Rising of the Irish

After high school it appeared for a while that I would never find a job. I was hardly equipped for much, but the other options were not available to me, or at least I had been led to believe by my parents, these being college or the military. My own desire was to be a writer, but the wise counselors of the Pennsylvania Educational System had informed me I didn't have the vocabulary for such a pursuit. They found me suited to running a machine. Nonetheless, I did finally gain full and lawful employment near the end of November 1959; my first day was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, so I had my first day working and then my first paid holiday all in a row. The place setting pictured here has nothing to do with Turkey Day, but much to do with the coming and going of my next romance with a girl I met at Atlantic Refining Company in early 1960.

Her name was Pat (Patricia) and she was Irish through-an'-through. She was a wee slip of a lass and cute as a button, as the cliche goes. Like Suzy, another cute girl, she was short, less than five foot tall and at the peak of her head was the loveliest red hair.

We first went together to a party that mutual acquaintances at Atlantic threw and while there made a second date to visit Willow Grove Amusement Park on a double date. This was not with Ronald and Ginny because by then Ronald was in the Army and gone from the area.

By the late spring, several dates together, we were getting very serious about our relationship. It reached that point where the girl invites the boy home to meet the family, and in this case, practically here whole family.

It was quite the shindig, a word her family probably never used, and I even had to wear a suit and tie for the occasion. As if I wasn't nervous enough just meeting ma and pa I was positively petrified when the whole gaggle of us sat down to eat. You see, I come from plain folks, working class people, who often suffered from lack of funds. When we sat down to a meal there was a dish, a knife, a fork and possibly a spoon. I would have a glass of whatever I was drinking and the "adults" would all have a coffee cup behind the plate, not necessarily on a saucer. Except for our more elaborate Sunday dinner, there was often no tablecloth and napkins were of the folded paper variety held in a plastic thing-a-ma-bob on one edge of the table by the salt, pepper and ketchup.

Now I sat down facing a bowl upon a platter and a saucer and cup and another tiny bow-like dish, a glass on a tall pedestal (crystal stemware) and a platoon of silver. There were knives and forks of varied sizes flanking the plate and bowl as well as a couple of spoons and then another spoon and smaller fork parallel behind the plate. The napkin was cloth and in a ring. There was most certainly a tablecloth and to protect the brocade of this cloth, placemats. This was confusing enough, but what worried me most was a small bowl beside each setting filled with a clear liquid. I had heard about finger bowls in my readings or in the films, but was that what this was? I certainly didn't want to dip my fingers into some fancy broth or something. And of course I also wasn't certain what utensil to pick up first, so I didn't make a move until I saw what the other diners did. I actually don't think I ever did learn what that mysterious little bowl of liquid was.

I survived that night, but I didn't survive something else, which had never even crossed my mind as a potential problem. Her parents did realize that we were very serious about each other. One morning that summer I came to work to find Pat waiting in the hallway for me.

"I have to talk to you," she said very solemnly, as if their had been a death, which there was about to be.

We went around the corner to a bit more private section and she said, "I can't go out with you anymore."

"Why," I asked, "what'd I do?"

" My parents have forbidden me to date you," she said in almost a whisper. "You're not Catholic…"

"I don't care," and I was getting angry. "That's not your parents' business…"

But she was crying now and we men don't handle women's tear well. She turned and ran into the ladies room that was only a few feet away from where we stood.

I stood there in shock, when this tall Irish lass came out of the restroom and up to me. She worked

on the same floor in the same department as Pat. I worked in a different section. We often passed in the hall and she always said hello to me and I always answered her back, but in my shyness toward strangers and my low way of talking prevented her hearing my response. Despite the fact she thought I was rudest guy around because she never heard me, she continued to say her hellos.

This time she didn't say hello, she said instead, "What's wrong with Pat. She's in there crying her eyes out."

I told her and she tried to comfort me and gave me a smile and then we went to our separate work areas.

I don't know if it was that night or the next, but we did happen to ride down the elevator together and when we reached the front door we walked along next to each. We started a conversation about something or other and I accompanied her to her subway stop. I rode the train and had a few more blocks to the rail station. As she started through the turnstile I asked her out the coming Saturday. I waited to the last minute figuring if she said no then she'd go through the gate and I'd go my way without any awkward moments. She said yes.

We had that date and we went to a mvid, then to a diner and ate and back to her place where we sat in the kitchen and talked to daybreak. (Why her dad didn't throw me out somewhere about midnight I do not know.) I do know that we not only began dating regularly, we also began seeing each other everyday, walking between that subway stop and work, and having lunch at Lew Tender's on Broad Street.

