Lifestyle
L.A. Affairs: I discovered my dad's secret children. It changed us forever
We all have a past — little ghosts of heartache and regret that can haunt us forever.
But for some people, the ghosts can become demons.
My father was one of those people. In his 94 years, he was married four times and had at least seven kids besides me. Three of them I grew up knowing: my half-siblings Donna, Karen and Michael, born after World War II when my father separated from the Army and came to Los Angeles with dreams of being the next Perry Como.
The other kids, he kept hidden from me at all costs.
That was because he had left them when he met my mom, his fourth wife. He married her in 1982 and had me — when he was 57 — in 1984.
I was the only child he ever raised to adulthood. Growing up, knowing little of my father’s past, I idolized him. He was a decorated veteran. An usher at the Cathedral of St. Vibiana. My grade-school football coach. Leader of the neighborhood watch.
He put the “all” in all-American.
But he was almost a little too perfect. Like most people with skeletons, my father was adept at hiding them. As I became an adult and started to make my own mistakes — as I started to understand the weight a person’s decisions can carry — I found myself longing to find a single chink in his armor; some flaw of his that would let me put my own problems into context. I didn’t want to idolize him anymore. I wanted to connect with him.
But he never let me — until our doorbell rang one summer afternoon in 2010 and forced him to.
It was a woman, about 10 years older than I was, with light brown skin. Her name was Maria. She asked if this was where Ned Manley lived. I said it was. My dad came to the door and talked to her quietly on the front lawn of our Temple City corner lot. I watched from the window. When she left, she glanced back at me for just a moment — and I knew my life had changed forever.
Maria was one of three daughters my father had during a decade-long affair in the 1970s with a Mexican immigrant in East Los Angeles. At the time, he was on his third marriage. When he met my mom at Sunday Mass in 1979, he fell in love. And then, for reasons I still don’t fully understand, he left Maria and her siblings and never looked back. He managed to hide everything — the affairs, the kids — not only from my mother and me but also from Donna, Karen and Michael.
When I confronted him, he confessed. He said Maria had spent years looking for him. She wanted a relationship now. His fear was palpable. He begged me not to tell my half-siblings. Not to tell my mother, a devoted churchgoer and faithful wife. The news would devastate her.
I was angry at him for putting me in this impossible situation. I told him I wanted no part of it. I tried to get him to come clean. I tried to tell him that it would be OK. But then, slowly, my anger began to melt. His fear began to form a strange, unshakeable bond between us. As the weeks went by, I realized — uncomfortably — that if anything, I loved him now more than ever. For the first time in my life, I saw my dad as human. As fallible.
So I kept his secret for 11 long years. He met with Maria whenever he could and emailed her every week, making up for lost time until he was on his deathbed in 2021. Just before he died, with the specter of Maria and her sisters possibly coming to his funeral, I told my family about them. My mom and half-siblings said they understood. They told me this was not my fault. They tried to welcome their new family members with open arms. But their eyes told a different story. They were hurt; shocked to find out that a man they thought they knew so well could have hidden something like this. Not to mention the hurt that Maria and her sisters still felt — a hurt that eventually led to us keeping in touch only with Christmas cards or the occasional text.
I don’t blame them for feeling this way. But my own feelings toward my father were — and still are — different. Because I am the only person he never left. He gave me every ounce of blood and sweat he had, quietly trying to atone for the long-buried mistakes of his past. And we connected in his last years in a way we never would have if Maria hadn’t come to our door. Through his mistakes, I came to understand my own. I understood why I had pushed away many people who loved me. I understood why I liked to leave people and situations that were good for me. I understood the anxiety I had about getting into committed relationships, and why, when I was in them, I felt tempted to have my own affairs.
But most of all, I understood why I reveled in secrets. I understood why I liked to keep my real feelings from my family, my friends and my romantic partners. And I understood — long before I married my wife in 2019 and had two beautiful children with her — why I needed to stop.
