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MAGIC CARPET RIDE
CHAPTER
TWO:
LIGHTNING STRIKES AGAIN
Written by Rick
Archer
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Rick
Archer's Note:
So who exactly is this 'old friend' of mine?
Her name is Maria Ballantyne. In the Introduction, I mentioned an incident
in my Senior year of high school that bordered on the miraculous.
One day in 1968 Mrs. Ballantyne appeared out of nowhere to help me
deal with the worst crisis of my life.
Mrs. Ballantyne was the most famous
parent during my years at St. John's. She and her
husband, a prominent physician, sent seven children to the
school. Mrs. Ballantyne was a terrific mother.
Every one of her children were exceptional.
As one might guess, raising those
children was a full-time job. Mrs. Ballantyne was at
the school every day for a variety of reasons. One of
her favorite activities was visiting with some of the other
mothers at afternoon tea held at the school. The
activity was placed in an open area very close to my locker.
New to the school in the 4th Grade, I was drawn to Mrs.
Ballantyne because she was so dynamic in conversations with
the other mothers.
With my mother falling to pieces before my very eyes, I
developed a bad case of hero worship for Mrs. Ballantyne.
Oh how I wished I could have a mother like her.
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My fascination with Mrs. Ballantyne never diminished during my
nine year stay at St. John's. Keeping an eye on her was not difficult.
Mrs. Ballantyne was everywhere. I estimate our paths
crossed at least once a week in the hallway. In
addition I would periodically notice her from a distance talking to a
teacher, the Headmaster, another
mother, or one of her children. Oddly enough,
despite the frequency of my observations, not once did we
interact. I would not dream of invading her privacy,
so I made sure to be discrete when I watched. Not once
did Mrs. Ballantyne look up and notice me staring from afar.
As a result, my respect for Mrs. Ballantyne's talents as a
mother remained a well-kept secret.
The crisis in my
Senior year was so complicated, I think it best to keep it
short. In a nutshell, a perfect storm of bad breaks
left me in a position where I would be unable to afford
college in the upcoming school year. Given that
college had been the cornerstone of my dream to escape my
miserable home life, the thought of spending another year
with my woebegone mother was more than I could take. I
fell into a state of depression so severe that I had to
fight off thoughts of suicide.
One afternoon in
the middle of March 1968, Mrs. Ballantyne walked into my
grocery store. I worked there four times a week to
save money for college. I was
stunned to see her enter. In three years, I had never
seen Mrs. Ballantyne in my store before. No surprise
there. The
grocery store was nowhere near her home. Was Mrs.
Ballantyne here to see me? No. She walked right
past me without a glance. She grabbed two carts and off she
went to squeeze the tomatoes. Over the years I had longed
for the chance to speak to my idol.
However, Mrs. Ballantyne was no longer my hero.
Believe it or not, her daughter Katina had just won the
scholarship that by all rights should have gone to me.
This terrible blow spiked my last chance to attend
college next year. No one at my school had ever needed
a scholarship more than I did. I was forlorn. My mother was
so heavily in debt I suppose I was the only student in SJS
history to border on destitute. Considering the Ballantynes were rich enough to
send seven children to St. John's, it felt like highway
robbery to see my last chance for college go down the
drain. I blamed Mrs. Ballantyne. No one but her
had the influence necessary to persuade our Headmaster to
bypass me in favor of her privileged daughter one week ago.
I had a burning
desire to know why Katina had won that scholarship
instead of me. By some weird quirk, here was my chance
to find out. After sacking her groceries, I
offered to take the two carts out to her car.
Unfortunately, I was unable to say a word. I was so
depressed, I could not find the courage to speak up. Meanwhile Mrs. Ballantyne ignored me
completely. As well she should. I was a complete
stranger to her. She did not have the slightest idea I
was her secret admirer as well as her secret enemy. Discouraged
by
my inability to make contact, after placing the groceries in
the trunk, I grabbed the two carts and began trudging back
to the store.
Just Mrs. Ballantyne spoke up.
"Young man, can I speak with you for a moment?"
Surprised, I
turned around to see what she wanted. As it turned
out, Mrs. Ballantyne had just noticed I appeared to be wearing the school
uniform, khaki pants with white polo shirt. Curious,
she asked, "Do you by some chance go to St. John's?"
