Wilroads Gardens turned out to be a great school. Small, personal, and student-centric. It housed eight grades plus Kindergarten. Each class numbered less than twenty, with my sixth-graders being the least at thirteen souls. The multi-purpose gym served as the daily lunchroom, the auditorium when needed, and the indoor play space for days when snow was flying or rain was pouring. Because our principal smoked, those of us also addicted to the weed could puff away in the workroom attached to his office. I no longer had to create excuses to visit a dark and dingy furnace room as I had at my first teaching assignment in Manhattan. No, I could puff openly and create math worksheets all at the same time. It was a very good place to be. The Universe had pulled out all the stops for me this time and I knew it. I really wasn't that excited about teaching, but I did love my thirteen sixth-graders and realized this could be the perfect job for a single working mom. I would be enrolling Mickie into Kindergarten at Wilroads the following year.
At the beginning of second semester, Howard Yakshe--Wilroads Gardens Principal, began in earnest to address my dateless life. I appreciated his concern, but had no desire to discuss my dateless-ness with anyone. Actually, dateless-ness was my goal and, so far I was achieving it rather well. I was carefully creating a life of work, balanced with a life of mothering, balanced yet again with a life of new friends, topped off each Saturday evening by an episode of Mary Tyler Moore who, herself, was creating her life in that oh so cool attic apartment. Now that I think about it, Howard Yakshe was kind of my Lou Grant. Odd that I had never thought of that before because today it seems really obvious. I don't think he ever made me cry though.
Not to beat a dead horse beyond recognition, but part of my reason for refusing Howard's pleas was the fact that I was a Catholic, and Catholics who are divorced do not remarry. In fact, they are forbidden to remarry under the penalties of MORTAL SIN. And, you know, a thinking person does not play around with MORTAL SIN. At least not in 1970.
I explained all of this to Howard who, much to my surprise, turned out to be a fallen-away Catholic himself. As a fallen-away Catholic, he was deep into MORTAL SIN, but didn't seem to give a damn. I'm sure he was the first person I ever met who didn't believe in Hell and didn't worry about it. Not one bit!
I began to suspect he was not a good influence, and my mother would not be happy with our conversations. Nearly every day Howard sat me down and tried to talk me into meeting his neighbor, Darrell. I politely refused, or changed the subject because, no matter what he said, I had no desire to meet Darrell...I mean, really...Darrell? nor be condemned to Hell. So, I have NO idea why I finally gave in and agreed to exactly that...Meeting Darrell. I know I could have refused. I'm sure nothing would have changed in our working relationship. We got along well and enjoyed shooting the breeze after school. I wasn't afraid of dating...I don't think. I actually hadn't thought about dating because of all the reasons mentioned above. Plus, I was smart enough to know it would create complications and I didn't need, nor want any more of those. I had enough on my plate. I was happy in my little apartment. I was adjusting nicely to my state in life. I wasn't rocking any more boats than I already had. Life was as good as could be expected under the circumstances, and there was no need to muddy my waters....
Darrell and I met the evening of January 26th, 1971. It had been a very long day at school. I was unable to concentrate on History, Math or English. Or anything else for that matter. What had I done? I was terrified that my Mother might find out about this little tryst...at which point, she would kill me. Or, perhaps, just disown me. Whichever it was, it would not be good. Darrell was to come by my apartment at seven-ish or so to pick me up and we would go out for coffee. That seemed safe, though very public. Public could be bad for word getting back to my Mother, but better for my reputation than entertaining a man in my apartment. Then, just as I was putting on the finishing touches and slurping a little Pepto-Bismal the phone rang.
