After thinking all day about this blog during my exhausting and heated
pursuit of a basic salary, in a brainless occupation, I came up with my
best excuse for my behavior from teenager-hood until now.
I slept with Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid!
I lived in the dormer of an older house in a small town famous for infamous
people. My father took finishing wooden strips to attach the poster bought
shortly after watching that movie a total of ten times in one month! I also
blame my parents for allowing us to go four Saturdays in a row and staying
through at least 2-3 showings of that movie.
What were they thinking allowing our fresh and innocent minds to absorb such
inappropriate information? We were teenagers watching runaway bank robbers
with the most handsome faces! We saw one of them share sleeping quarters with
their beautiful accomplice repeatedly!
Along with this negative influence on our lives we lived in the same town as
the “Fugitive.” He was an osteopathic doctor at our local osteopathic
hospital. (No longer in existence.) He also was portrayed innocent of killing
his wife, you know the one armed man was guilty! Again, by a tortured and
handsome actor, again: BAD influence!
I went to school with Michael Heaton, who writes as the King of Pop Culture
for the Cleveland Plain Dealer. He has written a recent screenplay for a real
life story that will appear on Hallmark in the winter months, I believe. But
you can check my facts on this. He was fairly quiet and had beautiful hair
and eyes. I do remember sitting in a few classes with him, but we were not of
the same circle of friends. I carried out the position of Index Editor of the Bluebook
(our yearbook) so I did have occasion to study his pictures. His sister was between
my two brothers and did not appear in our yearbooks, but she is the famous
Debra in “Everybody Loves Raymond” and the equally famous Frankie in “The
Our small town has a restaurant now in the Huntington Playhouse and Huntington
Arts (used to be called Baycrafters) area. Patricia Heaton’s sister opened “Vento’s”
and it is a wonderful addition to our neighborhood.
Anyway, sorry about sidetracking, but I have been addicted to the idea of fame and
curious about the ways it all affects us. We are even more addicted to it than while I
grew up. The current tweeting and flow of famous celebrity watching has gotten
more carried away than all the Partridge Family and Monkees information we all
absorbed from our teen and Beat magazines.
Dear old Paul and Robert were hung above my head from 1969-1978 upon taking it
down after marrying my college sweetheart. Every night I would say a prayer that I
would find love, adventure and possibly a bad boy who had a warm heart. “Raindrops
Keep Falling on My Head” would play and I would see the endearing Paul on his bicycle
with Katherine Ross (a.k.a. Robin) riding on the handlebars.
Anyway, I met my next love (Billy, S.V., science club guy, now…) at can you believe this
luck?… Mc Donald’s! First day of college, my h.s. friend and roommate, Ellen and I walked
across the street from our dorm after our respective parents drove off in their station wagons
with our brothers in them. We were watching these four guys who were playing this ‘beat the
clock’ game trying to say, (you know the words) “Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce,
cheese on a sesame seed bun” before the time went out to win a FREE Big Mac! My eyes were
drawn to a mustached, shaggy dirty blonde haired handsome young man with beat up jeans
and a v-necked t-shirt exposing lots of curly brown chest hair.
None of my previous 3 “loves” had hair on their chest! Wow! Almost Robert Redford combined with
Paul Newman since he had bright blue eyes.
Again, curse that poster and all it made me hope and dream about!
We ended up sitting with these wild boys who may or may not have already drank or smoked, because
they clearly had hit the huge “munchies” stage. And, much to my roommate’s dismay, I knew little of
these pursuits. She had worked at a gas station while I had worked at a country club the summer before
college. Her experiences allowed her more sexual knowledge and familiarity with the first question they
asked us, “Do you girls like to party?” Well, unknowing of the variations that phrase could mean, I
enthusiastically answered for the both of us, “Oh, yes! I love to dance!” Ellen grabbed the edge of my
shirt sleeve and I turned my head to see her rapidly shaking her head at me.
I excused us to the ladies’ rest room to discuss the slightly angry look she was giving me. Ellen said
I did not know the meaning of their question and proceeded to educate me about those words. Okay,
I would go back and say we did NOT like to party. But could we do it by not alienating them?
We ended up in the boys’ dorm hall sitting outside waiting for them to set up their stereo system, get
their varied refreshments ready and feeling kind of excited about the prospect of new experiences.
Like the other stories, this one ends with a happy ending, although followed by a less than happy
I dated him for four years, married one month after college with much protestation from my parents.
They told me repeatedly to go out and search the world, get a teaching job, have a female roommate,
and not conform to the sixties perception of finding a husband in college. My mother went to Europe
and was in graduate school when she met my father. She did not rush into maariage nor did she march
for women’s rights to see me go down this path. Like a fellow blogger recently said, he blames the search
for happy endings on movies (and t.v.) with their unrealistic portrayal of the after effects. But we all tend
to follow the path our hearts choose rather than our minds.
The next chapter of searching for a Man begins with children and in a different town.