Cousins’ Reunion in Austin

Bucher’s youngest sister (and my adored friend) Becky told me some time ago that their cousin Katherine and husband Charles Beckwith (who is called Beck) had invited her to visit them in Austin, Texas this April. In March, out of the blue, I received a flurry of wonderfully welcoming faxes from Katherine begging me to visit at the same time. My automatic reaction was that it was not possible; second thoughts and Alex’s encouragement ended in a delighted acceptance.

Early on our first day together I remarked that we were in for trouble. We had two Becks and two Katherine’s. I call Becky Beck half the time and she calls me Katharine as a nickname. No matter what name was called, two heads turned. To avoid confusion, I’ll refer to Becky as Rebekah in the rest of this report.

 

The Beckwiths are delightful and interesting people. Katherine is the daughter of Bucher’s mother’s sister Julie, whose husband had an executive position with GM in Detroit. Aunt Julie was an absolute love and Katherine is very like her. She has her mother’s wacky sense of humor. I have seen Katherine several times through the years, but met Beck only once. By accident I was in Atlanta a few years ago when their daughter was being married. Bucher’s sisters Rebekah and Bibba and I drove up to Fort Bragg for the wedding and had a beautiful weekend.

Beck is a retired Army colonel. During Vietnam he was disastrously injured trying to get his men out of an ambush and no one thought he would live. It took a long time, but he recovered and went back to active service. He is the man who designed and bulled through the creation of Delta Force, against all the arguments of the stuffier Army brass.

Beck also is the unfortunate person who ended up with the blame for the Carter fiasco trying to get the American hostages out of Iran. The operation included Army, Navy, and Marines, with no one Service in charge. Who ever heard of a military operation run by a committee! Beck resigned his commission over it, though he was no more responsible than the top Marine and Navy people. They may have resigned, too; I don’t know. Before he retired, the army asked Beck to try to prevent such disasters in the future by planning what he had proposed earlier—pre-arranged support (air, land, sea) for Delta, under Delta command, with their own equipment and men who had trained with them and could be relied on in emergency.

After Beck retired, he and Katherine moved to Austin, where he set up a security business, primarily aiming at avoiding terrorist attacks or kidnappings. Bob Hope was one of his first clients. He now is semi-retired from that, though he still does some consulting work.

 

On Tuesday, April 21st, I left Belize around noon, changed planes in Houston, and reached Austin around eight o’clock in the evening. As I walked through a door into the baggage claim area, I almost bumped into two ladies of a gracious age, heads thrust forward, stoutly striding toward the carousels. Neither Rebekah nor Katherine wanted to be distracted by some strange person of an even more gracious age who seemed to be trying to get their attention.

Beck was waiting outside by the car. I would not have recognized him. He has gained fifty pounds since stopping smoking—and since his retirement. He was used to heavy exercise, and growing roses hardly qualifies. He was as warmly welcoming as the other two. I was thrilled to learn that Katherine’s sister, Constance Madsen (called Connie) was coming from California two days later.

 

The Beckwiths have a lovely home on a mesa at the edge of Austin. There is a pleasant patio in the back with a large yard for Beck’s roses and vegetable garden. Life is lived in the kitchen around the breakfast table or out in the patio. The sitting wasn’t the best for me, but I kept my footstool handy and managed.

Their (much) youngest daughter Charlotte (who is called Charlie) is now working/going to college and recently moved into an apartment of her own. During the visit, Rebekah and I had Charlie’s room and bath.

The other member of the household was Josie, a black-and-white fox terrier. She was a nervous, yappy animal, skittishly shy of people. Naturally, I went out of my way to win her over, to Beck’s delight. I still can’t understand his choice of a breed, in terms of size and temperament, but she is very much his dog. Charlie is the only one Josie will permit to hold her, and she looks as if she is being tortured the entire time. I succeeded in holding her once. Josie was relatively docile, but she obviously hated it so that I did not impose my wishes on her again.

