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I wrote this letter to Mom & Dad

Forty-five years ago, I wrote this letter to Mom & Dad.  I was in Paris near the end of my first of five months in Europe.  My sister Danica (then known as Dana) was studying at the Sorbonne for a year so my parents decided to visit her during an extended vacation.

I quit my job at Seattle Trust & Savings Bank and decided to start fresh and discover my future.  I’d explore Europe – alone, for months, with little direction and no particular plan or focus, and somehow at the end of it all at age 24, find myself.

I came to Paris a few days before my parents arrived.  On Feb. 6, 1978, we began a 25-day auto tour of Lyon, Nice, Monte Carlo, Pula, Zagreb, and Vienna, highlighted by visits with several sets of Croatian relatives.

Mom and Dad left for home on March 3rd and several days later I penned this Aerogramme letter.

One of several letters to Mom and Dad written on light-weight, air-mail, self-sealing envelopes.

March 6, 1978

Dear Mom & Dad –

I don’t quite know what to say.  I hope you weren’t disappointed that I didn’t express my gratitude as much as I could, but you’ll understand that the ‘thank-yous’ would have been so numerous as to make one thank-you seem inconsequential.  So, I guess what I want to say is thank you a thousand times for everything.  I hope I was acceptable as a traveling companion as I sure enjoyed your company and now miss it.

Jack & Pauline’s passport photo for their 1978 trip through Europe.

You’ll never guess what we did Saturday.  Oh, this was ten times better than the sewer system.  Dana and I visited the Catacombs of Paris.  I wish I could send you a postcard (I sent one to Clinton) so you could get the visual impact of seeing these millions of human bones stacked like kindling in tunnels several hundred feet below the streets of Paris.  They were placed there when several Paris cemeteries were torn up to make room for the city’s expansion in the late 18th and early 19th centuries.  It’s a bit morbid at first but fascinating nonetheless.  Got some good pictures (ha ha).

Bill at the Paris Catacombs, March 4, 1978
Danica in the Paris Catacombs, March 4, 1978.

Yesterday, Sunday, Dana and I visited the Rodin museum.  Rodin was the famous sculptor who did the “Thinker” – the piece with the man sitting, chin on his head and elbow on his knee in a very thoughtful moment.  The gardens were beautiful as was the weather yesterday and today.  The skies are now a bright blue and the sun shines hard.  The temperature though has dipped and it’s rather cold outside.

Today, I visited the Paris stock exchange which was extremely interesting, particularly after having seen the commodity exchange in Chicago.  I almost wish I’d seen the Paris exchange first, as it is so calm compared to the unruly Chicago market.  There’s still lots of shouting and such but nothing compared to the screaming in the commodity pits.  Here in Paris, I was able to actually walk on the floor of the exchange, though I did get a couple of stares (no doubt due to my casual attire in the midst of a sea of suits).  But the amazing thing was that I was walking on the floor of France’s equivalent of the N.Y.S.E.

Their exchange system is quite different from the American counterparts, as prices seemed to be established more by consensus than by the bid-ask system in the U.S.  This probably explains the calmer stance as that all-important need to scream your order and acceptance of the other bidder’s order doesn’t really need to exist here.  An interesting sidelight was at one point during the bond market when all the men broke into a song they sang humorously for half a minute.

Writing as small and legibly as possible, you could tell a good story on an Aerogramme (plus there was 1/3 of a panel on the back).

I moved into this hostel for Protestant students.  It’s a dormitory situation, but I get a bed, breakfast, and hot showers all included for 20 francs a night (about $4).  Almost half the people here are French, a quarter English, and the rest Americans.  In fact, before I finished the previous sentence I was engaged in an extended conversation with John Leeson, an Irishman who now lives in Oxford and is teaching French here in Paris.  And, this letter might begin to sound a bit disjointed as I’m sharing my bottle of Yugoslavian wine with John and Jeff Alford, an American from Newport Beach, California.  We’re listening to Radio Luxembourg (Europe’s Top 40 station).

