The Ballad of Shelby Aldrich

By W. F. Twyman, Jr.

[Introduction: This essay is based upon a true story. Some details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals. They did not know one day Mr. Observant would write about the drama in their lives. It is rare for me to publish two essays in a day. I couldn’t get Shelby out of my mind.]

I knew a woman named “Shelby Aldrich.” Wait, a minute. That is not the best way to start this story. Let’s start over again.

Once upon a time in 1991, I accepted an offer to teach law at a local law school. The professor in my soul felt fulfilled. The powers that be saw me as a person of color law professor in training. I did not care how the powers that be perceived me as long as I could teach law in the classroom. Arrangements were made for the new stock of people of color law professors to attend an orientation at the law school in Spokane, Washington. Sort of get our feet wet and make connections and contacts.

Tribalism is a strange thing, however. I suspect the puppeteers in Washington, D.C. with the American Association of Law Schools (AALS) presumed I would be drawn to my people and solidify community in the name of race solidarity. There was one black guy at the conference who was already my friend from college, law school, Manhattan Big Deal law firm, and D.C. experience. We didn’t need a conference for friendship as we had been friends since 1980. There were several black guys on my dorm floor. Only one made an impression on me. He had been classmates with Justice Clarence Thomas at Yale Law School. I reflected on the fact of how insular we black law professors were as a group. I had heard estimates that around 40% of black law professors had some connection to Yale, either the law school or the college or a graduate school or marriage. I duly noted my dorm mate’s pedigree but otherwise we had nothing in common. Color alone does not create a bond.

I did strike up a fateful friendship with a Cuban-American, “Desi Arnaz.” Like me, Desi was a native of Virginia albeit from the Falls Church area. And like me, Desi grew up in white, middle-class public schools. I didn’t get the sense that being Cuban-American was extremely important to Desi’s sense of self. I would not have known he was Cuban by physical appearance alone. We knew the same institutions. I married a Yalie. He graduated from Yale undergrad. I graduated undergrad from the University of Virginia (UVA). Desi graduated from the law school at UVA. Those overlapping experiences drew us together.

It was irrelevant that he was Cuban-American and I was Black American. Which is ironic since we met each other at a people of color new law professors conference. Such are the ways of academia.

To my Capitol Hill staffer eyes, Desi had a great life already. He was partner at a law firm in Southern California. I think his share of the profits in one year was $900,000. He was married to a woman from Ireland. Together they had several children and he lived on a palatial ranch in northern San Diego County with horses and views of the mountains. Why was he giving up the high life for a chance to start anew and teach anxious law students Property at a law school for, I am guessing, a 90% pay cut? Spanking brand new (untenured) law professors are not pulling down $900,000 a year.

Desi explained that he hated the rat race. He hated the billable hours regimen. The more he made, the bigger the car and the greater the maintenance expenses on the ranch. Plus, his heart was in scholarship and the life of the intellectual. He wanted to write law review articles. I heard those words and knew we would be friends, particularly since he lived in San Diego county.

Did the organizers presume I would bond with a law professor who happened to be Cuban-American? That most of the attendees who happened to be black left me flat? I remember one lunch with several black law professors. A woman used the term “fronting” which I had never heard of before. Apparently, to front was lingo used at that time in some quarters of black culture and consciousness. To front meant to present a false facade or a false persona. Did the black woman perceive me as “fronting” because she did not recognize me in her catalog of Blackness? I didn’t speak that language, so I did not feel a natural affinity with the woman. But Desi? We spoke the same language, the language of middle-class, public schools in Virginia. We both used the words of those in the mainstream at the University of Virginia.

Race alone did not create a bond which undercut the premise of the people of color conference for new law professors. Desi and I agreed to get together when I moved from D.C. to San Diego.

=========

Now that this essay has a proper backstory, I can begin in earnest with The Ballad of Shelby Aldrich.

I drove up to Desi’s ranch and it was like a movie set. The place was like something out of the drama series Yellowstone. The rooms were open and spacious. A sense of abundance permeated the place. Expensive cars were in the garage. Desi’s wife was a stay at home Mom and why not? We all took a stroll along the expanse of the property. I remember going into the stable and petting the horses. It was late in the evening and the air was cooling down. The sky was Montana blue and endless. The mountains recalled a vibe from the Wild West. It all seemed like the American Dream.

And yet Desi, a young husband and father, decided to give it up all up for the joys of the intellectual life. I thought to myself Desi’ wife must be a good woman. She came from wealth as her father was a significant industrialist in Ireland.

We decided to meet again, this time in La Jolla. Desi wanted me to meet his close friend, Shelby Aldrich. And what a back story Shelby brought to the table of life. Born to a middle-class family, Shelby came to La Jolla in search of fame and fortune, well, maybe more fortune than fame. Shelby graduated from law school and became a leader in the local bar. The problem was being a lawyer paid good wages but did not deliver wealth. And Shelby wanted wealth. She envied the stay at home Moms who dropped the kids off at Bishop’s in the morning and played tennis all day. She wanted that big house on the cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean. But it was not going to happen on a lawyer’s salary.

