The legacy of a newspaper forgetting a letter in my dad's name.
How the absence of the letter 't' can change everything or just make you laugh
I am taking a short break from Pathologically Genuine articles for just a bit.
I have trained my ego such that it will only hear “Oh no, that can’t be!” after readers read the news.
Being autistic makes it next to impossible to know how I affect other people. I might even be able to make myself believe that you actually love me when you are breaking my bones with a baseball bat while screaming “I hate you.” Nonetheless, I am also insecure. So, please don’t whisper “thank goodness!” unless it is in a language I don’t understand.
The reason I am taking a break is that I am in a new phase of my book project that will require me writing new posts towards an actual goal instead of merely taking up space on the internet. It shouldn’t be too long until I get back to Pathologically Genuine with respect to human time. It might be millions of generations for a bacterial species. For bacterial readers, I apologize.
But I still want to write. I was encouraged because over 90% of my students this semester wanted me to start class with a song or a story even if they heard the stories ten times before in other classes with me. I thought to myself that if they like them so much, maybe readers will, too.
Today’s article is about my dad, Dr. Morton (Moe) Coleman, and his introduction to the State of Connecticut as an incoming dean of the University of Connecticut’s School of Social Work.
My father is a Yinzer (person from Pittsburgh), through and through. There was only five years when he did not live in Pittsburgh (the stint in Connecticut).
My dad was very smart and had an amazing career. When he died the Pittsburgh Post Gazette wrote an obituary titled, “Morton ‘Moe’ Coleman was ‘connective tissue’ of Pittsburgh.” He started the Institute of Politics at the University of Pittsburgh. Pitt also created the Coleman Award for Excellence in Community Service while he was alive and it still is being awarded with awards going to amazing people.
It was terrible going out to eat with him. No matter where we went from an old diner to a fancy restaurant, he would know people there that he had to talk to and introduce me. My father was my biggest cheerleader, which often included fantastical embellishment. I was always embarrassed.
Moe was on the School Board when Pittsburgh started busing students during the civil rights movement. He didn’t have many fans in our neighborhood, and it was not easy finding any place where he could go without being accosted. Also, while he was on the school board, my mother, who was a special ed teacher in one of Pittsburgh’s roughest neighborhood went on strike against him and the board for teacher pay. And my brother was part of a group of high school students who protested by taking over a hallway in the school board building because that is what a seventeen-year-old kid raised by a civil rights activist did in 1970. My dad was proud of both of them despite it causing him some grief.
Forty year later, when my parents needed to move into assisted living, I went back with him to their apartment to see what he wanted to keep. We pulled out a large duffle bag out of the closet- the closet was a total mess. The duffle bag was of an earlier generation - big enough for a house and all of its belongings. His duffle bag was filled with what felt like hundreds of awards. I think there must have been an award from every non-profit organization in Pittsburgh and their children and grandchildren organizations. I had no idea.
I feel lucky to have inherited some of Moe’s best traits. For example, he was an awesome teacher that believed in every one of his students and treated each of them like a member of his family. As an autistic empath, I can’t help but do that, too. I also love to argue and interrupt just like he did, which is the only reason I find talking to someone fun. Also, the Institute of Politics produced a video about history the award a couple of years ago. One person said in the video “what was special about Moe is that he truly cared about poor people.” I like to think that I carry that care forward. He also loved ketchup on most anything. I like the condiment, too, but just on as many things. I mean I would never put ketchup on a good pickle. He would.
He also had traits I needed to overcome. My dad was not handy- I mean we were happy if we knew the name of a tool like a hammer or screwdriver, let alone a wrench. My dad never really learned to cook. One time he needed to make breakfast, and he made scrambled eggs but needed to use the NY Times cookbook to do so. The eggs were pretty good.
He was also a terrible driver. His mother used to tell him that only timed he looked anyone in the eye when talking was when he was driving and the person he was talking to was sitting in the back seat of the car.
I also inherited some other traits, I wish I didn’t. His handwriting was terrible. Mine is worse. He was insecure. Me too. I suspect he was on the autism spectrum, but he was never assessed. If he was, I got that, too.
He also was the center of some of the funniest stories. This one involves his name, Morton.
The Hartford Courant announced on its front page that my dad was hired to be the new dean of UConn’s School of Social Work. Moving companies pounced on the news and started calling our house.
My mother picked up the phone and talked with one of the callers. They talked about the company and possibly moving our belongings. At the end of the call, the person from the moving company stopped my mom before she hung up and said, “What’s your husband’s first name?”
My mom replied, “Morton.”
The person responded, “The newspaper forgot the ‘t’.”
We finally got a hold of a copy of the Hartford Courant. And there, in black and white, was a head shot of my dad with the caption “Moron Coleman.”
So, yes, my insecure father, about to make a move to a job with a large public facing component and moving out of Pittsburgh for the first time got introduced to the entire State of Connecticut as Moron.
You can’t make shit like that up.
My dad was quite humble, so his external position was that the Hartford Courant was quite astute.
Of course, he never lived down Moron Coleman with his family, but it is not clear that anyone, but the moving company read the article in the Hartford Courant. So, it didn’t follow him around professionally.
I tell that story to students in my classes. It usually take a little bit of time for them to think about what the word Morton spelled without a ‘t’ would be. Eventually the laughter reaches a crescendo.
I then tell my students they are free to call me Moron Coleman. Much to my surprise, none of the over 1,000 of them have taken me up on that offer in classes, emails or even in their course evaluations. I am thankful for that. But, like my dad, I know there are times Moron is an apt noun.
Very nice, Jim
I laughed!