After my father died, genealogical and family records revealed that he had a seventh child, a son named Lionel born during his third marriage. We are still looking for him. And I am still unraveling my father’s secrets, one by one. But his final years taught me, in their own way, that it’s never too late to open up, to be vulnerable, to start over. He turned on a light deep inside me that let me know it’s always OK to be honest and come home — wherever home may be.
The author is a recent law school graduate and screenwriter. He lives in Covina with his wife and two children. Visit his website at darrenmanley.co.
L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
French aviator Roland Garros pictured in the cockpit of an aircraft in 1911.
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Branger/Getty Images/Hulton Archive
The second tennis Grand Slam tournament of the year is underway in Paris: the French Open, as many English-speakers call it.
But the official name of the tournament — and the complex where it takes place — is Roland Garros. Many tennis tournaments are named after famous players, like the Davis Cup and the Billie Jean King Cup.
Roland Garros, however, was an aviation pioneer and World War I fighter pilot with no known connection to the racquet sport.
“He’s an important figure in early aviation, both as a record-setter before the war and as a wartime pilot,” says Christopher Moore, the curator for World War I aircraft at the Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum. “He’s considered the first person to shoot down another aircraft with a gun firing forward between the propeller.”
So how did Garros become synonymous with tennis?
The short answer: In 1928, a decade after Garros was killed in action, Paris’ new tennis stadium needed a name. Emile Lesueur, president of the Stade Français rugby club, suggested Garros — his former business school classmate.
“I guess he was a national hero, and that kind of tells you how people thought about him,” Moore says.
Here’s the (slightly) longer version.
Roland Garros is both the name of the tennis tournament and the Paris facility where it is held.
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Dan Istitene/Getty Images
Garros’ high-flying career set records
Garros was born in 1888 on Réunion, a French island in the Indian Ocean. The island’s main international airport now bears his name, too.
He grew up playing soccer, rugby and cycling — but “was not an avid tennis player,” as the tennis tournament’s website explains. Garros was not originally drawn to aviation either: He graduated from business school and founded a car dealership.
But everything changed when Garros, then in his early 20s, attended the first major international air show in the Champagne region of France, in August 1909.
“He decides that he wants to be a pilot, so he basically goes out and buys his own plane, teaches himself to fly … he earns his pilot’s license,” says Moore.
Roland Garros, in the dark suit, poses near the plane he flew across the Mediterranean in Tunisia in September 1913.
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STAFF/AFP via Getty Images/AFP via Getty Images
In September 1911, Garros broke an altitude record, soaring to nearly 13,000 feet (without the extra oxygen that modern planes have above 10,000 feet, Moore points out). He then set another record, breaking 19,000 feet in 1912.
At this time, Moore says, aviation was considered a daredevil sport, and successful pilots, especially in France, became celebrities. Garros’ dazzling performances in air shows and races earned him awards and notoriety.
“Aviation was made up of … people who liked to push the limits in sports and other ways, so they were using exhibitions, doing acrobatics, death-defying feats and races … and breaking records,” Moore explains.
Garros’ profile increased exponentially in 1913, when he became the first person to fly across the Mediterranean Sea.
He flew south from the French Riviera to Tunisia, landing after nearly eight hours with less than two gallons of gas left in his tank, according to a September 1913 edition of Foreign Aviation News.
“So confident was Garros in his Morane-Saulnier machine … that he did not deem it necessary to accept the Government’s offer to be consorted by a cruiser, but the French naval authorities nevertheless took the precaution to have a number of torpedo boats cruising along the line of flight,” the publication wrote.
Garros revolutionized aerial combat in multiple ways
When World War I broke out in 1914, Garros enlisted in the French army with an obvious skill set.
There were no independent air forces at the time, but pilots could join a designated air branch of the army. Even so, Moore says, the military viewed airplanes merely “as a way of being higher to look at things.”
Pilots were there for observation, not offense — at least at first.
