My wife and I, in our fourth decade of marriage, are romantics, which sometimes comes out in our celebrations of important birthdays and anniversaries. On our fortieth anniversary, for instance, we hired a bamboo houseboat and sailed for two days along the Indian coast of the Arabian Sea. But that story is for another time. This one is about my recent birthday and how my wife surprised me good.
First some background. When I was 17, I was smitten by Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird, and I was no less impressed by the movie. I won’t rehearse the story. Everyone who has been to school—at least in the U.S.—has been obligated to read it. What I will say is this: the film has remained my favorite for fifty years. The most important reason is the protagonist, Atticus Finch, a small-town, southern lawyer modeled after the writer's father and played by Gregory Peck. Over the decades, Atticus has been, for me, a role model: a man of principle, integrity and high values who is not hesitant to do what's right even if it is costly. The fact Atticus Finch remains my role model in all those ways is my confession I have attained none of it. But it is also my commitment to stay with the quest.
But back to my story. Sometime in the autumn of 2012, my wife learned that in celebration of the fiftieth anniversary of To Kill a Mockingbird, the movie would play in theaters all over the country, including our city, for one day only. And the day was November 15, which by chance—or shall I say providence?—was my birthday. (I knew nothing of this.)
On my birthday, therefore, my wife announced she had a surprise, but we would have to get in the car and drive for twenty minutes. Naturally, I immediately began rehearsing the possibilities. My first thought was of a surprise party at our church (I guessed that because we were driving that direction and that is how long it took to get there). When we went by the road to the church, my second thought was dinner out at my favorite seafood restaurant (that also was twenty minutes in that direction). But, no, we soon pulled into the parking lot of the mall theater complex and went inside. My thought then was that the establishment must take surprise-party-and-a-movie bookings. But, no, we entered one of the theaters, and I didn’t recognize a soul. Moreover, there was no food. There would be no party here.
The theater darkened. Then came the previews, the warning about mobiles and texting and how distracting they can be in a dark theater, and, finally, the featured film, To Kill a Mockingbird. When I saw the titles and heard Elmer Bernstein’s score, I got goosebumps. I was utterly overwhelmed, but not, it turned out, as overwhelmed as I would be.
The movie, as everyone knows, starts off with the voice of the narrator and the now famous opening, "Maycomb was an old town, a tired old town when I first knew it . . ." It continues:
Somehow it was hotter then . . . bony mules hitched to Hoover carts flicked flies in the sweltering shade of the live oaks on the square. Men’s stiff collars wilted by nine in the morning. Ladies bathed before noon, after their three-o’clock naps, and by nightfall were like soft teacakes with frostings of sweat and sweet talcum . . .
At the mention of teacakes, my wife reached into the bottomless purse she carries and produced soft, homemade, ever-so-delicious southern teacakes. (But if they had not been delicious, I would not have noticed.) Then, a few minutes later—it is in the the fourth chapter of the book—when Calpurnia brings lemonade to the children, my wife again reached into her magical purse and produced a bottle of fresh lemonade. (How could I have known forty-two years ago I was marrying the jewel who could come up with this?)
"Is it still your favorite movie?" she asked afterwards.
"More than ever," I said. "But, about next year, what will you do for an encore?"
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