Missing Pat

 The first thing I read by Pat Conroy was an excerpt from The Lords of Discipline in a copy of Playboy I swiped from my dad. I didn't take it for the articles but I did read them and this, this made an impact. I wanted more. Here was a voice like mine. I remember staying up too late reading it and it may have been the first book, aside from Fun With Dick and Jane, that I ever reread. The Boo, The Water is Wide, and of course The Great Santini all were read and reread. Later, there was The Prince of Tides, South of Broad, his cookbook. Anyone who has played a sport and isn't a superstar can relate to My Losing Season. 

Pat (I always thought of him as Pat, Mr. Conroy was his dad), and I shared geography. If you've read his books you know that's important. I didn't have all the moves he had in his early life but Callanwolde, which features large in Prince, was not far from my maternal grandmother's house. He taught for a time at St. Pius, not far from where I grew up. I have ancestors buried in Charleston and Beaufort, two cities he loved and wrote about frequently. (If you see a deSaussure anything, that's us.) 

But the place we shared the most is Fripp Island. We've vacationed there for years and years. A small barrier island not far from Beaufort with a two lane bridge as the only access it is a magical place. I've seen sea turtles born there, watched my kids run to the ocean, seen dolphins, fished, come close to alligators and deer, eaten shrimp right off the boat and crabs my son and nephew caught, ridden miles on a beach cruiser and hacked away at golf balls. And Pat, Pat lived there. I didn't know that for several years though I knew of his love affair with Beaufort. But one trip I saw autographed copies of his books in the local store. 

I told my mother she could bank a few Christmas gifts by getting copies of the books. We were driving back to Atlanta separately. She stopped by the store on her way out to buy some books but they were out of autographed copies. She asked the person working there who replied that they didn't have any more "but he's standing right there, you could ask him". Now, at the time my mom wasn't a big reader. So you have my mom, who hadn't read his books, having a 20 minute conversation with my favorite author. Life is funny that way. But I now own autographed copies of most of his books with personal notes in them. He took the time to hear her story and responded to it. 

I never sought him out during our many trips but I always kept my eyes open and we always had fun guessing which house could be his. I never met him. I'll have to seek out his grave next trip, pour out some whisky and thank him for his words.