Reprint: 2008 Lifestyles over 50
My sisters and I were celebrating Dorothy’s birthday at our parents’ home. Some nosy sister asked me what I was going to do for my birthday party coming up in October.
“I want to invite someone really special. His name is Paul Newman, the actor. Wouldn’t it be great to have a blue-eyed guy here to see all of our blue eyes?” I asked.
My 80 year old mother was aghast, “Carole, you’re a married woman. What would Harry say?”
Wishing to calm Mom, I told her, “It’s not fair you almost ran out of blue eye color till I came along. My eye color is a dull blue. Harry knows about Paul and that you and the sisters will be chaperoning. I won’t be alone with Paul ever!” And then I turned my face away from Mom and whispered to my sisters, “Unless Paul asks me to be alone with him!”
And that’s how the following letters got started to Paul:
(1986) Dear Paul,As a teenager, I was love-struck with Elvis Presley. As an adult, a bit into middle-age, I’m love -struck with you, Paul. I’d do almost anything to be near you.
A few years ago, prior to my birthday in October, I wrote you a letter imploring you to attend my party. My sisters, my mother, and I signed the letter. Since Joanne might worry about you with a bunch of “youngish” women, I purposely stated that our 80 year old mother would be chaperoning the party. I also played on your sympathy by mentioning that the sisters, as well as our mother, have blue eyes.
Weeks flew by. No word from you. My sisters teased me unmercifully about “my Paul” not attending my birthday party. I protected you fully with, “You know how busy the man is. Besides, he has a jealous wife to deal with. I’ll just bet Joanne intercepted his mail and threw my letter away. The poor guy would have to go through sheer torture if he’d come. Just let him be!”
Though you jilted me and my family, I still watch your movies, even the ones with Joanne in them. I still buy your salad dressing, popcorn, and spaghetti sauce. You can’t help that you met Joanne before me!
At least I had a memory of “us” before my marriage to lean on in my sorrow. I had a date with a sports newscaster, who reported the racing events at the Pocono Raceway. Beforehand, he told me you were racing. He felt he might have a chance to introduce me to you. I was willing to take that chance.
There was no rest for me the day of the races. Just the thought of being near you was euphoria. Why should you drive to see me? I’d drive to see you.
The day of the race, my date offered me his pass to get inside the gate, in order to get a glimpse of you. Not wanting my date to notice how excited I was, I waited until I was out of his sight before I screamed and bolted towards the gate.
Finally, you appeared. You headed toward me. My heart beat. My toes curled. You held your hand outstretched. I raised mine to meet yours. You reached for the door handle of your race car. I put my hand back in my pocket. I understood. I wouldn’t want to provoke Joanne by you taking my hand in public.
But for one brief second our blue eyes met and locked. I knew you knew. It could have been, but there are no “could have beens.” We could not change destiny. Joanne snatched you long before I was around. I would never do anything to destroy your career.
Later, during the race, my date gave me binoculars. My eyes clung to them like jellyfish to sand. There was no putting them down until the race was over, even if I couldn’t find you with them.
After the race, my date asked me if I’d like to stroll to your camper. My heart went limp. “Sure, I haven’t anything to do,” I replied.
Once inside your camper my date conversed with the people sitting around the table. I wandered. To think, I was actually following in your footsteps. Those footsteps led me to a nook in the back of the trailer where a bed was. For one brief second, I smiled to my self—“His Bed.”
I looked around. No one the wiser, I lay down on your bed, closed my eyes and reached across the bedspread. But you weren’t there. I understood. You were with reporters. One day our schedules will surely coincide. One day….Incidentally, I told my sisters I was in your bed. I didn’t mention you weren’t there at the time. It will be our secret.
In sorrow, from a middle-aged, now married (no longer available), but not totally unstruck woman, whose husband and her love to eat your popcorn.
Love, Carole (1988) Dear Paul,In order to refresh your memory of me, I’ll have to go back to the year 1986. It was the year, after fruitless efforts on my part, to sell a humorous article (I’m a freelance writer) that I decided to send the article directly to the source: Paul, via your popcorn label address. A few weeks later, a bouquet of flowers arrived at my door from “my Paul” and I immediately responded with a thank you card. And then, unlike most women who call their friends to announce they’ve given birth, I called my sisters and announced I received flowers from Paul. The day I received the flowers, I noted my husband staring at the beautiful bouquet, and asking, “And how does Paul know daisies are your favorite?”
I smiled and answered, “I’ll never tell.” And I haven’t.
Now that I’ve refreshed your memory, the reason for a second letter: My birthday is coming up Oct. 1. I’ll be 48. If you recall, I mentioned previously I had five older sisters (oldest going on 66), and we’ve traditionally celebrated our birthdays together, since our children were almost raised. We always buy the birthday girl a present, as well as, give each other a favor. This way none are denied a token gift.
I don’t mean to pest you. You’ve been kind enough in sending me flowers. But, I’d like something special for my sisters. We’re getting older—which is the other reason for my request. Remember those old movies when a serviceman opened his locker door and found a pin -up of Betty Grable? That photo kept those guys hoping and thinking of better days. Well, what I’d like to see for myself and my sisters, is for us to be able to open our closet door and find an autographed photo of you to us. It would certainly help keep us going, thinking and dreaming. We don’t expect you to spend a lot of money, but maybe you have some old publicity photos lying around. If you do, would you sign one each to Carole, Anita, Jannetta, Mary Alice, Dorothy, and Gladys, from Paul. It would sure make “growing old’ that much easier. If you wish, you could add on my photo, “to Carole, the nicest, youngest, prettiest sister, from Paul. It would eat my sisters’ heart out!
Waiting patiently as I age.Love, Carole
The photos arrived, for each of my sister and myself, just in time for my birthday that year!
Carole Christman Koch grew up in Berks County and has been published in numerous publications. She has a passion for writing and has many stories from growing up on a farm to raising children to humorous stories about her and her husband to everyday stories to season stories and more.