 

Katherine is an attractive woman with a quiet sense of humor. Her hands are badly deformed with the arthritis. She no longer can write easily or sew, but she hasn’t slowed down her cooking. She had a menu for the visit taped to the side of the refrigerator. We were allowed to help with some of the food preparation, but were ordered out of the kitchen area, or sometimes out of the house entirely when Katherine was in production.

It took several days and a three-against-one attack for her to let us set the dinner table. She started out doing it after everyone went to bed at night—against Rebekah’s stern commands. Every dinner brought different table linen and china, all perfectly lovely. It occurred to me that, as much as they moved around and as much as Beck was away from home, Katherine probably had limited chance to play at being a hostess, especially to family.

 

Beck is one of the most exceptional people I ever have known. As many contradictions as a multiple personality. I expected him to be the quintessential army man, even though I knew he was a maverick. Instead, he seems to incorporate the finest qualities of the dedicated military, the mental agility of an alert loner, and the diplomacy of a skillful politician. Tears were in his eyes talking about some of his men. He showed up as rock-hard tough in other anecdotes. He can sound like Archie Bunker one moment and demonstrate his deep concern for people the next. He is impatient about little things and endlessly patient about big ones.

Tough as he is, Beck an absolute pussy cat with Katherine. One of his great loves is his rose garden. To see this giant, scarred across half his body from battle wounds, gently cutting his roses and bringing a bouquet into the house each morning, made Rebekah and me smile with affection daily. He himself arranged the glorious flowers in vases and put them around the house.

Beck has an arsenal of more than 150 guns of all sorts in his library. The long guns are arranged in a shallow closet the length of the room, with beautiful lighting to show them off when the doors are open. At the end of that display is another closed cupboard that contains a massive safe in which he keeps his hand guns. A few collector’s-type old pistols are displayed on the walls. Katherine showed it all to Rebekah and me when Beck was out one day, but Beck took Rebekah back later so she could photograph it with her camcorder to show her gun-happy son Alex.

Charlie was in and out of the house a lot. She’s a perfectly beautiful blond, bright and poised. She is in a loving, running war with her father, who promises quite sincerely to kill every man she goes out with. Charlie handles Beck firmly, though their fierce question-and-answer periods had Rebekah and me paralyzed in awed terror.

 

Usually I was the first one up. By the time the coffee was made, Beck had emerged and was ready for his Earl Grey tea. We had some of our best conversations then, before the rest of the cousins appeared. One day I happened to say the magic words that started him on a two-hour riveting talk about Delta Force and the attempt to rescue the Iran hostages.

 

One of the week’s major moments of amusement involved me inadvertently and Katherine’s misunderstanding of something I said. Katherine had a charming habit of greeting a remark that surprised her by hunching her shoulders, cocking her head forward, and slapping her left hand against her bosom as she exclaimed, “My word!” (Try it to see how charmingly archaic the pose is.)

The rest of us were sitting around the breakfast room table while Katherine was the other side of the counter in the kitchen. We had been talking about baking bread and my son-in-law Tom’s bread machine. Then I mentioned Ken, the chef from the Caribbean Prince, who gives me loaves of his home-made-style bread when they are in port. In trying to edit my comments to the fewest words possible (which I actually am trying to teach myself to do), the words did not come out exactly as I wanted. I said something along the lines of, “I have a friend who is a master baker and…”

In the kitchen, Katherine went into her my-word act. Later she took Rebekah aside to tell her how horrified she was when I casually remarked that I had a friend who is a masturbator. Of course. Rebekah broke up and couldn’t wait to tell everyone else, to my mortification.

 

Beck is a hearty, outgoing person, more relaxed than I had expected (or remembered), who appeared to enjoy the female babble around him. He escaped to his garden or office as necessary. Our sightseeing forays must have been amusing to watch…massive Beck charging forward, head lowered, looking neither right nor left, tailed by four giggling women, any of whom was subject to distraction at any moment. I do not remember his ever becoming impatient.

We kept a busy schedule—all laid out by Beck in advance.

