My focus was back at home, where the new tents were being delivered that day. Nothing else mattered. I looked forward to the event like it was a second birthday; it was that big a deal.
One of my favorite things to do when I was young was to play “fort”, where my sister and I would construct our own citadel in our living room. The fortress mostly consisted of taking the knitted cover my parents had on the couch, pulling it up in the middle and propping it up with some object, like a wiffle ball bat. Then we would gather up all our “stuff”, such as playing cards, storybooks, a favorite toy animal friend, and of course, dad’s flashlight, and secret ourselves away for the afternoon.
In truth, this was almost always a Sunday afternoon activity, and mostly a fall or winter exercise, as it would get way too hot in the fort on a summer’s day. But the particulars of the what and when were currently lost on me, because when I got home I would no longer have to worry about mom or dad getting mad at Maureen and I for stretching their couch cover all out of shape in the construction of our fortification. Today I was getting a REAL tent, and one that was just my own, to boot.
I had already staked out a spot in our bedroom to set my tent up, one of the few bare spots on the linoleum floor in the room. I told Maureen as much that morning. Where Maureen would put her tent was of no concern to me; that was her problem. As far as I was concerned, I had called it; I had dibs.
At noon the last bell of the school year rang, an early dismissal, the same as it had been for the past few days. And of course that day there was a mad dash for the doors, as the frantic joy of summer vacation exploded throughout the student body. I was happily excited too, but for my own secret reason. Treasure awaited me at home; I was sure.
Maureen and I got back home as quick as our feet could carry us. I lead the way, constantly urging my sister. “Move faster, come on, hurry up, and hurry!” I yelled behind me as I ran. She couldn’t understand my frenzied pace, as far as she was concerned; the tents were going nowhere anyway. She just didn’t get it, I thought. It’s probably because she’s a girl, I advised myself. A boy would understand without explanation, I was sure of it.
Finally we arrived home. We always rang the doorbell; mom felt we were still too young to carry our own keys. So when she answered the door, I of course practically pounced on her. “ Did they come? Did the tents come?” I asked, breathlessly. Rather ironic, when you think about it.
“Yes, they delivered them just about an hour ago,” mom explained. “I had them put them in the bedroom. I was just trying to figure out…”
“I want to put mine together!” I interrupted. I had seen what a tent was supposed to look like in countless cartoons, from Popeye to Yogi Bear to Bugs Bunny, and I was not sure if mom was aware of all the complex nuances that were involved. Of course I didn’t use those exact words, but you get the idea.
“You can help,” mom stated, “but this is not a toy, this is to help with your breathing. This is serious stuff, so you have to treat this as…” but it was too late, I was already gone and down the hall.
The sight that greeted me was not what I expected, not even close. What I saw on the floor was a bunch of open cardboard boxes with some sort of silver tubes inside wrapped in plastic. On my bed was another open box with what looked like big clear shower curtains folded up inside of them. Another plastic bag had white tube-like things inside that looked like snakes. Lastly was another couple of boxes with pictures on the outside of some sort of machine hooked up to an upside down glass bottle hanging from a metal wire stand. The machines resembled ones I had seen when looking around at the CF center, while mom had been talking to the doctor. Those machines kind of scared me back then, and now they were sitting on the floor of our bedroom. This was no good at all, I thought, this was a big gyp, of the worst kind.
“These are the tents?” I asked mom. “These are not tents, that’s not what tents look like!” I just stood there. I would have been beside myself with righteous anger and indignation if I hadn’t been so completely puzzled by what I saw. What were these things?
“These ARE the mist tents,” stated my mom. “What were you expecting, tents like you would go camping in or something?” mom asked, and slightly laughed. I just stood there, with my mouth tightly closed. Mom then looked at me and slowly realized that was exactly what I was expecting. “Oh, Jack, no, no, no, where did you get that idea from?” mom asked.
I gave that some serious thought, and slowly realized that no one had said anything like that to me. I guess I just heard we were getting tents, and made up the rest in my all too vivid imagination. To say I was now disappointed would be a gross understatement. It would seem that nothing about this CF stuff was going to be any fun whatsoever. Like I said, a huge gyp.
Mom walked around me and, seeing my expression, gave me a hug, and I let her. Maureen just stood in the doorway, looking at me with a mix of concern and bewilderment. I guess she had a better idea what was to be expected when we got home, because she didn’t look surprised by our delivery at all. I felt a bit stupid by now, actually.
Mom gave me a little pat on that back, and then she asked, “Do you still want to help me put these things together? You could be a big help.”
I knew she was just trying to make me feel better, but I went along with it. Maybe it actually would make me feel better. It all sort of looked like a big erector set, actually. I liked erector sets.
