It'll
be hard to make a visit to the artsy village of Ashland, Oregon, without
stopping by to see my old friends, Hal and Marge, Marge and Hal. It was always
a pleasure, never a duty. They were family to me, but without the baggage of
blood.
They
moved to Ashland a few years ago after their retirement. But there was nothing
retiring about them. Hal jogged into his 80s, Marge was never without a study
group. Politics was their bread and butter, but they appreciated the roses too.
I breathed a sigh of relief when Marge told me that our
friends Robynn Rodriguez and Derrick Weeden are her two most favorite actors in
the Festival. If she had dissed them, I guess we would have had to drop them.
During
my book trip to Ashland, Hal and Marge agreed to help with the publicity. I had
visions of Marge, who was in her 80s too, driving Hal around town after
midnight, keeping her eyes open for the tac squad. Every few blocks, she'd stop
the car in downtown Ashland and turn off the lights. Eighty-nine year old Hal
would dash out of the back of the car with a ladder and can of glue, quickly
climb up to the billboard, and in record time affix the subversive posters to
the wall: TONY PLATT SPEAKS OUT AGAINST AMERICAN MILITARISM.
When
I talked with Hal on the phone in 2005, I asked if he had anything planned for
his 90th birthday on December 23. "No big parties," he told me.
"Just Marge and I, off on a frolic to a winter lodge near Portland."
Marge, just back from her Proust study group, got on the phone to let me know
that Hal might not be the best person to do the postering. "I hear you're
off for a frolic with Hal for his birthday," I said, encouragingly. "More
like colic," she replied with a gruff laugh.
I'll
miss their razor-sharp intelligence, sardonic sense of humor, undiluted
commitment to social justice, and loyal friendship.
To
Hal and Marge, Marge and Hal, lives fully lived.
Marge Jamison (1923-2010), Hal Jamison (1916-2007)