I met Dana’s good (best) friend Carrie, the one whose parents were here over Christmas.  She’s red-headed and quite nice, the exact opposite of Jana.  Dana even admits that Jana is a bit too much.  Much of the time her stories are B.S. and it can even get to Dana at times.

I ate dinner at Dana’s one night and can understand the source of many of her culinary complaints.  The food is horrible.  I had spinach – not the fresh green vegetable I’m used to, but a dull, sickly green blob of something that if you didn’t know it was food, you wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole.  The best I can say was that it was barely edible.

Well, say hello to Barry and Cathy for me (and tell Cathy thank you for the Valentine’s card).  Also, tell her I’m sorry I didn’t send her one but I actually forgot when I was making a list of everyone I sent one to.  Also, if you happen to see Wheels, tell him that his cassette deck is in my room.

Thank you for everything.

Love, Bill

Post Script: I wrote several more letters to Mom and Dad on that trip.  Mom kept a keepsake box for each of her four children where after her death I found that letter and many other treasures.

Jack and Bill Kombol, Feb. 8, 1978. I know the date because my efficient Mother kept a detailed travelogue of our journey.

During those four weeks we spent together, I grew closer to my Dad than perhaps I ever been.  He worked hard all his life and in later years found numerous ways to give back to the community.  He helped the old oddballs to whom he rented tiny apartments on the second-floor above Steve’s Shoe Store at the corner of Griffin and Cole in downtown Enumclaw.  He was elected to the school board and as such handed me my diploma when I graduated from high school.

Jack Kombol hands me my diploma, June 2, 1971.

Jack Kombol passed away April 11, 1979, just over a year after coming home from our trip to Europe.  He died on a Wednesday, I wrote a poem on Thursday, and read it at his funeral on Saturday.  I was 25-years-old, channeling feelings from the 14th year of my life when two grandparents, Dad’s father and Mom’s mother died on the same day:

Tears We Have

The last day we expected was the morning that we feared
the nights we cried so long ago have come to rest right here.

We gazed in one another’s eyes
We prayed that we might cope
We stared through nature’s loneliness
and filled our days with hope.

Every day brings forth each night from which dawns each new day
longings fill the times between with thoughts from yesterday.

We’ll never let our smiles down
We’ll never lose our faith
We’ll never touch the world beyond
or see tomorrow’s face.

The news it comes so suddenly, the sadness travels far
raindrops fall from blossomed eyes as we touched who we are.

We realized the sorrow
We understood the pain
We felt the empty feelings
yet prayed no prayers in vain.

And so we’ll cry these tears of pain from sorrow we must store
the tears we have are tears we’ve cried a thousand times before.

There wasn’t much that Dad liked more than operating the heavy equipment he did until shortly before his death.  Here’s Jack Kombol with a drag-line shovel at the McKay coal seam,on Franklin Hill east of Black Diamond, circa 1977.

 

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Ten Album Turning Points – Desert Island Discs

Who didn’t love album covers?

In Tom Stoppard’s play, “The Real Thing,” the lead character, Henry can’t figure out which songs to pick when he’s slated to appear as the castaway on Desert Island Discs.  The problem is Henry likes mindless pop music, but he’s a snob who’s afraid to admit he like pop music, so struggles to find songs and performers those of his intellectual class should like.  His wife suggests a more pragmatic approach: pick records associated with turning points in his life.

My list follows the turning point theory–– records that wormed into my ears during special moments experienced early in life.  There are plenty of albums I grew to love after these, but none captured my heart and soul like those from my youth.

I compiled my Desert Island Discs during the early days of Covid-19 when the country was shutting down and a bored citizenry sought new ways to amuse themselves by posting lists of favorite albums.  April Fools’ Day seemed a fitting day to start, so with thanks to Doug Geiger’s original Facebook invitation and Jim Olson’s posts of musical inspiration, I posted these favorites from April 1-10, 2020.