Once the ice was broken, Mrs. Ballantyne wanted to know why a boy who attended the most expensive
school in the city was working a menial after-school job
as a grocery sacker. By definition every student at
St. John's was the child of wealthy parents (with one
exception of course). I did not know why Mrs.
Ballantyne was so interested in me, but I found
myself baring my soul. In the space of 15 minutes, she
knew more about me than any person at the entire school.
As I answered a series
of probing questions, Mrs. Ballantyne reached several
conclusions. One, I was poor.
Two, I was deeply disturbed. Three, I
reminded her of her own difficult childhood.
Yes, believe or not, I was about to discover
this high and mighty woman had experienced a
difficult childhood remarkably similar to my
own.
To my
astonishment, Mrs. Ballantyne leaned back against her car, then
proceeded spend 15 minutes telling me how she had faced great hardship as a young girl.
Mrs.
Ballantyne's story was remarkable. Her mother died
when she was 11. Her father went off the deep end and
sent her to live with an aunt who didn't want her.
Feeling abandoned and growing up poor, the luckiest break of her life came the day
a gangster unexpectedly offered to pay her way to college.
I could not help but see strong parallels to
my own difficult childhood. This, of course, made no
sense. How on earth did she rise out of poverty to
become this high and mighty socialite? I was dying to
know, but too shy to ask. One thing I did know was
that I had never met anyone like Mrs. Ballantyne. She had proven to be just as incredible as I had
long believed. However, there was still the problem of
that scholarship she had stolen from me. I had to know!
But it was useless. Mrs. Ballantyne had the strongest
personality of any woman I had ever met. I was so
intimated I could not say a word.
Guess what?
After finishing her life story, Mrs. Ballantyne said, "By
the way, did
you know my daughter Katina recently won the
Jones Scholarship?"
What?!?!
At the mere mention of the lost Jones Scholarship, shock
waves
flashed through me.
Did Mrs. Ballantyne really say
that?!? Was
she rubbing her daughter's victory in my face??
I almost lost my temper, but
managed to bite my tongue. I am so glad I did.
Looking back, I think Mrs. Ballantyne had put two
and two together and concluded I probably had energy
on this issue. Most people would have
sidestepped such a sensitive topic, but not Mrs.
Ballantyne. Without prompting on my part, she
proceeded to explain that even rich
people have limits to their income. The cost
of simultaneously sending five children to private
school and two to college was so exorbitant that every one
of her children were on partial scholarships.
Without the grant that Katina had won,
they would have been hard-pressed
to pay her way to Vanderbilt next year. This
news came as quite a revelation. I had
no idea that even rich people can struggle to make
ends meet. However, after the way Mrs. Ballantyne explained it,
I understood now. It was a tough break that I had I
lost the scholarship, but if anyone else had to win,
I was glad it was Katina. She was an
exceptional young lady who was definitely worthy. In that instant, I was amazed to see the giant
chip on my shoulder melt away. Not only that,
I could feel the ever-present tension of my
depression lift. It was an incredible moment.
Mrs.
Ballantyne had been incredibly kind to
take the trouble to ease my mind. In all, she
had given 45 minutes of her time to lift my
spirits. Nor did she
stop there. Just as she was about to drive
away, Mrs. Ballantyne rolled down her
window.
"Rick, I know you must be frantic about money
for college, but I wouldn't worry too much.
With your grades, I imagine whichever school you
choose will seriously consider you for a
scholarship. I think you have a great
chance."
And with that, Maria
Ballantyne drove off into the sunset. As it
turned out, her prediction came true. Two
weeks after our Parking Lot Conversation, I was
asked to contact a Houston-area representative of
Johns Hopkins University. One week after I met
with philanthropist Ralph O'Connor in his home for an interview, I
received a letter announcing a full four-year
scholarship to college. I did not know it at
the time, but many years later I learned Mr. Salls,
my Headmaster, had secretly arranged this
scholarship for me.
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Having Mrs. Ballantyne appear at my store was a
coincidence of the highest magnitude.
Considering how small the school was, one
would think Mrs. Ballantyne would have
noticed me at least once. Nope.
Never happened. In nine years, not once had we bumped into
each other at school. And yet during
my worst crisis, we met for the first time
in a remote location. If ever there was a
boy who needed help, it was me. Just
my luck that the most talented mother I had
ever known came to my rescue. Was it luck?
Or did a Hidden Hand guide her to my side?