I sat down on the floor next to some of the boxes. I first grabbed one of the ones with the silver tubes. I was surprised how light it was. They were the aluminum frames of the mist tents, separated into J-shaped sections, which locked together with drilled holes and spring-loaded pins. There was an assembly diagram included in both boxes, but I didn’t need those, I thought. I set about putting the first one together.
Doing something like this always made me feel better. I always liked to tinker, as my mom would say, I was forever taking things apart to see how they worked. This led to many objects in our house no longer functioning. I was great at taking things apart, you see, but not so great at putting them back together again. My parents still own a lovely decorative clock that is only correct twice a day. Other than that, it might as well be a doorstop.
The first attempt at the frame resulted in half the parts being pointed the wrong direction. The next time I figured I’d actually look at the instructions, and in a few minutes, mom and I had assembled the first frame. Mom, Maureen and I had to move the mattress on my bed to put it in place, as half of the frame sat between it and the box spring. It kind of did look like a tent, I now observed; maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
The second frame went pretty fast, as we now had a better idea what we were doing. Maureen just watched, having no interest in joining in with the assembly fun. That was fine with me; so far this was the most fun I had had in all this CF stuff.
The next thing to do was to put the plastic tents on the frames. We took the plastic bags that the tents were in and very carefully opened them (as they had numerous labels plastered all over their outside warning us NOT to use a sharp object to open the bags, giving the customer no credit for brains whatsoever), and carefully unfolded them. They were thick, heavy, clear plastic, and smelled awful, a thick petroleum-like odor. Shortly the stench made whole room smell like a gas station. Mom already had the fan on in the window, but got an idea and quickly turned it around to blow the smell out of the room. After being unfolded a while, the smell started to dissipate, but by now Maureen, mom and myself all had a slight headache.
Going by the enclosed instructional diagram, mom secured the tent over the frame, pulling it down tight on three sides, with the front side being a loose flap that could be raised and lowered.
On both sides of the tent were holes, fitted with elastic in their middle, allowing a tube to enter the tent from either side, depending where you set up the mist-producing machine. The tubes were the white snakes I had seen earlier. I pulled them out of their bag, and began to annoy my mom by blowing into them, producing a truly horrid sound. She quickly took them away, much to my chagrin.
On both sides of the tent were holes, fitted with elastic in their middle, allowing a tube to enter the tent from either side, depending where you set up the mist-producing machine. The tubes were the white snakes I had seen earlier. I pulled them out of their bag, and began to annoy my mom by blowing into them, producing a truly horrid sound. She quickly took them away, much to my chagrin.
Lastly, mom opened the boxes for the mist-producing machines, technically called Cool-Mist Humidifiers. The original ones we got in 1964 could only work if they were attached to the beast of a compressor that my dad had brought home on the subway the day before. It had valves on it that allowed it to run both humidifiers simultaneously, and so mom got it out of the hallway where my dad had left it and dragged it between our two beds. I wanted to help with all this, but was forbidden by mom, as all this stuff was very heavy and a bit dangerous.
The mist machines were mostly pre-assembled; the only part we had to worry about was attaching them to the compressor with some rubber tubing, and connecting a large glass bottle that was attached to each side of the machine. That bottle had to be filled with water and then hung upside down from a wire stand, where it was then hooked up to the machine through a rubber hose. Again I was told hands off, as the glass bottles, once filled with water were quite heavy, and if dropped, could really hurt someone. Not to mention the fact that we had no spares to replace them with if they got broken. So I sat on my bed and glumly watched.
The mist machines were mostly pre-assembled; the only part we had to worry about was attaching them to the compressor with some rubber tubing, and connecting a large glass bottle that was attached to each side of the machine. That bottle had to be filled with water and then hung upside down from a wire stand, where it was then hooked up to the machine through a rubber hose. Again I was told hands off, as the glass bottles, once filled with water were quite heavy, and if dropped, could really hurt someone. Not to mention the fact that we had no spares to replace them with if they got broken. So I sat on my bed and glumly watched.
Finally the tents were completely set up. I gave them a good once over, and drew my final conclusion: sadly, they were not going to be fun tents. The first big problem was that they were clear plastic. Anyone who knows anything about what makes a tent cool knows that its most important attribute is the ability to use it as a hiding place. Clear plastic defeats that purpose entirely. Next was its size. Although it covered the top half of the bed, it was only a twin bed, so that was hardly big enough to be any fun whatsoever. You could bring a couple of things in there with you and that was about it. Nope, as far as I was concerned, the gyp was complete.
Mom and Maureen stood back and looked at our new tents too. Maureen had a twisted scowl on her face; mom’s was just blank. “They’re ugly… I think they’re ugly, Mom,” Maureen declared.
“And they’ll stink at being fun tents, you can see right into them,” I added.
Mom just stared. Years later she told me all she could think about was how sad she was that her children would have to sleep in those contraptions; possibly for the rest of their lives. But thank God it didn’t turn out that way, as I’ll explain later.
