Norman Chase Archives - Leslie Jo Chase

March 18, 2019

There’s a Jeff in the Driveway

Previous blog post: The City of Big Shoulder Pads

When we last left Richard and Leslie…

It had started to rain while Richard drove me home and parked in my parents’ driveway. As he leaned over to kiss me someone started wildly pounding on the passenger side window.

I looked up and saw Jeff’s face. The rest of his head was covered by a blanket he’d also wrapped around his shoulders. His clenched fists held the two sides of the blanket together at his chest. The rain began dripping down his face and from the blanket. All he needed was a hatchet to complete the look.

Jeff and I had broken up. I hadn’t seen or spoken to him in months. I thought he had moved back home. I was so shocked to see him my shoulder pads deflated.

I didn’t know what else to do so I locked the car door. “Great idea,” I thought to myself, “that’ll help.”

I looked over at Richard who was staring at Jeff.

This had to be the worst end of a first date ever. EVER!

I had to do something. I wasn’t going to let Jeff ruin whatever chance I hoped I still had with Richard so I took a deep breath, unlocked the door, and started to reach for the handle.

“What are you doing?” Richard said. I told him I was going to tell Jeff to leave. I said that I wasn’t afraid to stand up to all 6-feet, 4-inches of him, and that I didn’t want him to feel obligated to get involved.

But Richard The Brave refused to let me face Jeff alone. It was a rather romantic moment, well, as romantic as a moment like that could be.

I had no idea what the proper etiquette and protocol was for a that kind of situation, but since we were on my driveway, I was technically the hostess.

My parents had raised me to be polite in all situations, and, even though I’m sure they would have let this one slide, I felt compelled to introduce Richard to Jeff, and Jeff to Richard. I also thought it would help diffuse the situation, whatever the situation was, if we all appeared to be as calm and cordial as possible. I can’t remember, but I think they shook hands.

I don’t think any of us knew exactly what to do, so we just stood there in the rain. Richard and I looked like soggy, well-dressed parents taking their giant son Trick-or-Treating in his serial killer costume.

Richard offered to stay, and even though I wanted him to, I didn’t want him to be any more involved in this drama than he already was. I told him I could handle the situation. I really didn’t want to talk to Jeff, but I had to. I told Richard I’d call him later that night. I just hoped he’d answer the phone.

Richard watched me walk to the door with Jeff. I rang the doorbell, instead of using my keys, because I knew my father would answer the door. My parents were happy I was no longer seeing Jeff, and were thrilled I was out on a date with Richard that night.

My father looked a little perplexed when he came to the door and saw me standing there with Jeff who looked like a tall version of “Igor” from Young Frankenstein, minus the hump.

As soon as Richard saw that I was safely inside I heard the screech and smelled the burning rubber of the Duster’s tires.

My father told Jeff he could stay and talk to me for ten minutes after which he would call the police.

I found out later that my father, who was the funniest person I’ve ever known, walked into the bedroom and said to my mother, “I don’t understand. Leslie left with Richard but came home with Jeff.”

Jeff and I walked into the den. He was soaking wet so I didn’t let him sit on my parents’ furniture. I had so many questions, but decided not to say anything. I just stood there, looking at Jeff, waiting for an explanation.

He said he wanted to try to patch things up, so he came to the house. He didn’t ring the bell because he “had a feeling” I had gone out on a date. He had parked his car around the corner so I wouldn’t see it. He was cold so he wrapped himself up in a blanket he just happened to have in his car and hid in my parents’ bushes waiting for me to come home.

I said, “That’s called stalking.” I asked him to just leave me alone once and for all. He promised he would and left before my father had to call the police. I never heard from him again.

I went into my bedroom to call Richard. I was relieved when he answered the phone, and happy to hear his voice.

I never even thought to tell Richard about Jeff because there was nothing to tell. I wouldn’t have blamed Richard if he didn’t want to be my date for the dinner dance the next weekend, but he said he wanted to honor his commitment. Not the most romantic sentiment, but understandable.

I told myself that everything had to go well the next weekend at the dinner dance. No surprises! I put myself on double secret probation because I knew I’d never get another chance with Richard if anything went wrong.

