What Should I Do with the Rest of My Life_ - Bruce Frankel [68]
Loretta gave birth to her first child, Mike, in 1953 and her last, Randy, in 1966. In between there was Timothy, Linda Lou, and Ricky. To help pay the bills and to supplement the check that came from Kraft Foods once or twice a month for the milk the dairy giant bought from the Thayers, Loretta continued to work at the diner on and off, as waitress, short-order cook, chef, and baker.
She always had an accepting disposition. Of her children, only Timothy, who had a mischievous streak, tested her much—and, for the most part, even those moments were pretty lighthearted fare, things like putting a frog in a teacher’s desk. Against her wishes, he bought his first motorcycle when he was in high school and promptly had an accident and broke a wrist. Then, much to Loretta’s consternation, he traded up and bought a bigger bike. He got married at seventeen, separated two years after Jason was born, and moved home. During many late-night heart-to-hearts that followed, the two drew closer than ever. Then, in the early hours of May 2, 1974, the family’s bucolic life was shattered when Timothy’s motorcycle skidded off Route 11 into a culvert a short distance from the house. He and a friend were killed instantly.
Sitting in a booth in the diner, Loretta recalled how surprisingly composed she was at the church service. “You would think I’d be screaming. But I wasn’t. I believe that was because I had and still have no doubt that I’ll see him again.” Loretta picked up a napkin, then put it down again, as she fought to keep her emotions in check. “That isn’t to say there weren’t times after I didn’t scream with pain or feel like pulling my hair out from all that loss. Sometimes, I just had to talk about it with my friends all the time.” If anyone tried to talk with her husband about it, “Paul would just turn his back and walk away.”
Loretta’s faith would be tested again in 1991 when a faulty electrical box sparked a fire one morning just as Paul was finishing up after milking the cows. The barn filled with smoke so quickly he barely had time to guess where the barn door was and dive out. He survived and spent a night in the hospital. But the Thayers’ machinery, hay, and eleven cows were lost. The couple moved in with Loretta’s father, Glenn Minnick, the same house where she still lives. Paul, who was nearly sixty then and also worked full-time running a control room at St. Joe Minerals, began negotiating to buy the farm next door. Loretta was not sure they should take on so much responsibility at their ages. One day, trying to decide what they should do, she took her bible out back and prayed. And, at that instant, “the sun broke through and I saw this beautiful rainbow come to the ground. It seemed to start near the last post on the property. The other end was in the farm’s driveway. ‘Okay,’ I said, ‘we’ll buy the farm.’ ”
After the Thayers closed on the purchase, their children gave them a sign to post, naming the farm God’s Promise. And eighteen months later, Paul Thayer was honored with the New York State Dairy of Distinction Award for what he had made of it. “It was the highest honor anyone could have given him,” Loretta said.
It was not long, however, before he was diagnosed with colon cancer. Paul, who had an impeccable reputation but liked to call himself “a dumb old farmer,” died in 1998. He was sixty-eight. Loretta’s children were concerned about how she would recover from the latest blow, and to lend their support, two of her granddaughters moved into her house with her. “They made sure I was not alone much,” she said.
Loretta’s life became quieter and more composed but, one senses, was missing the kind of engagement with the community around her that had in the past defined her. When the diner, which was last run by an immigrant