July 16, 2014
What's the difference between a nightclub and an elephant fart?
One is a bar room, and one's a BAROOM!
- Harry Nilsson to me, some time in the early 80s
August 7th, 2014
When I was 10 or 11 years old, Harry asked if I wanted to go stay at Disneyland with him for a few days, which of course was like asking me if I was interested in being happy. So it was arranged, and I flew down to meet Harry and we went to Disneyland. We arrived at the Disneyland hotel and we checked in. We brought our things up to the room which was a very nice double room, and then we went downstairs. First stop? The bar. I happily followed him there and hung out in the lounge area and watched The Harry Show begin. He couldn't help himself. He loved talking with people, and he loved his fans. When people started to recognize him in the bar, he became the main attraction and soon he had swarms of people sitting around him. Everybody loved him, and I was honestly just happy to be in the room with him at that point. After a couple hours though, I became bored and interrupted him to let him know I was going up to the room. He said okay, kissed me on the forehead and said good night. I gave him a hug. As I left the bar, he had moved over to the piano and had begun playing and singing for the crowd.
I was fast asleep at around 3 AM when I heard knocking on the front door and a sort of half-whispered, half-mumbled "Zak? Zak? Let me in. I don't have my room key. Zak?" After a few moments I blearily realized what was going on, and let him in. "Oh thank you," he slurred as he stumbled to his bed and got in. I made sure he was all right, then I went back to sleep. The next day, I remember walking through Disneyland, and I remember very clearly that I wanted to ride Space Mountain, and I wanted him to go with me. I realize now that he was probably very hung over, he was squinting in the sun and moving slowly. He gently encouraged me to go ahead on my own and tried to excuse himself from participating, but I pleaded with him to go with me. And my dad was such a kind and gentle person at heart, he couldn't bring himself to deny me. So we both went on Space Mountain together, and I'm sure it was hell for him. He did his best not to let it show though, and he made me happy.
When I think back on my relationship with Harry, the emotions I experience are so multifaceted. He always felt guilty about splitting up with my mother and leaving me without a father, because that's exactly what happened to him as a kid. It even happened in the way he sang about it in "1941", you could substitute "1971" and it would be my story. Harry made it clear that he cared about me, and even I could sense the waves of guilt on his part when we were together. He never wanted it to be this way for me, and I've never blamed him for it. I hope, and I believe, that he knew that. When he was living in Nyack, NY, I once went to visit him, and we went out and he got drunk at a bar again. This was different though, because he had been trying very hard to stay off drinking, he had been having health problems and thank God Una had been helping him stay clean.
He told me, "I can't help it. I can't help it. When you come to visit me, I can't control it. I can't control my drinking, son. I see you, and I have to drink." He was nearly in tears when he said that to me. I understood what he meant. He never fully got over the shame he felt for doing to me what, in his mind, was done to him as a child. I was never old enough to form the words necessary to alleviate his guilt, to assure him that he hadn't done anything wrong by me, and that I loved him no matter what. So these visits always had this chain reaction of guilt where he felt guilty about how he had left me, and I felt guilty that he felt that way, and every time it ended with me crying into his shoulder as I left for the airport, which I'm sure only made it worse.
I hope, in the end, that I was finally able to convince him that I never blamed him for what had happened and in fact I was happy that he had found Una because she made him happy, and in my child-like, simplistic view of things, that's all I cared about. If there's one thing I regret, it's that I wasn't able to have more conversations with him as an adult. I was 23 when he died, and I feel like there were so many great conversations we could have had together.
Comment: Yeah, and that's what I tried to tell him, just not in so many words. The fact that he cared so much about what had happened to me was proof of that. That's why I was never really bitter or angry about it - because there was no reason to be.
I wasn't as damaged as Harry always feared I was, and the reason for that was because he cared so much. I'm not sure he ever really understood that, he was always worried that I would pack up and hitchhike across the country like he did.
August 11, 2014
When I was 10 or so, I flew down to LA from Santa Cruz to visit Harry, something I was doing once or twice a year at that point. As per usual, Harry had sent a car to the airport to pick me up, and when I found the man holding the sign with my name on it, we loaded my bag into the limo and left. This was usually how it worked, and I never knew where I would be going, because Harry was always doing something.
This time we drove to a recording studio, where Harry was waiting for me inside. I don’t remember what he was working on at the time, I just remember that I was actually kind of tired. I had only been there a half hour or so, and I asked if I could go back to the house, because I was tired.