Nothing terrible happened the night of the dinner dance. However, my front-loading bra burst open causing a “Girls Gone Wild” situation, my mother ran after The Chicago Bears to say hello, and all the cocktail waitresses knew my father and called him, “Normie Baby.” After witnessing all of that, I think Richard was quite amused, and seemed happy with what he had gotten himself into. But I’ll tell you more about that in the next chapter.

The Silver Linings

Terry, my mother, my sister, our family, and friends will never be able to understand or accept losing our two favorite people, especially within 19 days of each other.

But, we can tell Norman’s jokes, if we can remember them and (even harder) tell them as well as he did. And, we can eat and enjoy every single morsel of food, especially if it involves peanut butter and/or chocolate.

The man even ate Iguana once. My parents were vacationing in Mexico and at dinner one night my father ordered the #7, not knowing what it was. He told me he had said to the waiter, “This meat is very good! What is it?” The waiter said, “Iguana.” My father said, “It tastes like chicken!” I’m not sure if he kept it down, but he was an adventuresome eater who truly savored food, as well as family, friends, and life.

And, we can honor Paul by dancing like no one’s looking, telling jokes, laughing, knowing not to take ourselves too seriously, being present and in the moment, learning and trying new things such as whittling, playing the banjo, and cutting down a dead tree with a chainsaw from inside a rowboat in the middle of a pond (well, perhaps that’s not such a great example! Mom, it never happened!)

Paul wasn’t afraid to live life. He and Terry hiked mountains, went caving, traveled the world, and enjoyed every single thing they did together; even splitting firewood with an ax for the wood-burning stove that warmed their home.

When Paul decided he wanted to learn how to ski, he went to the top of a mountain in Utah. He didn’t waste time on “bunny hills.” There are many more things I could say, but I will keep my promise that I’d never tell my mother about them.

We can also strive to quietly achieve at least one or two of Paul’s qualities of which there are too many to list, but very few people innately possess. He was kind, gentle, humble, non-judgmental, generous, funny, knew what the meaning of the word “fair” was, and diplomatically tried to make the world a more fair and better place. He was that rare person we were all lucky enough to know and will never forget.

Paul’s friends and colleagues in Indiana would like to hear from his friends, family, and classmates. Only you have the insight into what it was like growing up with Paul.

I was much younger than Paul, and much, much younger than Beth, so I don’t remember much, except that I thought he was really cool. And he had the best hair. And, he was the only person I’ve ever known who could ride a unicycle around the block while juggling.

Please read the message below and respond directly to Jesse Kharbanda

Share Your Reflections, and Learn More

If you would like us to add a tribute that you’ve written about Paul’s life or have any thoughts or questions about the Paul M. Chase Memorial Prize, please reach Jesse Kharbanda, Executive Director of the Hoosier Environmental Council, at jkharbanda@hecweb.org

Contributions to the Paul M. Chase Memorial Prize can be made at:

hecweb.org/paulchase

Thank you,

Terry Briner, and the rest of Paul’s family
Home » Paul Chase Prize

Paul Chase Prize

Paul Chase was a great advocate, lawyer, son, partner, brother, uncle, cousin, and friend. In his more than thirty year career as a lawyer and advocate, Paul stood up for the chronically ill, the disabled, the elderly, and the financially struggling. He advanced the causes of affordable energy, climate change action, civil rights, consumer rights, health care access & affordability, and renewable power. Paul’s remarkable abilities, character, humor, and warmth were widely appreciated by the entire breath of the Indiana public interest community (as seen by the tributes below), including our organization. Paul, our treasured personal friend and professional colleague, was tragically taken from us, due to a car accident, on June 25, 2014.

In celebration of the life of a true champion of social justice, the Hoosier Environmental Council has established the Paul M. Chase Memorial Prize.

HEC aspires for the Memorial Prize to be not only an annual honor to a worthy young Hoosier who follows in Paul’s footsteps, but a fund for a modest annual scholarship. We are very thankful that this Memorial Prize has the blessing of Paul’s beloved partner, Terry, and that our announcement of this honor at Paul’s memorial service on July 2nd provided comfort to Paul’s family overall.

If you would like to donate to the scholarship fund, please go to our Donation page and write “Chase Memorial Prize” in the comments box of the Donation page. If you would like to give a general gift to HEC in memory of Paul, please write “in memory of Paul Chase” in the comments box. In either case, we will notify the Chase Family of your thoughtfulness and your generosity.

