1969

As secretary of Tulsa Heritage Bank, my day consists of prepping the coffee, answering calls, and readily greeting customers with a smile. I couldn’t help but wonder if that was all my life would amount to. But, on one day in 1969, the sun was just beginning to droop towards the west and I was heading home. I recall feeling particularly stifled by the heat and suffocated by my pantyhose. I rummaged through my bag to find my keys, only to look up and see a black notebook propped against my windshield. Suspicious, I looked around to see if anyone else was nearby. I picked up the foreign object and opened it in the name of curiosity.

Between the binding and the first page laid a PanAm ticket to Los Angeles with my name on it “BROOKS, JOAN.” Fear and anticipation crept over me. Underneath the ticket, a note read “Your way is prepared for you, you need only board the plane. My greatest thanks.” I began to flip through the pages of the notebook and saw what I could not believe, a one-hundred dollar bill between each page. I counted 200 bills, totalling $20,000 dollars. I quickly flipped back to the front of the ticket to look at the date “15 JUL”; the flight was tomorrow.

I drove to my small apartment, unsure of what to do, I called my friend Ann. As I recounted the story, I could tell by the tone in her voice, she was on the edge of her seat. Excitedly she said, “You have to do it! You have to go! Your mother would kill me for encouraging you but who knows what’s on the other side of that flight.” I replied, “Exactly, who knows what’s on the other side of that flight. How can I be sure I won’t run into one of those serial killers?” I paused and Ann was silent on the other end of the line. Finally I said, “I’m going.” I told Ann I would call her as soon as I arrived.

Before I knew it, I was on a flight to sunny southern California. On arrival at LAX, I was greeted by a sign that read “Miss Joan Brooks” and a man with smiling eyes told me that he would take me to my hotel. With my luggage and the notebook in-tow, I checked in at the hotel and called Ann. The phone rang; I lit a cigarette. As we chatted, there was a knock at my door. I left Ann on the line and answered the door, only to find two envelopes on a tray at my feet. I took the envelopes and opened the one with my name on it. The envelope held cash and a note with an address that said, “Please take the notebook and second envelope to Lorraine at this address.”

The next day I requested a taxi from the concierge and headed to the address I was given. I became uneasy as the view out the taxi window changed from restaurants, large homes, and tall hotels to small homes with bars on the windows. The palm trees kept me grounded; they covered the city and did not discriminate based on their surroundings. The taxi stopped in front of a stucco covered home with a paved front yard. I asked the taxi driver to keep the meter running. I opened the latch to the metal gate that creaked loudly. I walked across the pavement and knocked on the screen door.

I felt eyes were on me but I was uncertain as to who was watching. I said, “Lorraine, is there a Lorraine that lives at this residence?” I was about to leave, when suddenly I heard the door being unlocked. Behind the screen appeared a woman with silvery hair and deep brown eyes. She said, “Who are you and why are you looking for my granddaughter?” I told her my name and that I had been asked to deliver this notebook to Lorraine. She asked “By who?” I told her I was uncertain but I knew that it was important for her to receive the notebook. She paused, still very suspicious behind the screen; she said, “Lorraine ran away to find her mother on her 18th birthday, about 2 weeks ago. I have not seen her since.” I asked where her mother lived. She replied, “My daughter is homeless and drug addicted. She lives on skid row. That’s where Lorraine went, to try to help her mom.” The old lady disappeared from the door and returned with a picture of Lorraine. “This is Lorraine. If you need to find her, take this picture with you and please, if you do find her, will you tell her that I badly wish for her to come home.”

Now in the taxi on the way to downtown Los Angeles, my brain was mulling over the situations I might find Lorraine and her mom in. At this point I felt a connection to Lorraine, I had to remind myself that I hadn’t come this far for nothing. I stepped out of the taxi, I was surrounded by people who were actually living in the streets. I had seen a homeless person before and given change to a panhandler but an entire street lined with tents was new. The majority were men but there were a few women in the mix.

I decided it’d be best if I approached the women first. Heart racing, I asked, “Have you seen this girl?” The women seemed indifferent; shook their heads indicating ‘no.’ I turned to walk away and a man sitting on the ground with his back propped against a building said, “Who ya lookin’ for hon?” His expression seemed kind enough, so I showed him the photo. He paused and said, “Sure, I seen her. There aren’t many youngins like that out here. I seen her over at the hippie kitchen off 6th.” Nodding his head in that direction, he said, “you might find her there.”