“If you can wait for a while longer, Robin Williams is coming,” Harry told me. “You want to meet Robin Williams?”
I was only 10 years old, and I wasn’t thinking too clearly, because I was tired. I really liked Robin, but I didn’t think I would be able to stay awake, and being somewhat used to meeting famous people when I was with Harry, I just assumed I could meet Robin the next day, or maybe later in the week.
“Sorry dad, I’m really tired,” I yawned. “Is it ok if I go back to the house?”
Harry looked disappointed, but not upset. “Sure, kiddo. Let’s go out to the car.”
I fell asleep in the car on the way back to the Nilsson house in Bel Air. The next day I didn’t say anything but was sort of hoping I could meet Robin, but we never did. And the opportunity never came up again, I never did get to meet him. I’ve always regretted that because Harry told me how great Robin was, and how they were such good friends.
But I’ve never regretted it more than I do today. Rest gently, Robin... your loss diminishes us all.
August 14, 2014
When I was probably 12 years old and living in Willits, in northern California, my mother Diane informed me one day that Harry would be coming for a visit. I was ecstatic. "He's coming here? Really?" I couldn't believe it. Why would he come all the way up to this tiny town in No. California? My mother was clearly not impressed, as she was not one to forgive easily, and I don't think she wanted to see him at all. But she had already agreed to it, and she told me he would be taking me on a trip up to Washington. Why? I didn't know, and I didn't care. All I knew was that I was going to see my dad again, and it reinforced the notion I had that he did care about me and wanted to spend time with me.
When Harry arrived I was so happy to see him. He came in and sat down on the couch, my mother offered him something to drink and it was all very awkward. I didn't care. After some light chit chat guaranteed not to break the surface tension and then long moments of even more awkward silence, Harry said we should get going because we had a plane to catch. I grabbed my bags and we left, somebody drove us to the tiny airport in Willits and we boarded a tiny plane and flew a tiny distance to another airport where we boarded a larger plane and flew a larger distance to somewhere in Washington State.
I still had no idea what we were doing or why we were there. The pilot had let me fly the plane for a little bit which was exciting, and then we landed, got out and promptly rented a car. Harry drove us for a number of hours, and I don't remember much of it. I do remember three significant things that happened on this trip, but I still have no idea why we were there; and I suspect Harry brought me along only because northern California was basically on the way to Washington. But at least he thought of me and wanted to have me along, and I will always be grateful for that.
The first significant thing I remember is our first night there. On our drive we stopped somewhere to buy a ridiculous amount of junk food (I was 13), and then we arrived at our hotel. It was a very large, very posh hotel, and after we got all our bags and junk food into the room, I had nothing to do. Harry gave me a few rolls of quarters so I could entertain myself at the Asteroids machine in the lobby while he went off to do other things. I still don't know what he did, but I assumed he was there to meet somebody for some reason. After a while Harry was nowhere to be found, so I went up to our room, ate junk food, and eventually fell asleep. I was awoken many hours later by some yelling outside the window, in the hotel's outdoor back yard. I cleared my head and went to the window, and it was Harry yelling at me to let him in please, because he had lost his key and he was locked out of the hotel somehow. He was also very drunk. I don't remember exactly how, but I did get him inside and into the room, where he promptly fell asleep.
The next significant thing I remember took place shortly after that, maybe the next day or the day after. We were driving through the wooded highways of Washington, and for some reason we stopped to pick up a hitchhiker. These days that seems like an almost unthinkable risk, but it was the early 80s which was not too far from the 70s, and Harry, as we know, had a very generous nature. I was secretly disappointed, because I barely got to spend any time with my dad at all, and now I had to share him with some stranger. We all ended up driving into the night and then getting a room at a motel somewhere. Harry and our new friend had gone out for drinks, and I had stayed in the room and gone to sleep. Before Harry left though, he made a point of telling me that his money was our money, and that if I needed anything I could use it. The next morning I woke up before Harry and our hitchhiker friend did, it was 8 or 9 in the morning and I was hungry. I quietly took some of the money Harry had next to his bed, and he woke as I did so. He sleepily asked what was up, and I told him I was using some of "our money" to go buy some breakfast. He seemed happy with that explanation and immediately went back to sleep. I went outside to the diner attached to the motel and had breakfast by myself. I thought about what a long, strange trip it had been. I still didn't care that I had no idea what was going on, why we were there, who that hitchhiker was or what we were doing. I was with my dad, and that was enough.