Learn More About Paul’s Life and His Great Impact

Our treasured friend

Fran Quigley, a law professor and long-time advocate for social justice, wrote a tribute in the Indianapolis Star, and Shelia Suess Kennedy, a prominent political commentator and law professor, wrote a piece about Paul here. John Cardwell and Nancy Griffin, champions for health care access and affordability, write of Paul in the Indianapolis Star. Mike Leppert, long engaged in the Indiana political scene, shares his thoughts about Paul. Many mini-tributes for Paul can be found at the Shalom Memorial Funeral Home page as well as in this Indianapolis Stararticle.

Share Your Reflections, and Learn More

If you would like us to add a tribute that you’ve written about Paul’s life, write to us at comments@hecweb.org, Subject: Paul Chase.

If have any thoughts or questions about the Paul M. Chase Memorial Prize, please reach Jesse Kharbanda, Executive Director of the Hoosier Environmental Council, at jkharbanda@hecweb.org.

June 26, 2014August 10, 2014

Cruel Summer

At 7:30 P.M. last night, Wednesday, June 25th, 2014, everything I’ve ever believed in, hoped for, or placed my faith into was shattered.

I received a phone call from Richard who had left for Florida at 3:00 A.M. with his brother, David, to help their parents move into a new condo.

When Richard called I had just returned home from the hardware store after having coffee with my friend, Alyson.

He told me to sit down, so I sat on the garage steps. He said that he had the most horrible news to tell me. I asked him if my mother was okay. Was it my sister?

“No, it’s Paul,” he said.

“My brother? He’ll be okay, right?”

“No, he was killed in a car accident.”

I yelled at him that he was making it up. I told him he was lying. I told him it wasn’t true and then I hung up. I ran into the house from the garage, up the stairs and back down again. I heard a sound that I had never heard before. It was coming from me.

My son Lucas and his friend, Robert, came running to find me to see what was wrong.

Without thinking, I repeated what Richard had just told me. I remember hearing Lucas smash something. I don’t know what it was, as if it even mattered. I didn’t care. He had every right to do whatever he needed to do at the moment.

Robert left just as Veronica walked in with her boyfriend, Aaron. Richard had called her, too, even though I didn’t want him to because she’d have to drive home after hearing about her Uncle Paul.

Feeling guilty for not being able to comfort my own children, I ran outside. I heard that sound again. It was otherworldly; a combination of a wail, a scream, a cry, and a moan. I fell to my knees and asked God how he could take away my father and now my brother in less than three weeks.

Not that it made it any easier for us, but my 82-year-old father had become handicapped over the years.The lung cancer he had only recently been diagnosed with was shrinking, and we went out to celebrate his clean CT scans. Then, on Friday, June 6th, 2014, his heart suddenly gave out as he walked into the house with my Mother, looking forward to eating the Burger King and Duncan Donuts they had just bought.

But my brother? He was 58. He had a great life. He was in love with Terry, his life-partner of 38 years. Paul was the favorite child. Terry is #2.

Paul deserved to be the favorite child. He was perfect. He was gorgeous. He could grow an afro that defied gravity, and a garden that came alive in perfect harmony. He was smart, helpful, humble, caring, generous, creative and talented in so many ways, and had a soothing voice that instantly made me feel safe from the moment I was born.

My mother referred to Paul as a “Professional Do-Gooder” because he gave up being a partner in my father’s law practice in Chicago to lobby on behalf of non-profit organizations, such as groups that supported people living with HIV/AIDS, AARP, and, most recently, Covering Kids & Families of Indiana, to improve healthcare access for everyone.

Just last Sunday (four days ago) he had driven here from Nashville, Indiana. We knew he could only stay one night because he had a conference in Indianapolis early Tuesday morning, but he came to go over a few legal matters with my mother.

When he arrived, he went with Beth, Sam, my Mother, and me to the cemetery to visit my father. I wasn’t sure I was ready to go to the cemetery so soon after burying my father, but knowing Paul would be there gave me the confidence to get through it. It wasn’t easy, but it ended up being comforting.

I don’t know why I didn’t get to say goodbye to Paul on Monday, like I usually do. He said he had sent me a text so I could come over to Mom’s to say good-bye, but I never received it. It was okay because we both knew we’d see each other again soon. He said he’d be coming into town more often now that Dad was gone, plus my mother and I were planning the first of many road-trips to visit Paul and Terry.

