“I come here a lot on Sundays. It’s a great place to think about what I want from life — and what I don’t want from it”

March 1964

“C’mon, Mut, get your head out of those bones, and move around a little.”

Mutty looked up from the anatomy textbook. Artie was standing over him, casually flipping his Frisbee up and down.

“Where you headed?” Mutty asked.

“Taking the train home. Quick visit to Mama, cheer her up, and then,” he added with a broad grin, “Dad said I could take the car to Central Park.” He stretched his broad shoulders. “Take out the kinks a little, after a week of trying to hold this place together with string and bubble gum. I’m taking my Frisbee, should be fun.”

Fun? Mutty looked at his brother, his feelings a mixture of longing and, yes, just a slight pang of envy. Artie was sure enjoying this forced exile to the hotel, spending hours with Uncle Moe, filling up cracks, reinforcing the exterior, replacing broken window shades and generally giving the old lady — the Freed Hotel — a facelift. And Mutty? When he wasn’t studying on the subway as he traveled to Columbia, he was listening to lectures in chilly classrooms, poring over textbooks in his stuffy little room in the hotel, or filling his head with test questions at the MCAT prep course that Dad had suggested he take.

He slammed the textbook shut with such force it sent a fine cloud of dust motes into the air. He’d been so busy he hadn’t seen his family in almost two weeks; he missed his parents, his little brothers and sister, his room. He would love to drop in and say hi. And the thought of a run on the grass in Central Park on this unusually warm Sunday was appealing. Mostly, he admitted to himself, the idea of being chauffeured in Dad’s Cadillac, enjoying the smooth ride and deep leather seats, was too tempting to resist.

“Okay, Artie, we’re on. Let’s get out of here.” The two young men grinned, shouted a goodbye to their grandfather and uncle, and left the hotel behind.