Tuesday, 21 April

Rebekah and I arrive Austin, separately.

Wednesday, 22 April

Fredricktown:

• Wildflowers along roadside. Great patches of yellow or pink or coral or the blue of the Texas Bluebonnet. Less often, mixed, in wide bands emblazoning the verge for a hundred yards or more.

• Past LBJ ranch. I think Lady Bird was responsible for sowing seeds of wild flowers profusely along highways.

• Herd of buffalo. Rebekah gets out of car to photograph them with her new camcorder.

• Fredricktown is in middle of area settled by Germans. Slightly quaint, but very for-the-tourist. Delightful shops.

• Admiral Nimitz museum in rebuilt former hotel owned by his family. The building is characterized by a great projection from the top story that looks like the wheelhouse of a ship. Museum is small but excellent.

Thursday, 23 April

Puttered around house until time to meet Connie. New reunion.

I am very fond of Connie. She is bright, well-educated, well-read, far more “literate” about art and music than I, and can be delightfully amusing. She is a volunteer at the Huntington Library and is voluble in her praise for the institution. Her field is American Literature and (according to my notes, not my memory) they have more than 900 original volumes.

Connie has many wonderful abilities and qualities, including a charming sense of the ridiculous. She gives regular lectures to school groups and others. She related that, on one occasion, she talked about Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter. When she finished, she asked, “Does anyone know what the letter A stood for?”

“Available,” came the prompt reply.

In another group, Connie asked if anyone knew who Gutenberg was. One of the young people answered, “The president who delivered the address.”

Friday, 24 April

San Antonio:

• More wildflowers.

• San Antonio mobbed. Parking difficult. Bleachers set up.

• Reached our objective, The Alamo, just as gates closed. Guard explained to Beck that it was being closed for the big parade and would not be opened again until mid-afternoon. We never saw more than the outside (which was not a heart-breaking disappointment).

• We walked down to nearby Riverwalk, the charmingly designed canal among buildings. I had read about it and was pleased to see it. Beautiful planting along sidewalks, curving bridges, steps, flower carts, sightseeing barges.

  

• Went to nearby hotel for leisurely lunch. Returned to site of parade. Chose position near beginning, just behind Alamo. Rebekah and Connie, eaten up by curiosity, approached strangers till they found someone willing to explain parade. Name: Battle of the Roses, celebrated Texas’ gaining independence from Mexico. Week-long festivities.

• Watched about forty-five minutes of parade—Military groups, spectacular horse troops, civic authorities, police, firemen, elegant white-haired ladies in Eighteen-Eighties costumes in horse-drawn carriages.

• Returned to get car and escape before heavy traffic.

Saturday, 25 April

Beck determined to show me Mr. Sam’s, an enormous discount store. They needed a few things, but the expedition was more sightseeing than shopping.

I replaced the camera that took me through Africa. At Christmas I had begun having trouble with the flash. It got worse. I took it to Hugo at Tito’s. He checked it, shook his head, said it was electrical. We had learned with a little camera of Alex’s that repairs involved sending it off and paying about 3/4 of the camera’s worth in fees. No way.

Got an excellent buy on a Minolta with telescopic lens. It is slightly larger than the other and will not be as comfortable to carry on trips, but I was determined to have the telescopic lens. The batteries were included, which was a saving of about $15 off the posted price of the camera. Beck agreed that it was a good value. At the check-out stand they knocked an unexpected $40 off in a one-day special. I did good.

Sunday, 26 April

• Tour of Austin. It is a charming city, as Alex had told me. Looking from the plane before landing, all I could see was acres of green, each house apparently surrounded by trees and planting. It is in flattish country, ringed by mesas. Beautiful old homes, classic Southern, Victorian, and early nouveau riche. Enormous, expensive homes of all styles in newer developments on mesas. Houses tend to be set surprisingly close together, but to have gracious-size enclosed patios and back yards.

• University of Texas (drive through area): Modern and impressive.

• Capitol building tour: Grandiose. Even the specially-cast huge brass hinges with their maps of Texas were oversize. Everything handsome.