And, yes, it was Darrell. A New York customer had come into town (unannounced?) and, suddenly, no one was available to take that customer to the Cowtown except Darrell...who, technically, was already booked for our little meeting. He was sorry. He had no choice. Would I want to meet later in the evening or would I prefer postponing the meeting for another day? My emotions were mixed. Did he regret his agreement to meet me and decide to back out? Was he hoping I would call it off? Was he really the only person capable of entertaining Al Salman? Well...No matter. I didn't call it off. Mostly because I could not live through another day like today. I would throw up during most of it and I really hate throwing up. I suggested he simply come to my cozy apartment from the Cowtown and I would brew a bit of coffee. That took my Mother out of the possible "public meeting" mix. I would worry about my reputation later.
I'm nearly positive there were two more phone calls as the evening wore on. Al's plane was late. Dinner was taking longer than expected. By then, I had changed my mind and didn't want to meet anyone, much less a man, but I was committed. The doorbell rang. Maybe. I don't remember if it was a ring or a knock. Whichever it was, I gulped, then answered it. He was cute, apologetic, and Oklahoman to the core. Also, much calmer than I. Obviously, this was (as he himself might have said) not his first rodeo. In fact, truth be known (sometime later) he was just coming off of a weekend spent with a gorgeous blonde, and his two daughters at Six Flags Over Texas. I had spent my weekend running up and down to the basement laundry, checking papers, cleaning the apartment and grocery shopping.
As you may remember, my living room was furnished with a pretend day-bed covered by fake-leopard-skin corduroy, and two mail-order wicker chairs from Sears which, sadly, were less sturdy than I had anticipated. More than once, a seated guest had leaned one way or another while the chair, unexpectedly, came right along with him. No one was ever hurt, but my father was not happy with either one of those chairs or my flashy decor. But, I loved it enough for both of us. I offered a chair to Darrell who (impressively) was smart enough to figure out he needed to sit carefully, then checked on Mickie--fast asleep in her room. I also let Sherman out of her room to meet our visitor and provide me with a bit of protection if needed.
Sherman, despite his terrible reputation, was really a friendly dog. As I ducked into the kitchen to pour the coffee, Sherman padded out to meet Darrell. He was not used to seeing a man in our apartment, but he seemed to like him right away. Maybe even love him. As I walked out with the coffee mugs, I saw that Sherman had wrapped himself around Darrell's leg to give him a big hug. Then Sherman showed Darrell how very much he loved him and how well he could hug. I, obviously, was shocked, horrified, embarrassed, and trying to decide if I should scream and break-up Sherman's hug, or pretend nothing was happening. But...something was happening and I had to be a big girl. I ran back to the kitchen with the coffee mugs, grabbed Sherman...nearly dragging Darrell with me, pushed open the door to the balcony, briefly considered throwing Sherman over the edge, but simply put him down, yelled "Stay There" and slammed the door.
Pretending it was simply a normal evening, I returned to the kitchen, picked up the two fake granite-ware mugs I had purchased for this occasion, and carried Darrell's to him. Earlier in the day, I had learned that granite-ware gets just as cold...or hot as whatever is poured into it. In the case of freshly perked coffee, that means blistering. But, I forgot to warn Darrell. As my Mother once told me: "It can always get worse." And, of course, it did...which I knew immediately upon hearing Darrell's scream of DAMN and his rush to put down the cup.
Oh Dear God! I should have risked the public meeting and my Mother's wrath. This was not going well at all, and the evening did turn out to be short, but we talked for awhile. Darrell told funny stories about Al Salman, the hot-tempered beef baron he'd just entertained. He was a great storyteller and Al was a wonderful subject. I listened and worried and smiled and fought back nausea and embarrassment.
He also talked about his girls, Denise and Kristi. Denise was nearly nine and Kristi was five. He missed them terribly and drove to Blair, Oklahoma, at least every other weekend to visit. That scored a definite favorable rating. He must have had small pictures to show me and, yes, they were indeed very cute little girls. It all made him seem like a really good Dad.
Citing a late evening, he began crawling out of the wicker chair, trying hard not to tip it over; while, through his blistered lips, told me what a nice time he had had. He lied, of course, but it was the polite thing to do. I said good-bye, thanked him for coming, apologized one more time, shut the door and breathed a sigh of relief. I had fulfilled my obligation, he had been nice and non-threatening, but this would be very hard to explain to Howard the next day.
