Some events in life hold special significance because it is the first time they occur and are immediately placed somewhere deep inside the long-term memory section of the brain. Surrounding details leading up to such an event or immediately following it often are lost in the ether. Such was the case regarding one particular event that occurred during those several months where Goldie and I were infatuated with each other.
Young Judaea had a camp somewhere in southwestern Michigan in the triangle between Benton Harbor, Holland and Kalamazoo. My sister had attended the camp a year or two earlier, and I am not sure if she went the time I went. In fact among the details I have forgotten was who else was in attendance, except for a girl from Gary, Indiana and me. One fact remains crystal clear, Goldie was not there.
We took a bus from Milwaukee through Chicago and around the southern tip of Lake Michigan to the camp. On the way we passed through Gary. I knew two things about Gary. It was second only to Pittsburgh in the production of steel, and it was the place Professor Harold Hill as portrayed by Robert Preston in the movie Music Man claimed to have gone to school. Neither of which illuminates the question of whether or not we met on the bus.
Her name was Becky, the second and last Becky in my life. She was thin, about my height, wore her hair short, and had braces that made her face light up when she smiled.
As previously stated most of the details surrounding the camp, what we did, what we ate, or even how long the stay lasted disappeared in time. Through this haze I recall a bonfire on the final night of camp. Like most such occasions I imagine there was the singing of familiar songs.
Although I am uncertain if Gilda or Hal went to camp I remember that in addition to owning a fabulous car Hal had a fantastic voice. With it he performed one of the greatest renditions of Gene McDaniel’s song A Hundred Pounds of Clay. I’d like to think he was singing it when sitting behind the rows of campers gathered around that fire I had my first kiss. Or, should I say I was kissed.
Even though I had come close a number of times before there was no way I was going to blow this opportunity. I probably was careful not to apply too much pressure for fear of the braces causing some sort of injury, but I distinctly remember having our sitting position shift to a reclining position with her on top. Not only was it my first kiss, we were making out, and if she didn’t care, which she definitely did not, I didn’t either.
When the billowing smoke stacks of Gary appeared the next day as we sat together on the bus I think we both thought we might keep in touch. She grabbed her backpack, turned and gave me a kiss, and waved as she exited.
Details on this side of that special night are just as foggy. What I do recall is getting a call from my old friend, Renee, who had apparently heard about my escapade at camp. She knew of my feelings for Goldie and tried to make me feel like a two-timer. Nearly succeeding I reminded her how little help she had been in engineering my relationship with Jan. We laughed and she promised to work on her skills as a yenta.
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