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For nearly 50 years, this beautiful old mansion—275 Summit Avenue in St. Paul—has been used for private events. On October 4, 1986, it was here that my wife, Val, and I hosted our wedding reception. For much of the next 32 years, my life with Val was filled with adventure, travel, art, music, wildness and love. In the end, it was filled with drugs, booze, anger, violence and heartbreak. I must be a sucker for punishment; this year, I observed what might have been my 34th wedding anniversary with a drive to St. Paul and a trip to 275 Summit. There was no event in progress and not a soul in sight so I entered the gate and went onto the porch. I touched the cool stone of the building, holding my hand there, and began to cry. Just then, while I'm in shit shape, David McLaughlin, a member of the family that operates the place, appeared and approached me warily. I tearily explain my history with the building to David and, at the end of a short conversation, he shared his email address. Here is what I sent him: |
Hello David, Thank you for your kindness today. The circumstances of our meeting were certainly unique; I, somewhat invading your space, you cautiously inquiring about my intentions, I bursting forth with emotion… far from the usual "hey, how you doing?". Here is a photo from my wedding day, October 4, 1986 (taken before the wedding party arrived at Summit Manor). It is my parents, both now long deceased, in the photo and, as you know, my wife and I are no longer together. When telling you of my loss, I realized that you probably imagined the she too is deceased. She is not. In a way, she is lost in a more devastating manner. Mental illness, drugs and alcohol made her, the person who was the center of my life for decades, unrecognizable to me and to our friends. I knew I couldn't explain the complexities of this loss during our short chat, and I wish that I could tell you a tender story that you might share with your family and colleagues who operate Summit Manor. Instead, my loss is incredibly messy and lacks the closure that might have been part of my story had she passed away. Such is life. October 4, 1986 was as magical a day as I have ever known. The adventures and emotions I shared with my wife for most of our years together are treasures that can't be diminished by the tragedy of our parting. My divorce was finalized on Dec. 3, 2019, meaning, my wounds are still fresh and this year is my first wedding anniversary since I have become an old, lonely bachelor. Healing will, of course, take time and effort. Today was part of that process. The cool feel of the stone on Summit Manor, on another gorgeous fall day, was medicine for me. That you took a moment to hear my story was terrifically valuable to me. In years to come, I hope to reflect back on this afternoon at Summit Manor as an important stepping stone on the path to recovering from my loss. Thank you, |
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After reading the article, this comment |
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It's Dec. 3, 2020, exactly one year since my divorce became official. Just yesterday, I learned that Escher's mortgage assumption, which was part of the divorce agreement and was slated to be completed on this very day, had been completed. This means, my name will be off the Lyndale mortgage. It means that I can now pursue my own mortgage and my own home. It also means that all (FRICKIN' ALL) legal and financial entanglement with Escher is complete. I'm done, I'm free and I'm cleared for the next chapter of life! |
Prior to learning about the mortgage assumption, I was in contact with Willow Anderson, my lawyer. I was preparing for another expensive legal battle. When I learned that the mortgage assumption was complete, I contacted Willow and told her that we were done, that the crisis was averted. Willow congratulated me and, in elegant Willow style, apologetically asked if I'd submit a review on a "find-yourself-a-lawyer" website. I was glad to oblige. here willow's review |
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