By Dana Sherman
Disclaimer: Victor Comstock and Mr. Eldridge belong to Rupert Holmes and AMC.
1942
Victor Comstock spun around once in his chair. He chewed on his pencil for a moment, and then started writing. He'd never really mastered the art of typing as well as Betty Roberts had, so he still tended to rely on a pencil for putting his thoughts down on paper. It helped him think if he didn't have to worry about the accuracy of his typing. He could always type it up properly later.
Eulogies were always hard to write. How to sum up a human being's life in 500 words or less. It was like a ghoulish radio contest. He'd written eulogies before, but never enjoyed the task. This one was proving to be the hardest one of all. What on earth could he say about Tom Eldridge that didn't seem shallow, or glib, or overly maudlin? What could he say about this man, especially after the incredible gift Tom gave him?
Mr. Eldridge had passed away in his sleep three days before. His funeral was set for the next day. The quiet, unassuming man with the gentle sense of humor would have been quite surprised if he'd known how many people had come by the funeral home to pay their last respects. His two children, a son and a daughter, were there, of course, as well as his five grandchildren. So were his nephews and nieces, family friends, old co-workers, aging showgirls who remembered him from his "stage door" days. Pepper Canarsie was there, looking older but still wry and charming. Gloria Redmond and Grace Cavendish both took time out from their schedules to make sure they were there. It brought tears to the eyes of everyone at WENN to know how much their dear old Mr. Eldridge was valued and missed by those he had known.
Those who were unable to be there had sent telegrams or had phoned. Celia Mellon and George Smith had both called all the way from Hollywood to express their grief and sympathy.
Until the day after he died, no one had any idea that Mr. Eldridge had bought WENN. He had faked losing the lottery ticket. In reality he had cashed it in and bought the primary ownership in the station. In his will, he had given it Victor Comstock, the one person whom he was sure would love and respect the station, ensuring it was devoted to artistic endeavor and integrity for all time to come. Victor was overwhelmed by the gift. If he'd been given one wish by a friendly genie, or asked by Santa Claus for his greatest Christmas dream, he would have wished for one thing. His own radio station. Now he had one. The shock and gratitude were almost too much to bear.
He got up and poured himself a mug of hot cocoa from the pot that sat keeping warm on an electric hotplate on his desk. Mr. Eldridge had loved hot cocoa, often inviting Betty to join him in a cup. No matter how busy she was, she always made time for Mr. Eldridge. She would break lunch dates with Doug. She'd stay at the office till 2 AM to get a script finished. She'd go without her dinner so she could keep typing. But if Mr. Eldridge asked her to take half an hour for a hot cocoa break with him, that was all it took. She dropped everything for that. That was the kind of person Tom was. He made people want to go out of their way to be with him, without half trying.
That was it. That was the place he'd start the eulogy from. The way Mr. Eldridge had of making people want to be with him, to go out of their way for him, to share his company. He remembered Mr. Eldridge's basic decency, his kind heart, the way he knew the right thing to say, even if it wasn't obvious at the time. Gloria Redmond had told him of the comforting poem Mr. Eldridge had read to her when she was grieving her husband's death. When he had spoken to George Smith on the phone, George had told him how Mr. Eldridge had been the first to suggest working at WENN, even before the idea had occurred to anyone else. "The first person who saw me as a person with the right to follow my own dreams," he said. Victor's hand was beginning to suffer from writer's cramp as he wrote all this down on the pad of paper. He didn't want to leave out a thing.
There was the sense of humor. The way he had of expressing himself that was just half a step off, but yet somehow made more sense than anything anyone else around was saying. It was easy for an outsider to just write Mr. Eldridge off as a bumbling old man, but those who knew him knew better.
He had been such a fixture at WENN. Sweeping and Hoovering the floors, making the coffee, doing a little acting when he was called upon to do so. Lending a shoulder and a kind word and a hot cup of cocoa. At first Victor didn't know what he could say about him. Now he didn't know how he could leave anything out. He wanted to write a eulogy for Mr. Eldridge, not a novel. Yet, every memory only brought up six more. There was no way of telling what should be left out. A wonderful man like Mr. Eldridge didn't deserve to be remembered with a brief speech. He needed a far more lasting tribute than that.
It came to him slowly, unlike most of his ideas that hit him like a lightning bolt. He put his pencil down, left his office and walked down the hall to the Green Room. Betty was there, carefully sorting through and answering the notes of condolence that were collected on the table.
"Betty, can I talk to you for a moment? I want an opinion."
"Sure thing, Victor," she replied, with as much brightness in her voice as she could muster under the circumstances.
"What do you think of a radio series about Mr. Eldridge?"
"A radio series about him?"
"Well, not Mr. Eldridge himself, of course. But someone like him. A show about a kindly, caring old man who sometimes seems a little 'off' to other people, but who really makes a lot of sense and shows how much he cares about others in the things he says and does."
"I love it! I'll get writing the first script right now!"
"I think I already did." Victor handed her the 20 sheets of paper filled with memories and fondness for Tom Eldridge. "At least, I think I wrote some ideas you could use."
Betty skimmed the papers quickly, her eyes brimming with tears. "I can definitely use these, Victor. I can use any memories of Mr. Eldridge you or anyone else at the station have. I'll make a general announcement later. For now, I'll get started on this."
Victor Comstock's spirit felt lighter as he went back to his office. He knew Betty would do an excellent job with the new series. He knew that he would make sure that the radio station Mr. Eldridge had bequeathed him would be on solid ground. He knew that the quirky, slightly doddering old man was a true gentleman. One who had been loved by so many for so long, and yet had been so modest and unassuming a person that he would have been shocked if he'd known it.
A line came into his head. A rather silly line from Gone With the Wind. Rhett Butler said it about Melanie Wilkes, but it fit Mr. Eldridge just as well. "He was one of the few truly good people I have ever known."
THE END
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