My husband, Ed, and I started running marathons again two years ago after a 12-year hiatus. I actually promised myself in 1995 when I ran the one before the break that it would be my last. After that race, I was in such pain that it took months to recover. I explained to numerous inquiries about my limp that I had been ignorant enough to do a marathon, twice. However due to many factors—a knee strap, stupidity, masochism, and a desire to relive that marathon high—two years ago, we got back in the game and ran the Dallas White Rock Marathon . Since that time, we have done the New York City Marathon, the Oklahoma City Marathon and last weekend, the San Antonio Marathon. We thought the OKC Marathon, billed as the Run to Remember for the victims of the 1995 bombing, was horrible—with 30 mph head winds and 70 degree temperatures, but that was nothing compared to the 94% humidity and 80 degree temperatures in San Antonio. I’ve discovered that the challenge in running marathons is that the decision is made and the money paid three months before the run. And I’m definitely too cheap to drop out because of a little bad weather
It was a quick trip because I had to save what vacation days I had left for the Christmas holidays. We departed Dallas on Saturday morning, November 14, 2009 at about 9:00 a.m. We have a relatively new Prius and haven’t quite figured out the navigation system, so we didn’t understand why PETA (our personal trip advisor) kept trying to deter us from the interstate and direct us to the 8-hour back-roads route instead. We finally realized why she was being so obstinate (we told her no freeways); and once we changed that setting, she didn’t bug us as much.
We are always apprehensive about an upcoming race and so try to eat right and limit our activity the day before—absolutely no running and a limited amount of walking and alcohol. But once we arrived at our destination, the Red Roof Inn, we were obligated to hike the mile to the Expo at the Alamo Dome to pick up our packets and get our freebies. It was definitely hot which made us extra nervous about our chances for good weather the following day.
The Expo was similar to most—get your number, get your shirt, get your goody bag—and then spend a fortune on Marathon gear. The prices were mostly outrageous although there was a selection of warm, cuddly jackets that were only $42. Luckily I wasn’t looking great that day, and the jacket I tried on didn’t do much for me, so I saved myself some money. We bought a nice poster for $20 that we will frame and put with the others on the Wall of Fame in our recreation room.
At the Expo, we spent a good portion of our time looking for the MGD 64 booth. Runners were required to present their photo ID in order to get a bracelet that allowed them a free beer at the finish line. This was to insure no beer was served to minors. After drinking Shiner Bock, MGD 64 tastes like piss-water; and I don’t see why anyone would be worried about a few calories after running that far, but it was the only choice available. I figured even piss-water would hit-the-spot after 26.2 miles.
We were told at the Expo that most San Antonio restaurants near downtown had sold-out for the evening. That’s what 32,000 people will do to a city. We had elected not to participate in the $15/each pasta dinner in San Antonio because in OKC the servings were small—kid-meal size—and we were afraid of a repeat of that. So we made a reservation at a pizza restaurant (the closest we could get to pasta) ten miles from downtown. It turned out to be a lucky choice even though we had to drive; and, once again, PETA came in handy. When we arrived at our destination, a place not very appetizingly-called “Dough”, there was a line a mile long out the door. We sailed in with our reservation and were seated almost immediately—at the Chef’s Table, no less—where we could watch with fascination, the pizzas being prepared and cooked in a wood-burning oven. The pizza was to-die-for and the apple crisp topped with vanilla bean ice cream literally out-of-this-world. Satiated, we turned out the lights at 8:30 p.m.
We were up well before dawn and checked out of the hotel by 5:00 a.m. Bad omen—before we left the hotel, a runner in the lobby stepped outside and remarked that the sweatshirts we were wearing would not be necessary. A t-shirt was plenty—serious problem. We also had had a serious problem with the shuttle in OKC and wouldn’t have made it to the start line had it not been for the kindness of strangers from Ft. Worth. As the start line was 2.5 miles from our hotel, we wanted to make sure we didn’t have to walk that before running the 26.2. We needn’t have worried. When we got to the shuttle stop, there were busses and runners lined up for miles. The runners, in conga-line style, started, stopped and snaked around numerous times before being deposited at the door of the bus. After nearly an hour, we were safely on our way to our destination and our destiny.
Once at the start line and in the corral which positioned us according to projected finish time, we waited for the Star-Spangled Banner and the sound of the gun, and waited, and waited, and waited. The start was a “wave start” to spread out the field so once the gun sounded, we still had another 35 minutes until we were actually off. There are inherent problems with the wave start. In addition to having to wait forever to start, you never know how you’re doing because the clocks on the course start before you do. To make matters worse, when you’re finished, your time looks much worse than it actually was; and that time is captured in your victory photo as you cross the finish line. It makes me wonder why anyone would buy one of those pictures and why they even bother to take them.
Finally we were running and it felt exhilarating. There were few spectators for the first mile or so; but after that, they hung out in droves in some areas while other areas were relatively dead. Because it was a Rock-N-Roll Marathon, bands blared and stomped at least every mile and the music lifted my spirits and put a spring in my step. At mile 2.25, we passed the Alamo; at mile 6.5, San Pedro Park and mile 9, the King William District. Ed and I had been running together from the beginning. A couple times he had told me to slow down, and believe me, I tried; but I felt too good. I finally left Ed during mile 10 right before the half marathon split off. At that time I was confident and going strong.
I felt absolutely marvelous and that I could run forever. As I ran, I was calculating my finish time in my head based on the 11-minute pace I was running. If I kept it up, I would achieve my goal of a 4:45 marathon. I was writing this story in my head projecting my elation and surprise at how wonderful I felt and how wonderful I did—NOT! How often have I told the kids, “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.” This was a classic case of that.
I continued to feel good and click off the miles. Mile 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17—still felt good. I kept to my pace although it was starting to heat up. When the run began, it was in the high 60’s or low 70’s. By mile 18, the temperature was approaching 80. The sun had burned through the clouds and began to beat down mercilessly. I lost a minute during mile 18 and another one during 19. After that, I hit the wall hard! It was brutal and devastating. I walked and ran the last 7 and finished in 5:09. I did manage to run the entire last mile although it took every ounce of my remaining strength. As I crossed the finish line, I felt elation at having finished and also elation at being able to stop! I sat on the curb with my feet in a puddle waiting for Ed. He finished in 5:32. He was right—we should have gone slower in the beginning!
After drinking a bottle of water and washing off with an ice-cold washcloth (wisely given at the finish line instead of the usual insulating heat sheets), we got our picture taken with our medals. We meandered to the beer tent and I downed that piss-water in record time. We picked up bananas and energy bars, but what we were aching for was real food. Wasting no time, we hobbled the mile back to the hotel, picked up our suitcases from the lobby and walked to the car. When I took off my shoes to change into sandals, I guessed I would lose the big toenail on my right foot and the second toenail on my left. But hey, like one of the signs on the course said, “Toenails are overrated!”
The week before, I had called the YMCA closest to downtown to make sure we could use their facilities after the race. Most folks were hanging out in San Antonio another night to recover and celebrate. There was a concert planned with Grand Funk Railroad and Los Lonely Boys, admission free with race number; but because I had no vacation time left, we had to head home. We found the YMCA easily, thanks to PETA; but didn’t like what we heard. The showers were closed? How could that be? The front-desk attendant on duty didn’t have the authority to unlock them and the manager was incommunicado. What to do?
In an act of desperation, we chose our only option—wash in the sinks. I was lucky no one came in during my “shower” as I stood buck naked in a pool of soapy water. I washed my hair in the sink before realizing I didn’t have a towel. I dried off with paper towels which came out slowly and in small sections from the motion-sensitive dispenser. When I was finished, I actually felt clean, although a tad bit soapy. A still would have preferred a hot shower!
