Note: A friend of mine suggested who I am writing about and after checking her yearbook photo, this is probably the person. I sent her a message and any contact will be up to her.
In my book, I speak about dealing with ghosts I met as I traveled throughout the country. I hope this isn't about ghosts. But it has haunted me for more than half a century.
The setting: senior year of high school, 1966. The place: Morristown, NJ, a now suburban community with a rich history dating back to colonial times. The person: I don’t remember her name. The issue: Love at first sight.
At the beginning of the school year, I needed one more credit to graduate. So I joined the school choir, despite the fact that I had absolutely no talent. The teacher evaluated me and then said “For men, there is bass, tenor and baritone. You are none of those. You are a monotone.” She wasn’t trying to hurt me. She was simply stating a fact. I had absolutely no musical training. But I did have a unique gift: I could mimic. So if you put me next to a good singer, my ear would pick up the notes and duplicate them. And so, I wound up driving Barry Liss crazy. But the teacher was happy.
In addition to the usual activities such as school concerts, we did a couple of performances around Christmas. One Wednesday night, we performed Christmas carols on the town’s historic square, known as “The Green”. Why Weneusday? Because in those days, stores were only open on Wednesday night. That meant a decent audience. We parked ourselves in front of Bamberger’s, an upscale department store owned by Macy’s.
The next week, we went to the town’s big hotel and performed at a service club. There were at least 100 people, including women (wives, I suppose). The concert combined our regular songs with holiday music.
On the way home, I wound up sitting next to a girl I’d never met and we began talking about stuff like the holiday and what we planned after graduation. Somehow we wound up holding hands. She later described it as “romantic” as she signed my yearbook.
I discovered she actually lived around the corner from me. I offered to walk to school with her the next morning and she happily agreed.
That night, I couldn’t sleep as I thought about her. She was, by no means, a great beauty. But she was attractive. This was senior year, and plans for the future were a huge part of our existence. I wondered if we had one together? As I thought about it, I envisioned her as not just a girlfriend, but also as a potential wife. In those days, it was not unusual to marry your high school sweetheart right after graduation. She had everything I wanted. She was warm, calm, friendly and by the time I got up the next morning I was in love.
I walked to her apartment the next morning. The first thing I noticed was it was not an expensive place. While clean and neat, it was at a basement level for a much larger apartment building. This made me happy. Neither of us came from well-to-do families.
And so, I knocked on her door and she opened it with a smile. I was introduced to her father. He was very rude and had a somewhat strange voice, very low combined with a slur. I thought he was an alcoholic. After leaving, we went to school talking about inconsequential things. Like the asshole I surely was, I decided this was not going to work. Both my parents were alcoholics, especially my mother, the drama queen. And so, I did not see her again until the last days of school where she signed my yearbook telling me she would never forget the romantic night together on the bus.
I felt like a cruel bastard and didn’t know what to do about it. I should have asked for a second chance, but I was too ashamed to do so. And I lost the yearbook so it was impossible to find her name.
You see, I had entirely different plans for that morning walk to school. I wanted to tell her about how I had been thinking about her all night and would ask her to skip school with me so we could become much better acquainted. I thought we could have breakfast at the local coffee shop which was an “in crowd” after school hangout. We would then go back to my mother’s apartment where we could both talk and perhaps make out. But that didn’t happen.
After graduation, I started working as the office boy for a big financial company. We had a bowling league and went to an alley in Parsippany, a nearby town. And there she was, working at the snack bar. We talked for a little while but I had to join my team. That night, I bowled the best game of my life: 217. After we finished, I returned to the snack bar, but she had finished work and was gone.
The next week, I went back to the alley intending to see her. I wanted to take her out for dinner at a local diner (New Jersey if famous for them) but she was gone. The manager said she had quit. I wondered if I was the reason and felt a great deal of regret. Another opportunity to make amends with someone I cared about was wasted,
But I never, ever forgot that night on the bus. Through the years, I have had frequent fantasy moments about her. This is especially true over the past year as I have alone in Florida, where I never wanted to live but had little choice.
Several times, I have looked through the high school yearbook trying to find her. I have long since lost my copy that she signed, but a friend of mine made a copy of her book and I just can’t find her. And so, dear MHS ’66 reader who may know who I’m talking about, let me know her name and anything else you might know about her. She lived at the intersection of Colles Road and Mt.Kimble Avenue (Route 202).
