"Where Everybody Knows your Name"

There are two songs I really like which, though quite different, have the same sentiment.  The first is from the musical “Carnival,” and the title, I believe, is “Can You Imagine That?”  In it, the ingenue sings about the little town of Mira, which she left to join the circus, and the lyric runs, “. . .what I like the best in Mira, is everybody knew my name.  Can you imagine that?  Can you imagine that?  Everybody knew my name.”  The other song, which I’m sure some readers will have guessed, is the anthem from “Cheers,” the bar where, “You wanna go where people know, people are all the same, You wanna go where everybody knows your name.“  Those songs were both playing in my head before I fell asleep a week ago Thursday night, and I am happy to tell you why.

We had had a pretty miserable day that Thursday.  Up early, we drove 130 miles or so to Troy, NY, so Linda could see her mom who had fallen at home and been taken from the hospital to a rehab center.  Her mother, of course, was upset, and we figured that Linda and her sister and brother were facing the prospect of finding an assisted living facility to which their mom could be moved from her home.  We anticipated the sadness and anger and guilt and such that were sure to follow.

We got back on the Thruway and headed back to Chittenango, hoping to arrive prior to 7:00 p.m. to attend the wake for Don Perrone.  Don, if you didn’t know him, was a terrific gentleman.  Linda and I had known the Perrone family virtually all the time we taught and lived in Chittenango.   It was after 7:00 when we passed the post office, and we weren’t dressed in “calling hour clothes,” so we decided to go have dinner at Delphia’s, sorry that we had missed the wake.

We walked in and immediately saw Sylvia Perrone, Don’s sister-in-law, and her two granddaughters, who told us that the rest of the family would be along soon.  Then we saw Don and Edie Pinegar, our longtime, great friends.  They were aware of our mission that day and were very concerned.  Seeing them lifted us up a bit.  It was nice to be home with people who cared.  We were only at our a table for a few minutes, our drinks just delivered by a student from the past, when the Perrone family began to arrive for dinner.  It was better than if we had been to the wake.  We had time to talk to them, and offer our condolences.  I talk with Terry almost every day at Panera’s, but I hadn’t seen his brother Steve, a really good friend, in a long time, and it was great to give him a hug and tell him how sorry we were.

After dinner, we walked toward the front door, and I heard someone call my name.  I looked right and saw Ari Arsenault, who I hadn’t seen in years.  I walked over and gave Ari a hug.  She looked pretty great despite having just come from playing tennis with Colin Brady.  We talked for five minutes or so, and I caught up on her family.  Ari was a favorite student back in the late 90’s, and it made me feel really good to see her and know she was doing well.  And sitting right next to Ari and Colin were the Drescher’s, so we said a quick hello to them as well.

When Linda and I finally went out Delphia’s front door, I was feeling a lot better than when I entered.  We had entered feeling kind of down, and by the time we left, the friends we saw inside, even though we shared sorrow with some of them, had lifted us up.  We knew we were part of something good.  That’s what’s special about living in a place, especially one like Chittenango, for a long time.  You become part of--I don’t know the right word--the fabric, the story, the DNA of the village.  Whatever word you choose, it is a comforting thing to belong to.   Even though, we didn’t really know everybody in Delphia’s that night, it felt like it, and that felt good.  “Can you imagine that?  Can you imagine that?  Everybody knew my name!”