entire Livingston clan went over for dinner, Barney would marvel at Luis’s gift for making Harold animated—even talkative. The doctor was a man of Falstaffian appetites—for food, for wine, and most of all for knowledge.
And his never-ending fount of questions appealed to the teacher in Harold, who delighted Luis with anecdotes from the history of Roman
Hispania
—especially with the revelations that some of the Empire’s greatest writers were of Spanish origin—like Seneca, the tragedian, born in Córdoba.
“Inez, you hear that? The great Seneca was one of ours!” And then he turned to his instructor and melodramatically demanded,“Now, Harold, if you could only tell me that
Shakespeare
was also Spanish!”
Laura was delighted to hear Mr. Livingston explain why she, quite unlike the stereotyped Latin
chiquitas
, had light blond hair: their family doubtless had Celtic ancestors who migrated to the Iberian Peninsula.
When the two fathers had retired to Luis’s study and the mothers to the kitchen, Laura said to Barney, “Gosh, I love your dad. He knows everything.”
He nodded, but thought to himself, Yeah, but I wish he’d talk to
me
more often.
Every Saturday afternoon, Barney’s mom and dad sat religiously by the radio, waiting for the soft-spoken Milton Cross to announce what the mighty voices of the Metropolitan Opera would be singing that day. Meanwhile, Luis and Inez would take little Isobel for a stroll in Prospect Park.
This left Laura, Barney, and Warren free to attend the children’s matinee at the Savoy Theater (admission a quarter, plus a nickel for popcorn).
It was a time when movies were not merely frivolous entertainment, but moral lessons on how good Americans should live. Randolph Scott on his white horse, riding bravely into
Badman’s Territory
to save the good; John Wayne
Tall in the Saddle
, riding
his
white horse to tame—it seemed almost single-handedly—the savage lands out West.
In a more tropical setting, Johnny Weissmuller as Tarzan showed every kid the value of swimming lessons, especially if they were caught in crocodile-infested waters.
But their hero of heroes was Gary Cooper. Partly because he was built like a basketball star, and partly because he had helped the Spanish guerrillas in
For Whom the Bell Tolls.
But most of all because he was a courageous physician in
The Story of Dr. Wassell.
As they emerged bleary-eyed from having sat through two complete showings of the movie, Barney and Laura concluded that his was the noblest profession of all.
Of course, they had an equally admirable doctor considerably closer to home. Luis Castellano may not have been as tall as Coop, but in his own way he was a paragon for both his daughter and for Barney (who often daydreamed that his neighbor was somehow his father, too).
Luis was flattered to learn of Barney’s ambition, but was quietly indulgent of what he considered a mere flight offancy on his daughter’s part. He was certain she would out-grow this quixotic daydream, get married, and have lots of
niños.
But he was mistaken.
Especially after Isobel died.
TWO
I t was sudden as summer lightning. And like the thunderclap that follows, grief came only later.
Polio was on the rampage that year. The Angel of Death seemed to be stalking every street in the city. Most Brooklyn parents who could afford it were sending their children to the rural safety of places like Spring Valley.
Estelle and Harold had already rented a bungalow on the Jersey shore for the month of August. But Luis insisted upon staying where he was needed, and Inez did not want him to fight the battle on his own. The Livingstons offered to take the girls, and Luis gratefully responded that he and Inez would seriously consider it.
Perhaps he had been too preoccupied with virulent cases of poliomyelitis to recognize that his own younger daughter was showing some of the symptoms. But how could he not have noticed she was feverish—and breathing rapidly?