Three weeks after that first date I looked across my Blue Plate Special there at Lew Tender's one lunchtime and said, "You know I'm going to marry you someday."

That wasn't a proposal, just a statement. We continued through the summer constantly seeing or wishing to see each other, when who should appear one day from nowhere but the Russian.

Yes, Sonja who had somewhat flippantly tossed me aside when

she drew attention from the big city boys the year before came around with flirty eyes. Apparently the bog city boys had lost their desire for the pretty country girl somewhere along the line and she was back looking for the local talent.  Lois, that tall Irish lass who had soothed my hurts when Pat delivered her bombshell, did not take kindly to Sonja's reappearance, especially when she kept popping up. It was too late for Sonja. Sonja had been infatuation, a dazzling display that played into the teenage boys fantasies, but Lois was the real deal and as beautiful as any.

I did that fall propose to Lois in Valley Forge Park and a year later we married and that was nearly 53 years ago as this is written and that one is still here beside me. As to the others I do not know where they all went. Helen and Joan were early dates and more just passing diversions. Jeannette and I drifted apart after a year of correspondence as distance will do to summer romances and she found a steady boyfriend near home.  Peggy became a stunning beauty as an adult, became a teacher, married with three children and seemly has lived happily ever after. I haven't a clue about Carmella or of Pamela. Suzy, the pilot, ever the adventuress suffered a very bad motorcycle accident in her twenties which left some mental and physical scars, but she is married with four children and four grandchildren to date. Louise married and has three children. Pat also married, but I've lost track of her. Sonja never married. She lived at her parents home for a long time.

Just a final note: Lois is partly Irish, but twice as much German on her material side, while a quarter Native American (her paternal grandmother. She began a new chapter, in fact several, in my life, fodder for future essays.

The Russian Is Coming; The Russian Is Coming!

Blond to blond, one of the odd coincidences that sometime happen, my past and future pictured together. The once and future queens of my romantic teens. Peggy had come and went, but the Russian was coming.

After Suzy and Jon reconciled I continued dating Pamela. In May of 1959 freedom came, not from girls, but from school; I graduated. After the ceremony there was an explosion of chaos: relief, excitement, and a sense of what do we do now. Classmates and family were mingling en masse and the air was full of babble. Someone grabbed my arm and asked if i'd like to go to a post-graduation celebration. I don't even remember who it was and maybe I ended up in a car with some other party. There is a fog of memory when so many years have passed.

Anyway, next thing I know I am entering Silver Lake Inn, which back then was a pretty nice restaurant somewhere along Route 422 east of Pottstown (if I remember that correctly). I do recall being swept in with this pocket of people and sitting somewhere about the middle of this long table. Next to me was the blond gal and it turned out it was her parents and aunt throwing this little dinner party for her and her friends among the graduates.

Now, I knew the name of this blond gal, and I knew she played the piano because she had performed

in the same variety show I had with my little trio of fellow nuts, but beyond that I knew her not. I certainly wasn't a friend. I mean, I wasn't an enemy or nothing like that, but neither could I call my self a friend. Beyond the fact we were in the same graduating class, she was basically a stranger, so I'm not sure why I got hauled in on this activity, but I've never looked a free meal in the eye.

And besides, the blond and I had a nice chat the whole evening. At the end of the affair, she wrote her telephone number on a napkin and told me to give her a call sometime and that they had a pool and maybe I'd like to come over and swim.

I really consider this the end of it. School was over for us and our paths weren't going to cross again, unless I did take the step of calling her, which I really wasn't planning to do. But a couple weeks went by and it was a hot June, so one day I did call and inquire about this swimming thing. I did like to go swimming when the chance arose. She told me to come over that Saturday in my bathing suit.

So came the weekend and I drove out into the country near Spring City and found her place. There wasn't a lot about the area then. Homes have been built up since and the other year I tried to find her place and couldn't, but on that bright sunny Saturday I could. I drove down their long, tree-lined lane, cross a little bridge over a creek and pulled up in a parking area before her house. I stepped out.

There was music filing the air, a classical piece, "Swan Lake" I believe. It was coming from a large, I would say huge, speaker on the patio. As I started toward the house she stepped out of the front door wearing a one piece blue swimsuit.  Okay, think those cartoons where the wolf spied the sexy girl and his eyes popped out on springs, that was how I felt.

Yeah, I was gone, I was in instant love. I stepped closer and the air smelled so sweet. I think I was able to talk. I stayed that afternoon and we swam and her aunt brought out iced tea and her mother fed us and I floated home and couldn't wait to see her again -- foolish young man I be.