Given the serious Supernatural
overtones to the way we met, the entire episode seemed ripped from
a fairy tale. Cinderella
has reached the
lowest point of her life. Poof!
Her Fairy Godmother appears out of nowhere and
encourages Cinderella to pour her heart out.
After listening sympathetically to
Cinderella's story, the Fairy Godmother waves her magic wand. Poof!
Cinderella is transformed and regains her
confidence.
Her
duty done,
Poof! The Fairy Godmother
vanishes never to be seen again.
The same could be said for Mrs. Ballantyne.
She made a brief but powerful cameo appearance in my
life. She worked her magic, then vanished.
Whoever said that Fairy Tales do not come true??
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THE NATURE
OF COINCIDENCE
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As my story
develops, we will see that I put great emphasis on
Coincidence.
There are those
who claim Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous.
I would agree with that. I would add that God has a
sneaky way of disguising the importance of Coincidence.
Take Casablanca for example. In this
movie, two lovers who met in Paris have been ripped apart by
the turmoil of war. Years later completely by accident
they meet again one thousand miles away in Morocco.
But not just in Morocco, not just in Casablanca. They
meet in a specific location, a bar owned by Rick Blaine.
What are the
odds? No one cares what the odds are. We are so
anesthetized by life's bombardment of odd coincidences that we barely notice the extraordinary
improbability of this chance encounter.
Prior to meeting
Mrs. Ballantyne, there had been 20 or
so coincidences that had caught my eye. However, I was
too young to suspect there might be deeper implications.
The Parking Lot Coincidence
was different. The circumstances were so strange I could not get it out of my mind.
It was hard to imagine why a person whom I had admired for
nine years would show up out of nowhere in the midst of my
crisis. It was also very weird that Mrs. Ballantyne's
daughter had triggered my crisis to begin with.
I had been stunned
when
Katina walked off with the
scholarship that had represented my last chance to go to
college next year. Unfortunately, I had no one to
blame but myself for losing that grant. I had made two serious mistakes that cost me my chance
at that much-needed grant.
Ever since
I had been
tormented by constant self-criticism.
Stupid stupid stupid.
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I
cannot begin to describe how much I hated
myself. Nor did I have anyone to turn to.
Nevertheless, despite my pain, not once did
I consider asking God for help. Given
that I was not particularly religious at
this point in my life, God was the last
thing from my mind. That
said, if I had made a wish to the
Almighty, what would
it have been?
"Lord,
I am in serious trouble right now and I hate myself. My
parents could care less about me and I have made a mess of my life.
Please, I need someone to talk to, someone to cheer me up.
Would you consider sending someone to help me regain
control?"
And the Lord would
reply, "Of course, Rick. Do you
have any suggestions?"
Surprised to get an answer, I would reply,
"Could you please send me someone similar
to Maria Ballantyne?"
The Lord smiles.
"Why yes, of course, Rick. In fact, I
can do even better than that..."
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If ever there was a boy in need of a mother's touch,
it was me. For the past nine years,
I had fixated on Mrs. Ballantyne as my secret choice
for Best Mother. But not once had this woman
noticed me.
It was beyond improbable that 1,000 furtive glances on my
part had failed to produce the slightest
recognition. I assumed I was far too
unimportant to be noticed. Now, here in the midst
of my crisis, Mrs. Ballantyne had come
out of nowhere to help. It was difficult
enough to accept she had appeared in such an
unlikely spot. But even more remarkable was
the sudden decision of this busy, very
important woman to take the
time to listen to my problems, then do what she
could to alleviate my pain.
I have a question for my
Readers. If something like this happened to
you, would you be more inclined to take Coincidence
seriously?
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SATURDAY, February 4, 1978, AGE 28
first year of Rick's dance
career
TEN YEARS
LATER
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Previously I said I
was not particularly religious at this point
in my life. Deeply disturbed by
the Supernatural
implications of our strange encounter, that
changed in a hurry. Mrs. Ballantyne
had just become the inspiration for
my decision to seek God.
However, my
search for the meaning of life got off to a
rough start. Oddly enough, Mrs. Ballantyne did not cross
my path again during the final two months of
school. This made no sense.
After nine years of spotting her two or
three times a week, suddenly the most
important person in my life was nowhere to
be seen.
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Since I had all sorts of questions to ask, Mrs. Ballantyne's unlikely disappearance
drove me crazy. I wanted to know if
she agreed with me that God was involved in
guiding her to my store. Who else
could I ask on such a mind-blowing subject?
