In preparation for Valentine’s Day 2016, this week and next will be devoted to figuring out who is The Right One for me!
The year was 1972. I had been married to Barb for five years; graduated from college; returned home and was honorably discharged from the Army after serving 13 months in Vietnam; we lived in a “luxury” (to us) apartment costing $159 per month; and we had a new mustang. We felt we knew all and all was “swell.” Then we were asked to help out with the senior high young people at church. Sure, how hard could that be?
We planned and participated in various activities with the students. Steve, at 15, was a nice fellow and I told him how to get from his home in Delaware County to the Palestra in Philadelphia via public transportation to watch a double-header college basketball game. I drove from Center City Philadelphia after work and met him there. On another occasion, he came to our apartment to play ping pong. During an intermission in our ping pong games, we sat on the floor leaning against the wall, when the question was asked by Steve: “When do you know which girl is right for you?” Being the deep thinking philosophical type I replied: “You’ll just know when the time comes.” I thought about this conversation, with a smile on my face, over the years thinking about how little I knew about girls and what finally made up my mind about which was the right one for me.
I had a friend in fifth grade named Billy (this is before his rebellious stage later in school when he got into so much trouble he was sent off to a military academy to complete schooling). The two of us decided we had reached the stage in life to take girls to the Saturday matinee movie. I thought Connie would be the perfect one. I can’t tell you a thing about the movie, but the post-movie activity has stayed with me for a lifetime. After the movie we went to the pharmacy next door to the movie theater that had a soda fountain. I told Connie to order what she wanted, and she ordered an ice cream soda! After 25 cents apiece for the movie tickets and Connie’s extravagant taste for a treat, I only had enough money left for a nickel Coke. NO, CONNIE WAS NOT THE RIGHT ONE!
Sixth and seventh grades came and now I was friends with Marcine. I can still picture that wonderful girl: dirty blond hair that was short and resembled a boy’s “bowl cut” and yes, I think she beat me on the scale by quite a few pounds. My parent’s house had a good sized coat closet just off the dining room. The closet had a light in it that was activated when the door was open. That is also where the telephone was. I used to go into the closet, shut the door and have long talks with Marcine in the dark. Otherwise, I would use the antique phone in the second floor den to carry on my conversations with Marcine. Probably our most memorable time was when I took Marcine to a square dance at school while in the seventh grade. She looked like the “cat’s meow” (I probably used the wrong animal to describe her), as I walked into the dance with Marcine while she was wearing a WHITE RABBIT stole! I will never know if Marcine was the right one because she and her family moved away during that year. However, I will ALWAYS remember Marcine because my younger brother, who lives in Vermont, not only reminds me of her every time I see him, but reminds me of her frequently during our telephone calls too!
Years passed and all of a sudden I found myself as a senior in high school. Although I grew up in a town where most of the kids in seventh grade went to the junior assemblies at the Women’s Club (makes me feel like it was a prim and proper town on some old black and white television show… Maybe it was), I didn’t exactly learn enough to “cut a rug” (my fault). By this time, my mother had been working in the admissions office at Swarthmore College for many years. She made it a priority to get to know many of the students. One in particular was Ute Wentzel. Ute attended two or three colleges in different countries before receiving a scholarship to Swarthmore College for her senior year. I have no idea why, but the scholarship did not include room and board; thus, Ute accepted my mother’s invitation to live with us for her senior year. When it came time for our senior prom, my mother and older sister thought they had a perfect solution for the dateless Jeff. They thought I should take Ute. I may have been the hit of the prom with Ute on my arm; after all she was a beautiful, petite, foreign blond. However, after mulling this opportunity over, it did not take long for me to say “no thanks.” Ute was at least four years older than me, spoke five languages fluently, and if I could rank our intellectual abilities on a scale of one to 10, she would be at the very top and I would be on the extreme opposite end. Sorry, I was the one who didn’t measure up. I’ll pass on this young lady too. (Note: after all these years, a few months ago I did try to locate Ute to ask her about her life by going through the Alumni Office of Swarthmore College. The college did forward my e-mail to her but no reply has been received).
I’ll talk to you next week to complete my search for THE RIGHT ONE!
Jeff Hall, of Honey Brook, contributes columns to Berks-Mont Newspapers.