“Okay,” mom sighed, “let’s try them out. You two get in your tents, and I’ll turn on the compressor. If we did everything right, there should be mist coming out of the tube stuck in the sides of the tents.” Maureen and I jumped in, and mom folded down the tent flaps.
I immediately noticed a few things when I climbed in. Every sound inside was weird, muted, muffled. I also noticed everything looked weird through the plastic, like gazing into a funhouse mirror, except one you could see through. And almost immediately after that, I noticed something else; something would turn out to be the biggest factor of all: the inside of the tent was kind of hot.
I was about to say something to mom about that when she turned on the compressor. The noise was incredible, and the vibrations the machine threw off actually made my bed vibrate, as they did everything else in the room. I noticed, even through the thick plastic of the tent, the wind-up clock on the little table between our beds began to slowly move around.
A second or two later, mom loudly asked Maureen and I “Do you see mist coming out of the hoses?”
“What?” we both answered, almost simultaneously.
“IS THERE MIST COMING OUT OF THE HOSES…?” Mom yelled.
“YES!” we both yelled back.
After a minute or so, mom went over to the compressor and turned it off. The sudden absence of that amazing roar-sound was almost jarring. It was like a physical presence in the room that had suddenly vanished.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, God forgive me…” mom said as she sat down on the end of my bed, almost seeming to gather her composure. Maureen and I flipped back our tent flaps and joined her. Mom had earlier turned the fan back around, and I realized how good it felt when the breeze from it hit me. Obviously, it could not penetrate the tent. Again, I was about to mention that potential problem, but Maureen spoke up first.
Wow!” she exclaimed, “That thing is really loud! I mean, really, really loud!”
“Yea,” I added for emphasis, “Really, really, REALLY loud!”
“Yes, I could tell that,” mom muttered, and just stared at the contraption. “We got to do something about the vibrations,” she thought out loud, “or God help the McGuires downstairs…” she concluded.
We lived on the 6th floor, and the McGuires were our downstairs neighbors. All of their kids went to St. Michael’s school, the same as Maureen and I, and we both had kids from their family in our classes. I hadn’t thought about it until mom brought it up, but the fact was if our floor was vibrating, that meant the McGuire’s ceiling was doing the same thing. And I had to believe that tremendous sound could easily punch through a good amount of wood, brick and plaster. Our problem was about to become their problem, too. But there was nothing we could do about that today; it was too late for that. Mom and dad would have to figure something out, that much was for sure.
I finally grabbed my opportunity to make my point. “Hey Ma, you know, it’s really hot in there… you can’t feel the fan ‘cause of the plastic. How are we gonna’ fix that?” I innocently asked.
Looking back, I think I actually believed that my mom, or if not her, most certainly my dad, would have a solution for that problem. That’s how I know I was very young, because I was still at the age when you believe your parents can fix anything. I was about to discover that sadly was not the truth.
“Well, ah, I’m not sure, huh, let me think…” my mom responded. I patiently waited for the solution.
Maureen added, “Yea, it was really hot in mine too, so I guess we’ll have to leave the flaps open at night, right mom?”
I liked that answer, and nodded my agreement. We both waited for my mom to join in our conclusion. But she was not joining in, she was just sitting quietly, and I could see she was thinking very hard, but about what I couldn’t guess. What she said next would change my life in a very bad way for years to come.
Mom began quietly, “The doctors told me that both of you had to stay in the tents every night.” Maureen and I listened intently, so we didn’t miss mom’s solution.
She continued, “And it is very important that you breathe the mist from the machines in to keep your lungs moist, because that will make the stuff you have in there easier for you to get out. The mist has to be very concentrated to be effective, so that means we will have to keep the flaps closed on your tents all night long.”
Maureen and I waited for more; but that was it, there was no more. The other shoe never dropped, because there was no other solution. But we couldn’t let it end there.
“But ma,” Maureen said quietly, “It’ll be really hot at night in there…”
“Too hot to sleep, WAY too hot! I don’t like to sleep when I’m hot…” I added more urgently.
“I CAN’T sleep if it’s hot, I’ll be up all night!” Maureen now loudly stressed.
I was about to take my turn at exasperation ping-pong, when mom stopped us both in our tracks. “Look, I’m sorry,” mom declared. “But this is not up for discussion, the doctors said you have to do this to stay healthy, and we’re going to have to do this. The mist should come out cool, and after a while, I’m sure it will get better in there. I want you both to try to make this work, okay?”
I may have been quite young, but even at that age I think I was very good at reading my mother. I could tell by her expression that it was really bothering mom to say all this. I also think she knew that the cool mist thing was a bunch of garbage, and I further think she knew neither Maureen nor I were buying any of it. But mostly I could also tell she wished more than anything that she did not have to put us in these things. The stress on her face said more than any words could. Her expression made me hold my tongue.