“They would be flying over and they would see airplanes from the other side, doing their thing, and sometimes they’d wave at each other early on,” Moore says. “But as tends to happen, they decided that maybe they should try and stop the other guys from doing the same thing they’re doing, and so they started firing at each other.”
That was easier said than done, as early planes couldn’t accommodate anything larger than a pistol or a rifle. There was also the problem of propeller blades in front, obstructing a clear shot at German enemy aircraft.
Another Frenchman, engineer Raymond Saulnier, had recently patented a mechanism that would allow a machine gun to shoot between the spinning blades. Moore says it wasn’t adopted during the war because of significant flaws.
But Garros went to Saulnier — seemingly of his own accord — to inquire about using the technology in his own planes. Moore says there are varying claims about whether he tried it, but ultimately the two ended up with an alternative: screwing wedges onto Garros’ propeller blades to deflect bullets.
“And it works,” Moore says. “Garros shoots down his first German airplane on the first of April 1915 … within the next two-plus weeks he shoots down two more.”
Before the end of the month, however, Garros’ plane crashed — he said due to engine trouble — and he was taken captive by German forces. He spent three years in a prisoner-of-war camp, with his health and eyesight deteriorating.
Meanwhile, the Germans studied his wedge-workaround and developed what Moore describes as “a synchronizer that will allow a machine gun to shoot between the propeller blades, and that sort of changes aerial warfare from then on.”
Garros and another soldier eventually managed to escape, disguised as German officers. While the French government urged him to stay home as an advisor, he told The New York Times in March 1918 that he intended to get back to the front lines as soon as possible.
He said he was looking forward to confronting more enemy forces: “Remember, I have a big score against them to pay for the last three years.”
Garros’ legacy of persistence lives on
Crowds watch the action on Court Philippe-Chatrier at the Roland-Garros Complex in Paris over the weekend. Chatrier was a French tennis player and former president of the International Tennis Federation.
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Julien De Rosa/AFP via Getty Images
Garros was killed in action in October 1918, the day before his 30th birthday and a month before the war ended.
By that point, he had shot down a fourth German aircraft, so he was not technically a flying “ace,” which is defined as a pilot who shoots down five enemy aircraft or more. But the word, which caught on in French newspaper accounts of WWI, has come to have a much broader meaning.
Incidentally, “ace” is also used in tennis to describe a serve so good it goes untouched by its receiver.
While Garros didn’t have a direct connection to tennis, Moore says aviation was considered a sport — and he was one of its biggest faces at the time. That, plus historical context, may explain why his legacy is so closely tied to the clay-court tournament nearly a century later.
“WWI was very traumatic for the French. It was mostly on their soil that it was fought and a lot of Frenchmen died,” he says. “I think that in the postwar memory he was considered a national hero, for the fact that he had died for France, plus his pre-war fame.”
The tournament’s website sees a fitting connection too, in a quote attributed to Napoleon I that Garros inscribed on his planes’ propellers: “Victory belongs to the most persevering.”
That phrase, it says, “could also be applied to the winners of the Roland Garros tournament.” It runs through June 7.
Ian Bowen is manager of the “66 to Cali” shop/kiosk on the Santa Monica Pier. Many travelers go to the kiosk for the Route 66 “passports” and certificates of completion.
(Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times)
Beyond the merry-go-round and before the Ferris wheel on Santa Monica Pier, Ian Bowen does business in a snug kiosk overstuffed with souvenirs, guidebooks and replica highway signs. The whole structure measures about 77 square feet. But the idea behind it sprawls for miles and keeps Bowen talking for hours on end: Route 66.
The 66 to Cali kiosk is owned by Dan Rice, who started the business in 2009 after years of travels on the Mother Road. But Bowen, 35, has been managing it for 10 years, making sales, offering advice and hearing travelers’ tales, which almost always come with surprises. He calls himself “a bona fide nerd about Route 66.”
