Some Incidents from the Life of Mark McDonnell

 

  Tomorrow my brother Mark turns seventy. He's the first of my brothers whose arrival I remember. I was about to turn eight. Brother Bill, my nemesis, had arrived when I was two, and Steve slipped in a couple of years later. In another six or seven years Mary-Jo would arrive.

  When I got a few years older I liked taking the subway downtown to explore and Mark was amenable to riding along. He remembers me taking him to restaurants and as soon as the water was poured and the waitress left us to peruse the menu, I would make him get up so we could sneak out of the place I had discovered was beyond my means. I only remember this happening once, or twice. I made three dollars a week from my paper route and had to watch the pennies. I've since learned to judge a place from the outside, but I recently forced Teresa to slip out of a restaurant in Venice on our most recent trip abroad.

  As our family grew I was moved to the attic. I had a finished room in which my father built a built-in bed with drawers underneath, like on a ship. With the addition of a desk and some bookshelves I had all I needed. The view over the city was great. The only bad thing was that the unfinished room adjacent had a ladder leading to a trap door down which imaginary men with knives were always climbing.

  Mark used to come up for visits and I always welcomed a break from homework. We did some creative work developing games for children. Mark would get into my bed and I would go to the landing below, cover myself in a quilt and slowly creep up the stairs making crocodile sounds. My object was to dislodge Mark from the bed but all he had to do was brace himself against the wall and kick. I couldn't see what was going on and the game would end once I received an unintentional kick to the head. That game was called "Crocodile".

  Next day we'd play "Pushing Off the Bed." In this game I'd be lying in bed doing my homework. Mark would insinuate himself between me and the wall and use his legs to push me off the bed. I would spin towards him to stay on the bed, but again, with his strong position against the wall, I always ended up on the floor.

    There was a huge expanse of woods outside Boston where I liked to go hiking. Getting there involved a couple of bus rides and a long walk. One time when Mark and I were hiking there, we came across an old guy checking his muskrat traps by a pond. My map said the pond was named Ponkapoag Pond. The trapper said the correct name was Ponkapaponkapaponkapog Pond which in Algonquin means He who runs through woods with broken leg pursued by pack of wolves.

  When we were a little older a cousin gave us a 16' sailboat, the Gull. Our father was a good carpenter and replaced a couple of rotting planks. One time Mark and I were sailing among the small islands outside Boston Harbor. I always insisted on a hot lunch so we landed on Spectacle Island, climbed to the top of the hill and then up into the old concrete lookout tower from WWII. I gathered some twigs and soon had the tomato soup heating. Just then I noticed the tide was going out under our boat. The Gull was a heavy boat for its size and if we got stranded there, it would be several hours before we got afloat again. I told Mark to watch the soup, slid out of the tower, rushed through the thick underbrush, and anchored our boat in deeper water. Mark had the soup and butter sandwiches ready when I got back.

  The tide has risen and fallen many times since those jolly days. Mark now owns an ocean going sailboat and has invited me on a cruise Down East. I expect that will happen some time in the near future and I'll stand as many watches in the galley as he likes.

Mark, second from left, at Union Oyster House, Boston. 
Happy Birthday!!