The drive home was uneventful. We stopped at Cracker Barrel for dinner almost immediately. That helped a lot. By the time we ate, I was famished. Everything tasted so unbelievably delicious. After dinner and back in the car, our conversation turned to the Dallas White Rock Marathon. It was four weeks away—we decided to look at a long-range weather forecast and see how we felt after running the 8-mile Dallas Turkey Trot. We would run another marathon—probably sooner rather than later.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Friday, November 6, 2009
1964 - 1968
I think I blocked out many of my high school memories. It seems strange that I remember more in my earlier years than I remember about high school. I don’t remember my first day of high school yet I remember my first day of kindergarten. Doesn’t that seem strange? I remember a lot of angst—feelings of insecurity, self-consciousness, yearning—but not many specifics.
I walked to school most days especially when I was a freshman and sophomore—it was over a mile and took about a half hour. I walked with Marsha, Judy and Karen—although I can’t say I remember. We wore uniforms—blue and grey plaid wool skirts, grey knee socks, black penny loafers, blue blazers and white blouses. The cool girls rolled their skirts up at the waist so their knees showed, but I wasn’t cool. I had short curly hair, glasses that pointed up at the ends and no boobs.
Freshman year, everyone took P.E. We had lockers to hang our uniforms but no showers. We wore baggy blue shorts and white blouses with short sleeves. Ms. Lenhardt was a typical gym teacher—masculine, like a drill sergeant and with absolutely no sense of humor. The “gym” was actually the stage of the auditorium. We ran races, dribbled and threw basketballs, performed calisthenics, played games and generally goofed around. Perhaps I remember P.E. because we were allowed to be ourselves. We laughed, acted bored, cheered each other on and generally had a good time while pretending we weren’t. It wasn’t cool to like P.E.
Our other classes were just boring academics—we studied, read, listened to lectures and took notes. The years passed by—nothing stands out. I gave a presentation once in History. My topic was the Greek Agora. I couldn’t find out anything about it. There were only a few sentences in the World Book Encyclopedias that we had at home. We didn’t have computers—so it was either the library or a home reference book. I guess it turned out fine but I don’t know how. I studied for tests—never went into a test unprepared—always had my homework. I was afraid of being reprimanded so I was above reproach. My high school GPA was 4.0. I was in the top five in a class of around 160. I would have received a ribbon for attendance but I missed one day my senior year to be in a dance performance.
Freshman and sophomore years, I stuck with the Pius girls. During the summer before high school started and the summer after our freshman year, we took tennis lessons at Jermaine Park nearly every day and hung around afterward practicing. There were guys there and that’s where Karen and Marsha met their first boyfriends—guys I would have liked had they liked me. I did meet a guy there, Steve Barney, but he was just a friend. He would come over nearly every afternoon and we would play the guitar and sing. He was super nice—he wanted to be a priest. He had an older, hunkier brother, Mike Barney, who worked at the Park. Steve and I got pretty close that summer; I was torn up when he left for Seminary. Mom even took me to visit him once; but without cell phones and Facebook to keep in touch, I gradually forgot about him. I often wonder whether he went through with it.
Tennis had levels of achievement like many of the kid-sports today and tests were given by teachers and coaches. I passed though many of the beginner levels easily. The test I failed consisted of playing with the pro, serving, returning volleys and placing shots. I was very disappointed because some of the other girls passed. I lost interest after that and didn’t play nearly as much although I was on the Notre Dame team during my senior year. Karen and Marsha were much better players than I was. I was pretty adept at the guitar though. I learned a lot of Bob Dylan’s and other folk songs from Carla and wasn’t shy about singing in front of people. I remember once when Marsha and her boyfriend were having a fight, I drove around with him for hours, playing my entire repertoire. He called me Dee Dee Baez.
Another sport I played when I was in high school was CYO girls’ softball. CYO stands for Catholic Youth Organization and I was a willing participant—after all there were guys in CYO. CYO had parties, dances and various activities designed to help teens appropriately socialize. I was the pitcher on the softball team and had some success. We played on a field in front of St. Francis High School—the all-boys Catholic school.
The CYO also had a talent show in which I performed every year. There were different categories depending on your talent and, of course, I was in the dance category. Unfortunately for me, so was Craig Barrow who performed flashy Russian numbers and always won. I would usually come in second or third. I think it bothered Mom to no end that they chose Craig every year over me. Carla and I decided to sing a duet one year just to get out of competing with Craig, but we still didn’t win. Carla played the guitar and we sang, “Don’t Think Twice It’s All Right” in harmony.
I remember going to CYO dances at St. Francis in their gymnasium. It was very dark and everyone just milled around trying to catch the eye of someone who showed some interest. I don’t remember having much luck. Mom and Dad decided to have a party in our new recreation room—I invited my girlfriends and Mom and Dad invited some of their friends’ sons. I think the object was to get us hooked up with some good, Catholic boys but it didn’t work. I used to see one of the guys, Bruce, at the St. Francis dances. He wasn’t very cute but I would have settled for him—anyone just to have a boyfriend. We also used to go to dances at the Catholic Club. They were very similar to the ones at St. Francis—big room, lots of people, loud music—we did the jerk mostly. I don’t remember meeting anyone there either.
When I was a freshman, Carla was dating a guy named Mike who played the piano. Mom even said she moved the piano from the living room to the recreation room so she wouldn’t have to listen to him play. It wasn’t that he played badly—he just played loudly. He had a friend named, Gene Haney, who I started going out with. I was 15 and Gene was 19. He was really cute and I wanted him to like me so much—but all he wanted to do was make out. I was a good Catholic girl so I perfected all the counter-attack moves to prevent most of the hanky-panky. But we did make-out a lot and have a lot of arguments about why I wouldn’t let him go further. At one point, he gave me his senior class ring which meant we were “going steady”—now it’s called “going out”—meaning seeing someone exclusively. I put a rubber band around the ring so it would fit me—that’s what everybody did back then. I remember feeling pretty “cool” that I had a steady boyfriend. But it didn’t last long.
Gene signed up for the Army, went to boot camp and then Vietnam. I went down to the Greyhound Bus station and saw him off with his parents. For about a month, he wrote every day and even sent me a picture of him in his uniform; but then I didn’t hear from him for a long time. He came home on leave once and took me to Cedar Point with an Army friend, but then he disappeared again. The last time I saw him was after he came home permanently. He didn’t say much except that he had been in Da Nang. We drove to Ottawa Park and he wanted to make-out, but I still didn’t want to. He gave up on me after that and I never saw him again. At that point it didn’t make much difference to me because I had moved on.
When I was a freshman in high school, my Grandma Welch died suddenly of a heart attack. She was living in California and I hadn’t seen her for years but it still mattered a lot to me. I remember not being able to share my grief with anyone because I didn’t want anyone to know I was grieving. My Dad was the only one who went to the funeral. It was the first time someone I really cared about had died. I think it might have been easier had there been some outward sign that something had happened. That might have helped me make some sense out of it. I am very glad that my kids got to go to my Dad’s funeral—thanks to my sister, Terry. I think it helped them process what had happened.
I believe it was the summer after Grandma died that the eight of us drove out to California on vacation. We were gone for three weeks. We went to see Grandpa but also to see Aunt Arlene and Uncle Dick and Aunt Grace and Uncle Bob. We did a lot of sight-seeing on the way out—taking a northerly route and on the way back—going through Texas. We were pretty squashed in our Jeep Wagoneer because we had all grown since our Florida trips. The seating configuration was now Mom, Dad and Ann in the front, four of us in the back and one of us laying on a small mattress on top of the luggage in the way-back. We fought constantly and about everything. We weren’t comfortable; and we knew if we had to go to the bathroom, we were sunk. Dad wouldn’t stop unless we were at the pleading stage. I think our first sightseeing excursion was through the Badlands and to see Mt. Rushmore. Mt. Rushmore was truly awesome but I don’t remember much about the Badlands.
