looks the same. feels the same.
and one evening, not long after i had been back.
". everything, in that moment, had changed between us"
while everybody else was aging.  i was getting younger.  all alone.
you can be mad as a mad dog at the way things went. you can swear, curse the fates, regret everything you ever did.  but when it comes to the end.  you have to let go.
i had a tailor sew onto his best coat -- a button for every year of his life. fifty-five of them.  all different, pearl and silver, brass and wood.  in case he lost one along the way.
and i went to new york.
and i met her friends.
if you want you could say i was looking for something.
life went on as usual.
and while she was rehearsing.  the woman, off the phone now.  had gone outside.  to get a taxi.
and the cab driver who had dropped off the earlier fare, and had stopped to get the cup of coffee.
had picked up the lady, who was going shopping.  who had missed getting the earlier cab.
while the man, late for work, was crossing the street.  making the cab wait.  daisy, finished rehearsing, was taking a shower.
while daisy was showering; the taxi was waiting outside a boutique for the woman to pick up a package.  which hadn't been wrapped yet because the girl who was supposed to wrap it.  had broken up with her boyfriend the night before and forgot to.
all the while daisy was getting dressed.
daisy and her friend came out of the theater.
or the man had set his alarm and got up five minutes earlier.
or the taxi driver hadn't stopped for a cup of coffee.
or the woman had remembered her coat.
and had gotten into an earlier cab.
daisy and her friend would have crossed the street.
and the taxi would have driven by them.
and he didn't see daisy crossing the street.
and that taxi hit daisy.
and her leg was crushed.
her leg had been broken in five places.  and with therapy, and time, she might be able to stand. maybe even walk.
"i stayed in paris for awhile, just to look out for her"
i learned to sail on an old boat of my father's from the lake house.
i can't lie, i did enjoy the company of a woman or two.
she came back.
and you said.
we buried her beside her beloved mr. weathers.
we had no furniture to speak of.  we would have picnics in the living room.
we vowed never to go to bed or wake up at the same time. we lived on that mattress.
our neighbor, mrs. van dam was a physical therapist.
and i think, right there and then, she realized none of us is perfect forever.
she opened a dance studio.
on a day like any other in the spring.
she gave birth to a five pound four ounce baby girl.
it was your first birthday. we had a party.  the house was filled with people.
i sold the summer house on lake pontchartrain.  i sold my share of button's buttons.  i sold the sailboat.  i put it all into an account for your mother.  and before you would ever remember me.
i left with just the clothes on my back.
". what i think is, it's never too late. or, in my case, too early, to be whoever you want to be. there's no time limit, start anytime you want. change or stay the same. there aren't any rules. we can make the best or worst of it. i hope you make the best. i hope you see things that startle you. feel things you never felt before. i hope you meet people who have a different point of view. i hope you challenge yourself. i hope you stumble, and pick yourself up. i hope you live the life you wanted to. and if you haven't, i hope you start all over again."
"that night"
"some are born to sit by a river."
"some have an ear for music"
"some are artists"
"some swim the english channel"
"some know buttons"
"some know shakespeare"
"some are mothers.
"and some people can dance"