The last significant thing I remember from that trip is near the end, as we were taking the rental car back to the airport so we could board our plane. As we were driving through an intersection, another car came through the intersection from our right. I don't know who had the right of way, but we were in the same place at the same time, both going probably 40 or 50 MPH. Harry yanked the wheel to the left to try to avoid the other car, which he did successfully, but in the process rammed us into a telephone pole. The first thing he did was ask if I was okay, and I was. We were both wearing our seat belts, and even the car didn't seem too much worse for wear other than the obvious damage to the front end. I remember an argument at the rental return, something about whether there was insurance covering the car or not, and an urgency because our plane was going to be leaving. We made our plane, and that's all I remember.
Comment: I appreciate the sentiments, but I don't have enough Harry stories to fill a book. But it's ok, I'll keep posting stories here instead. It's more cost effective that way anyway. 🙂
Comment: I know parts of it sound kind of bad from a parenting perspective - and in retrospect it was kind of bad - but there is bad and then there is bad. The thing is, despite the fact that I was always the odd one out, Harry loved me anyway. He would talk to me on the phone, he was excited when I would come to visit, he was excited to do things with me and take me places and show me things.
He felt so guilty about what had happened between him and my mom that he always felt like he needed to make it up to me. So even though Harry might get drunk, and I had to rescue him from being locked out of the hotel or whatever, it wasn't because he didn't want me, or didn't want to take care of me. It's just who he was, and he couldn't help it. It actually had nothing to do with me.
And believe it or not, that was actually a good thing. I feel like I got to see his good side more than his bad side, because even when he was drunk, he would always tell me he loved me. To me, that was everything.
August 21, 2014
I want to give you the truth without exaggeration - to the best of my ability to remember it all as it happened - so you can get to know Harry the way I did.
I just feel like it's important to pass these stories on to the people who will safeguard them, you know? And I feel like this is the best place to do that, the highest concentration of Harryheads.
In the meantime I'll be happy to answer any questions that I'm actually able to answer. The truth is, a lot of people knew Harry better than I did, spent more time with him than I did. My time with Harry was segmented into little self-contained packages, each one a little adventure of its own, so I suspect my overall recollection of Harry is like looking through vacation photos; it wasn't my normal life, and I never stopped wanting to go back.
September 1, 2014
Harry owned a beach house at one point, in or around the LA area - probably somewhere near Santa Monica, I’m not sure. I didn’t really know anything about it, but one day my mom told me we were going there to talk to Harry. Naturally I was excited, because I was too young at the time to understand the awkwardness of this visit, and all I wanted was to see my dad again.
This was some time after my parents were divorced (1974), and after Harry had remarried to Una (1976), but I believe it was before Beau was born, so I was probably around 6 years old. There is a huge informational gap here because I was only 6 or 7 and I had absolutely no sense of context. I still don’t know why we were going there, all I knew is that dad was going to be there so I was happy.
We arrived at the beach house, and I remember it wasn’t very big but it was right on the beach and I liked that part. We were invited inside by Una, and I was completely ignorant to the tone in the room at the time, but looking back at it, it must have been supremely awkward. Poor Una was still only 21 I think, and here we are, Harry’s ex-wife, and me. Honestly I’m kind of glad I was blissfully ignorant at the time because that’s a level of uncomfortable I would not want to revisit as an adult.
Well I had no idea why we were there, and to be blunt, I didn’t care. I just wanted to see my dad. Una told me he was upstairs, so I went upstairs to look for him. I found him asleep in his bed, snoring pretty much the same way he did on his album. It was probably before noon, which would have explained it. I went back downstairs and told Una that he was asleep, once again entirely oblivious to the tension in the room.
She suggested I go back upstairs and sing to him, to see if that would get him to wake up. I thought that was a good idea so I went back upstairs. Looking back on that now, I realize what a good suggestion that was, and really very thoughtful on Una’s part. I don’t remember Diane saying anything. I went back up to Harry, asleep in his bed, and I started singing one of his songs. In my mind I was doing it really well, but in reality I was maybe 6 or 7 and it was probably awful. I wish I could remember which song I was singing, but I’m not sure. I tend to think it was “Remember”, but I can’t be sure.
So I sang sort of quietly and gently, with the intention of waking him up slowly and peacefully.
It didn’t work. He was stone cold unconscious.