Dad did most of the driving so we would normally stop at dusk as he would be pretty tired. We usually ate picnic lunches to save money. Sometimes we would stop at nice hotels with swimming pools—that was the most fun. We went through Yellowstone National Park—I remember standing out in the cold waiting for Old Faithful. It finally erupted—but took it’s time. We saw a lot of scenery—I remember paint pots for some reason. I know we stopped at a few places in Colorado—the Royal Gorge, the Great Sand Dunes National Park and Pikes Peak as well as Bryce Canyon and Zion National Park in Utah.
We were very happy once we finally made it to California although the conditions at Uncle Bob and Aunt Grace’s weren’t that great. The eight of us stayed with them so we didn’t have a lot of room to spread out. Luckily their two boys, our cousins Robbie and Johnny, were gone visiting their Mom’s sister so at least there was an empty bedroom. Our cousin, Kiki, was there. She was close to Ann’s age. There was a pet snake loose in the vents but, luckily, we never saw it.
We did some fun things while there—we went to Knott’s Berry Farm, although at that time it wasn’t the big amusement park it is today. I remember seeing a performance of “Our American Cousin”, the play President Lincoln was attending at the Ford Theatre when he was shot. During the play, at the exact moment Lincoln was shot, there was a dramatization of the event. It must have been memorable. We also went to Disneyland which was a huge treat!
Speaking of huge treats, Aunt Grace cooked a Mexican dinner for us one night. I remember it clearly because it was so painful. We were all such very picky eaters that no one touched anything. Mom gobbled up everything she could just so it would look like we had eaten some of it. She couldn’t very well force us to eat the food because Dad wouldn’t eat it either. We were brought up on meat and potatoes; and although I have branched out a great deal, there is still a lot of food I won’t even try. But, of course, now Mexican is everyone’s favorite.
The only other memory of note while we were in California was sitting on the beach waiting for the grunion run. We actually never saw any grunions and I wondered if Uncle Bob had been pulling our leg. But no, you can actually Google grunion run and find a schedule for several California beaches. The grunion run is the night the female grunions come up on shore en masse to lay their eggs which are later fertilized by the male grunions. I guess they don’t always run on schedule.
On the drive home, we stopped at the Grand Canyon, and I recall feeling overwhelmed by the vastness of it. I know we wanted to stop at Carlsbad Caverns but I don’t believe we did. We drove through Mesa Verde National Park and saw the cliff dwellings from a distance but it was too late in the day to do a tour. Lastly, I remember going through St. Louis and seeing the Arch. We didn’t take the claustrophobic ride to the top; I saved that for a later trip.
Back at school, during my sophomore year I was in Glee Club, another class of which I have some recollection. Sister Rosalee was the Choir Director and she made it fun. I have always enjoyed singing even though I don’t have a very strong voice. I never got any solos or stood out in any way, but I did enjoy it. We performed some, mostly at school functions. There was time to “goof off”, while other voices were practicing their parts, and I remember doing my share. I am glad I was in Glee Club as I think it gave me the confidence to sing in summer stock the year after I graduated from college.
I also joined the Chess Club. I had played chess with my Dad most of my childhood. Everyone in our family played. In fact, Dad used to tell a story about playing chess against a lifeguard in Florida on one of our vacations. Each one of us played the lifeguard and beat him all the way down to Ann. I started off and got lucky winning my first game. I was the only one on our team to win, so I was immediately moved to first chair which meant I played against the best player in every school. I never won another game all year. I did not return to the Chess Club my junior year.
During my high school years, I continued ballet but changed studios to Gail Grant’s. Mom felt I had gone as far as I could with the Hanf’s and I am sure I had. Gail Grant was famous for the publication of a dictionary of ballet terms and for dancing with the Radio City Ballet Company, at the time one of the few professional ballet companies in the United States. Gail had a very strong classical ballet background and might have been a great teacher had she not been such a natural. She had natural turnout and perfectly arched feet—neither of which I had. She didn’t know how to teach someone to improve on those qualities if they didn’t have them naturally. I was a natural performer (some might say ham) which made up for some of my other deficiencies. I performed in the Pas de Quatre, Paquita; was the Lilac Fairy in Sleeping Beauty; and danced the Waltz in Les Sylphides. I am sure Mom was very happy when I graduated to college and she didn’t have to make any more costumes. The bodice of the Paquita costume had hundreds of individually-sewn-on black sequins while the fan prop had hundreds of individually-glued-on red sequins. Gail wanted everything as professional as possible.
When I was 15, because of my incessant pestering, Mom and Dad began teaching me how to drive. Carla hadn’t seemed that interested in learning, but I was quite the opposite. I was determined to get my license on my 16th birthday—I wanted my freedom. Many days, I would drive to school in our second-hand car with the stick on the column and Mom riding shotgun. One rainy Toledo day, when pulling into the parking lot of Notre Dame Academy, I accidentally hit the clutch instead of the brake and slammed into a parked car. There didn’t appear to be any damage to the other car, so Mom saw no reason to leave a note. Midway through the day, I was summoned to the Principal’s office and reprimanded. Apparently someone had seen what I had done and had reported the accident. Of course I apologized profusely while explaining almost in tears that I hadn’t left a note because I hadn’t seen any damage. I exchanged phone numbers with the owner of the car and ended up paying a whopping $15 to remove a scratch from the bumper.
True to my word, I took my driving test on my 16th birthday and passed! The driving portion of the test was nerve-wracking, especially the parallel parking part, but I confronted my fears bravely. One of the perks of driving was to get late-night burgers for Dad from White Hut. On one such run, early on in my driving experience, I was stopped by a policeman for driving nearly a mile without my lights. He asked me if I knew why he stopped me and I didn’t have a clue. I was embarrassed beyond belief but he didn’t give me a ticket.
Dates were few and far between for me in high school. I met a guy who (looking back) was a total jerk but, of course, at the time I thought he was my one true love. His name was Bob Rochelle and I think I loved his name more than I did him. It sounded so romantic. There were lots of tears and not many good times but thankfully it was short-lived.
Before all of us had steady boyfriends, slumber parties were frequent and usually in Karen Ritter’s basement. There would be eight of us or so and we would drink pop, eat snacks, dance to popular records and talk about boys all night. There were never any boys at these events—gay or straight—although we didn’t even know any gay guys. Both my girls have many close gay friends—something I saved for later in life—after I became a professional ballet dancer.
When I was a sophomore, I tried out for the cheerleading squad at St. Francis; and, because I was limber and athletic from my ballet training, I was chosen as an alternate. This was a huge honor as there were three girls’ schools and only one boys’ school so only two or three girls were picked from each school. There were six on the squad and two alternates, so the alternates actually filled-in quite often. This coup definitely raised my status as most of the cheerleaders were hot and popular. I had a ways to go to be that, but being a cheerleader definitely bumped me up a notch.
I didn’t actually start cheering until I was a junior but we practiced throughout the summer. A young priest was our mentor and always at our practices. He helped us learn our leaps, round-offs and flips which we practiced in the St. Francis gym. The older or second-year girls taught the newcomers the cheers. I was extremely shy and hardly ever said anything. I felt out-of-my-league with these confident, beautiful and shapely women who actually had boyfriends who treated them nice. My second year of cheering, when I was a full-fledged cheerleader instead of an alternate, was much better. I gained some confidence—mostly because I got contact lenses, a padded bra and a boyfriend who went to St. Francis.