Two days later I was on my knees, that sound involuntarily bellowing out of me, as I screamed, “No! This can’t true.” I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder and turned to see my friend Rosa. Richard had asked her to come to the house to stay with me for a while.

When I saw her, no matter how many times I said it couldn’t be true, she told me it was. Her husband, Art, and their son, Noah came and embraced me, too.

Eventually, I knew it was true. I had just recently begun to get the images of my father’s body in the hospital and in his casket out of my brain when images of my brother started to flood my imagination. A car accident? The images were too horrific for me to let them take over. I didn’t even know what had actually happened.

We came back into the house from the yard. My sister and brother-in-law, Sam, arrived. Our friend Steve, who Richard had called, walked in, grabbed me and held me.

Terry had called Beth to tell her, and then Richard, poor Richard, to tell him. Everyone in our family knows that Richard is the best messenger.

But, Mom didn’t know, and Richard wasn’t here to tell her. After nearly three weeks of trying to get used to living alone, she had finally decided to go out to dinner with friends.

There’s a Jewish saying that bad things happen in threes. My sister and I were sure my mother would collapse and die the moment she found out about Paul, so Beth called Mom’s doctor to ask for advice. I suggested Mom be placed into a medically-induced coma; a good reason I should never become a doctor and stick to my day job as a writer.

Art, who is a doctor, and Sam, who is a gentle soul and whom my mother adores, were elected as the most competent to go to the house to tell my mother. The rest of us waited to see what Mom wanted us to do. I thought she might want to come to our house, to get away from her house for the night, but she asked that Beth and I go to her house. Lucas insisted on coming with us.

Between the three of us, the sound of the loss of my brother was perverse and scary. Lucas waited patiently for Beth and me to release our Mother, and then wrapped her safely in his arms.

The howls of grief escaping from my sister and mother began to make me shake. I felt dizzy. I needed to go home. Rosa, who had stayed with Veronica, Aaron and Noah came to my Mom’s house to pick up Art, Lucas and me.

Veronica went to sleep in her room. Lucas and I slept in the living room with the dogs. Richard flew in this morning. He had offered to fly to Indianapolis, and then drive to get Terry in Nashville and bring him here, but Terry didn’t want him to do that. He wanted to drive here. We thought Terry was going to drive alone, so we were relieved when he said his friend, Rhea, was coming with him. So here we are. At my mother’s house, waiting for them.

I’ve always believed in a being greater than me. I always thought things happened for a reason; that is until 7:30 last night.There cannot be a reason, or even an explanation, for my brother to have been killed.

My mother said last night that we’ll never recover from this. I think she’s right. It’s just us girls, now, and our wonderful husbands and kids, but our family of five has been ripped apart within the span of less than three weeks. There just can’t be a purpose for that.

Please understand if my writing is sporadic for a while.

Thank you,

Leslie

Please read these beautifully written tributes about my brother, Paul:

“At a Loss for Words About a Loss”

http://sheilakennedy.net/2014/07/at-a-loss-for-words-about-a-loss/comment-page-1/#comment-149100 by Sheila Kennedy

“Kindness Wins”

http://indy.st/1lGc010 Opinion piece by Dr. Quigley, Clinical Professor at the Indiana University Robert H. McKinney School of Law in Indianapolis

“Paul Chase Accomplished Much for Indiana”

http://indy.st/1lrr8PB

June 13, 2014

Fro-Back Friday! When Dad got Stuck in our Driveway

Norman with pennies on his head — My father could make almost anything stick to his forehead. It was one of his many talents.

The kids and I were in our usual positions; kneeling on the blue pleather-covered, retro sofa in the living room with our behinds facing the middle of the room and our noses pressed against the bay window, waiting for my parents to arrive.

Lucas and Veronica were always excited when they knew Grandma and Papa were coming over. My parents would often come to the house to visit before we’d all go out for dinner.

As soon as my father’s Lincoln Town Car pulled into the driveway, both kids bounced up and down on the sofa, causing me to bounce, albeit involuntarily. Physics. Can’t live with it; can’t live without it.

Our driveway was wide enough for one car only, and as steep as a double-black diamond ski-run. At the bottom of the slope sat a one-car garage.

