KURT VONNEGUT AND ME

It had been snowing fiercely all day long in Bangor in the mid-'80s when I got in line for a trip on the little commuter plane heading for Boston. Standing in front of me was Kurt Vonnegut, my favorite author.


I met him at a book signing in Boston a few years back. Not surprisingly, satire is my favorite literary genre. I re-read all of Twain's works as an adult and loved every word. If you haven't read Twain as an adult, I invite you to go down that road again. You will discover satirical nuances lost to you as a child in his works. After revisiting Twain, I devoured the works of Vonnegut and Tom Robbins.


When I asked Vonnegut which of his books gave him the greatest pleasure to write, I expected to hear Slaughterhouse-Five; instead, it was The Sirens of Titan. He autographed a few of his books for me, and I merrily went on my way.


As I stood behind Vonnegut waiting for a boarding pass, it was announced that this would be the last flight out of Bangor for the day due to the blizzard. I suddenly imagined the newspapers with the headline "Vonnegut Dies in a Plane Wreck." I got spooked and turned around. I missed my family in Dallas but didn't want to risk leaving my child motherless. Fortunately, one room was left in the hotel adjacent to the airport, so I snagged it.


I had been in Bangor working as a consultant for a local center for children with developmental disabilities. Traveling every week for a few days and consulting with these centers across the country were part of my responsibilities when I worked for the national organization of United Cerebral Palsy Associations. I was a 'road warrior,' although the term had yet to be invented.


I wasn't in the frame of mind to become a dead road warrior.


Many other business travelers had their flights canceled and stayed in the hotel. Road warriors are known to make the best of things when bad things happen on the road, so we hunkered down in the hotel bar, drinking the night away while watching the snow pile up on the other side of the window.


Vonnegut survived the flight to Boston to write another day, although he's now been gone from this world for over 10 years. In his book Bluebeard, one of his characters explains the meaning of life: "We are here to help each other get through this thing, whatever it is." I'd have to agree with him.






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