The football games were lots of fun. We had guys on the squad at the games who helped the girls choose the right cheers. They had megaphones and helped lead the cheers while the girls went through their calisthenics. My favorite part of the evening was half-time when everyone in the stands would sing the Alma Mater and we would do our routine in the middle of the field. It was very moving. When I was a senior, my friend, Karen, was nominated for Homecoming Queen. Although she didn’t win, it was exciting to be out on the field when they announced the winner.
When I was a junior, I decided to take typing and shorthand instead of Algebra II. This was different from the norm as most of the girls who planned to go to college took the college prep classes while those who planned to go into the workforce took the clerical route. I knew I wanted to major in dance in college so I felt I needed a skill to fall back on when I couldn’t find work in my field. I hate to put it this way but most of the girls in the typing class weren’t that bright or motivated. I did have one friend in typing with similar ambitions and that was Nancy Sattler, who I remain friends with to this day. She caught on quickly like me and we often vied for the highest scores on the timed typing and shorthand tests.
Nancy and I quickly became good friends and we formed a clique whose members included me, Nancy, Pat Duffin, and Pat Gulch. We hung out together almost exclusively during the school day and on many weekends. Nancy’s Mom started taking us to school some days, especially when the weather was nasty. Nancy was a member of Junior Achievement and I joined too. One night a week we would go learn how to select a product, make the product, sell the product and reap the rewards. I was Vice President of my company and a runner-up in the Best Salesman contest. Looking back, it surprises me that I was actually good at selling as I have wanted nothing to do with it most of my life.
Nancy started going out with someone she met at Junior Achievement, J.R., who was also a cheerleader at St. Francis. I started dating Steve Heer, a friend of J.R.’s. Steve was pleasingly plump and lovable although we fought constantly about the same thing Gene and I fought about. The four of us double-dated often and spent many an evening on Nancy’s front porch. I was a typical adolescent female, moody and emotional, and I think Steve was a saint for putting up with me as long as he did. Nancy and J.R.’s relationship was just as tumultuous and he ended up marrying my friend, Judy, in a shotgun wedding right out of high school.
During the summer before my senior year, Carla and I spent a marvelous, independent six weeks in New York City. It came about mostly at the urging of my ballet teacher, Gail Grant. She assumed I would become a professional ballet dancer someday and so stressed to Mom the importance of training in New York City. Gail also suggested that, while I was there, I audition for the Radio City Ballet Company even though I was only 16 and 18 was the required age. Carla, who was interested in acting, took acting lessons at the Herbert Berghof Studio while I took ballet at Ballet Arts at Carnegie Hall. We stayed at the Laura Spellman residence for Women, a YWCA at 8thAvenue and 58th Streets.
We rode the Greyhound Bus to New York from Toledo and quickly learned our way around the subway system. Somehow our luggage got lost en route and we returned time and again to the Greyhound Station until they finally located it. The YWCA had a cafeteria where we ate most of our meals. Occasionally we would go next door to a family-owned pizzeria where we got to know the owners. We introduced them to the rest of our family at summer’s end. We didn’t have much money so we were severely restricted in our activities. We rode the Staten Island Ferry back and forth numerous times because it was something to do that was cheap. We also bought paperback books and read voraciously. I read Truman Capote’s “In Cold Blood”, and Henry Bellamann’s “King’s Row” among others while there.
Ballet class was difficult and I was mortified time and again by the instructor who criticized me constantly. I discovered that I wasn’t as good as I thought I was and that I had a long way to go if I truly wanted to be a professional someday. Being good in Toledo meant being mediocre in New York at best. I was also embarrassed by the fact that the girls/women who changed in the dressing room had no shame. I changed in a corner so as to be inconspicuous but they flaunted their naked bodies. I did audition for the Radio City Ballet Company but was reprimanded for wasting their time because I was unavailable due to my age. I do, however, think they were interested in hiring me.
I discovered I had a lot to learn in more ways than one. One day when I was walking home from ballet class, I was confronted on the sidewalk by a man who offered to instruct me in the ways of the world if I would be come up to his hotel room. He asked if I was a dancer in one of the Broadway shows. Although I was secretly flattered, I was also appalled. His offer to pay me didn’t help his case.
Carla and I had a few adventurous excursions while there. We visited Mom’s cousin who lived on Staten Island. She liked us instantly although we had never seen her before and we never saw her since. We went to Coney Island one day and almost got killed trying to cross the freeway. I rode the Cyclone by myself because Carla was too scared. While in Brooklyn we walked for miles looking for the house of a guy Carla liked from Toledo University named Lee Wessof. When we stopped at a drug store soda fountain, the owner knew who Lee was but called him Lloyd Wessofski—the guy with the big nose.
We saw the Broadway show, “I Do I Do” with Mary Martin and Robert Preston and “Zorba” with Herschel Bernardi. We bought tickets for “Caberet” with Liza Minelli and Joel Grey but ended up giving them to Mom and Dad who absolutely loved it. We met some sailors we flirted with and took pictures of and some older men we sat with while eating lunch at the Y. The worst thing that happened while I was in New York was dislocating my jaw while eating a piece of pizza. It was very difficult to eat for weeks after that. At the time I was extremely anxious that I had done something irreparable and it turned out to be true. I have had TMJ ever since that day.
At the end of our time in New York, Mom, Dad and the rest of the family came to pick us up. We spent a week going up to Maine, Vermont and New Hampshire before heading back to Toledo. Our summer in New York was an unforgettable experience that matured us beyond our years. It would be unheard of today to allow kids of that age to go unchaperoned to New York City, but it was a different time. We ended up taking the bus back to the City a few years later with Carla’s friend, Carol Erford, to see a few shows and relive our gay, independent time there.
Back at Notre Dame, my senior year started off great—mostly because I got contact lenses. Immediately I was more confident probably because I was better looking. At one of the first football games of the season, I ran into Vinnie, my old neighbor. He and his family had moved about five years earlier to a house with a swimming pool in a much more affluent neighborhood. He was looking good and he must have thought I was looking good too. I felt like I had finally made it to the “big time” when we started dating. I was a St. Francis cheerleader with a St. Francis boyfriend. Now I would be like the other cheerleaders—going to homecoming, prom, etc.
Vinnie and I were made for each other. He was everything I ever wanted in a boyfriend—handsome, rich, attentive, “in love”. In fact we both felt the same way. We spent quite a lot of time together from the start. He had a little red sports car convertible that was old but respectable. He didn’t play any sports but I didn’t care about that. It gave him more time for me. I had a date for everything, and that was a dream- come- true.
Senior year was college decision time. Carla was attending Toledo University, but I wanted to major in ballet and there was no ballet major at TU. Mom agreed to let me audition for the University of Cincinnati. Their College Conservatory of Music, of which the Dance Department was a part, had a very good reputation. It was recommended by Gail Grant because Suzanne Farrell, star of the New York City Ballet, had been trained there. Mom made all the requisite calls and set up the audition. It was in February that Mom, Dad and I drove down for the audition. I immediately fell in love with the city and the campus. Cincinnati is definitely one of the nicest cities in Ohio mostly because of its hills and beautiful views.
The audition went well. David McLain was the head of the Dance Department and he liked me. He told me I wasn’t quite at the level of some of the other dancers coming in as freshmen because I had not had as much training. I had been taking classes once or twice a week my whole life while many of them would be coming from high schools such as Performing Arts in New York City where they had been training daily. He explained that I would have to work very hard to catch up and keep up. But he did accept me and I was overjoyed. I had a new determination to work hard and make the most of college. I didn’t know a soul who was going to UC but I wasn’t afraid; I was excited.