========

Desi and I pulled up to a white frame house overlooking the ocean. The house bespoke “I have arrived.” We met Shelby and her boyfriend, “Henry Adams.” Henry’s leg was in a cast, I remember. He had broken his leg skiing at some resort. The four of us mingled and savored the ocean breezes, the views, the light sounds of crushing waves in the dark of evening. Plebeian that I am, I asked Henry “What do you do?” Henry replied, “I’m retired.” Henry was around 35 years old. How did this retirement happen at such a young age?

Henry recounted briefly how he had founded a startup, not Costco but everyone knows the name of his company. He sold out for millions and millions of dollars to a buyer. Henry never had to work again.

As my readers know, this was not my first face to face encounter with great wealth. However, in my own life, I chose love over wealth in life.

Not so Shelby.

After we left Henry’s place, Desi shared how Shelby craved the lifestyle of Henry. Henry was unmarried. If Shelby married Henry, all of Shelby’s earthly dreams would come true. She would no longer have to work. And she could live the life of a tennis mom at Bishop’s. Raise money for charitable causes, meet friends for lunch by the ocean, live above the pedestrian struggle for income. Desi had a goal and marrying Henry was the way.

Does this tale sound like a Housewives of La Jolla series?

Afterwards, I lost touch with Desi as he sold off the ranch, the fancy cars and moved to the East Coast and a new life in the classroom.

=========

Ten to Fifteen Years Later

Desi was living in La Jolla in a bungalow. Could we get together and catch up on life? I said, sure. When one meets a genuine and authentic soul, those warm feelings never go away. I drove up to La Jolla. The plan was to visit Shelby.

Shelby achieved her mission in life. She married the multimillionaire Henry, retired at the age of 35. Shelby stopped working as a stressed out lawyer. Together, Henry and Shelby moved into this take your breath away mansion on the La Jolla cliffs. The ocean was at Shelby’s feet.

Shelby had it all. Didn’t she have it all, dear readers? Didn’t she?

As Desi and I parked our car in the driveway and walked to the front door, it occurred to me that I was happy for Shelby. She had a goal and she obtained her goal. As Shelby opened the door and greeted us, I learned the rest of the story.

Shelby was absolutely miserable. Henry was a cold fish. He had no personality. He didn’t take joy in being with Shelby. He abused Shelby. He began to belittle Shelby. All of the insecurities in Shelby were magnified 10x living under the same roof with Henry. Shelby had it all and lost her happiness, her joy. When a man retires at the age of 35, what gives a man meaning in life? Did marrying Shelby give Henry new meaning in life? Or, did Henry have inner demons he needed to release?

Now, Henry had moved out of the to-die for mansion. Shelby was all alone in a big estate. And the divorce proceedings were underway. I wanted to hug Shelby then and there.

“She fell in love with the wrong kind of man”

Shelby and I turned to Desi who shared his story of collapse and despair. Desi loved teaching at the law school. He loved law review articles. He loved his new town which reminded him of Cuba. Desi’s wife did not like their new life. Although some would be affirmed to be known around town as the law professor’s wife, Desi’s wife was accustomed to the finer things in life. She missed that $900,000 pay check every year. She grieved over loss of the beautiful ranch house in San Diego. She loved her horses. Her life as a law partner’s wife had been a dream. Now, she was all the way across the country having to make new friends in an alien law faculty culture.

Desi’ wife became lonely. And lonely wives will appreciate attention and affection. As Desi burned the midnight oil preparing lesson plans and editing articles, Desi’s wife fell in love with an international drug dealer. It was so right, so wrong. How could she carry on with this secret in her heart? Her upstanding parents in Ireland found out. Desi found out. She left Desi for the drug dealer.

The most important woman in Desi’s life abandoned Desi for a drug dealer. The in-laws blamed Desi for giving up his law firm partnership for poverty as a law professor. After the divorce, Desi traveled to Cuba to rediscover his roots. He fell for a young woman in a small town who was either a teenager or a young woman in her early 20s. The details were not clear to me.

And on a day as the twilight fell over La Jolla in a mansion, I thanked the Gods I married a good woman.

Conclusion: What is the meaning of The Ballad of Shelby Aldrich? Did Shelby give a cry for help before marrying Henry? Why did she fall in love with the wrong kind of man? How do we look for the signs that a man, or a woman, is a poor choice? Shelby won’t have a second choice. She has suffered abuse and will be scarred forever. Desi followed his dream of an intellectual life. He gave up the material comforts and lost his wife and children in the end. How long must we succumb to hunger at the cost of more sadness and sorrow in the world?

I know someone who is a very young Shelby Aldrich. I pray every night that Henry will do right by Shelby. Remove fame and fortune from the equation. It is hard to do if one retired at age 35. But love for the mansion is fleeting. Thirst for the Swiss villa will not keep Shelby warm at night. The best way to love across social classes is to love your heart out and pretend wealth is non-existent. Love that human who holds your hand when you are afraid at night. Stay with the Henry who is a good man.

If Henry loves you because you have no filter, Henry loves you as you are. Henry is a keeper. That’s my advice.

This essay is dedicated to all of the lost souls in this woeful tale.