Jim Nolan's Blog

New Robe, New Man

There's nothing like a new robe.

Mom, circa 1973, Buffalo, NY.

Some things are sacred to a man.

His brand of potato chips. His James Brown Live at the Apollo LP. The inviolability of his shaving razor. And, to be protected at any cost, his robe.

My flannel robe had been under attack by my wife for over a decade, possibly two. I could never really understand why. It was a “black watch” tartan pattern, soft as a misty day in the Scottish highlands, and I laundered it frequently, at least twice a year.

Actually, my wife had one main issue with it. The sleeves tended to droop down into my breakfast. They seem to be especially attracted to eggs.

I don’t see a big problem with this, gravity is gravity. If the sleeves got jam on them, it would serve as a pleasant reminder of a happy meal. And the longest it was going to stay on there was, as I indicated earlier, six months.

I loved that robe with a love that surpasseth spousal understanding. I swore I would never give it up.

Then, one morning, out of the blue, I ordered a new terry cloth robe. Maybe being home for months during the virus quarantine had something to do with it—I’ve been wearing a robe a lot. It seemed like an easy way to surprise and delight my wife.

But the real surprise was on me. I loved it. There was something about its plush look that made me feel royal, like the Cowardly Lion singing “If I Were King of the Forest.” I couldn’t have felt more kingly if the robe came with an ermine collar.

Now I understand why New York crime boss Vincent “the Chin” Gigante wandered Greenwich Village in his bathrobe and slippers. Maybe it wasn’t to bolster future insanity pleas. Maybe he was just proud of his robe. He wanted it to be admired, not only by his wife, but the whole neighborhood.

My mother had a quilted robe in the 1970s. A Christmas present from my father, it was orange and yellow, and had what appears to be a lace collar. Mom liked her robe, and what Buffalonian wouldn’t? It was warm. And that is ultimately what a robe is all about. Something to keep your fingers from freezing before you can wrap them around a mug of coffee.

I should have listened to my wife years ago. She’s right about these things 99% of the time.

So, thank you, old robe. I’ll always remember you with fondness.

That said, I’m going to enjoy my cushy new robe.

Best of all, at least for my wife?

The sleeves cling tightly to my wrists.

Tom Wolfe Photo from 1956, aboard the M.S. Kungsholm

Photo credit: Christa Paul Nolan

My father, James Nolan, met Tom Wolfe in 1951 when Tom was starting graduate school in American Studies, and Dad was beginning to study medicine. They were across the hall from each other at a boarding house out by the football stadium (Tom's roommate at the time was a German engineering student who had been in the Luftwaffe). Later they'd rent an apartment together. Here Tom is in New York on the boat that took my parents back from their wedding in Stockholm. He and Don Dock had been trusted with Dad's Plymouth to pick them up from Connecticut. They were supposed to wash it, but they ended up in a bar instead. Mom and Dad say that Tom was a quiet Southern gentleman, and an all-around great guy. Dad also says that Tom wrote his Ph.D. thesis in his unique style—and was forced to rewrite it in a more conventional manner. Fortunately, he didn't give it up.

Empire State Building, 1955

A page from my mother Christa Paul's 1955 scrapbook. No visit to America was complete with a stop at the "world's highest building." It's record stood from 1931-1970, when the World Trade Center eclipsed it. Here is a shot of Mom at the 86th floor Observation Deck. I'm guessing Dad, her future husband, took the shot. 

 

"Two for the Money" TV Show Prize—A Pen Set

My mom, Christa Paul, was on the "Two for the Money" TV game show in 1955. She won a pen set, engraved with her signature. Wish we still had that! 

Here is one I found online, at Peyton Street Pens. They look nice. 

"Two for the Money" TV Game Show Telegram, 1955

In 1955, my mother Christa Paul was invited to appear on a TV game show, "Two for the Money." My Uncle John knew one of the producers. Apparently, a few of the episodes still exist at the UCLA Film & Television Archive. I will see if she is in one of them. 

Jussi Björling Program, Carnegie Hall, September 24, 1955

From my mother Christa Paul's scrapbook. This is just the pieces before the Intermission. Björling (anglicized as Bjoerling in the program), a Swedish tenor, had an incredible voice. Check him out on YouTube singing "Nessun Dorma." 

Three Sisters, 1915

 

In the middle, Editha Koenig, married Von Moers; left, Käthe Koenig, married Riefenstahl; and right, the youngest, my grandmother Hildegard Koenig Paul, born November 20, 1899. Hildegard became a journalist and I have her old Erika typewriter. Below is an audio essay I wrote about it.

Click here to hear Three Typewriters

Dad's Incredible, Inedible Eggs

 

This is one of the robes my father gave my mother as a Christmas present. Her relatives begged her to leave him.

Click here to hear The Incredible, Inedible Egg