In Memoriam

I don’t often think about my brother, Al. He was four years younger than I, in high school when I married and moved to Texas. But as I thought about the book review I planned to post this week, I realized that today–Sunday, December 22–would have been Al’s 68th birthday.

Born Francis Allen Benton, he was named for my father (Francis) and for our Allen ancestors. We always called him Allen or Al. His high school and college friends knew him as Fran or Fuzzy. He was fourth amongst the siblings, the one who had enough curls to have an afro, the one who was destined to be all the things our dad had wanted to be.

My memories of Al are typical of an older sister with a pesky younger brother. He loved to torment me as little brothers do. He memorized the words to “Green Eggs and Ham” and walked around behind us quoting Dr. Seuss (or was that Paul?) Al and Paul relished their role as the the two youngest and the only two boys.

Who remembers the television show “Laugh-in”? One of the performers was Alan Sues and he often performed as the lecherous “Uncle Al the kiddies’ pal.” Our Al suddenly had a new nickname.

In 1977 my then-husband and I drove home from Texas to visit. Al was a sophomore in college. Two years later, he and one of my sisters drove through on their way to Arizona? or was it Colorado? (trying to write this reminds me of how much I have forgotten over the years: the “memories” stay, but the details are sketchy)

That was the last time I saw him.

A few months later on August 21, 1979 he was killed in an automobile accident in Albany, NY. It was my parents’ 31st wedding anniversary. We had just sold our home in Texas and were preparing to move back to New York so our newborn son could be closer to his family. I remember talking to my parents: should I try to fly home for the funeral? It was scheduled on on the day we planned to close on our house. No, they said, just get home as soon as you can–and be safe.

At his funeral they played “Teddy Bears’ Picnic.” That was so Al.

Uncle Al never knew his nieces and nephews. More importantly they never got to know him. Of course, I’ve told them all about their Uncle Al, but it’s not the same. You had to be there. I wonder what they would have thought of him. What he would have thought of them. I wonder about all the crazy things he might have done. About the career and family he might have had.

I don’t think of Al too often anymore. But when I do I think of all the adventures we missed.