I think Maureen was on the same page as me, because we looked at each other, and then we both shut up. Maureen just nodded and said, “Okay, Ma, we’ll try.”
“Yea,” I unenthusiastically added, “maybe it won’t be so bad. The mist will make it cool, like you said.” Mom just looked at the two of us, sighed, and then gave us both a simultaneous big hug.
“You’re good kids, both of you,” she said quietly. We all held the hug for a while; I think we all needed it.
When dad got home from work the first thing he did was go right to our room, where Maureen and I were watching Bugs Bunny cartoons after our treatments, to look at the tents. Mom had filled him in on the day’s events when he called her from the office around 3:00 pm, as he did everyday. Still, I could see he was mildly shocked when we saw our room. I guess it’s not everyday you suddenly see your children’s bedroom transformed into a pseudo hospital ward. I could understand his stoic expression as he stood in our door, but I just smiled at him and went back to watching TV. I had been looking at the tent set-up all afternoon, and by then I had kind of gotten used to it, actually.
Mom shortly joined him, and then she went over to the big compressor. Maureen and I watched as mom turned it on. Dad visibly winced when it sprang to life, while Maureen and I just sat, since there was now no way to hear anything that Bugs, Elmer or Daffy said. After a moment or two, mom shut the beast down.
“Good Lord,” was all dad could say. Mom looked at him, and he shook his head.
“You see what I was talking about?” mom asked.
“Yea, I see, I see,” dad replied. “We’ve got to figure out something to do about it, or they’ll want to kill us, and I wouldn’t blame them,” dad added.
“Who, the McGuires?” Maureen asked both of them.
Dad replied, “Yea, the McGuires. I’ve got to buy something to cushion the sound, block it off somehow…”
“Gooood Luck!” I chimed in, sarcastically. Dad shot me a annoyed but tired look, and I shut up. My timing was often less than perfect.
“I’ll go downstairs after dinner, and explain what’s going on,” Dad said. Mom nodded in agreement.
“They might have a suggestion, too, mom added. “Couldn’t hurt to ask.”
“Yea,” dad concluded with an exhausted sigh, “After dinner I’ll talk to Dee or Jimmy… they should know what the deal is.”
Mom and dad left the room, dad to change out of his good clothes, and mom to put dinner on the table. Maureen and I went back to Bugs, but out of the corner of my eye, I could see the compressor sitting between our beds, crouching like a dangerous beast. For the first time, I was starting to hate that thing. It had been around for less than a day and it was already causing trouble; and I had a feeling that it was far from finished.
True to his word, after dinner dad went down to talk to Jimmy and Dee McGuire. If for no other reason, to explain why the ceiling over their children’s beds would, at least for this night, possibly more, sound like it was below a construction site. He was gone awhile, and I could tell mom was nervously watching the clock as she did the after dinner dishes. I hung around the kitchen too, I was curious as to what the McGuires were going to say.
Finally dad came back. “They’re being real good about it,” dad explained to mom, who by now was putting the dinner dishes away. “Jimmy suggested that he might have some foam insulation at work, like they put under carpet, and maybe we could try putting that under the machine. It sounds like a good idea to me, if it’s what I’m thinking about.”
Mom agreed. “Okay, that sounds good. I was thinking maybe for now, what we could do was to take a towel, a big one, and fold it over a bunch of times, and put that under the thing.”
“It’s worth a try. Anything’s gotta be better than it being on the bare linoleum floor,” dad concluded.
Mom got one of our old big towels, and folded it up several times. Dad lifted the compressor and mom put it underneath. They then turned on the monster (as I had now begun calling it), and it roared to life once again. The sound was still tremendous, but better; that much was clear. At least the shaking of the furniture and the floor vibrations were less than before. Mom and dad let the machine run while dad went down to the McGuires again, to see how if the towel was helping at all. When he returned he wasn’t smiling, but at least he wasn’t frowning. “It’s better, but you can still hear it,” dad stated, “It’s still pretty loud, I mean, compared with normal, I guess.” He let out a deep sigh. “Best we’re gonna do tonight. We’ll see what Jimmy can get for us tomorrow. In the mean time, we’ll see if we can come up with anything else.”
Mom nodded in agreement, and went over to the monster and turned it off. The jarring presence left the room, and we all began to once again relax.
Well, for the most part. All I could think about was tonight, our first one in the tents. I noticed it was a mildly hot night, and that was while I was sitting in front of our window box fan. I was not looking forward to bedtime, but it was approaching fast, and I had a feeling it was going to be a long night.
Another fine entry, Jack! Now I know why the McGuires had moved to a lower floor by the time I met you. And I see ever more evidence, as if I needed more, that your parents have well earned their sainthood.
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