I was also excited about the Senior Class Play--Antigone. Because of my acting experience, I felt I would be chosen for a part. I was devastated when I wasn’t. I had watched every Senior Class Play—just waiting for my turn and then it was not to be. It was hard for me to accept that I didn’t have much talent as an actress.
The rest of my senior year flew by in a blur. I took Vinnie to my prom at Notre Dame and he took me to the St. Francis prom. Before each prom I got my hair done in “petals” as was the style. The beautician would comb the hair to the top of the head, rat it, spray it and form it into loops that she bobby- pinned in place. Before the St. Francis prom, a group of us went to a fancy restaurant and after the prom to the bowling alley. We arrived back home in the wee hours of the morning—but that was expected. It was nice that we never had to worry about money—Vinnie always had it.
In addition to our two school proms, Vinnie and I went to the Junior Achievement prom and a formal dance sponsored by Vinnie’s Dad’s company. At that dance, they raffled off five new Mustangs and Vinnie won one of them! He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and then this! I bought a formal and wore it twice but then borrowed one from Carla for the third prom and borrowed one from a girl I hardly knew for the fourth. Unbeknownst to me, during the evening, someone burned a hole with a cigarette in the dress I had borrowed. I didn’t notice it until I got home. I never told the girl what had happened but Mom gave me $25 to buy the dress from her, which the girl was happy to accept.
After it was decided that I would be going to Cincinnati for college, Vinnie and I spent a few agonizing months wondering how we were going to make it being separated by so much distance. Phone calls were expensive and I didn’t have a car. We had both done quite well on our SAT tests (57 verbal and 65 math for me) and money was no object, so Vinnie could pretty much go wherever he wanted. I didn’t try to sway him but he narrowed his choices to Ohio University, in Athens, or Xavier University in Cincinnati. I didn’t know until shortly after graduation that he had been accepted at Xavier and that’s where he had decided to go. Of course, I was elated. I wouldn’t be alone.
The weeks leading up to graduation were hectic and full of parties and fun. I was overjoyed to find I was one of five in my class to wear a ribbon for all A’s my entire high school career. I also received $250 from Junior Achievement and $100 for being the best secretarial student in the class. Debbie Restivo, the Student Council President, was Valedictorian; I was probably third or fourth. Scholarships were almost non-existent if you didn’t have financial need; and even with six kids, Dad made too much money for me to qualify. Mom had already told me I needed to make $500 during the summer to help with tuition and expenses.
The day of my graduation from high school was June 5, 1968—Mom woke me with the news that Robert F. Kennedy had been killed in Los Angeles—a memorable day in more ways than one. My parents took us out to a fancy restaurant as a graduation gift. I could tell they were very proud of me as Mom went on-and-on to Vinnie about what a “gem” I was. After the ceremony, yearbooks were passed around so everyone could sign them. Vinnie spent an extra-long time writing in mine and I felt very special. It was impossible to believe we wouldn’t be seeing these friends much anymore.
It was time to get down to business. I got my first job as a car hop at an A&W Root Beer stand. Vinnie hated it when I was working and hung out in the parking lot watching me. I think he was afraid I was going to get hit-on. I worked there a whole four days before I screwed up so badly that, instead of getting paid, I had to pay them. I was so upset that I cried to Vinnie I didn’t want to go back. The next thing I knew, Vinnie’s Dad had gotten me a job at Sears in their Catalog Sales Department—a much-improved position. I worked mornings—from 9:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. It took the entire summer to earn $500 so I couldn’t have been making much per hour.
There were about twenty women working in Catalog Sales and I was the youngest by far. Most of the women had been working at the job for years. The work was stressful at times, especially when I was making calls with the manager listening in. Most of the time we answered calls, answering questions and filling out order forms. That was the easy part. For an hour or so a day, we called people who had been sent sales flyers and tried to get them interested in buying something. That was the part I hated. For two weeks during the summer, I worked from 9:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m., subbing for someone having an operation on her hemorrhoids. During that week I got a feel for what a full-time job entailed and it made me especially glad I was going to be a dancer.
The rest of the summer was pretty laid-back. I swam at the new YMCA Bowman Park pool with my family and at Vinnie’s pool with his family. He had two older brothers—both of whom were married and it made us feel grown up to hang out with them. We went to lots of movies and out to eat. We made out in the back seat of the new Mustang. We were looking forward to college and the next stage of our lives but we weren’t in any hurry.
I walked to school most days especially when I was a freshman and sophomore—it was over a mile and took about a half hour. I walked with Marsha, Judy and Karen—although I can’t say I remember. We wore uniforms—blue and grey plaid wool skirts, grey knee socks, black penny loafers, blue blazers and white blouses. The cool girls rolled their skirts up at the waist so their knees showed, but I wasn’t cool. I had short curly hair, glasses that pointed up at the ends and no boobs.
Freshman year, everyone took P.E. We had lockers to hang our uniforms but no showers. We wore baggy blue shorts and white blouses with short sleeves. Ms. Lenhardt was a typical gym teacher—masculine, like a drill sergeant and with absolutely no sense of humor. The “gym” was actually the stage of the auditorium. We ran races, dribbled and threw basketballs, performed calisthenics, played games and generally goofed around. Perhaps I remember P.E. because we were allowed to be ourselves. We laughed, acted bored, cheered each other on and generally had a good time while pretending we weren’t. It wasn’t cool to like P.E.
Our other classes were just boring academics—we studied, read, listened to lectures and took notes. The years passed by—nothing stands out. I gave a presentation once in History. My topic was the Greek Agora. I couldn’t find out anything about it. There were only a few sentences in the World Book Encyclopedias that we had at home. We didn’t have computers—so it was either the library or a home reference book. I guess it turned out fine but I don’t know how. I studied for tests—never went into a test unprepared—always had my homework. I was afraid of being reprimanded so I was above reproach. My high school GPA was 4.0. I was in the top five in a class of around 160. I would have received a ribbon for attendance but I missed one day my senior year to be in a dance performance.
Freshman and sophomore years, I stuck with the Pius girls. During the summer before high school started and the summer after our freshman year, we took tennis lessons at Jermaine Park nearly every day and hung around afterward practicing. There were guys there and that’s where Karen and Marsha met their first boyfriends—guys I would have liked had they liked me. I did meet a guy there, Steve Barney, but he was just a friend. He would come over nearly every afternoon and we would play the guitar and sing. He was super nice—he wanted to be a priest. He had an older, hunkier brother, Mike Barney, who worked at the Park. Steve and I got pretty close that summer; I was torn up when he left for Seminary. Mom even took me to visit him once; but without cell phones and Facebook to keep in touch, I gradually forgot about him. I often wonder whether he went through with it.
Tennis had levels of achievement like many of the kid-sports today and tests were given by teachers and coaches. I passed though many of the beginner levels easily. The test I failed consisted of playing with the pro, serving, returning volleys and placing shots. I was very disappointed because some of the other girls passed. I lost interest after that and didn’t play nearly as much although I was on the Notre Dame team during my senior year. Karen and Marsha were much better players than I was. I was pretty adept at the guitar though. I learned a lot of Bob Dylan’s and other folk songs from Carla and wasn’t shy about singing in front of people. I remember once when Marsha and her boyfriend were having a fight, I drove around with him for hours, playing my entire repertoire. He called me Dee Dee Baez.
Another sport I played when I was in high school was CYO girls’ softball. CYO stands for Catholic Youth Organization and I was a willing participant—after all there were guys in CYO. CYO had parties, dances and various activities designed to help teens appropriately socialize. I was the pitcher on the softball team and had some success. We played on a field in front of St. Francis High School—the all-boys Catholic school.