I was
desperate to know HOW and WHY the woman I
had secretly selected nine years ago as the
world's best mother had appeared as if by
magic to release me from my terrible burden.
Alas, my Fairy Godmother was gone and
I feared I
would never speak to her again after
graduation. Fortunately I was wrong.
All told, our paths
would cross again five times over a period
of 47 years. Our next encounter took
place ten years later in 1978.
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Things had not gone well for me in the years since high school. Four
years of soul searching during college, dismissal from graduate school,
four
years of aimless wandering afterwards. Lately, however, my
fortunes had turned. Over the course of 1977,
a remarkable series
of lucky breaks
had caused
me to wonder if I was leading some sort of charmed life. The
luckiest break was the
December debut of smash hit
Saturday Night Fever. Due to a tidal wave of interest
in dance lessons, in January I began teaching Disco classes every night of the week. Since this was the most fun I ever had in my life, it did not take long
to hope I could make a career out of this.
Over the past ten years, there had been one major change
in my life. I now firmly believed in the existence
of God.
Due to reasons I will explain shortly, during my college years I
developed the habit of keeping careful track of
everything that struck me as out of ordinary. As of 1978, my list
of unusual events totaled 60. Due to this staggering total, I no longer
freaked out when something weird happened.
That said, I was definitely
rattled when
Maria Ballantyne unexpectedly marched into my dance studio on Saturday
morning, February 4.
Ten years had passed without any sort of contact and now my idol
had
suddenly re-materialized
out of thin air. Unbelievable... Over the past ten years,
memories of this remarkable woman had elevated her to mythic status in
my mind. Given that Mrs. Ballantyne had become the
cornerstone of my belief in God, I never expected my Fairy Godmother
to reappear without warning.
What could explain
the ten year gap? Mrs. Ballantyne and I
came from different walks of life. It
had taken a remarkable set of circumstances
to get me into a rich kid's school for nine
years. However, those days were long
gone. In 1978 Mrs. Ballantyne occupied
lofty social circles to which I was not
invited. She was a Patrician, I was a
lowly
Plebian. I cannot put it more bluntly
than that. So imagine
my shock when Mrs. B walked in. I had the exact same feeling of
wonder as I did when she walked into my
store.
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They talk about 'Once in a lifetime'
chance meetings. Having her walk
into my studio out of nowhere was twice in a
lifetime. Lightning had struck
again.
At this point, my fledgling
dance career was just one month old. I had
begun to hope this wonderful adventure would
continue, but at this
point my future was in the dark.
It was 9:45 am on
a
bitterly cold morning in February.
I
was at the studio to give a private
lesson to
a couple that had not arrived. After hanging up my
winter coat in back, the studio was so chilly I
thought about fetching the coat and putting it back
on.
Things were
about to get much worse that night. A serious cold
front was sweeping down from Dallas in the north.
The night was predicted to get into the low
twenties, an unusually low temperature for Houston.
There are many Houston winters when the thermometer
never drops below freezing. Tonight would be the
exception.
Just
then I noticed a woman walk in the front
door.
Although I was on the opposite side of the room, I did an
immediate double-take. Was that
Mrs. Ballantyne? No way! For a
second there, I thought I was imagining things.
Maybe the cold had affected my mind or my vision.
However, after a series of rapid blinks, my disbelief wore off quickly. Our visitor was
definitely Mrs. Ballantyne. The moment I saw her, my Supernatural Alert went skyrocket.
Was this was going to be another one
of those special Coincidences that bedevil me so?
Filled with excitement and wonder, here we go again.
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As
memories of our previous meeting flooded my mind, I
noticed Mrs. Ballantyne stop at the
entrance. She stood there
looking around, but she had not seen me yet. The
studio was nearly empty.
At the time there were only four people
present. That included my boss
Lance Stevens, his female private lesson student, Mrs. Ballantyne and myself. Although Stevens
had noticed Mrs. Ballantyne
when she came in, he could not be bothered to
greet her even though she was at most ten feet away.
His style was to ignore people and force them to
speak to him first. Since Mrs.
Ballantyne did not approach Stevens to ask a question,
I concluded she was here to find me.
What other explanation could there be? But
then the doubt crept in. How did she know I worked here?
