Mr. Clarke

Week of June 21

There are some things that just defy logical explanations. This is one of those things for me. I am a mother with a small boy at home. About once a month a Mr. Clarke would stop by, usually late morning, with a suitcase full of small household items for sale. Mr. Clarke, I never knew his first name and he always addressed me as Mrs.Marr. He was an older gentleman of retirement age who was trying to augment his income by going door-to-door selling whatever he could. I felt sorry for him and would always buy something, even if only a pair of shoe strings, so he wouldn’t leave without having sold something.

Mainly we would just chat about the weather or something in the news that week while my little boy played with blocks or some other toy on the living room floor. After several minutes of friendly conversation he would open his suitcase and point out some new item. I would listen to whatever he was promoting and politely say I didn’t think I needed that right now but what we really needed was a box of bandages. I would purchase the item and he was always most gracious as he packed his wares and left.


This went on for about a year and then one month passed and he hadn’t stopped by. Several months passed and no Mr. Clarke. There was a knock at the door one morning and I opened it to find a thin pleasant looking woman.

“Are you Mrs. Marr,” she asked? I nodded.

“I’m Mrs. Clarke, You were a customer of my husband. He passed on you know.”

“I’m sorry, I wondered what happened to him.”

“I’ve been talking with him and last night he gave me a message for you,” she said.

Before I could collect myself to say anything sensible she must have read the expression of bewilderment and shock on my face and went on talking.

“Oh yes. I talk with him frequently and last night he was very clear that I bring a message to you. He said, ‘tell Mrs. Marr there is going to be an explosion.’ That’s it, that’s all he said. I can’t tell you what it means, just what he said.”

She wouldn’t come in, apologized for upsetting me in any way and thanked me for being kind to her husband and she walked away. I was dumbfounded.

I thought of a hundred questions I wanted to ask her but she had gone. I didn’t know how to get in touch with her, or where she lived and I still didn’t know Mr. Clarke’s first name.

An explosion! What to do? My husband worked at an oil refinery and I impulsively called his office. As the call was going through I thought what on earth will I say to him, that a woman I’ve never met before told me her dead husband gave her a message last night to warn me that there was going to be an explosion…

“Hello.”

“Hi Dear, how are you?”

“I’m fine, what’s up?”

I couldn’t tell him at least not now over the phone while he was at work. I would tell him when he got home tonight, besides he would be asking me a ton of questions to which I had no answers. The rest of our conversation was strained and awkward especially on my end. I tried to determine what the rest of his day was like without tipping my hand. I was trying to ascertain that he was going to be right at his desk and not out by the fuel storage tanks or down on the docks where the tankers unloaded. I sensed he was getting curious about my new-found interest in his day. Then he asked the question I was dreading.

“ Tell me is there something on your mind that prompted this call?”

“Oh,” I laughed nervously, “Could you pick up a dozen eggs on your way home?”

When he came home with the eggs I came clean. I was relieved that he was home and we both had a laugh over our cat and mouse phone conversation. He didn’t know what to make of Mrs. Clarke’s message anymore than I did. So we returned to our routine and switched on the evening news.

The lead story was “A Northwest Airliner Exploded Over Lake Michigan Today Killing All On Board.”

I fainted. Our daughter was a flight attendant for Northwest. Bob, after assisting me, called the airline. They wouldn’t give out any information at this time. Our next call was to the Providence Journal. After talking to a few people an editor said he would make inquiries. He did and called us back with the information that our daughter was not on that flight.

We found out later that she was scheduled for that flight but took sick and her roommate had taken her place. It was a sad day for our family and many others.

What about Mrs. Clarke’s message and its source? Was it just coincidence? I wonder? As I said, I have no logical explanation for this.

Caroline Marr
East Providence,R.I.