Some Calls Have a Special Ring

Jan. 23, 2011 - PRLog -- The introduction lacked formality, Heidi being a cat and all, and it wasn’t long before I learned her name was Alberta.

Alberta was nine years my senior and lived around the corner. She didn’t drive so our street became a thruway to the places she visited most: Al’s Drug Store, Dunkin’ Donuts – the bus stop. And because Heidi was like a rock star (the feline version of Cher you might say), we could expect to see Alberta everyday. Alberta loved her.

I was the oldest of five children; all born in four years (twins, to fix the math problem) and each of us developed a relationship with Alberta. We could see her turn the corner and shuffle up the hill towards our house and we’d scramble to find Heidi for her. On most days we conversed pleasantly with her as she fawned over Heidi. Occasionally, we needled her as only kids with too much time on their hands can do and she’d just smirk and mutter, “Oh, you kids…”

When I was 16, I got a job at the local supermarket. I worked in the deli and had a direct view of the entrance to the store. As if it were the bottom of my street, I would see Alberta coming through the electronic doors. She would walk down the aisle and position herself in front of the deli until I had a chance to say hello. This was also the setting where I learned Alberta’s mother had died: She marched right up, didn’t wait for the customers to leave, and blurted out the news before she started crying. (No Heidi there to bail me out.)
In 1984, I married and moved to another town. Heidi, still alive, stayed with my dad and Alberta continued her daily visits. I’d catch up with her whenever I visited, and in 1990, I purchased my Dad’s home and lived there for a decade. Heidi left us in 1988 but Alberta would still stop and talk with me before moving along on her busy schedule. It was as if we hadn’t skipped a beat.

In 1987, I worked in downtown Providence and spent many lunch hours walking through the Providence Arcade. Sure enough, I’d often find Alberta sitting quietly enjoying a cookie at the Providence Cookie Company. We’d chat for a few minutes, I’d tease her and tell her I’d see her at home and she’d light-up – maybe even blush a bit. “Oh stop it you kidder,” she would say.

In 2001 I sold my house and moved a few miles away but assured Alberta we’d stay in touch. (I no longer worked in Providence.) Over the next couple of years, Alberta would leave countless messages on my answering machine and I would return her call when I could. This seemed to frustrate both of us so I did two things: First, I started getting my haircut at the Arcade and secondly – and more importantly – I gave her my cell phone number.

And then it started.

Alberta would call me at least once a day – and usually two or three times a day – for the next 10 years. I talked to her all the time and from everyplace imaginable, including foreign countries (time zones –whoops). I talked to her during the most challenging and memorable moments of my life. And while never convenient (four kids, a wife, a business, etc.), I soon decided that if Alberta was calling I was answering. No question. If I missed the call she always left a voice mail. I even saved a few of her messages because they lightened my day. In fact, my favorite, “I call you all the time because I love you.”, still remains one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.
The calls usually lasted between 30 seconds and a minute. If we went to two minutes it was major news. The calls were almost always the same: “How you doing?” and “Whatcha’ doing?” followed by Alberta telling me (in a heartfelt, emotional voice) that she loved me and that I was such a nice man.

Once a week, I’d drop by for a quick visit outside her house. Occasionally, we’d take a ride; grab some lunch, or just have a quick talk.  A few years ago, I began to weave Alberta into several of the stories you tell your little ones about your own youth. My youngest two daughters never met Alberta but with each Alberta story (possibly embellished a little) the wonder in their eyes would grow and grow.

One December night I closed with a dozy; the tale included everything imaginable: the neighborhood, Heidi, and, of course, Alberta. As I walked from my daughter’s room I tipped my head back and said: “And I even told Alberta today that I was going to tell you guys that story.” Well, hearing that, they leapt from the beds, charged the door, screeching, “Alberta is real? She’s alive? You didn’t just make her up?”

A week later I called Alberta and asked her to come outside for a moment.  My two daughters were in the back seat when I announced that it was time to meet Alberta. “When daddy?”  “In less than a minute”, I replied. The look on their faces was one of excitement and, perhaps, outright dread! Bringing a fictional character to life is quite a plateful for a couple of little girls.

Alberta did not disappoint.
Climbing down her steps, balancing on the railing, she approached the car in typical seasonal attire, even donning a fine Santa hat. I lowered their window and she gushed over my two girls, who remained speechless; as if the Cat in The Hat himself were standing before them. Magic. Pure magic. One of daddy’s cherished stories had come to life and Alberta put the moment in high-def. Many more visits like this ensued, including trips to our house. My girls never lost that luster in their eyes, nor did Alberta misplace for a second the importance of it all.

Shortly before Christmas this year Alberta unexpectedly got sick and ended up in the hospital. I got a couple of calls, visited her, and prayed for a recovery that didn’t come. Alberta spent her last full day on Earth the same day I turned 50.

Death is hardest on the living, we all know that. But how do you replace someone in your life who called you only to tell you how much they loved you and remind you how nice a person you were? Who picks up that role in your life after 35 years? My sister profoundly suggested that maybe I had traded an angel in life for one in heaven. Not a bad exchange. Not a bad exchange at all.

They say Alberta was a “special needs” person but no one who really knew her ever saw her needing anything special. Just love, a warm hug and, perhaps, a few minutes with Heidi.

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The staff and management at Shamrock Financial believe success occurs when you put the needs and concerns of your clients and referral partners above everything else. All the time. No exceptions. This simple mission has guided us since our inception in 1989 and continues to define the philosophy of Shamrock Financial Corporation today.