Roy Campanella. Immediately, he recognized his aunt. Of course, she was neither black nor a man and hardly a ballplayer. She was, instead, very much a middle-class, suburban, New York Jewish woman, one who just happened to live in Roswell, Georgia.
Like so many southern white women, Jews and Christians alike, Sadie had what could only be politely called big hair. To Harry, the scent of hairspray meant his aunt was nearby. No matter what she woreâa bathrobe on a Sunday morning, Bermuda shorts and one of her husband Larryâs old shirts while she worked in the garden, or a shiny, gleaming, rhinestone-studded floor-length evening gown like the ones she always wore to wedding receptions and took with her on Caribbean cruisesâSadieâs hair was always perfect and very heavily lacquered. Stiff to the touch.
Harry was born in May 1974, six months after his father disappeared in Vietnam or Cambodia or Laos or someplace else. Who really knew? His mother, Elana Morales, never believed the governmentâs story, but what could she do? She wasnât his wife. The unfortunate David Levine drew a low number, got drafted in February, last saw Elana in August and disappeared, MIA, the second week of December 1973. He was never found.
Harryâs mom, Elana, was Puerto Rican, a real Puerto Rican, not a New York Puerto Rican. She was a law student in New York City when she met David Levine, fell in love and moved in with him. They talked about getting married, talked about it, thatâs all. David fancied himself a poet. He worked at the Post Office and wrote long poems, that rarely rhymed, in small notebooks, sitting with Elana in coffeehouses and bars in Greenwich Village. Both of them were antiwarâwho wasnât? It was the seventies. He really got screwed by his draft board. By then it was too late to get married and when Elana turned up pregnant, the Army couldnât care less.
Sadie and Larry Fagan moved from Brooklyn to Atlanta in 1966. Larry had made a business trip there a few months earlierâhe sold medical equipmentâloved it and worked himself into his companyâs southeastern office. Sadie was reluctant to leave New York, her family and friends, but she kept her misgivings to herself. Soon after arriving in Georgia, she realized her fears were unfounded and was more than happy to admit it. Sadie made new friends. So did Larry. They both loved living in Atlanta. Larry found his way to a senior management job with a major manufacturer of cardiac surgical supplies and the two of them settled in for the long haul.
Unfortunately, they couldnât have children. They never said exactly why not, but years later Harry discovered it was his uncleâs fault. A low sperm count can give many women second thoughts, but Sadie stayed, sacrificed and saved her motherly love for her nephew. When Elana gave birth she gave Harry his fatherâs name, Levine, and took it for herself too. She was alone in New York with a baby and another year of school before becoming an attorney. She needed money and she needed friends. Sadie and Larry invited her to come to Georgia, not for a visit but permanently. They implored her. âWeâre family,â they said. Elana accepted. She transferred to Emory University Law School and brought herself and her baby son to live with the Fagans.
Thatâs the way Harry grew up. He and his mother lived downstairs on the lower level. They had two bedrooms, a living room, a small office for Elana and a bathroom. They had a separate entrance from the backyard, one that Elana never used. In high school, when Harry sneaked out after curfew and came home late, way late, he came and went via that special door. His mother knew. His aunt and uncle knew. It never crossed Harryâs mind they had any idea. He thought heâd pulled one over.
They had a wonderful life in that house, all four of them. After her graduation, Elana passed the Bar and took a position with
Like so many southern white women, Jews and Christians alike, Sadie had what could only be politely called big hair. To Harry, the scent of hairspray meant his aunt was nearby. No matter what she woreâa bathrobe on a Sunday morning, Bermuda shorts and one of her husband Larryâs old shirts while she worked in the garden, or a shiny, gleaming, rhinestone-studded floor-length evening gown like the ones she always wore to wedding receptions and took with her on Caribbean cruisesâSadieâs hair was always perfect and very heavily lacquered. Stiff to the touch.
Harry was born in May 1974, six months after his father disappeared in Vietnam or Cambodia or Laos or someplace else. Who really knew? His mother, Elana Morales, never believed the governmentâs story, but what could she do? She wasnât his wife. The unfortunate David Levine drew a low number, got drafted in February, last saw Elana in August and disappeared, MIA, the second week of December 1973. He was never found.
Harryâs mom, Elana, was Puerto Rican, a real Puerto Rican, not a New York Puerto Rican. She was a law student in New York City when she met David Levine, fell in love and moved in with him. They talked about getting married, talked about it, thatâs all. David fancied himself a poet. He worked at the Post Office and wrote long poems, that rarely rhymed, in small notebooks, sitting with Elana in coffeehouses and bars in Greenwich Village. Both of them were antiwarâwho wasnât? It was the seventies. He really got screwed by his draft board. By then it was too late to get married and when Elana turned up pregnant, the Army couldnât care less.
Sadie and Larry Fagan moved from Brooklyn to Atlanta in 1966. Larry had made a business trip there a few months earlierâhe sold medical equipmentâloved it and worked himself into his companyâs southeastern office. Sadie was reluctant to leave New York, her family and friends, but she kept her misgivings to herself. Soon after arriving in Georgia, she realized her fears were unfounded and was more than happy to admit it. Sadie made new friends. So did Larry. They both loved living in Atlanta. Larry found his way to a senior management job with a major manufacturer of cardiac surgical supplies and the two of them settled in for the long haul.
Unfortunately, they couldnât have children. They never said exactly why not, but years later Harry discovered it was his uncleâs fault. A low sperm count can give many women second thoughts, but Sadie stayed, sacrificed and saved her motherly love for her nephew. When Elana gave birth she gave Harry his fatherâs name, Levine, and took it for herself too. She was alone in New York with a baby and another year of school before becoming an attorney. She needed money and she needed friends. Sadie and Larry invited her to come to Georgia, not for a visit but permanently. They implored her. âWeâre family,â they said. Elana accepted. She transferred to Emory University Law School and brought herself and her baby son to live with the Fagans.
Thatâs the way Harry grew up. He and his mother lived downstairs on the lower level. They had two bedrooms, a living room, a small office for Elana and a bathroom. They had a separate entrance from the backyard, one that Elana never used. In high school, when Harry sneaked out after curfew and came home late, way late, he came and went via that special door. His mother knew. His aunt and uncle knew. It never crossed Harryâs mind they had any idea. He thought heâd pulled one over.
They had a wonderful life in that house, all four of them. After her graduation, Elana passed the Bar and took a position with
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