Daryl and the Missing Link
by Cindy Pendleton
Daryl Comstock and author, Cindy Pendleton
It must have been in the fall of the early 70s, as I recall it was dark in the early evening hours.
My husband, Bob, and Daryl Comstock were partners in a film business called Cine Sound, Inc. back then. For Bob, it was a full time venture, for Daryl, a moonlighting job, separate from his newscaster roll on KENI-TV (now KTUU).
To give you a look at Daryl’s personality, on the air he was the consummate news broadcaster, an immaculately dressed professional with an air of intelligence, impartiality, and a great voice. Off the air, he could be both gloomy and funny at the same time. A bit of a pessimist, Daryl viewed most of the world as a series of worst case scenarios. I still cannot figure out why he tolerated, and even seemed to enjoy my Pollyanna-like personality.
Back to my story, Bob and I were meeting Daryl at a little bar on E Street, just across the alley behind the Westward Hotel. It was a rainy night, so Daryl arrived dashing in on a run from the Fourth Avenue Theatre about a half block away (where the studios of KENI were located). About midway into our first drink, he noticed that one of his diamond cufflinks was missing. A gift from his wife, Theda, they were favorites of his.
Certain that he had lost it on the run from the station, he was distraught, knowing he would never see that cuff link again. With my ever present optimism, I suggested we retrace his steps and see if we could find it.
At first he refused, but I grabbed my coat, his hand and yanked him out the door.
Off we went, eyes to the ground, walking slowly through the rain, with Daryl showing me his exact path. He was absolutely sure I was crazier than a bedbug. As we reached the opposite curb, I caught a tiny flash of reflected light in the puddle beneath my feet. I reached down and picked up the missing cufflink. The city lights in the darkness had acted like a flashlight, bringing on that sparkle at just the right moment.
Daryl was both thrilled and flabbergasted at the same time. Needless to say, I received a grand hug, with the drinks on him when we got back to Bob at the bar.
Even though I suspect that D.M. Comstock had little respect for most women, from that night on he not only respected me, I’m pretty sure in his own grumpy way he loved me, too.
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