Mrs. B operated in much different social
circles. I could not imagine how she
would have known I was back in Houston, much less
where I worked. And why would she even care to
make a special trip? My name was in the phone
book. If she wanted to talk, wouldn't it be easier just to call?
Perplexed by her appearance and irritated
by
the typical rudeness of my boss, I
stayed rooted to my spot a moment longer than I
should have. I finally overcame my shock and
crossed the room to say hello to
the woman who had changed my life. Mrs. Ballantyne recognized me
immediately and let out an involuntary gasp. When I realized she was just as
surprised to see me as I was to see her, I had my
answer. No, she did not come here to see me.
Good grief, this meeting was a complete accident just like the
last time.
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What was the probability of our second
meeting? It was just as unlikely as
our first meeting. Not once had I seen her
here at the studio. On the other hand,
Stevens of Hollywood was
fairly close to her home located a mile
away. Maybe she came by to
inquire about
dance lessons for her husband. Or maybe one of her
seven children
was getting married and needed dance lessons.
Who knows? I definitely intended to find
out.
As I came closer, Mrs. Ballantyne's face
lit up like a Christmas tree. I have
never seen anyone turn on the energy quite like Mrs.
Ballantyne. Flashing her megawatt smile, she took a big step forward and wrapped her arms around me in an affectionate bear hug. Then she set me
free and took a step back to look me over.
"Rick Archer,
of all the people to run into! What are you doing here!? Oh my gosh, let me
have a look at you. You're so big, tall
and handsome! Where the heck have you been?
I am so mad at you! Why haven't you
come to see me?"
She made
me laugh. I had spoken to this woman one time
in my life and now she greeted me like we had known
each other forever. Hmm. Maybe we had known each other forever.
I am a firm believer in Reincarnation, but let's
save that subject for another time.
Always the
extrovert, Mrs. Ballantyne immediately began peppering me with questions.
I
explained how I had recently begun teaching here and
emphasized what an exciting time this was for me.
Mrs. Ballantyne was genuinely pleased to see
things were going well in my life. She was fascinated by my odd new career.
Unfortunately, our talk was interrupted when
my private lesson couple arrived. I
pointed to the people who had just walked in and said, "Gosh, Mrs. Ballantyne, I
would love to talk more, but my dance students
are here."
Unwilling to part without
learning more, Mrs. Ballantyne asked if I was
free for lunch. Of
course I was free. I would have dropped
everything to have another chance to talk to
her. After all, this was the woman who
was responsible for my belief in God.
However, Mrs. Ballantyne had no way to
know the degree of importance she had
played in my life. Thanks to our 1968
parking lot conversation, I had spent four years in college periodically mulling
over the spiritual implications. Maybe
today I could finally get some answers to those
questions.
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I smiled
and said, "Yes, I
would love to have lunch with you, but can it wait till
11:30 or noon? Will that work?"
Mrs. Ballantyne
nodded. "Of course. Why not come
over at noon? That will give me time to run
some errands."
I was
confused. Did she mean lunch at her
house? "Where do you want to meet?"
I asked.
"My
house. Do you know where it is?"
I
answered no, but that was a fib.
I already knew where
she lived. Back when I incorrectly believed
her daughter Katina had 'stolen' my Jones Scholarship,
I looked their address up in the SJS directory.
A quick drive by their magnificent house on the way to school confirmed my belief
that they were rich. However, it would be awkward to confess how I knew
the location, so I feigned ignorance. Mrs.
Ballantyne gave me her address and
directions, then abruptly departed. As I watched her
leave, I still had
no idea why Mrs. Ballantyne had come here in the first place. Her departure made no sense. Surely she had to have a reason to
walk in the door, so why not stick around long
enough to ask whatever question she had come here
for? I rolled my eyes.
Why is this woman always such a riddle to me?
With my
mind working overtime on Supernatural Alert, I
concluded Mrs.
Ballantyne had been guided to my studio for some
reason that became unimportant once she
saw me. Figuring the Cosmic Social Director had arranged
this latest encounter just like the last time, I left it at that.
Sometimes it is easier just to accept Fate and not
ask too many questions. More important, my invitation
would allow me to reunite with my childhood idol.
Maybe this was my chance to learn the reason she had appeared at
my grocery store ten years ago. Or ask why she had
visited the studio this morning. I was intensely curious to get some clarity. In the meantime, I made a
mental note to add today's Coincidental visit to my
List of Suspected Supernatural
Events.
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