Chaska Herald Article 1-26-1995Thursday, January 2E. 19Q5 — Chaska Herald — Page 5
Tribute to an aging friend
The voice on the answering
machine, live because I was
screening calls from the next room
after a long day, was wooden,
almost rehearsed.
Guest Columnist
Steve Lundell
"I'll be vacating this apartment on
Thursday...
And, so I learned that my friend of
19 years had made the decision to
put himself in a nursing home.
Strange, how I never think of it
i happening that way. Being "put in a
nursing home' is something I've
always assumed is done to you, not
something you do to yourself.
I met Morie on a Monday in
February 1976. I had been hired to
do marketing analysis for the
motion picture division of K -tel,
International, and Morie was in
charge of booking the pictures in
theaters. As distributors of such
classics as "Not Now, Darling" and
"Embassy, " K -tel had also rejected
an agreement with the producers of
"Benji" because "nobody goes to
dog pictures anymore."
My first impression of him, even
as he sat behind his desk, was that
this man was huge. Though well
over 6 feet tall and nearing 300
pounds, the intimidation factor was
only operative as long as it took him
to stand up, shake my hand, and
welcome me aboard. From the fust
moment, our 30 -year age difference
was irrelevant. We became friends.
Ten months later, the corporate
ship went down. Morie's job was
eliminated fust, mine would follow.
Morie's advantage was that he had
been in the film business for a long
t time (I teased him once about being
friends with D.W. Griffith) and had
a lot of connections. I, on the other
i hand, had less than a year of
experience and knew virtually no
one. But no matter. No sooner had
Morie gone to work for Associated
i Film Distributors than be somehow
managed to talk the owner into
hiring me as well.
Over the next few years, I learned
the film business from him. He told
terrific stories, this man, about his
time with major studies in the
heyday of movie making, of his
time on the road, traveling between
one small town and the next,
schmoozing theater owners into
running whatever picture Morie was
trying to book at the time. I found
out he loved tennis, never carried
more than one check at a time (he'd
write the amount of the check down
on a scrap of a napkin from wherev-
er we were having lunch, take the
scrap home and balance the check-
book later), he was a huge Zane
Grey fan, and he never had a bad
word to say about anyone.
One day, Morie invited me out to
his home in Jonathan to have dinner
with him and his wife, Muriel. What
a couple they were! This great bear
of a man was married to a pixie.
Muriel looked to weigh no more
than 90 pounds, yet her wit, intelli-
gence, and personality commanded
attention wherever she went. Many
nights were spent, Morie with his
single beer, Muriel and I with our
sometimes too many martinis,
talking about life, about faith
I never heard Muriel call her
husband "Morie." It was always
'Morison." And every time she said
it, I could hear the love and affec-
tion she had for him. And while
their three children went through the
requisite number of adolescent
problems, thew parents voiced
nothing but support and encourage-
ment
One night as Muriel and I sat in
the audience of the community
theater watching MorieJMorison
perform in "Plaza Suite" (yes, he's
a talented actor as well), Muriel
leaned over to me and whispered,
"Isn't he terrific?"
I learned a lot about loving
someone from watching those two.
The next few years saw the end of
our working together. I moved on to
Universal Pictures and Morie started
his own business, booking movies
independently. But it also brought
his participation as a groomsman in
my wedding. And on a Holy
Saturday in the Basilica of St. Mary,
amidst the incense, it was Morie and
Muriel who alone would share the
night of my conversion to Catholi-
cism. Our friendship outlasted the
marriage and the conversion, but
soon, it too, faded. A geographical
move was partly to blame, but
mostly and regrettably, my life
simply got too full of other things.
Six or seven years ago, Morie and
I got reacquainted. I don't remember
who called whom, and I suppose i t
doesn't really matter. He still loved
Zane Grey. He could still recite the
cast of nearly every movie ever
made. He was the same self-
effacing, generous friend I had
Morison Buell
known so many years ago. And he
wasn't
Muriel was gone. Suddenly and
unexpectedly, during the gap in our
friendship, my friend had lost his
soul -mate. It may be one of life's
greatest regrets that I wasn't there
for him then. And this robust man,
to whom tennis seemed almost the
passion that movies were, had
Parkinson's disease. Early stages, he
said. Controlled by medication, he
said.
On our fust visit in many years, I
saw that he was right True, he
moved a bit slower. He had sold the
house in Jonathan and now lived in
an apartment on Yellowbrick Road.
No complaints from him, though.
We renewed our friendship. We
laughed and cried as we talked
about our memories of Muriel. He
still loves her and, I think, misses
her more than he will tell me.
Now, when my phone rings, there
is no one I would rather hear from.
We still laugh. I can always count
on Morie to be happy for me in
success and to minimize what I may
see as a failure. But as our friend-
ship grows, my friend slows down.
From cane to walker, to wheelchair.
And now this phone call. What do I
say to my fiend now?
"I'm vacating this apartment on
Prato M Joel Seton
Thursday. A space opened up at
Auburn Manor."
"Are you okay with this?" I ask.
"Well, it's sooner than I expecte[
But they have private rooms with
private baths, and this way, if I nee
help in the middle of the night,
someone will be there. I can't ask
my neighbors for this kind of staff
anymore. -
"I'll I'll be up after you're settled."
"That would be great. I love you
guys „
"Thanks, Morie. See ya."
So Morie is making what he sees
as his final move. It may be. Zane
Grey, his movie books, and hun-
dreds of others will go into storage
I, selfishly, hope he spends 30 year
there. Then I'll be the same age
Morie is now, and I'll have another
30 years of stories and friendship.
We can joke together that he move,
too soon. I can only hope that I'll
have lived my life as graciously.
Even in the course of a difficult
conversation, Morie caused me to
smile once more this week.
"Where is this place you're
moving to?" I asked.
"Right across from the Chaska
theater," he said.
What a surprise.
(Guest columnist Steve Lindell
resides in Saint Peter.)