I made my way down San Pedro to 6th street and took a left. About two blocks down I saw a line of people, I walked past those in line and heard a lady say, “Where you from?” I guess my suede skirt and knee-high boots made me stick out like a sore thumb. I turned around and hesitantly said, “Oklahoma”. She nodded her head with one eye squinting to block the sun. At the front of the line sat a lady on a stool, she greeted me with a big smile and a “Hi hon, you look lost.” I showed her a picture of Lorraine and asked her if she had seen her before. As the woman examined the photo, my eyes drifted to the oasis behind her. A beautiful garden with lush green plants and water fountains scattered throughout. I breathed deeply the extra oxygen created by the greenery and felt myself relax. I looked back towards the woman and she sat there smiling at me. “Would you like to stay and help serve lunch? I’ve seen your girl before, she usually comes through the line with her mother.

I scooped green beans and slopped them on, plate by plate. To my right, a girl named Mary was serving chicken and to my left a man named Morris was placing a slice of fresh made bread. Mary had long blonde hair with small braids in it and she told me that she left home at 19 to come to California and never went back. She volunteers at the hippie kitchen and lives with a bunch of other young people in an old house in Hollywood. Lunch was over and there was no sign of Lorraine. I ate with the other volunteers and the woman who greeted me asked “did you find you girl?” I told her that I didn’t see her. She suggested I come back and help out with dinner. I think she saw the disappointment in my eyes. She said if I stuck around and helped with cleaning up, she could give me an official tour of the row.

We walked up and down the few square blocks that are Skid row; the woman showed me every soup kitchen and shelter on the block. I could not believe the generosity of people, like Mary and Morris, who were dedicated to serving others. As we walked, I saw the faces of people who were in the hardest time of their life. My heart felt saddened but every second of eye-contact, every smile, and every step on the dirty sidewalk made me realize that there was purpose in it. I could live for this. We made it back to the kitchen and geared up for dinner. I was in charge of the bread this time. Admittedly, I was distracted thinking about what I saw that afternoon when I realized that she was right there, standing in front of me with her plate out for bread. Just like that, she was gone and eating out in the garden. I knew I had to speak with her and give her the notebook.

After the line was finished, I took my plate outside and sat down at Lorraine’s table. Determined, I looked at her and asked, “You’re Lorraine, right?” She stared at me questioningly and asked, “Who wants to know?” I handed her the notebook. I told her she might want to open it under the table in order to avoid drawing attention. Her brows still furrowed with uncertainty, she opened the envelope and read. I watched eagerly and a single tear rolled down her face. She looked up at me and said “I never knew my father but my mother said he was a good man. This will pay for me to go to college. Thank you for bringing this to me.” She gave me a hug and as she pulled away she said, “I can’t believe this; I’m going to be a writer.”

I asked her, “where is your mother?” Lorraine lifted her head and said, “she ran off with some guy yesterday; she was on a pretty hard bender.” I looked at Lorraine and told her that her grandmother was really concerned about her and wanted her to come home. I offered to pay for a cab to get her back to her grandmother’s house. She nodded her head. After lunch we walked to the tent where she and her mother had been staying. She grabbed her patchwork duffle bag and we walked to the corner to catch a taxi. On the ride, Lorraine asked, “what’s he like? You know, my dad?” I told her that the notebook was a complete mystery and I didn’t know the person who left it there. She paused and said, “his name is James Kaiser, I looked him up.” My eyes widened. James Kaiser was a wealthy client at the bank in Tulsa; Lorraine definitely had his eyes. “Your father is a very kind man; there aren’t many like him out there.” Silently, I wondered why he chose me to meet with his estranged daughter.

Since that day, I returned to the monotony of my day job but I think of Lorraine often. One day, a note appeared on my desk, I stuffed it in my pocket. On break and finally alone, I opened the note and it read:

“Never send a boy to do a man’s job, send a lady.”

John F. Kennedy

You looked like a caged bird behind that desk; I hope the open air was refreshing.

Thank You again,

J.K.