I went back downstairs, and told them it hadn’t worked. and that’s where my memory fades away. i don’t believe we got him to wake up while we were there, I probably would have remembered that. I just look back on that whole thing now and I still can’t figure out why we were there, and if it was about alimony or something, why Diane brought me with her. It seems likely that she and Harry had arranged it and he asked her to bring me, I can’t think of any other reason why I would have been brought along. But, as was the case with Harry a lot of the time, he was asleep when we got there.
He didn’t mean it. He never meant to be unreliable or to miss appointments, but his lifestyle back then just involved so much drinking and drugs that he almost literally could not help it. The times I would visit him and he would be asleep, or the times like when we were at the Disney hotel or the hotel in Washington when he couldn’t get back into the room; when he would wake up and remember what happened, he was so apologetic to me it erased any doubts I had about him doing it on purpose.
The one thing anybody who really knew Harry will tell you about him is how much he loved his kids. Despite all his problems with drugs and alcohol, and his health problems, and his decades-long battle with RCA, that’s one area in which he never wavered and always came through, he loved his kids.
Even me.
Comment: Thanks Larold Rebhun. It's nice to hear some outside confirmation on some of the things I've been saying. And for those wondering, yes, it was difficult for Una when I would come to visit. She was young and had no experience dealing with or caring for a boy of my age. Even years later, I was 6 years older than her oldest son Beau, and I think she was really at a loss as to what to do with me a lot of the time.
I don't blame her, and in fact she was more generous towards me than she could have been. In the early days I imagine I would have been seen as sort of an intruder, a bad memory from a previous chapter of Harry's life. Una always chose the high road though, and did her best to make me feel comfortable, or help me fit in. She may not even know it, but I have always been grateful to her for that. I was a lost and lonely little boy, and she was tolerant of me, even nice to me, despite the position she was being placed in.
It was her home, Harry was her husband, and in some ways I feel like Harry had no right to ask that of her. But back then I was too oblivious to everything to really grasp what was going on. It's only in hindsight that I realize what it must have been like for Una, and I hope she knows that I'm grateful that she was as tolerant as she was of me. I know she did it because Harry asked her to, but I'm grateful anyway.
Those visits were something I desperately needed.
Comment: Darren Dutton, actually now that you mention it it may very well have been Are You Sleeping?. Sorry I can't remember for sure, but that actually seems more likely.
I was always aware of Harry's music, my mom owned several copies of each of his albums, and thankfully she never felt it was necessary to prevent me from listening to them. Of course as a kid, and then a tween, then a teenager, the impact was lost on me. I knew I liked a lot of the songs, and I knew it was my dad singing them, but I had no comprehensive understanding of how music was produced or how good it was relative to everything else. As with most kids my age, I sat in front of my radio on Saturdays listening to Casey Kasem's Top 40 in the early 80s, hence my never-ending love of 80s music.
But that was never the last word, as I became open to many, many different kinds of music, in part because my mom used to listen to not only Harry's music, but Joni Mitchell, Cat Stevens, James Taylor, obviously The Beatles, Joan Baez, and I found that I liked all of it. To this day my musical tastes span almost every genre because I was exposed to so much of it so early on.
So yes, I listened to and loved Harry's music even as I was young and growing, even though I didn't really have a full understanding of who and what Harry was in the context of the music industry.
September 8th, 2014
After I graduated high school in New Hampshire, I wasn't living at home any more, I didn't have a plan or any kind of direction. I had a job at McDonald's that I kept for a few years, from my last years in high school through graduation.
I took after Harry in a few ways, one of which was that I was a night owl. I was more comfortable being up at night, so I usually had the closing shift at McD’s, but I wanted something else. I’m not sure why. Across the street from McD’s there was a Mr. Donut that was hiring for the overnight shift and I decided to apply on a trial basis while keeping my job at McDonald’s at the same time. I just staggered my work days so they didn’t conflict with each other.
And then one night as I was working the drive thru at Mr. Donut, the owner of my McD’s franchise came through and accused me of leaving him to work for Mr. Donut. I tried to explain that I hadn’t quit and that I even had scheduled work days that week and next, but I guess he was taking it kind of personally. So I ended up quitting McD’s after all, and signed on for the graveyard shift at Mr. Donut full time.
The baker at Mr. Donut worked 2nd shift, and when I came in for 3rd shift I would finish off all the donuts he had baked, fill them with filling, or cover them with sprinkles or whatever. Mmm, glaze. Hey I was still only 19 or 20, when you’re that age you feel invincible. I wasn’t overweight then, I didn’t have my diabetes or any of that. Those were good times, because donuts are donuts but a fresh one right out of the oven is transcendent.