My Dad let my Mom out of the car and then decided to pull further up, which was, in reality, down (oh, so down) the driveway. The only plausible reason for this was that my sister, brother-in-law, and their son, Joey, were coming over, too, and he wanted to leave room for them to pull up behind him.

It was so cold that year the Canadian geese, that usually hung out across the street at the golf course for the winter, completely bypassed Illinois and headed straight to Arkansas. Even though he’d placed the car in “Park,” Dad’s rear-wheel-drive car continued to slide down the icy driveway, inching itself closer and closer to the closed garage door.

Richard, my mom, the kids, and I watched through the front window of the house as my Dad’s car disappeared between the embankments on either side of the bottom of the driveway. We could see the back end of his car, but no Norman.

Richard ran outside and watched as Norman’s car stopped just short of the garage door. Richard came inside to tell us the good news. But the good news was short-lived.

Because of the embankments, my Dad couldn’t open his door more than an inch. If he had tried to slide over to the passenger’s side, he wouldn’t have had any better luck there. Even if he could physically climb over the back seat, those doors wouldn’t have been able to be opened either.

As soon as we realized what was happening, little four-year-old Veronica asked, “Will we ever see Papa again?”

“Good question,” I thought to myself. How is he going to get out of the car? But before we could figure that out, he began trying to back up, only to spin his wheels which had the reverse effect, sliding him closer to the garage door.

I ran downstairs and opened the garage door to see if he would be able to slide in, get a smidge of traction, and then back out. But Richard’s car was parked in the garage, leaving Dad shipwrecked.

Time for some quick thinking. Richard and I sprang into action to rescue Papa from the Town Car. We placed floor mats behind Dad’s back wheels, as we tried not to slalom down the driveway ourselves. He put the car back into reverse but his wheels only spun and spun. They spun so much, in fact, that the smell of burning rubber triggered the smoke detector in the garage.

Ok. It was time for some more quick thinking. Richard and I tried to push the car back up the hill as Dad’s wheels spun in reverse. That may have been quick thinking, but it was also stupid thinking. There was no way the two of us could have pushed that Titanic of a car back up and over the death-drop steepness of our driveway.

Finally, The Voice of Reason, also known as my Mother, said we should call a tow truck, which we did. However, it was going to be about two hours before the tow truck could get to our house due to the inordinate volume of calls the company had received about cars stuck on steep, double-black diamond ski-run-worthy driveways. Dad would just have to sit and wait in his car while we waited inside the house for the tow truck to arrive.

I called Dad on his cell phone to see if he was thirsty and wanted a Diet Coke, or need an old coffee can in which to pee. He she was fine and was even laughing about the situation.

Back in the house, we all just stood there waiting for the tow truck. If Dad was stuck in the driveway, we were going to be stuck watching him be stuck in the driveway because that’s what our family does. It made no sense, and makes even less sense when I think about it now, but we all stood there glued to the floor, as if we were trapped, too.

Finally, the tow truck arrived. A giant flatbed tow truck. In my driveway.

I had no idea what the guy was going to do or how he planned to get my Dad’s car out of the driveway, but he did. He somehow got these big metal things under the wheels of my Dad’s car and magically began to lift the car up — with my dad in it — using metal chains, and a hook that looked like it could support a prize-winning Marlin.

As we all stood there watching, Dad’s car was eventually dragged onto the flatbed. The tow truck driver returned to the cab of his truck and pushed a button that elevated the flatbed, the car, and my Dad as high as the 50-year-old Arborvitae trees that flanked either side of the embankments. As the driver pulled his truck out of the driveway, there was Norman sitting in his car waving at us as if he were in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I never would have believed it, but it worked. The driver lowered the flatbed, and then unhitched the Titanic so my Dad could drive off of it. He moored the car on the street, and got out to tip the tow truck driver as we all watched and cheered. He was a little stiff from sitting in his car motionless for two hours and he had to pee, but other than that he was fine.

We snapped out of our stupors of disbelief and did what we had planned all along. We went out to dinner. Nothing, not even a perilous mountain of ice, could keep this family from going out for dinner, because that’s what Chases have always done and always will.

Dedicated in loving memory of Norman. M. Chase

June 17, 1931-June 6, 2014