About fifteen minutes or so after he left, the phone rang. It was him...Darrell calling and asking if I would like to go out on Saturday. I was shocked and just a little pleased. Only later did I learn that a follow-up date was the second half of Darrell's original deal with Howard....who, apparently, had reservations about my ability to impress on a first date...
September 8, 2019
At the beginning of second semester, Howard Yakshe--Wilroads Gardens Principal, began in earnest to address my dateless life. I appreciated his concern, but had no desire to discuss my dateless-ness with anyone. Actually, dateless-ness was my goal and, so far I was achieving it rather well. I was carefully creating a life of work, balanced with a life of mothering, balanced yet again with a life of new friends, topped off each Saturday evening by an episode of Mary Tyler Moore who, herself, was creating her life in that oh so cool attic apartment. Now that I think about it, Howard Yakshe was kind of my Lou Grant. Odd that I had never thought of that before because today it seems really obvious. I don't think he ever made me cry though.
Not to beat a dead horse beyond recognition, but part of my reason for refusing Howard's pleas was the fact that I was a Catholic, and Catholics who are divorced do not remarry. In fact, they are forbidden to remarry under the penalties of MORTAL SIN. And, you know, a thinking person does not play around with MORTAL SIN. At least not in 1970.
I explained all of this to Howard who, much to my surprise, turned out to be a fallen-away Catholic himself. As a fallen-away Catholic, he was deep into MORTAL SIN, but didn't seem to give a damn. I'm sure he was the first person I ever met who didn't believe in Hell and didn't worry about it. Not one bit!
I began to suspect he was not a good influence, and my mother would not be happy with our conversations. Nearly every day Howard sat me down and tried to talk me into meeting his neighbor, Darrell. I politely refused, or changed the subject because, no matter what he said, I had no desire to meet Darrell...I mean, really...Darrell? nor be condemned to Hell. So, I have NO idea why I finally gave in and agreed to exactly that...Meeting Darrell. I know I could have refused. I'm sure nothing would have changed in our working relationship. We got along well and enjoyed shooting the breeze after school. I wasn't afraid of dating...I don't think. I actually hadn't thought about dating because of all the reasons mentioned above. Plus, I was smart enough to know it would create complications and I didn't need, nor want any more of those. I had enough on my plate. I was happy in my little apartment. I was adjusting nicely to my state in life. I wasn't rocking any more boats than I already had. Life was as good as could be expected under the circumstances, and there was no need to muddy my waters....
Darrell and I met the evening of January 26th, 1971. It had been a very long day at school. I was unable to concentrate on History, Math or English. Or anything else for that matter. What had I done? I was terrified that my Mother might find out about this little tryst...at which point, she would kill me. Or, perhaps, just disown me. Whichever it was, it would not be good. Darrell was to come by my apartment at seven-ish or so to pick me up and we would go out for coffee. That seemed safe, though very public. Public could be bad for word getting back to my Mother, but better for my reputation than entertaining a man in my apartment. Then, just as I was putting on the finishing touches and slurping a little Pepto-Bismal the phone rang.
And, yes, it was Darrell. A New York customer had come into town (unannounced?) and, suddenly, no one was available to take that customer to the Cowtown except Darrell...who, technically, was already booked for our little meeting. He was sorry. He had no choice. Would I want to meet later in the evening or would I prefer postponing the meeting for another day? My emotions were mixed. Did he regret his agreement to meet me and decide to back out? Was he hoping I would call it off? Was he really the only person capable of entertaining Al Salman? Well...No matter. I didn't call it off. Mostly because I could not live through another day like today. I would throw up during most of it and I really hate throwing up. I suggested he simply come to my cozy apartment from the Cowtown and I would brew a bit of coffee. That took my Mother out of the possible "public meeting" mix. I would worry about my reputation later.
