Inordinate Obsessions

Stanley Galway made the news last week, not by choice but by chance. It wasn’t front page, but the local TV did air a short video clip. Stanley wouldn’t have approved. But then he wasn’t consulted.

Retired at 62, children grown, a nice pension, Stanley fell in love…again! His wife never approved, of course…women rarely tolerate husbands with wandering eyes and their penchants for ever-revolving trysts. But she relented, rationalizing he’d been a diligent husband for 39 years, a responsible provider for their children. After all, he’d worked hard for their comfortable lifestyle and perhaps deserved some freedom. Even she herself had fallen in love with the bridge center.

Stanley lived an up-front life, never duplicitous. Even in his latter-day obsessive romance, he first consulted Margie before making the commitment. He counted the cost of things before he acquired a taste for them. He told her he’d be spending time away from home, traveling with his new love. He promised never to publicly flaunt the affair, but let it evolve slowly. That way he hoped the community wouldn’t think him some old fool or has-been playboy with a late-life inordinate inclination. Besides, he was a deacon at the First Baptist Church.

Stanley realized there’d be costs to carry on such an adventurous and adulterous affair. He needed a new wardrobe to fit in with new friends. While the new clothing seemed strange at first, he soon preferred the look to the staid blazer and khaki outfits he’d worn for years.

There were also other costs to consider. Motels, restaurants, periodic maintenance and other travel expenses would be involved, so Stanley did a careful budget, promising himself and Margie he’d stay within it…he was a straight-up kind of guy. He even obtained a small credit line and a couple of new Visa cards for backup.

Then there were the children to consider. What would they think of their father’s moonlit rendezvous at his age? “Dad, is this a wise thing you’re doing, or just some mid-life infatuation?” they asked. “And what about your heart? After all, you know you’re not that young…how much excitement can you stand?” they reasoned. They cautioned him, tried to persuade him to rethink such a preposterous proclivity.

But he’d have none of it, and prevailed by promising to refrain from wild parties and to never over-indulge in alcoholic beverages. He acknowledged that alcohol does lower inhibitions, making one both invisible and bullet proof. He pledged to be careful not to lose control. “Look, I’m a deacon,” he argued, “and I do have a reputation.”

Finally, with everyone’s reluctant consent, Stanley said goodbye to them last week. With the high spirits that accompany new romantic interests, he strolled smiling from his house, promising to stay in touch, but not agreeing to divulge too many steamy details of his first fling. It wouldn’t be proper, he concluded. Roaring out of the driveway and pumping the air with his fist, he felt free at last.

Unfortunately, however, Stanley was unschooled in the ways of Fate. She’s a fickle woman, never giving, only lending. And Stanley’s loan was too short…it came due on demand that afternoon.

Stanley’s brief moment of newsprint came in a short blurb in the Coastal Times. It read:
“Stanley Galway, a 62 year old man wearing a red Superman cape, died Wednesday when he lost control of his Harley Davidson motorcycle on a curve on Hwy. 17 and slid under a pickup occupied by George and Maude Hayseed near Cannon Creek. Witnesses reported that in spite of his mangled body, he died with a smile on his face. After further investigation, police stated he was in fact wearing a helmet.”

This week a sign appeared on the lawn of the First Baptist Church: “Repent, all ye who pass this way!” There, next to that sign, stood a crumpled mass of steel. Unrecognizable now as a motorcycle, this grotesque display bore a stark and silent testimony to the perils of misplaced passion. Inscribed on a bronze plate at the base of Stanley’s colossal wreckage were the words:

“He sowed the wind,
And reaped the whirlwind”

Is there a moral to this sad and tragic tale? You decide. I think that Stanley would agree that helmets are inadequate armor for inordinate infatuations with Harleys.


Bud Hearn
October 15, 2009