"I'm a writer," I said to the deep, fast-talking voice on the other end of the telephone line. "Of what?", the man asked, obviously curious. I blurted immediately back at the nosey stranger, "of non-fiction." It was mid-morning on a Wednesday and I decided to answer the multiple post-card requests from my high school (Our Lady of Mercy) alumni association to call and update personal information. The man assigned to my call asked basic questions to summarize my life since the '80s and we had finally landed on the details of my present-day endeavors. "It's true," I smiled and thought to myself. In three words I successfully put an answer in all of the long blank lines I will face after the question "employment"on applications and questionnaires in my future.
The voice on the other end of the line belonged to a guy named Jerry Garcia, believe it or not. He was gathering my details to put into a book the publishing company plans to sell to Mercy graduates who have the desire to read about their fellow classmates' lives. "Oh, that's cool," Jerry said when I revealed my profession. I smiled at myself thinking he's going to say "groovy" in his next breath. But he didn't have a chance. I eagerly jumped in. It was my turn to be the interrogator and I just had to ask, "Is Jerry Garcia really your name?" He chuckled an almost perfect replica of the real Garcia's raspy smoker's rolling giggle with a "Yep," hidden in there somewhere adding that he, like the original, was from the same generation and from southern California. We plowed through his lists of questions while I imagined Jerry's bouncing wild, grey curls, round glasses and wide, bearded face taking notes about my life on his computer.
Towards the end of our conversation, he tried to sell me the "Facebook book" of all the alumni of my high school in hard or soft cover. I declined and he eventually respected my choice. I didn't really have to explain that high school was a long time ago and I didn't feel the need to share my personal history or read about anyone else's. After all, as the real Jerry once sang, "There is a road, no simple highway, between the dawn and the dark of night, and if you go, no one may follow, that path is for your steps alone.”
"Thanks, Jerry, " I said like I'd been wanting to say that all of my life, wearing a self-proclaimed hippie grin from ear to ear as I hung up the phone. The conversation was a pleasant, surreal surprise and I did appreciate the uncanny connection with the name behind one of my musical faves. Not to mention the music that since this encounter has been streaming through my head. Was he really named Jerry? Was it his way of remaining anonymous? Was he using this name as a marketing tool to make me talk? How many Jerry Garcia's are there in the world? I don't know, and it really doesn't matter. He made my Wednesday. So, if that's ever me making calls on the other line......I'm Amelia Earhart. Who are you?
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