• Lunch at Mexican restaurant. For once I was able to grab check.

• LBJ Library. Excellent and most interesting.

And Then Came Monday, 27 April…

Rebekah got up before me. I assumed she would put the coffee on, so took advantage of the privacy to bathe and dress quickly. To my surprise, all three girls were in the kitchen, but Beck was not. I was busy patting the ecstatic Josie and ignored Rebeka’s orders to sit down. Went over to the coffee pot and saw, to my amazement, that not only did it have only a few ounces of coffee, but it was not even turned on. Connie said, “We drank it all during the night,” which made no sense at all. Rebekah continued to order me to sit down. I finally began registering as she came over and hissed fiercely in my face, “Beck’s in jail.”

I had been awakened during the night by Josie’s frantic barking. I remember thinking, “We have an intruder,” and then deciding that 1) my getting up and going out to meet him could be counter-productive, and 2) it was someone else’s responsibility. About that time the telephone rang and was answered, so I knew someone was awake. Having discharged all the obligations considered mine, I immediately fell asleep.

What had happened was that, a little earlier, a neighbor had telephoned Beck to say that an intruder was trying to break into her house and to ask him to help. The neighbor was a young divorcée with two little boys who had moved in about three months ago. Beck knew that she had had an intruder around the house a few weeks earlier. Beck asked if she had called the police. She replied that she had called a friend and asked her to call the police. Beck dialed 911 to report the intruder, slipped into trousers (no shirt or shoes, though the temperature was in the 40’s), grabbed his Forty-Five, took Josie, and went next door.

Beck walked stealthily along one side of the neighbor’s house and, at the corner, bumped into five policemen walking carefully toward him along the adjacent side. The officers took one look at the half-clad, heavily scarred man with a Forty-Five not only loaded, but cocked, and arrested him. Beck later said that all he wanted to do was unload his gun before someone got hurt. He is slightly deaf and said that he did not hear the police tell him repeatedly to give them the gun. Beck said that he did not fight them but by the time they had him handcuffed, they were quoting charges of carrying an unlicensed firearm (untrue), resisting arrest (allegedly untrue), and public drunkenness (completely untrue; Beck had had dinner with us, then gone to bed at about nine o’clock, leaving us to clean up and chatter).

By this time, the neighbor had come out of her house and was frantically telling the police that they had made a mistake, that it was her neighbor, Colonel Beckwith, and that she had asked him to come over to help her. Made no difference. The police slapped handcuffs on Beck and shoved him into the patrol car. That was when Josie went crazy barking. Meanwhile, in the dark behind the police, Beck watched the intruder slip down from a tree house, where he had been hiding, and escape under cover of the confusion.

Katherine and Connie were outdoors in their robes protesting.

Katherine tried to get a shirt and shoes for Beck but the police would not let her. Katherine later said that the police were businesslike, but not rude, except for a police woman.

Connie began (as the British say so effectively) “creating.” The police woman told Connie that if she said one more word or took one more step, she would be in the squad car with Beck. Connie said she considered it, but Katherine pulled her back into the house.

Katherine called a lawyer, and they settled down to drink coffee, worry, and tame their adrenalin.

 

The lawyer arrived at the house early the next morning, soon after I learned the story. Katherine gave him a bag with clothes for Beck and his vital medicines. He has very high blood pressure. This was what worried Katherine and Connie so, given Beck’s low tolerance for aggravation. They were seriously concerned about a stroke or heart attack, not to mention pneumonia. I could understand that and took it seriously, but really expected Beck to sail through the experience with fortitude and humor.

Another of Katherine’s worries proved unnecessary. Neither the morning papers nor the early TV news had picked up Beck’s arrest.

It was an endless morning. Katherine was on the telephone to friends, other lawyers, and over and over, the regretful neighbor. Connie thought it would be much better simply to walk next door and massacre the poor girl for putting Beck into such an awful situation, but we all calmed her down.