“It took me six years to do the whole road and finish my last stretch in Arcadia, Oklahoma,” Bowen said between customers one recent night. Rather than cover more than 2,400 miles in a single trip, he has done what many American “roadies” do: biting off one chunk at a time. Before you know it, he said, “you become part of the community.”
That became obvious as Bowen flipped through the photo albums he keeps in the kiosk. There’s Harley Russell, ribald proprietor and performer at the Sandhills Curiosity Shop in Erick, Okla. There’s Fran Houser, the late, widely beloved proprietor of the Midpoint Cafe in Adrian, Texas. And there’s Bowen getting a haircut from Angel Delgadillo, the Seligman, Ariz., barber, now 99, who kicked off a resurgence of interest in Route 66 in 1987 with a call for historical recognition.
This is not the career Bowen planned for; he studied to be an industrial designer. But now that he’s in the business of celebrating Route 66, he sees it, and other highways like it, as a launching pad for independent businesses, a lifeline for small towns and an antidote to the isolation of contemporary society.
“The old roads aren’t just about nostalgia,” Bowen says on his website. “They’re about creativity, honest work, investing in ourselves and our communities, and the notion that effort is rewarded.”
For those considering a Route 66 trip, Bowen has advice of all kinds.
Want an old-school meal along the route in Santa Monica? Bowen will point you toward Bay Cities Italian Deli & Bakery, which opened in 1925.
A lunch spot near Elmer’s Bottle Tree Ranch in Oro Grande? Cross-Eyed Cow Pizza, said Bowen, is just down the road.
The backstory on Bobby Troup’s song “Route 66?” Bowen can tell you that Nat King Cole recorded it in early 1946 in a studio at 7000 Santa Monica Blvd. And that address, now occupied by the Jeffrey Deitch art gallery, is actually on Route 66.
Whatever your itinerary, Bowen urges a loose schedule, leaving plenty of room for discoveries and unplanned conversations. Otherwise, “it’s so easy to use up all your time and end up running behind,” he said.
One recent Friday, Leonidas Georgiou, 36, stepped up to the kiosk, brimming with enthusiasm.
Georgiou, who lives in Athens, only learned about Route 66 last year “from an influencer on Greek TikTok.” But once he heard about it, he acted fast. Georgiou plotted a U.S. trip, recruited his mom to ride shotgun and picked up a rented Mazda SUV in Chicago. They made the drive in 23 days, with detours to Las Vegas and Monument Valley and a stop at the Walter White house (from “Breaking Bad”) in Albuquerque.
The varying weather and landscape, Georgiou said, made it feel like a four-season trip. Several times, in cities where hotels seemed too pricey or too sketchy, he and his mom slept in their SUV. Before Bowen could speak up, Georgiou added that he’s a police officer in Athens, and that he chose their spots carefully. Georgiou’s mother, who didn’t speak much English, nodded in affirmation.
“Instead of spending $40 each and getting bedbugs, it’s better to sleep in the car,” Georgiou said. And in the larger picture, he said, it was important to give the trip all the time it needed.
“This is a lifetime journey,” Georgiou said.
Bowen nodded and smiled. Another 66 traveler, another set of surprises.
How much time should moms spend with their kids? What if it’s quality over quantity?
CEO and co-founder Emma Grede set social media on fire when she described herself as a “max three-hour mum” and said that she would rather focus on creating “high-impact, core memories” with her children. The founding partner of Kim Kardashian’s SKIMS also said that remote work is ‘career suicide’ for women. The idea that a working mother – even a CEO mom – would spend so little time with her kids was outrageous to some…but isn’t that the reality for most parents?
To get into all of this, Brittany is joined by Kathryn Jezer-Morton, writer of the Brooding column from The Cut, and Helena Andrews-Dyer, journalist and author, to unpack the ‘controversial’ notion of a mother not wanting to spend all her time with her kids.
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This episode was produced by Alexis Williams. The video was edited by Pablo Valdivia. It was edited by Nick Michael. Our Executive Producer is Barton Girdwood. Our VP of Programming is Yolanda Sangweni.
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