Father and Son. A True Crime Memoir.

Chapters 14 & 15

Chapter Fourteen

Ghent 1971

We rented the house from Don Weihmen and Jerry Trippy, a couple we were told to call Uncle Don and Uncle Jerry. Uncle Don still lived with his wife and two daughters in a Colonial home in Chatham, spending most of the week with Uncle Jerry in New York. They joined the ever-growing cast of characters at our parties – gatherings that didn't cease when we lost the house on Richmond Road, but instead grew more eclectic, fueled by an endless stream of alcohol.

The new house stood isolated in the woods at the end of a private road. A sprawling ranch, it opened into a large foyer that branched left and right. The right wing held five bedrooms and two baths, while the left led to an open living room, dining room, and kitchen. From above, the house resembled an H, with French doors in the living room and one bedroom opening onto a courtyard we rarely used. The screened porch off the dining room became a regular haunt where Mom, the Bills, Uncle Don and Jerry, Dad, and Granny would drink away Friday and Sunday nights. But these gatherings had changed since Richmond Road. Everything had changed.

Dad had begun commuting to New York City, balancing commercial work at McCann Erickson with his dreams of becoming a commissioned portrait painter. The timing couldn't have been worse – families and celebrities were increasingly choosing photography over painted portraits, making it a ruthlessly competitive field.

His break came through Henry Heydenryk, grandson and owner of the House of Heydenryk, one of the world's most prestigious frame makers. Their client list read like a museum catalog: Norman Rockwell, Georgia O'Keeffe, Pablo Picasso, Salvador Dalí, even Rembrandt. Henry got Dad represented by "Portraits Inc.," the oldest commissioned portrait company in the world, alongside luminaries like Andrew Wyeth and Albert Murray. They showcased his work impressively, placing ads in Vogue and The New Yorker.