The CYO also had a talent show in which I performed every year. There were different categories depending on your talent and, of course, I was in the dance category. Unfortunately for me, so was Craig Barrow who performed flashy Russian numbers and always won. I would usually come in second or third. I think it bothered Mom to no end that they chose Craig every year over me. Carla and I decided to sing a duet one year just to get out of competing with Craig, but we still didn’t win. Carla played the guitar and we sang, “Don’t Think Twice It’s All Right” in harmony.
I remember going to CYO dances at St. Francis in their gymnasium. It was very dark and everyone just milled around trying to catch the eye of someone who showed some interest. I don’t remember having much luck. Mom and Dad decided to have a party in our new recreation room—I invited my girlfriends and Mom and Dad invited some of their friends’ sons. I think the object was to get us hooked up with some good, Catholic boys but it didn’t work. I used to see one of the guys, Bruce, at the St. Francis dances. He wasn’t very cute but I would have settled for him—anyone just to have a boyfriend. We also used to go to dances at the Catholic Club. They were very similar to the ones at St. Francis—big room, lots of people, loud music—we did the jerk mostly. I don’t remember meeting anyone there either.
When I was a freshman, Carla was dating a guy named Mike who played the piano. Mom even said she moved the piano from the living room to the recreation room so she wouldn’t have to listen to him play. It wasn’t that he played badly—he just played loudly. He had a friend named, Gene Haney, who I started going out with. I was 15 and Gene was 19. He was really cute and I wanted him to like me so much—but all he wanted to do was make out. I was a good Catholic girl so I perfected all the counter-attack moves to prevent most of the hanky-panky. But we did make-out a lot and have a lot of arguments about why I wouldn’t let him go further. At one point, he gave me his senior class ring which meant we were “going steady”—now it’s called “going out”—meaning seeing someone exclusively. I put a rubber band around the ring so it would fit me—that’s what everybody did back then. I remember feeling pretty “cool” that I had a steady boyfriend. But it didn’t last long.
Gene signed up for the Army, went to boot camp and then Vietnam. I went down to the Greyhound Bus station and saw him off with his parents. For about a month, he wrote every day and even sent me a picture of him in his uniform; but then I didn’t hear from him for a long time. He came home on leave once and took me to Cedar Point with an Army friend, but then he disappeared again. The last time I saw him was after he came home permanently. He didn’t say much except that he had been in Da Nang. We drove to Ottawa Park and he wanted to make-out, but I still didn’t want to. He gave up on me after that and I never saw him again. At that point it didn’t make much difference to me because I had moved on.
When I was a freshman in high school, my Grandma Welch died suddenly of a heart attack. She was living in California and I hadn’t seen her for years but it still mattered a lot to me. I remember not being able to share my grief with anyone because I didn’t want anyone to know I was grieving. My Dad was the only one who went to the funeral. It was the first time someone I really cared about had died. I think it might have been easier had there been some outward sign that something had happened. That might have helped me make some sense out of it. I am very glad that my kids got to go to my Dad’s funeral—thanks to my sister, Terry. I think it helped them process what had happened.
I believe it was the summer after Grandma died that the eight of us drove out to California on vacation. We were gone for three weeks. We went to see Grandpa but also to see Aunt Arlene and Uncle Dick and Aunt Grace and Uncle Bob. We did a lot of sight-seeing on the way out—taking a northerly route and on the way back—going through Texas. We were pretty squashed in our Jeep Wagoneer because we had all grown since our Florida trips. The seating configuration was now Mom, Dad and Ann in the front, four of us in the back and one of us laying on a small mattress on top of the luggage in the way-back. We fought constantly and about everything. We weren’t comfortable; and we knew if we had to go to the bathroom, we were sunk. Dad wouldn’t stop unless we were at the pleading stage. I think our first sightseeing excursion was through the Badlands and to see Mt. Rushmore. Mt. Rushmore was truly awesome but I don’t remember much about the Badlands.
Dad did most of the driving so we would normally stop at dusk as he would be pretty tired. We usually ate picnic lunches to save money. Sometimes we would stop at nice hotels with swimming pools—that was the most fun. We went through Yellowstone National Park—I remember standing out in the cold waiting for Old Faithful. It finally erupted—but took it’s time. We saw a lot of scenery—I remember paint pots for some reason. I know we stopped at a few places in Colorado—the Royal Gorge, the Great Sand Dunes National Park and Pikes Peak as well as Bryce Canyon and Zion National Park in Utah.
We were very happy once we finally made it to California although the conditions at Uncle Bob and Aunt Grace’s weren’t that great. The eight of us stayed with them so we didn’t have a lot of room to spread out. Luckily their two boys, our cousins Robbie and Johnny, were gone visiting their Mom’s sister so at least there was an empty bedroom. Our cousin, Kiki, was there. She was close to Ann’s age. There was a pet snake loose in the vents but, luckily, we never saw it.
We did some fun things while there—we went to Knott’s Berry Farm, although at that time it wasn’t the big amusement park it is today. I remember seeing a performance of “Our American Cousin”, the play President Lincoln was attending at the Ford Theatre when he was shot. During the play, at the exact moment Lincoln was shot, there was a dramatization of the event. It must have been memorable. We also went to Disneyland which was a huge treat!
Speaking of huge treats, Aunt Grace cooked a Mexican dinner for us one night. I remember it clearly because it was so painful. We were all such very picky eaters that no one touched anything. Mom gobbled up everything she could just so it would look like we had eaten some of it. She couldn’t very well force us to eat the food because Dad wouldn’t eat it either. We were brought up on meat and potatoes; and although I have branched out a great deal, there is still a lot of food I won’t even try. But, of course, now Mexican is everyone’s favorite.
The only other memory of note while we were in California was sitting on the beach waiting for the grunion run. We actually never saw any grunions and I wondered if Uncle Bob had been pulling our leg. But no, you can actually Google grunion run and find a schedule for several California beaches. The grunion run is the night the female grunions come up on shore en masse to lay their eggs which are later fertilized by the male grunions. I guess they don’t always run on schedule.
On the drive home, we stopped at the Grand Canyon, and I recall feeling overwhelmed by the vastness of it. I know we wanted to stop at Carlsbad Caverns but I don’t believe we did. We drove through Mesa Verde National Park and saw the cliff dwellings from a distance but it was too late in the day to do a tour. Lastly, I remember going through St. Louis and seeing the Arch. We didn’t take the claustrophobic ride to the top; I saved that for a later trip.
Back at school, during my sophomore year I was in Glee Club, another class of which I have some recollection. Sister Rosalee was the Choir Director and she made it fun. I have always enjoyed singing even though I don’t have a very strong voice. I never got any solos or stood out in any way, but I did enjoy it. We performed some, mostly at school functions. There was time to “goof off”, while other voices were practicing their parts, and I remember doing my share. I am glad I was in Glee Club as I think it gave me the confidence to sing in summer stock the year after I graduated from college.
I also joined the Chess Club. I had played chess with my Dad most of my childhood. Everyone in our family played. In fact, Dad used to tell a story about playing chess against a lifeguard in Florida on one of our vacations. Each one of us played the lifeguard and beat him all the way down to Ann. I started off and got lucky winning my first game. I was the only one on our team to win, so I was immediately moved to first chair which meant I played against the best player in every school. I never won another game all year. I did not return to the Chess Club my junior year.
During my high school years, I continued ballet but changed studios to Gail Grant’s. Mom felt I had gone as far as I could with the Hanf’s and I am sure I had. Gail Grant was famous for the publication of a dictionary of ballet terms and for dancing with the Radio City Ballet Company, at the time one of the few professional ballet companies in the United States. Gail had a very strong classical ballet background and might have been a great teacher had she not been such a natural. She had natural turnout and perfectly arched feet—neither of which I had. She didn’t know how to teach someone to improve on those qualities if they didn’t have them naturally. I was a natural performer (some might say ham) which made up for some of my other deficiencies. I performed in the Pas de Quatre, Paquita; was the Lilac Fairy in Sleeping Beauty; and danced the Waltz in Les Sylphides. I am sure Mom was very happy when I graduated to college and she didn’t have to make any more costumes. The bodice of the Paquita costume had hundreds of individually-sewn-on black sequins while the fan prop had hundreds of individually-glued-on red sequins. Gail wanted everything as professional as possible.