Day 1 – The First Family (1962): Though it’s April Fools’ Day, this is no joke . . . though Vaughn Meador’s First Family sure traded in them.  It was the first record I listened to all the way through time and time again.  It was my 9-year-old introduction to political humor, delivered with Kennedy-style Boston accents plus world leaders whose names I still remember: De Gaulle, Khrushchev, Ben-Gurion, and Castro among them.  This spoken-word comedy album spent 12 weeks as #1 on the Billboard charts selling over 7.5 million copies.  The Kombol family’s copy of the album, listened to so many times, was never played again after Nov. 22, 1963.

Day 2 – Modern Sounds in Country & Western Music (1962): “I Can’t Stop Loving You” was the #1 hit, and Ray Charles’ foray into C&W was what a nation listened to that year.  The album spawned four singles and everyone liked it: kids, adults, even grandparents.  I listened to it once again this morning.  Its soulful, jazzy,  easy-listening, country-feel, sounds just as sweet today as it did 58 years ago.  This was one of the couple dozen albums our family-owned.  My sister, Jeanmarie and I regularly rotated Ray Charles’ “Modern Sounds” with soundtracks from “Oklahoma” and “The Music Man” plus our own personal favorite–– the spoken-word soundtrack to the “Pollyanna” movie starring Hayley Mills.

Day 3 – Meet the Beatles (1964): From the opening notes of “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” to the closing bars of “Not a Second Time” every song is a winner.  Our family didn’t own the album, but my best friend’s family did.  Every day after 5th grade we gathered at Jeff Eldridge’s home across Franklin Street from ours.  Jeff’s older brother, Ron was a junior at EHS, and his album; “Meet the Beatles” introduced four lads from Liverpool into our lives. Most afternoons were the same––listen to “Meet the Beatles,” followed by watching “Casper the Friendly Ghost” cartoons and Superman episodes starring George Reeves.  When not playing the Beatles, we cued up Roy Orbison.

Day 4 – Sgt. Pepper (1967): It was the perfect time to be 14 years old.  The Beatles released Sgt. Pepper the very week I said goodbye to 8th grade.  That Summer of Love was our summer of sun. It shined most every day in Seattle, setting a record 67 days without rain.  Most days Mom drove us to Lake Sawyer with the radio tuned to AM 950.  That June the Beatles held seven of the top ten positions on KJR’s Fabulous Fifty record survey, published Fridays in the Seattle P-I.  Each song spawned new mental imagery––from tangerine skies to meter maids.

A month later the Beatles defined the spirit of the era with their follow-up single “All You Need is Love.”  It all added up to the best summer of my life; not to mention more than a few hours staring at the album cover or studying the lyrics printed therein.  To this day when anyone asks my favorite album of all time – there’s one quick answer: Sgt. Pepper.

Day 5 – Tommy (1969):  By the autumn of 1969, most of us had driver’s licenses.  Lester Hall drove his parent’s Ford Fairlane with an state-of-the-art stereo.  We’d drive around Enumclaw from here to there but mostly nowhere.  When doing so we listened to the Who’s “Tommy” so many times I’m surprised the 8-track tape didn’t wear out.  We occasionally rotated Creedence, the Beatles, or CSN to give the Who a rest.

“Tommy” is generally considered the first rock musical. In late April 1971, our senior year of high school, the very first theatrical production of “Tommy” was staged at the Moore Theater.  This world premiere featured a yet unknown, Bette Midler portraying the Acid Queen with show-stopping ferocity. A bunch of us saw it.  I was in heaven.

