REMEMBERING SWEET BABY JAMES
I would guess that many of you define “revisionist history” as I do: you’re dead sure that the way you remember events is accurate and that the way others remember those same events is so far off base that it’s almost laughable — that there’s barely a 1% chance that they’re right and you’re wrong.
A case in point: one of several family vacations at the Windermere Island Club on North Eleuthera in the Bahamas. When we tried to date the trip, each chose to use what they were doing at the time as reference points. My oldest son Harry was working for the advertising agency Lord, Geller, Federico, Einstein in New York; my daughter Leelee was a junior at Harvard; and Peter was a freshman at Hamilton. So, by default, the year was 1987.
But that’s where consensus ends. And the 1% chance that my version of this story is wrong and my family’s version is right was put in play by the arrival of James Taylor in the condo below ours with his new wife, actress Kathryn Walker, and James’ two children from his marriage with Carly Simon.
So, here goes.
As I remember it, I spent our first morning fishing for bonefish, and around noon, headed up the beach to join my family for a barbeque. And, we all remember that Dr. Seabreeze, the King of Calypso, serenaded the crowd.
When I arrived, my family was eating lunch with the Taylors. Our gang had run into Sally (age 13) and Ben (age 10) on the beach the day before, and one of the Taylor kids had asked if they could sit with us.
I believe I knew who made this family famous, but my entire family believes exactly the opposite.
We all remember me offering my hand and introducing myself to James. Leelee was mortified because the great James Taylor was forced to introduce himself and stood to do so. She remembers thinking, did Dad really just make James Taylor say who he was? REALLY? Probably, for the first time…ever!
It was four to one on what happened next. At some point, James asked what I did for a living. I’m told that I said I worked in the pharmaceutical business.
All agree that, in turn, I asked James what he did for a living. My family remembers that they all stopped breathing as James said he was in the entertainment business.
As Harry tells it, and Peter, Leelee, and Lyn agree, regardless of what I remember or want to remember, James seemed relieved that I had no idea who he was, and we immediately connected as “kindred spirits.” (Harry also remembers that it was great to listen to James and Ben play and sing together simply by opening the doors to our condo’s balcony.)
Peter remembers that the Taylors invited us to dinner that night. We all remember that the evening was fun and relaxed, and it was clear that this was a family who could be close friends of ours if we had more time together.
(A question here. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be telling you this story if the characters had been members of a friendly, interesting family of midwesterners. So what is about our brushes with the rich and famous that makes us so eager to relate them? Is it nothing more than our enthusiasm for the moment? Or because we think others will be interested in an up-close and personal look? Or do we feel in some way they reflect positively on us? Or a little of all three?)
Back to Eleuthera. We all remember that we ate almost every meal with the Taylors for the rest of the week, including going off campus for pizza at Mate & Jenny’s Restaurant and Bar. Leelee remembers the cab ride back to Windermere “like it was yesterday.” She and I sat in the front seat while Peter, James and Kathryn crowded in the back. Apparently, James started talking about his journey with addiction and sobriety and asked me a question. No one remembers what the question was but that it was related to James becoming sober. At that point in my life, I’d been mishearing things for over ten years due to being hearing-impaired and thinking that James was asking about our dinner I blurted out, “I don’t know, but he makes a helluva pizza!”
All agree (including me) that was the pinnacle of my several embarrassing moments.
As the week drew to a close, both families exchanged addresses, phone numbers, and feelings of genuine affection and promised to stay in touch. Lyn and I invited Kathryn and James to spend Memorial Day weekend with us in the Adirondacks. In his handwritten apology, James listed Kathryn’s and his many professional conflicts ending with: “The future beyond that is too misty to see clearly. We hope it holds some chance to see Groomes. Perhaps the fall? Maybe sooner. The memory of Eleuthera is itself like a tiny vacation.”
Within the year, James performed at the Mann Center, giving us an opportunity to reunite with him, and Leelee and Peter came down from New York for the night. After the concert, we worked our way to a stage attendant to tell him that we were friends of Mr. Taylor’s and would like to say hello. The usher gave us a quizzical look. Then, pointing to the parking lot, he told us that Mr. Taylor was leaving, and we turned and studied the tail lights of James’ bus as it pulled away.
We all agree that at once, the memory of Eleuthera was itself like a tiny vacation, but nothing more, for we haven’t seen or talked to James since.