When I was 15, because of my incessant pestering, Mom and Dad began teaching me how to drive. Carla hadn’t seemed that interested in learning, but I was quite the opposite. I was determined to get my license on my 16th birthday—I wanted my freedom. Many days, I would drive to school in our second-hand car with the stick on the column and Mom riding shotgun. One rainy Toledo day, when pulling into the parking lot of Notre Dame Academy, I accidentally hit the clutch instead of the brake and slammed into a parked car. There didn’t appear to be any damage to the other car, so Mom saw no reason to leave a note. Midway through the day, I was summoned to the Principal’s office and reprimanded. Apparently someone had seen what I had done and had reported the accident. Of course I apologized profusely while explaining almost in tears that I hadn’t left a note because I hadn’t seen any damage. I exchanged phone numbers with the owner of the car and ended up paying a whopping $15 to remove a scratch from the bumper.
True to my word, I took my driving test on my 16th birthday and passed! The driving portion of the test was nerve-wracking, especially the parallel parking part, but I confronted my fears bravely. One of the perks of driving was to get late-night burgers for Dad from White Hut. On one such run, early on in my driving experience, I was stopped by a policeman for driving nearly a mile without my lights. He asked me if I knew why he stopped me and I didn’t have a clue. I was embarrassed beyond belief but he didn’t give me a ticket.
Dates were few and far between for me in high school. I met a guy who (looking back) was a total jerk but, of course, at the time I thought he was my one true love. His name was Bob Rochelle and I think I loved his name more than I did him. It sounded so romantic. There were lots of tears and not many good times but thankfully it was short-lived.
Before all of us had steady boyfriends, slumber parties were frequent and usually in Karen Ritter’s basement. There would be eight of us or so and we would drink pop, eat snacks, dance to popular records and talk about boys all night. There were never any boys at these events—gay or straight—although we didn’t even know any gay guys. Both my girls have many close gay friends—something I saved for later in life—after I became a professional ballet dancer.
When I was a sophomore, I tried out for the cheerleading squad at St. Francis; and, because I was limber and athletic from my ballet training, I was chosen as an alternate. This was a huge honor as there were three girls’ schools and only one boys’ school so only two or three girls were picked from each school. There were six on the squad and two alternates, so the alternates actually filled-in quite often. This coup definitely raised my status as most of the cheerleaders were hot and popular. I had a ways to go to be that, but being a cheerleader definitely bumped me up a notch.
I didn’t actually start cheering until I was a junior but we practiced throughout the summer. A young priest was our mentor and always at our practices. He helped us learn our leaps, round-offs and flips which we practiced in the St. Francis gym. The older or second-year girls taught the newcomers the cheers. I was extremely shy and hardly ever said anything. I felt out-of-my-league with these confident, beautiful and shapely women who actually had boyfriends who treated them nice. My second year of cheering, when I was a full-fledged cheerleader instead of an alternate, was much better. I gained some confidence—mostly because I got contact lenses, a padded bra and a boyfriend who went to St. Francis.
The football games were lots of fun. We had guys on the squad at the games who helped the girls choose the right cheers. They had megaphones and helped lead the cheers while the girls went through their calisthenics. My favorite part of the evening was half-time when everyone in the stands would sing the Alma Mater and we would do our routine in the middle of the field. It was very moving. When I was a senior, my friend, Karen, was nominated for Homecoming Queen. Although she didn’t win, it was exciting to be out on the field when they announced the winner.
When I was a junior, I decided to take typing and shorthand instead of Algebra II. This was different from the norm as most of the girls who planned to go to college took the college prep classes while those who planned to go into the workforce took the clerical route. I knew I wanted to major in dance in college so I felt I needed a skill to fall back on when I couldn’t find work in my field. I hate to put it this way but most of the girls in the typing class weren’t that bright or motivated. I did have one friend in typing with similar ambitions and that was Nancy Sattler, who I remain friends with to this day. She caught on quickly like me and we often vied for the highest scores on the timed typing and shorthand tests.
Nancy and I quickly became good friends and we formed a clique whose members included me, Nancy, Pat Duffin, and Pat Gulch. We hung out together almost exclusively during the school day and on many weekends. Nancy’s Mom started taking us to school some days, especially when the weather was nasty. Nancy was a member of Junior Achievement and I joined too. One night a week we would go learn how to select a product, make the product, sell the product and reap the rewards. I was Vice President of my company and a runner-up in the Best Salesman contest. Looking back, it surprises me that I was actually good at selling as I have wanted nothing to do with it most of my life.
Nancy started going out with someone she met at Junior Achievement, J.R., who was also a cheerleader at St. Francis. I started dating Steve Heer, a friend of J.R.’s. Steve was pleasingly plump and lovable although we fought constantly about the same thing Gene and I fought about. The four of us double-dated often and spent many an evening on Nancy’s front porch. I was a typical adolescent female, moody and emotional, and I think Steve was a saint for putting up with me as long as he did. Nancy and J.R.’s relationship was just as tumultuous and he ended up marrying my friend, Judy, in a shotgun wedding right out of high school.
During the summer before my senior year, Carla and I spent a marvelous, independent six weeks in New York City. It came about mostly at the urging of my ballet teacher, Gail Grant. She assumed I would become a professional ballet dancer someday and so stressed to Mom the importance of training in New York City. Gail also suggested that, while I was there, I audition for the Radio City Ballet Company even though I was only 16 and 18 was the required age. Carla, who was interested in acting, took acting lessons at the Herbert Berghof Studio while I took ballet at Ballet Arts at Carnegie Hall. We stayed at the Laura Spellman residence for Women, a YWCA at 8thAvenue and 58th Streets.
We rode the Greyhound Bus to New York from Toledo and quickly learned our way around the subway system. Somehow our luggage got lost en route and we returned time and again to the Greyhound Station until they finally located it. The YWCA had a cafeteria where we ate most of our meals. Occasionally we would go next door to a family-owned pizzeria where we got to know the owners. We introduced them to the rest of our family at summer’s end. We didn’t have much money so we were severely restricted in our activities. We rode the Staten Island Ferry back and forth numerous times because it was something to do that was cheap. We also bought paperback books and read voraciously. I read Truman Capote’s “In Cold Blood”, and Henry Bellamann’s “King’s Row” among others while there.
Ballet class was difficult and I was mortified time and again by the instructor who criticized me constantly. I discovered that I wasn’t as good as I thought I was and that I had a long way to go if I truly wanted to be a professional someday. Being good in Toledo meant being mediocre in New York at best. I was also embarrassed by the fact that the girls/women who changed in the dressing room had no shame. I changed in a corner so as to be inconspicuous but they flaunted their naked bodies. I did audition for the Radio City Ballet Company but was reprimanded for wasting their time because I was unavailable due to my age. I do, however, think they were interested in hiring me.
I discovered I had a lot to learn in more ways than one. One day when I was walking home from ballet class, I was confronted on the sidewalk by a man who offered to instruct me in the ways of the world if I would be come up to his hotel room. He asked if I was a dancer in one of the Broadway shows. Although I was secretly flattered, I was also appalled. His offer to pay me didn’t help his case.
