Occasionally, someone who starts out as a fan crosses over that line and becomes a friend.  That’s what happened with me and Loretta Tucker.

We met years ago over the internet.  Loretta, who had worked as a victim advocate/lay chaplain, had given up her job to be an at-home caregiver for her husband, Randy.  Randy, a true-blue Marine from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, was a Vietnam Vet and former motorcycle cop who was losing a long battle with a form of brain cancer caused by on the job Haz-Mat exposure.

Somewhere along the way, in a hospital waiting room, Loretta had picked up one of my J.P. Beaumont books.  She read that one and was soon devouring the others as well.  Loretta and Randy lived in a small town in the mountain canyons east of Salem, Oregon–a place with no cable TV and satellite doesn’t work.

By this time in the game, Randy required round the clock care, and Loretta’s helpmate in that loving duty was a local firefighter named Adam Wilson.  On those long wakeful nights, as Randy’s dementia worsened, Loretta would often while away the hours by reading my books aloud to him because the stories seemed to help him settle.  Then, once he did fall asleep, and she still needed to stay awake to keep watch, she would write me long e-mails about what was going on, about Randy’s reactions to the various stories, about whatever.  My family knows first hand about the impact of cancer on all the people involved–the patient as well as the people whose lives are entwined with the patient.  As a consequence, I read every word she sent and responded with as much encouragement as I could muster.  When Randy requested an autographed photo, I sent one, and Loretta promptly had it framed and hung in Randy’s room.  Eventually Randy lost his battle.  I was off on a book tour and couldn’t attend the funeral in Portland, but I sent a red, white, and blue bouquet.

As I said earlier, Loretta had spent years being a victim advocate, but her goal had always been to become a police or fire chaplain.  She had a degree in Theology, but she had put all those ambitions on hold during the time she stayed home caring for her husband.  Then, only weeks after Randy’s death, several things happened.  Through a series of seeming coincidences a place opened up for her in a chaplaincy program/residency at the Oregon State Hospital.  Bill and I, with Bella in tow, attended Loretta’s graduation ceremony.  A year later, she was able to attend the police and fire chaplaincy program offered here in Seattle.

I knew she was attending the program, and I also knew she was struggling. What she said in an e-mail to me was that it was breaking her heart that Randy couldn’t be there to see that she was finally fulfilling her dream. Since Adam was still at home tending to Loretta’s livestock back in Oregon, I wrote to him and asked him if he could please send me a photograph of Randy.  What Adam sent was Randy’s official Marine Corps. photograph.  I took the photo to Michael Reagan of the Fallen Heroes Project.  On the day Loretta graduated from her second chaplaincy school, Michael Reagan’s framed portrait of Randy was there with us, sitting in the pew between Bill and me.  In a very real way, the magic of Michael’s drawing skills meant that Randy was there to see Loretta graduate.

Loretta is vertically challenged which is to say, she is SHORT.  She is a mixture of Norwegian and German.  If you need a friend, she’s there.  If you’re being stupid, she’ll give you a swift kick in the butt or an attention-getting slap upside the head.  She calls herself a “tuff cookie,” and she’s certainly that.  And we still stay in touch, mostly by e-mail

So this week, while I was in New York meeting with editors and publishers, it wasn’t the least bit surprising that I would receive an e-mail from her.  By the time I finished reading her note, entitled “Hello,Troublemaker,” I was literally laughing out loud. (I know the short cut for that is LOL, but that’s hard for writers to write.)  In the end, I decided that what she had written was too good not to share, and so, for the first time ever, I give you a guest blogger–Loretta Tucker.

Hello from Portland and congrats.  This is a first for me.  I’m writing you regarding the spirit and loyalty of JA Jance fans.  You nearly started a fight in downtown Portland today at a Seattle’s Best Coffee.

(JAJance, sitting peacefully in her hotel room in NYC, thinks, “How is this possible?  I’m in New York City not Portland.”)

There I was, innocent me, sipping on a White Chocolate Raspberry double shot Mocha, minding my own business and waiting to cross the street. Suddenly my ears perked up when I heard the name of JA Jance used in vain. A clerk from a near by bookstore was taking a coffee break outside and smoking a cigarette.  A group of four bookstore customers, each carrying a bag of books purchased in her shop, paused long enough to tell her that they had enjoyed attending one of your tour shows/signings in Seattle just a few weeks ago.  One of the customers asked if the clerk was aware of who you are?

And what was the clerk’s response as she sipped her Salted Carmel? “Well, yes, I used to read her novels back when she first came out. All her books were in paperback then. Now, since she’s gone all uppity, NYC on us.  Her new books are WAYYYY too expensive for me in hardback, and you have to wait nearly a year to have chance to buy them in paperback. I mean, she’s good, but let’s get real.  Who can afford books are that expensive? Who does she think she is, Jackie Collins? Really?”

At that point, those fans of yours–four sweet looking elderly ladies, late 70’s or early 80’s–went ballistic. They turned on that coffee-sipping clerk as one.  “Wadda ya mean, she’s gone all uppity NY city!?,” one of them demanded.  “Have you met her!? She is the nicest person, and her novels are worth every GD dime. All of us” (she waved her hand at her other three companions) “have her complete set….mostly in hardback I might add.  We are serious readers and proud to have that collection in our homes and on display! Why, those books are treasures!”

Then the next sweet little old lady added, “Yes, we try to see her every time she comes to Portland.  It’s a wonderful thing. And let me tell you something, sister, coffee used to be ten cents a cup with refills when I was a young girl like you! Now, coffee like yours from Seattle’s Best Coffee is $8 per frigging cup! Catch up!  Things cost more in this lousy economy. If you want something cheap to read, go buy a used Jackie Collins rag, read it in paperback, and keep that damn filth in your bathroom. Myself? I will stick to black coffee and a classy hardback novel by JA Jance.  You damn kids now days, wouldn’t know a good author if they ran over you!”

With that the little group of clucking hens with their feathers sticking out moved away from the dazed clerk, crossed the street and went on their merry way.  When they were gone, I burst out laughing. Looking at the clerk I said “Wow, that sucked! Anyone ever explain to you that the customer is always right?  If I were you, I’d get back into your bookstore, pull down the shades, and hide under the counter because they might come back, especially if they get themselves really pissed.”  Then I laughed like a horse thief. That clerk turned eight shades of many colors, as she ducked away back into her shop.  By then, the nervous bystanders were laughing, too.

As I left to go back to my car, I said to a few of them in passing ‘Woo Hoo! Just another day of excitement with JA Jance.” And we all had a giggle of comic relief.

Geez girl, you don’t even have to be in town, and you cause trouble! Because of her accent, I think that first old gal was originally from NYC. Wow, she could she ever kick butt.  I was thinking about you just meeting with your publisher.  You should hire those four old hostiles to go there and sing your praises.  THEY were listened to, ja betcha they were!

Yes my dear heart, you always attract quite the crowd. Never a dull moment in regard to JAJ!

Love,

Loretta

Thank you for writing and sending this Loretta.  If those feisty little old ladies hadn’t beaten the poor woman up, I’m pretty sure you would willingly have tackled her on your own.  That is indeed what friends are for!