Anyway, I formed a good relationship with the baker, he was a nice guy. We got along well, and we used to talk while he was finishing up the baking before he went home for the night. Eventually he asked me the question I still get a lot even today:
“Hey, so about your last name… are you any relation to Harry Nilsson?”
I explained that, yes, he was my dad. The baker was really excited about this, and told me he was a huge Nilsson fan and had been for years. We talked for a while about Harry’s music, and what kind of person he was, and I liked this guy so it was nice to talk with him about Harry stuff. I told him Harry loved speaking with his fans, and he said “Oh man, I’ve always wanted to talk to him, and ask him about his music.”
“Hold on a sec,” I told him as I went over to the phone on the wall and dialed Harry’s number. I was in New Hampshire, California was 3 hours earlier than we were, and I figured it wasn’t too late to call.
“Hello?” Harry’s voice was unmistakeable on the other end of the line.
“Hi dad, it’s Zak. How are you?”
“Zak! It’s good to hear from you, buddy. How are things out there on the East coast?”
“Oh it’s fine, things are good. Hey listen, can you do me a favor? I have a co-worker here who is a huge fan of yours. Do you have a few minutes to talk with him?”
I knew this was not a huge favor I was asking, because Harry loved to talk with his fans. This happened all the time with Harry, everywhere he went. Harry was no stranger to strangers, if you’ll pardon the Harry-ism.
“Sure, put him on. What’s his name?”
I told Harry the baker’s name, and turned to look at the baker, and held the phone out to him.
The baker had heard my side of the conversation, and he had the kind of look on his face that you’re picturing in your head right now. Realizing that he was keeping Harry Nilsson waiting on the other end of the phone, he quickly moved over and took the handset from me.
“Uh… hello?” he asked with some trepidation.
I couldn’t hear what Harry said, but the baker’s face immediately broke out into a huge grin that stayed in place for the duration of their conversation. They talked for a while, more than just a few minutes, and it was clear to me that Harry had managed to put him right at ease. I knew that would happen, because that’s what Harry did. He was the everyman’s superstar, he was everybody’s best friend.
The baker hung up the phone, and stood for a moment in silence. He turned to look at me and said “That… that was amazing. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I told him. “I’m glad you got the chance to talk with him.”
“I’m never going to forget that as long as I live.” he said.
I ended up getting fired from that job a few months later because I was having trouble staying up and getting everything done. I make no excuses, I was never very good at jobs that didn’t really interest me. The owner had told the baker to let me know, but he never could bring himself to do it, so one night I came in to work and they were already training my replacement.
Of course I didn’t blame the baker, it wasn’t his fault. He and I remained friends, and for a while after that I used to stop in some nights and we would talk.
Harry died only a couple years after that, and I hadn’t spoken with the baker for quite a while at that point. And a few years after that I moved to California. I never spoke with the baker again. This story sticks with me because of the way Harry treated his fans. This was not the only time I saw Harry interacting with fans of his, I saw it happen quite a few times, and I always thought it was very nice of him to be so accommodating with his time.
The truth was, Harry was grateful for his fans. He needed to hear that people loved what he did, because he worked so hard at it and thought it was great, and rightly so. But since he didn’t tour, didn’t play out, didn’t make appearances, he didn’t get the kind of feedback he needed. So when the opportunity came up to talk with somebody about his music, he treated them like family. And that always made me happy. And proud.
September 20, 2014
When everything happened with Cindy Sims embezzling all his money, Harry had to make some hard decisions. One of them, Harry told me afterward, was that he had to sell our plots of land in Australia.
I didn't know he had done this, but Harry had bought land for each one of his kids, including me, in Australia. He had done it years prior, and he said it was because he loved it there and wanted all of us to have the opportunity to do something with the land there. Maybe build a house or whatever we wanted, but he wanted us to have that opportunity.
It killed him to have to sell that land. He told me he was so sorry, but he had no choice. Of course I wasn't angry or upset, I was just sad. Not for me, for Harry. Yeah, I thought having some land in Australia would have been really cool, but Harry was really upset about having to sell it, and the only thing I felt was sorry.
September 30th, 2014
While I was in high school - a private high school that Harry paid for, incidentally - I became friends with my P.E. coach over the years. Back then I was tall and skinny and had good coordination, and I tended to be fairly good at sports. I became a bit of a teacher’s pet which was ok with me as it helped with my self esteem. After school hours some days I would walk up to his apartment, which was the lower floor of a house on the school’s property, maybe 1/8 of a mile from the boys’ dorm, and we would listen to music or watch a movie, or sometimes just talk. I was boarding at the dorm at school because I couldn’t stand living with my mother any more, and Harry was generous enough to pay for that too.