Carla and I had a few adventurous excursions while there. We visited Mom’s cousin who lived on Staten Island. She liked us instantly although we had never seen her before and we never saw her since. We went to Coney Island one day and almost got killed trying to cross the freeway. I rode the Cyclone by myself because Carla was too scared. While in Brooklyn we walked for miles looking for the house of a guy Carla liked from Toledo University named Lee Wessof. When we stopped at a drug store soda fountain, the owner knew who Lee was but called him Lloyd Wessofski—the guy with the big nose.
We saw the Broadway show, “I Do I Do” with Mary Martin and Robert Preston and “Zorba” with Herschel Bernardi. We bought tickets for “Caberet” with Liza Minelli and Joel Grey but ended up giving them to Mom and Dad who absolutely loved it. We met some sailors we flirted with and took pictures of and some older men we sat with while eating lunch at the Y. The worst thing that happened while I was in New York was dislocating my jaw while eating a piece of pizza. It was very difficult to eat for weeks after that. At the time I was extremely anxious that I had done something irreparable and it turned out to be true. I have had TMJ ever since that day.
At the end of our time in New York, Mom, Dad and the rest of the family came to pick us up. We spent a week going up to Maine, Vermont and New Hampshire before heading back to Toledo. Our summer in New York was an unforgettable experience that matured us beyond our years. It would be unheard of today to allow kids of that age to go unchaperoned to New York City, but it was a different time. We ended up taking the bus back to the City a few years later with Carla’s friend, Carol Erford, to see a few shows and relive our gay, independent time there.
Back at Notre Dame, my senior year started off great—mostly because I got contact lenses. Immediately I was more confident probably because I was better looking. At one of the first football games of the season, I ran into Vinnie, my old neighbor. He and his family had moved about five years earlier to a house with a swimming pool in a much more affluent neighborhood. He was looking good and he must have thought I was looking good too. I felt like I had finally made it to the “big time” when we started dating. I was a St. Francis cheerleader with a St. Francis boyfriend. Now I would be like the other cheerleaders—going to homecoming, prom, etc.
Vinnie and I were made for each other. He was everything I ever wanted in a boyfriend—handsome, rich, attentive, “in love”. In fact we both felt the same way. We spent quite a lot of time together from the start. He had a little red sports car convertible that was old but respectable. He didn’t play any sports but I didn’t care about that. It gave him more time for me. I had a date for everything, and that was a dream- come- true.
Senior year was college decision time. Carla was attending Toledo University, but I wanted to major in ballet and there was no ballet major at TU. Mom agreed to let me audition for the University of Cincinnati. Their College Conservatory of Music, of which the Dance Department was a part, had a very good reputation. It was recommended by Gail Grant because Suzanne Farrell, star of the New York City Ballet, had been trained there. Mom made all the requisite calls and set up the audition. It was in February that Mom, Dad and I drove down for the audition. I immediately fell in love with the city and the campus. Cincinnati is definitely one of the nicest cities in Ohio mostly because of its hills and beautiful views.
The audition went well. David McLain was the head of the Dance Department and he liked me. He told me I wasn’t quite at the level of some of the other dancers coming in as freshmen because I had not had as much training. I had been taking classes once or twice a week my whole life while many of them would be coming from high schools such as Performing Arts in New York City where they had been training daily. He explained that I would have to work very hard to catch up and keep up. But he did accept me and I was overjoyed. I had a new determination to work hard and make the most of college. I didn’t know a soul who was going to UC but I wasn’t afraid; I was excited.
I was also excited about the Senior Class Play--Antigone. Because of my acting experience, I felt I would be chosen for a part. I was devastated when I wasn’t. I had watched every Senior Class Play—just waiting for my turn and then it was not to be. It was hard for me to accept that I didn’t have much talent as an actress.
The rest of my senior year flew by in a blur. I took Vinnie to my prom at Notre Dame and he took me to the St. Francis prom. Before each prom I got my hair done in “petals” as was the style. The beautician would comb the hair to the top of the head, rat it, spray it and form it into loops that she bobby- pinned in place. Before the St. Francis prom, a group of us went to a fancy restaurant and after the prom to the bowling alley. We arrived back home in the wee hours of the morning—but that was expected. It was nice that we never had to worry about money—Vinnie always had it.
In addition to our two school proms, Vinnie and I went to the Junior Achievement prom and a formal dance sponsored by Vinnie’s Dad’s company. At that dance, they raffled off five new Mustangs and Vinnie won one of them! He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and then this! I bought a formal and wore it twice but then borrowed one from Carla for the third prom and borrowed one from a girl I hardly knew for the fourth. Unbeknownst to me, during the evening, someone burned a hole with a cigarette in the dress I had borrowed. I didn’t notice it until I got home. I never told the girl what had happened but Mom gave me $25 to buy the dress from her, which the girl was happy to accept.
After it was decided that I would be going to Cincinnati for college, Vinnie and I spent a few agonizing months wondering how we were going to make it being separated by so much distance. Phone calls were expensive and I didn’t have a car. We had both done quite well on our SAT tests (57 verbal and 65 math for me) and money was no object, so Vinnie could pretty much go wherever he wanted. I didn’t try to sway him but he narrowed his choices to Ohio University, in Athens, or Xavier University in Cincinnati. I didn’t know until shortly after graduation that he had been accepted at Xavier and that’s where he had decided to go. Of course, I was elated. I wouldn’t be alone.
The weeks leading up to graduation were hectic and full of parties and fun. I was overjoyed to find I was one of five in my class to wear a ribbon for all A’s my entire high school career. I also received $250 from Junior Achievement and $100 for being the best secretarial student in the class. Debbie Restivo, the Student Council President, was Valedictorian; I was probably third or fourth. Scholarships were almost non-existent if you didn’t have financial need; and even with six kids, Dad made too much money for me to qualify. Mom had already told me I needed to make $500 during the summer to help with tuition and expenses.
The day of my graduation from high school was June 5, 1968—Mom woke me with the news that Robert F. Kennedy had been killed in Los Angeles—a memorable day in more ways than one. My parents took us out to a fancy restaurant as a graduation gift. I could tell they were very proud of me as Mom went on-and-on to Vinnie about what a “gem” I was. After the ceremony, yearbooks were passed around so everyone could sign them. Vinnie spent an extra-long time writing in mine and I felt very special. It was impossible to believe we wouldn’t be seeing these friends much anymore.
It was time to get down to business. I got my first job as a car hop at an A&W Root Beer stand. Vinnie hated it when I was working and hung out in the parking lot watching me. I think he was afraid I was going to get hit-on. I worked there a whole four days before I screwed up so badly that, instead of getting paid, I had to pay them. I was so upset that I cried to Vinnie I didn’t want to go back. The next thing I knew, Vinnie’s Dad had gotten me a job at Sears in their Catalog Sales Department—a much-improved position. I worked mornings—from 9:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. It took the entire summer to earn $500 so I couldn’t have been making much per hour.
There were about twenty women working in Catalog Sales and I was the youngest by far. Most of the women had been working at the job for years. The work was stressful at times, especially when I was making calls with the manager listening in. Most of the time we answered calls, answering questions and filling out order forms. That was the easy part. For an hour or so a day, we called people who had been sent sales flyers and tried to get them interested in buying something. That was the part I hated. For two weeks during the summer, I worked from 9:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m., subbing for someone having an operation on her hemorrhoids. During that week I got a feel for what a full-time job entailed and it made me especially glad I was going to be a dancer.
The rest of the summer was pretty laid-back. I swam at the new YMCA Bowman Park pool with my family and at Vinnie’s pool with his family. He had two older brothers—both of whom were married and it made us feel grown up to hang out with them. We went to lots of movies and out to eat. We made out in the back seat of the new Mustang. We were looking forward to college and the next stage of our lives but we weren’t in any hurry.
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