Forty-five years later I gave the double album a long overdue listen from a remastered copy.  How did “Tommy” hold up?  It starts great. In fact, the Overture is perhaps my favorite number.  At times the album soars with melodies flowing nicely.  It’s an album in the best sense of the word.  But, the story (book in musical-theater parlance) isn’t convincing.  As smart and clever as Pete Townsend was, he’s simply not a great lyricist.  The best songs still shine: “I’m Free,” “Pinball Wizard,” and “See Me, Feel Me.”  The worst, “Fiddle About,” “Cousin Kevin,” and “Tommy’s Holiday Camp” remain clunkers.  I can’t claim it stands the test of time, but back then “Tommy” was the height of musical fashion and evidence of our growing sophistication.

Day 6 – Every Picture Tells a Story (1971): “Maggie May” will forever be embedded as my first song of college.  It was late September when I began my freshman year at U.W.   Rod Stewart’s hit album was the soundtrack for initiation to college life – the picture of my story.  While I’m particularly fond of the “Mandolin Wind,” “Reason to Believe;”; there’s no better song than “Maggie” to put a smile on my face and a song to my lips.

“Wake up Maggie I think I got something to say to you,
It’s late September and I really should be back at school.”

Day 7 – American Pie (1971): Don McLean has a special place in my heart.  His performance at the Paramount on March 17, 1972 was the first concert I ever attended.  I chose my sister, Jeanmarie Bond to be my date.  It was her first concert too.  We dined at ClinkerdaggerBickerstaff & Petts beforehand. It was a swank and trendy restaurant on Capitol Hill.

When introducing American Pie, McLean mockingly mimicked some college professor who wrote a detailed analysis of its lyrics.  The audience sang the words and chorus we knew by heart.  The title song has never loosened its grip.  The album’s second hit single, “Vincent” is a hauntingly beautiful musical evocation of artistry focused on the most stunning of paintings: Van Gogh’s The Starry Night.  If it’s been some time since you last heard the entire album just say, “Hey Siri (or Alexa), play the album American Pie by Don McLean.” You’ll be rewarded.

Day 8 – Past, Present & Future (1974):  My first introduction to Al Stewart came courtesy of FM radio’s penchant for playing extended-length songs like “Nostradamus” and “Roads to Moscow” in the early 1970s.   Only later did I buy the album and discover Stewart’s lyrical genius runs through history.  In fact, side one of this breakthrough album features a song for each of the first five decades of the 20th century.  My love affair with Al Stewart’s music played out nicely over the decades – I’ve seen him in concert five times, more than any other music artist.

Day 9 – All-American Alien Boy (1976):   While in college I liked Mott the Hoople.  Their lead singer and songwriter, Ian Hunter left the group in 1975, the year I graduated.  The following year I was drifting without direction when Hunter released his second solo album.  It struck gold in this listener’s ears. There aren’t many who feel the same way, but I stand by Ian Hunter’s “All-American Alien Boy” as an enduring work of musical art.  “Irene Wilde” is a beautiful ballad of a true story, bus station rejection that inspired Hunter’s rise to stardom.

BTW, Doug Geiger and I had plans to see the Mott the Hoople reunion tour in November 2019, but sadly Hunter developed a severe case of tinnitus.  He was advised by his doctors to discontinue performing until his condition subsides.  Will we ever get the chance to see Mott the Hoople?  Time may soon run out for the 80-year-old Ian Hunter, who I once saw in concert playing with Mick Ronson.

Day 10 – The Stranger (1977):  This record changed the direction of my life.  The album spawned four Top 40 hits: “Moving Out,” “Just the Way You Are,” “Only the Good Die Young” and “She’s Always a Woman to Me.”  But two lesser-known tunes convinced me to take a giant step outside myself.  When working as a management trainee at Seattle Trust & Savings Bank, I grew increasingly frustrated with my chosen direction.  Repeated listening to “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant” and “Vienna” (waits for you) convinced me I needed a change.

Those two songs fortified my courage to quit the job with a month’s notice dated to the one-year anniversary of when I started.  I left for Europe in February 1978 with no set agenda and a budget of $10 a day.  I lived and traveled for the next five months and have never forgotten the debt I owe to Billy Joel for drawing out the courage I couldn’t find by myself.