I was a very, very awkward kid. Extremely introverted, shy, scared, and quiet. I didn’t know who I was or what I had to do in life. My social skills were nonexistent, and I didn’t have many friends. My P.E. coach must have recognized something in me, because he went out of his way to make sure I was doing all right. He would check to make sure I was doing homework, and getting enough sleep, and he encouraged me a lot in P.E. which I really needed.
I’m pretty sure the only reason I didn’t get beat up in high school was because even in my freshman year I was already 6 feet tall. In fact I’m positive that’s why, because it certainly wasn’t my sparkling personality or my people skills. Pure luck of the draw, as I was just physically intimidating enough that nobody wanted to pick on me. Other kids I knew in school weren’t so lucky. I feel like I fooled everybody with my height, because inside I was nothing.
Having an adult to talk to was something that I needed, especially somebody who became… well not a father figure exactly, but maybe just a friendly voice in the darkness and confusion.
In my early high school years, in the mid 80s, Harry had moved to Nyack, NY. My high school was in New Hampshire, which meant Harry was really only a few hours away. My P.E. coach was from New York, and he would go back there sometimes on school breaks to visit his mother, and I don’t quite remember how but somehow we worked out a deal where he would drive me to New York to visit Harry on an upcoming school break.
We worked out all the details, and when the time came we got in his car and left for New York. He said he would drive me to Nyack where Harry would meet us and take me back to his house. So we drove the four or so hours to New York, and eventually made it to the bar (of course) in Nyack where Harry said he would meet us.
And he was there, like he promised he would be. He had already started drinking, and he was really happy to see me. We hugged for a while, and he asked me how I was doing, and commented on how tall I had gotten. Still not as tall as him, but getting there. I introduced him to my coach, and Harry thanked him profusely for driving me to Nyack, and invited him to sit down and have a drink.
They began talking, and I wandered off to the arcade machines they had in another section of the bar. They talked for hours. I didn’t mind, I was used to Harry doing this, and my coach had told me how much he liked Harry’s music so I knew they would have a lot to talk about. Every now and then I would poke my head out to see what they were doing, and they were either talking very intensely and enthusiastically, or they were just laughing their heads off.
Eventually my coach said he had to get going (he hadn’t been drinking the whole time, he actually didn’t really drink as far as I knew), so they stood up, Harry gave him a hug, and he left. I went over to Harry, and he said,”He’s a good guy. He’s a real good guy. It’s good that he works at your school.”
Harry was pretty drunk. I wasn’t sure how we were going to get home, even though we were fairly close to Harry’s house, it wasn’t walking distance and I didn’t know where it was anyway. And I didn’t have my driver’s license yet, and in fact I had never even driven a car before.
“You’re going to have to drive,” Harry slurred at me.
“I… I”, I stammered.
“What? You live out in those woods, in Maine or wherever, don’t you drive around on back roads all the time? Didn’t your mother teach you to drive yet?”
I wondered if Harry thought New Hampshire was Hazzard County, and if you set out on your porch long enough with a straw between your teeth, you’d see them Duke boys runnin’ from the law again.
“I - no, I don’t. I mean she didn’t.”
“You don’t know how to drive? Aw crap. Okay, well we’ll just go slowly. Okay? It’ll be fine, it’s not too far. Here,” he breathed on me and shoved some car keys at me. “Let’s go.”
We went outside and into the parking lot, and I unlocked his Mercedes and we got in. I started the car, turned on the headlights, and very carefully made my way out of the parking lot and onto the street. This was not a big town and we were taking residential streets so I only had to go maybe 25 mph or so, which is what I did. It was my first time driving a car, and I was hyper alert and hyper cautious, all hopped up on Shirley Temples. I was too close to the curb so Harry told me to steer away from it a bit, and I started to get the hang of it.
We made it back to the house slowly but without incident, and I pulled into the driveway, put it in park and shut off the engine.
“Good job, son,” Harry said, beaming at me. We got out of the car, and Harry stumbled inside. he showed me the room they had set up for me, and then he went straight to bed.
For all the typical Americana father-son moments we never had, I think it’s amazing that we actually still got to have one of the most traditional ones; a dad teaching his son how to drive the family car. And as with everything involving Harry, the way it happened was entirely unique and utterly unforgettable.