I'm nearly positive there were two more phone calls as the evening wore on. Al's plane was late. Dinner was taking longer than expected. By then, I had changed my mind and didn't want to meet anyone, much less a man, but I was committed. The doorbell rang. Maybe. I don't remember if it was a ring or a knock. Whichever it was, I gulped, then answered it. He was cute, apologetic, and Oklahoman to the core. Also, much calmer than I. Obviously, this was (as he himself might have said) not his first rodeo. In fact, truth be known (sometime later) he was just coming off of a weekend spent with a gorgeous blonde, and his two daughters at Six Flags Over Texas. I had spent my weekend running up and down to the basement laundry, checking papers, cleaning the apartment and grocery shopping.
As you may remember, my living room was furnished with a pretend day-bed covered by fake-leopard-skin corduroy, and two mail-order wicker chairs from Sears which, sadly, were less sturdy than I had anticipated. More than once, a seated guest had leaned one way or another while the chair, unexpectedly, came right along with him. No one was ever hurt, but my father was not happy with either one of those chairs or my flashy decor. But, I loved it enough for both of us. I offered a chair to Darrell who (impressively) was smart enough to figure out he needed to sit carefully, then checked on Mickie--fast asleep in her room. I also let Sherman out of her room to meet our visitor and provide me with a bit of protection if needed.
Sherman, despite his terrible reputation, was really a friendly dog. As I ducked into the kitchen to pour the coffee, Sherman padded out to meet Darrell. He was not used to seeing a man in our apartment, but he seemed to like him right away. Maybe even love him. As I walked out with the coffee mugs, I saw that Sherman had wrapped himself around Darrell's leg to give him a big hug. Then Sherman showed Darrell how very much he loved him and how well he could hug. I, obviously, was shocked, horrified, embarrassed, and trying to decide if I should scream and break-up Sherman's hug, or pretend nothing was happening. But...something was happening and I had to be a big girl. I ran back to the kitchen with the coffee mugs, grabbed Sherman...nearly dragging Darrell with me, pushed open the door to the balcony, briefly considered throwing Sherman over the edge, but simply put him down, yelled "Stay There" and slammed the door.
Pretending it was simply a normal evening, I returned to the kitchen, picked up the two fake granite-ware mugs I had purchased for this occasion, and carried Darrell's to him. Earlier in the day, I had learned that granite-ware gets just as cold...or hot as whatever is poured into it. In the case of freshly perked coffee, that means blistering. But, I forgot to warn Darrell. As my Mother once told me: "It can always get worse." And, of course, it did...which I knew immediately upon hearing Darrell's scream of DAMN and his rush to put down the cup.
Oh Dear God! I should have risked the public meeting and my Mother's wrath. This was not going well at all, and the evening did turn out to be short, but we talked for awhile. Darrell told funny stories about Al Salman, the hot-tempered beef baron he'd just entertained. He was a great storyteller and Al was a wonderful subject. I listened and worried and smiled and fought back nausea and embarrassment.
He also talked about his girls, Denise and Kristi. Denise was nearly nine and Kristi was five. He missed them terribly and drove to Blair, Oklahoma, at least every other weekend to visit. That scored a definite favorable rating. He must have had small pictures to show me and, yes, they were indeed very cute little girls. It all made him seem like a really good Dad.
Citing a late evening, he began crawling out of the wicker chair, trying hard not to tip it over; while, through his blistered lips, told me what a nice time he had had. He lied, of course, but it was the polite thing to do. I said good-bye, thanked him for coming, apologized one more time, shut the door and breathed a sigh of relief. I had fulfilled my obligation, he had been nice and non-threatening, but this would be very hard to explain to Howard the next day.
About fifteen minutes or so after he left, the phone rang. It was him...Darrell calling and asking if I would like to go out on Saturday. I was shocked and just a little pleased. Only later did I learn that a follow-up date was the second half of Darrell's original deal with Howard....who, apparently, had reservations about my ability to impress on a first date...
September 8, 2019
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