34. My Tree

The Portuguese writer Jose Saramago, in his book “Small Memories, A Memoir,” describes his father late in life going from tree to tree in his garden, embracing their trunks and saying goodbye to them, to their friendly shade, to the fruits he will never eat again. 

I’ve not read the book as it is not available in Mumbai Bookshops; Amazon has priced it too much - a 176 pages book at Rs 1167, and to top it all, sold by Repro Books who print their books on the cheapest available newspaper print. So, I don’t see myself reading the book in the near future. 

Anyway, it was mentioned during a chat by William J Dean, a lawyer, writer and civic participant who lived all his life in the New York City - someone who was like a father figure to me, and who wrote a wonderful monthly column “Letter From New York” for my magazine Indian Economy & Market for many years.

It was his wish that late in his life, when the end is near, he will do the same as Jose Saramago’s father did. And asked me to make sure that when he passes from the scene, his ashes would be placed beneath the tree.

As a lawyer, William J Dean served as the executive director of Volunteers of Legal Service, an organization providing pro bono civil legal services to benefit poor people in New York City. He also served as chairman of The New York Society Library, the oldest library in the city, founded in 1754. 

In New York’s Central Park, a red oak tree planted in the 1920s on the East Green was his tree because the tree had been endowed in his name by board members of Volunteers of Legal Service on the occasion of his retirement in 2011, having served as executive director for 25 years.

He fondly used to say that his red oak is a proud, handsome tree, standing 60 feet tall. On hot summer days, he continues to enjoy its shade and listen to the sound of its swaying branches and in the fall, admires its bright orange leaves. He had also planted in 1995, two southern magnolia trees in the park near the Zoo area and for years had the pleasure of watching the trees grow.

Listening to his wonderful tale Urmila, my wife, also decided to plant a tree when we were living in Tardeo, Mumbai Central. With the help of our building guard, she successfully planted one, and later when we shifted from that area she used to visit and watch the tree grow. 

To me it was a pleasure to see her lovingly rubbing her cheeks to the small tree trunk, caressing its leaves and instructing the guard to look after it well.  

Unfortunately, William J Dean died suddenly at the peak of Covid period. 

We spoke on August 14, 2020 for an hour and he was telling how he visited the hospital on Fifth Avenue across from the Central Park where he was born on January 12, 1937, where the guardian at the entrance took his temperature, handed a mask and disinfectant before allowing him to enter the children's ward. 

He just wanted to see the Ward where he was born 83-year ago. 

I was very furious because those days hospitals were converted in a Special Covid Hospitals. He listened to me very patiently and cooly asked – “but will you be angry like this if I went out tomorrow to embrace my red oak tree in Central Park?” I didn’t reply.

On August 15, he didn’t pick up the phone.

On August 16th the answering machine asked to record my message and next day I got the sad news from his nephew Stephen Wilder – “Uncle Bill has passed away.”

I’m not sure whether he fulfilled his wish to embrace his handsome 60 feet tall red oak tree on the 16th August 2020.  

I only wish he did.