Markwis

Born on the wrong side of the tracks, he was the ninth child of an abusive alcoholic father and a distracted mother who would soon be committed. They named him Marquis de Lafayette Harrison, but pronounced it “Markwis.”

Markwis was small, pitifully thin, badly cross-eyed, and therefore destined to be the perpetually bullied kid in every gathering of children – whether in church, school, or even the single candy store  — in Hannibal, Missouri. He considered learning to fight, but decided to skip the “fighting” part and just learn.

Despite his challenged eyesight, he read voraciously, living in the town library rather than in his ramshackle home with its empty cupboards, screaming brothers and sisters, and a crazy mother at her wits’ end.

At eight, Markwis was diagnosed with tuberculosis and spent a year quarantined at home. With little else to do, he persuaded the librarian to bring mountains of books to his home. Rightfully afraid of TB, she’d leave them at the door for the family to bring in, if they remembered. By the end of that year, he was reading at tenth grade level.

Returning to third grade, still cross-eyed and small, and now with the addition of a sunken chest and wheezing breath, the boredom was soul crushing. To pass the time, he developed theories about radio frequencies and sound, drawn from his year of reading, and built radios at home, out of parts he scrounged from the trash. He also enjoyed making up stories about himself, creating an alternate life of fame, wealth and respect.

At age eleven, Markwis was diagnosed with polio, resulting in more than a year in bed. More reading, more analyzing, more daydreaming. He emerged still cross-eyed and small, sunken chested and wheezing, and now with a pronounced rocking limp as well. And college-level reading. And a still crazy mother. And now, he was related to President William Henry Harrison (who ironically died of typhoid, pneumonia or paratyphoid fever 31 days into his term).

After a couple more years of fantasizing, Markwis was now related to Buffalo Bill and possibly Jesse James as well. Since he could apparently back it all up with facts and history, kids started to believe him.

Somehow, he made it to age eighteen and got out of town fast. He wound up in Illinois and found a quack doctor who “fixed” his crossed eyes by making him blind in one of them. But at least they were mostly straight now. And he changed his name to Mark. Just Mark. No middle name. Mark.

Mark made it to college, married the girl he’d met at the local swimming pool in Hannibal when he was six years old, and went on to earn at doctorate in physics at Columbia University. He pioneered the silencing acoustics used in submarines during World War II. He became the chair of physics at American University and seldom visited Hannibal, Missouri. And he still maintained that he was related to President William Henry Harrison, Buffalo Bill, and Jesse James. And that he was a millionaire. And the best damn sailor on the Chesapeake Bay. And that he was a genius (which, for that part at least, was likely true).

Marquis de Lafayette Harrison was my father.