She was exactly Russian. She was Latvian, but in those days Latvia was part of the USSR, and Latvia is tense these days after what happened in Crimea that those days could return. Her parents and aunt had migrated to the United States to escape communism. Her father was some kind of scientist, I think. He was very quiet, but very smart and he had built their house himself as well as a small airplane tarped behind the building.

All the family history was probably pretty amazing, but I was interested in the present creation in the family that being Sonja. It sorta became apparent that I was her first boyfriend, a fact that should have been a cautionary warning sign, but I wasn't seeing much in that summer but this golden girl.

It was kind of funny, I guess, because I had a crush at one time on Sonja Henie, a former Olympic skating metal winner that had gone on to have a movie star career. Granted, Sonja Henie was old enough to be my mother (or let's face it, old enough to be my grandmother), but here was a young replica of that fantasy love. They not even spelled their name the same, Sonja, but bore a physical resemblance, this is Sonja Henie on the right and my Sonja on the left.

Early on Sonja threw a party. Several boys and girls were invited. Her mother and aunt served alcohol at this get together. I didn't drink. I didn't drink or smoke or even curse in my teens (and I was also a virgin), which had earned me the sobriquet"Holy Joe" from my friend Richard and his brother. It had nothing with being holy, it was I had chosen not to do these things. Richard thought I was missing out, but this had its advantages. The boys at the party all got drunk and sick and spent most of the evening laying about or staggering off to the bathroom. This left me the lone sober boy and I'll tell you, you always win in a game of spin the bottle with all girls.

Well, I wasn't technically the only boy that remained sober. Ronald was

at the party as well and he didn't drink either. He had been invited to be the stag boy for Sonja's friend Ginny. Ronald and I began a series of double dating over the months ahead. I considered myself kind of shy around girls, but I came to believe Ron was the shyest guy I'd ever seen. He was very awkward around Ginny, stiffly putting an arm around and never seeming certain of where his hands should be.

There was more to this than just shyness, but it wasn't something I was to learn until several years later.

I wasn't too concerned about Ronald and what he and Ginny were doing. I was just doing everything to be around Sonja. I knew she was very big on music, so I wrote a musical play in an attempt to impress her.

We went to a lot dances at the Sunnybrook Ballroom in Pottstown and even attended the Sesquicentennial Ball in Downingtown.
Now back in high school, Sonja wore glasses, but in her senior year she got these new fangled things called contact lens. These little clear discs did have a habit of sometimes popping out of place and during our whirling about the dance floor one went flying, forcing us to our hands and knees to weave between the dancers legs as we ran our palms across the wood trying to feel where the truant lens was lying.

Didn't matter, if this was embarrassing, I was willing to be so humiliated to be with this gal. I also felt the sophisticate in this relationship. I had girlfriends before she accidentally came into my life, but from what I could gather I was the first boyfriend in her own. That may have been a bit flattering, considering how stunning Sonja could look, but if I had really been this man of the world I would have recognized the danger in this.

Things went swimmingly that summer. There was to be no thumb biting. She did not stiffen if I put an arm around her shoulders at the drive-in, not at all. She would simply lean her head into my shoulder and snuggle close. There was no reticence on her part, but there was a good deal of country boy naiveté in me. One evening after another gorgeous day of swimming at her place, after her parents served us a nice dinner, we walked out to my car to say goodnight.

Now I am assuming we are all adults here as I relate what happened next and you will understand what I am speaking of without getting too graphic about it.

We began kissing and the kiss went on and on. As we kissed she pressed into me and began to rub her body up and down against mine. Well, I was just turned 18 years old and this had the expected effect on my anatomy. Teen boys can't help it, but I was very aware of this sudden situation and I didn't want her to notice my condition, so I kept kind of pulling my hips back and away from her, but she just kept stepping into me more. I remember thinking, "Please stop, you don't know what you are doing to me", but years later I realized she knew exactly what she was doing.

That fall she went off to school in Philadelphia and there she met big city boys. She wanted to be friends, but I wanted to be a bit more than that, which was not going to happened. She broke my heart. I didn't know how I would get over her. My life was over. I didn't know she would become a different kind of haunt.



I went back to dating Pamela and another young lady named Louise (pictured right).

Ronald still continued dating Ginny and we were back at Sunnybrook and other places on double dates.

That is Ginny, Pamela and me on the left and Ginny, me and Louise on the right.

I had fun, but I just couldn't get my mind off the Russian Blond.

I didn't know the Irish were about to arise.