Cline column: Going into labor

SALISBURY — It’s easy for me to remember when my wife, Julie, first saw Woody Allen’s film “Manhattan.”

Thursday, Sept. 27, 1979.

The movie was playing at the Rowan Twin Cinemas (now the $2 cinema). Julie wanted to see it, so she went with our friend Kathy Graham Pulliam. I can’t recall what I did. Not important anyway.

When she got home, Julie told me a bit about it and how she had liked it. Then it was lights out, one more day of work for both of us to wrap up another week.

It was around 6:45 that Friday morning when I woke up. Julie was sitting up in the bed. I asked her what she was doing.

“I’ve been in labor since about one o’clock.”

As Jack Benny would say, “YIPE!”

When I asked her why she didn’t wake me, she said, “I didn’t want to bother you.” Now that’s a good wife.

“But you can’t be in labor. The baby isn’t due for another three to four weeks.”

Apparently, the stork waits for no one. He caught us unprepared. Julie said we probably should head on over to the hospital. So we threw a few things in a suitcase and ran out to the car.

Thinking back — the scene of our running around like two chickens with their heads cut off reminded me of the “I Love Lucy” episode in which Lucy tells Ricky, “It’s time.”

And even though Ricky, Fred and Ethel had practiced the moment several times, they crashed into each other, spilled the contents of her suitcase and rushed out of the apartment leaving Lucy behind.

I learned that day that it is possible for a guy to go deaf while driving your laboring spouse to the hospital. I never heard such screaming in my entire life. The people we passed on the road must have thought some poor woman had been kidnapped and was yelling for help.

Since all of this was new to me, I can’t claim I was in total control. Instead of pulling up to the emergency room door of the hospital, I drove up and down the rows of the parking lot looking for a place to park.

“GET ME INSIDE!” Julie “requested.”

Then I pulled up to the door. Staff came out and whooshed her inside. Then, after parking, I joined Julie upstairs, where a nurse had her in a bed, tending to her needs.

I had learned in Lamaze class that I should remain calm and help my vulnerable wife with her breathing technique. Whether or not I was successful, I can’t recall. That part is a blur.

But one thing I remember is that my sweet, loving wife shouted profane language at me while we were in this room. To this day, she denies it, because my wife NEVER uses profanity. It is simply not a part of her vocabulary at all.

But on September 28, 1979, I thought the sailors had docked at San Pedro Harbor.

At some point, in walked our doctor and a great one he was — Mal Parada. We had both become friends of Mal doing Piedmont Players productions, and just a few months before, Mal and Julie had portrayed husband and wife in the PPT show “God’s Favorite.”

So it worked out great that Julie’s doctor was around every night for two months during her pregnancy.

Now, if you know Parada, you know that if he had not gone into medicine, Mal could have been a headlining nightclub comedian. His repertoire of jokes and humorous material was endless. Some was G-rated, some was not. A nice blend, shall we say.

He gave Julie a quick look and said, “Not quite yet.”

Then a lightning bolt hit me. Here I was at the hospital without a camera to record the day’s events.

Good friend and ace photographer Geoff Honaker was working at the hospital at the time, so I ran him down and begged him to get me a camera, but quick.

He ran home and brought me back the fanciest camera I had ever held in my hand, complete with a fresh roll of film. (That’s something people had to load into their cameras in order to take pictures).

Shortly after, Mal took Julie into the delivery room. It was showtime. I’ll set the scene for the next hour.

A nurse was doing her thing. Dr. Parada was multi-tasking, delivering our child and telling jokes. I was running circles around the table snapping pictures and yelling “Breathe! Breathe!” and Julie was mostly screaming.

Then, finally, 6-pound, 9-ounce baby Matthew made his entrance at 3:03 p.m. Our lives have not been the same since.

After things had quieted down and Julie was moved into her room, I broke for dinner. I got a hold of my best friend, Kent Bernhardt, and we met for supper at that quaint Scottish restaurant McDonald’s.

Kent even picked up the check. And to preserve his reputation as one of Salisbury’s finest citizens, he has bought my dinner since.

Julie and I both had good medical insurance in 1979, and I can recall that our out-of-pocket expense for the events of this day was $1.57. That was the charge for a long distance call I made from Julie’s room. Insurance didn’t cover phone calls.

And the icing on the cake was that my mother’s first grandchild was born on her 59th birthday.

Today, 32 years, a wonderful daughter-in-law and three grandchildren later, these events seem like an eternity ago, and yet it seems like last Friday.

Sept. 28, 1979, was a good day.

Mike Cline’s website, “Mike Cline’s Then Playing,” documents movies played in Rowan County theaters from 1920 through 1979.