Katherine went back to her room and rested periodically. In the breakfast room Rebekah, Connie, and I communicated in whispers and diligently avoided using the telephone to leave the line open for the lawyers. Two of them, one a close friend whom Katherine had called first, and the second the one working for Beck, each called every hour to reassure Katherine. When Katherine had called the friend/lawyer in the middle of the night, he said he did not dare get into the case because the Austin police hated him. Beck later explained that he is a lobbyist and would have been the worst person in the world to have involved. Both Beck and Katherine were delighted with the young lawyer he recommended.

To keep ourselves occupied during the dragging hours. Rebekah got into a whirl of washing the mountain of laundry Charlie had delivered to her mother the night before. We had a production line of washing, hanging things on the outdoor line, bringing in dry things, and either folding them or giving them to Connie to iron. Connie had set up the ironing board a few inches from the breakfast-room table and was pressing clothes with fury. The three of us had decided that when we heard Beck return we would disappear into the woodwork—or bedroom or patio—soundlessly and let Katherine and Beck have privacy for their reunion.

As it happened, the morning disappeared uneventfully. About one o’clock we all decided to make ourselves sandwiches for lunch. We just had sat down to eat when Katherine exclaimed, “Here’s Beck.” With sandwiches in our hands and the first bites in our mouths, Connie, Rebekah, and I exchanged frantic glances then realized that there was no way we could vanish gracefully. No matter. The front door was flung open and a booming voice announced:

“Jailbird’s home.”

Beck strode into the kitchen beaming. At the flutter of anxious comments from his harem, he remarked. “I’ve been in a lot worse situations than this one.”

 

At one point during the night, Beck had been seated on a long bench, still half-naked, with six well-lubricated vagrants. They all were cordial, as if welcoming him into their home, obviously delighted at having been picked up from the cold streets and offered a bunk indoors for the night. Later Beck was put into a two-man cell and was given a blanket. He grumbled that his cell mate’s snoring kept him awake, but Katherine and Connie both snapped back that it served him right. Beck’s snoring was legendary.

In the morning, after his lawyer arrived, Beck was taken before a magistrate who set a trial date for early June, and then was released on his own recognizance.

Soon after Beck returned. Connie brought in the mail. With it was a long, charming note of apology from the neighbor. She telephoned almost immediately, asking Beck if he would talk to her. He went outdoors and they spoke in the yard for about fifteen minutes. During that time Beck managed to give her a lot of advice about securing her home so that she would have to worry less about intruders. He also made it clear that next time she was to call the police, not him.

He returned to announce that the young woman had assured him that she had talked to several other neighbors and they all had told her that if anything happened at their homes they intended to call Beck for help. He leaned back in his chair, grinned expansively. and announced that he had resigned from the knight-in-shining-armor business.

Beck’s lawyer is a former assistant district attorney. He said that he intended to see his former boss, let him know what a tiger he had by the tail, and get him to drop the charges. All the neighbors opined that Beck must insist on a trial because they wanted to be character witnesses. Only a few months earlier there had been a fire in the neighborhood and Beck had rushed into the house to alert the family and help get them out. The neighborhood was not about to let the charges against his name stand. Beck himself mentioned suing the Austin police, but admitted that he needed some time to decide what, if anything, he should do.

The rest of the day was a combination of euphoria that Beck was home safely, the routine of packing, and a desire to get through the afternoon and evening as painlessly as possible.

We unset Katherine’s dinner table, changed her menu, and had a simple meal in the breakfast room. Beck disappeared for a nap, missed dinner, but surfaced for a late meal after the rest of us had cleaned up and gone out into the patio. He came out and sat with us for about an hour, but it was obvious that he was dragging and we encouraged him to go back and get a decent night’s sleep.

Tuesday, 28 April

Early in the morning we said our goodbyes. Beck drove Rebekah and me out to the airport around seven o’clock to catch our flights. Connie had a mid-day plane. And the Cousins’ Reunion was over. Plans already are in hand for a repeat performance, probably without the final day’s fireworks display.