More important was Paul’s modification of his original position on the role of women in the family of Christ, a position which religious patriarchs (ignorant of the Philadelphia epistle which apparently never reached its intended recipients) would eventually set in stone, its contours etched deeper and deeper with each succeeding generation, as male dominance of the Christian Church solidified and then fossilized over two millennia. ‘But as to this matter of the role of women, I know that I have said on a number of occasions that women should keep silent. (The Corinthians I especially singled out on this point.) Yes, I was wrong and I admit it. Sometimes I simply do not think things through. You will recall my directive to the slaves at Ephesus to obey their masters. What was I thinking? We are held in thrall — all of us — only to the Lord our God! Slavery is wrong! wrong! wrong! So say I about the women. Speak up and praise the Lord as loudly and as heartily as the men around you! Shake off the shackles of gender-slavery placed upon you. Preach and teach the word of the Lord, and enrich and aggrandize the family of believers! We are — all of us — master and slave, man and woman, equal in God’s eyes! Didn’t Jesus tell us this? I really should have paid closer attention.’”
27. The attack came out of the blue. It shook Jonathan to the core. Glover, et al.
28. “This is not what I meant.” Andrew Bloor to Jonathan Blashette, 2 September 1960. Bloor continues:
“It serves you not a whit to give all your money to these crazy people. It would be different if there were some nobility or high purpose to their causes. There is not. Nobody is approaching you with a proposal to find an end to cancer, Jonathan. Or even to try to get that godawful hour-long Lucy and Desi thing cancelled. I’ve always been supportive of your goals, your dreams, your choice of female companions, all of your major life decisions. But here I must draw the line. You are writing the final chapter of your life in Crayola and I will not have it! You were put here for a very important reason. This is not it!”
29. Jonathan’s reply was scathing. Jonathan Blashette to Andrew Bloor, 6 September 1960. Responding to Bloor’s last charge, Jonathan writes:
“You have been telling me this for years, Dr. Bloor, and I still do not to this day know what you mean. You are like the psychoanalyst who sits and nods while the patient fumbles and flounders and doesn’t get a clue. You do not know what it is that will bring wonderful affirming purpose to my life any more than I do. All you’ve had is a feeling, old man. A feeling that betrayed you and betrayed me. I will hear no more of it. If these people want my money, so be it. I am doing nothing with it. My dream of making any kind of mark has melted away in the barren desert of my dried out, dried up, withered, broken-hipped, wife-bereft, freak-legged life. So why not let that money go to those who still have dreams with a pulse? What do you want from me? I am a man. That is all. A man who did some things. I didn’t save the world. I did the best I could with what I was given. Let’s end this discussion, once and for all. I’ve had enough of it.”
30. “Dear Mr. Blashette Stop Regret to tell you my brother Andrew Bloor passed away last night Stop” Evetta Paton’s telegram is preserved in Jonathan’s papers. It is slightly crimped and discolored on the right edge where it had apparently met with some form of moisture.
31. It was a deep depression lubricated by great quantities of alcohol. Alvira Paine, The Last Days of Pompous: Twelve Stories of the Famous and their Final Season (Charleston, West Virginia: Royce Press, 1970), 190–222.
32. “Uriah, my good man, there is something terribly wrong with these shoes.” Author’s interview with Zachary Hensley. The very inebriated Jonathan simply hadn’t the wherewithal to remove the shoe trees from within.
33. The nightmares did not recede for several weeks. Jonathan’s sleep was often disturbed by images of Bloor’s funeral in Omaha and attended by feelings of enormous guilt. No doubt, Jonathan was plagued by worry that the harsh words he delivered to his friend and mentor might have contributed to his death. During this period, perhaps for subconscious diversion, Jonathan also dreamed that he was being pursued by disembodied lobster chelae. In another dream he was called upon to address an annual stockholders meeting wearing only ruffled rumba pants. Jonathan’s Diary, various entries.
34. “You’ll be Abishag to this David.” Alvira Paine, The Last Days of Pompous, 190–222. Wishes for comity between the two never materialized. Cloretta Connell withdrew her services to Jonathan three full weeks before Uriah was to return to resume his duties as Jonathan’s manservant. Jonathan, who wasn’t happy with even a temporary loss of his trusted man Uriah, went out of his way to make the young nurse and companion feel uncomfortable and unappreciated in her duties, putting to active use the ubiquitous drool cup, and on at least one occasion staging his drowning death in the koi pond. Such shenanigans were not at all in keeping with Jonathan’s usual gentle and sensitive nature. Unfortunately, many of his last months were spent in broken spirits, often rising to heavy frustration and anger. God and fate were the usual objects of his bitterness and rage; but on occasion, a young nurse, pizza delivery boy, supermarket sacker, or his own son might find themselves inadvertent victims of Jonathan’s contempt for youth and its taunting promise.
35. And then, suddenly the clouds lifted. The complete diary entry follows. This is the last time Jonathan would put down his thoughts here. Though he lived for another three months, he was never to pick up the book again.
May 2, 1962
Today I met a little boy named Robbie. He knocked on my door. Uriah was going to send him away, but I heard his wee voice and thought he was a little Brownie selling Girl Scout Thin Mints. Oh how I love Thin Mints. “It isn’t a Brownie with Thin Mints, Mr. Blashette,” said Uriah. ”It’s a boy. He says his name is Robbie. He would like to speak with you.”
I asked Uriah to bring the boy into the living room. My legs were covered with a lap blanket. I was still fighting the cold that had arrived on Monday and I was, at the moment, slightly chilled. “Have a seat, young man. What can I do for you?”
Robbie sat down and immediately began to squirm as boys his age will do, especially when they set their eyes on bowls full of M & M’s. I nodded for little Robbie to take a handful and he dug in. “I used to have a little boy like you,” I said.
“What happened to him?” Robbie asked.
“He grew up to be a man. He now runs a very big company. Now, how can I be of service?”