How We Met: Narrative

 I was about 14 or 15, and I remember meeting my friend Tom’s older brothers Dave and Harry  at church.  I was with my friend Hilda who was infatuated with Dave.  They went to high school together and she undoubtedly knew that he was Senior Class President, but all I saw was a very good looking young man who looked right through us as if we were beneath him.  The oldest brother, Harry, made eye contact and didn’t seem as unapproachable.

Going to the same church, our paths crossed many times.  I even picked Tom up at his home several times to go to MYF (Methodist Youth Fellowship).  But, Dave only remembers my car—a Studebaker that my dad had bought from a neighbor who had totaled it. In retrospect, it was a car that would grab a car-lover’s attention and Dave (like a couple of grandsons) is a car-lover.  

It was about a 1956 Studebaker President that my dad made drivable by wiring  the hood down.  Back in the 1960’s, a trip to the gas station, meant the attendant also opened the hood to check your water and oil.  I was always a little embarrassed but also a little amused when the attendant would try to open it, realize it was held down with a wire and had to try to unwind the wire to get to the engine.  (as another aside, the wire on the hood snapped while I was driving it from my grandparent’s house with the hood folding  over the windshield, making driving hazardous—so I had to move on to another used car, but back to the story. . . .)

Dave went away to college; I went away to college.  Our paths didn’t cross again until we had graduated,  were working and living in the same apartment complex, Whisper Lake.  My sister’s husband was in Viet Nam, so she and I decided to rent an apartment together at Whisper Lake. We lived across the hall from my high school and college friends Margie and Kathy.   I was teaching at McCluer High School with Mary,  Mary along with Arlene were also living at Whisper Lake. Arlene and Mary started having parties inviting many of the single people living there. 

Dave was also living at Whisper Lake apartments and knew Mary and Arlene from high school .  Our paths crossed again at Whisper Lake parties.   I knew who he was, but he never remembered having met before even when, Mary and Dave doubled with me and a date!   In addition to the Whisper Lake group, I belonged to the University Club—a social club of college graduates who partied together at various locations around St. Louis.  Several of us were going to University Club one Friday night.  I had  asked Mary if she wanted to go, but she said she thought she and Dave were going to do something.

I was shocked later that evening to see Dave at the University Club with a friend—I was very angry that he was standing Mary up. His arrogance was more than I could tolerate.  It was one thing to never recognize me, but quite another to have so little regard for Mary.  His friend Elliott must have noticed me looking in their direction because before I knew it, Dave was asking me to dance.  

Stunned, I agreed to dance with him.  I could tell by the conversation he was trying to have with me that he did not remember ever meeting me before: not when we were teenagers, not when we went to the same apartment parties, not when we doubled together.  After the dance was over, he escorted me back to my table and I angrily confronted him with his having stood Mary up that night.  His eyes looked at me, possibly in recognition but more likely stunned that I knew him. “Do me a favor and don’t tell Mary you saw me.”  I responded with, “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.” He never forgot me after that night.

That Whisper Lake group evolved into a wonderful group of friends who travelled together, went to the theater and concerts together, partied on the houseboat belonging to Arlene’s parents, skied, camped and went on canoe trips together.  Gradually i warmed up to Dave, realizing he wasn’t being “stuck up”, but was just an introvert who didn’t recall people’s faces or names as well as I do.

I was late arriving at one of our canoe trips in September.  They had already been out canoeing and one group was drying off by the fire on that crisp evening. Apparently Dave’s canoe with several of the females had tipped over getting them all wet.  For some reason, the ladies all seemed to be shunning him—my heart cracked open seeing him so forlorn.  So, the next day, when all of the others refused to get in a canoe with him, I volunteered.  That canoe float was the beginning. . . .