One of the events sponsored by the Milwaukee district office of AZA was the annual sweetheart dance. When I became a member of Witt AZA the chapter had already selected its sweetheart for the year. Sweethearts were selected at the end of their junior year to serve the chapter at meetings and special events during their senior year. Our sweetheart was Marlene slender, somewhat attractive, extremely gregarious, a young woman who would one day marry my cousin Earl.
About half of the guys in the chapter would get up enough nerve to ask a girl to be their date to the sweetheart dance. The rest would invent excuses like their parents didn’t want them to start dating until they were older, it cost too much, or my favorite they had to go to their cousin’s best friend’s brother’s bar mitzvah. Whatever the excuse the reality was usually lack of nerve or after being turned down by the girl they wanted to take they wallowed in the rejection.
For me it was a matter of pride. I knew I was going to graduate early, so while it was only my sophomore year I recognized I’d only have one more chance. If I wanted to make it into the realm of young Milwaukee Jewish society I had to attend at least one AZA Sweetheart Dance before my senior year. So, after getting turned down by the girls I could actually consider my sweetheart I enlisted the help of friends. Rina, an Israeli who had been in the states only a few years accepted my invitation.
Since it was my first formal affair I made the mistake of buying a traditional corsage instead of the kind girls wear on their wrists. After Rina took it out of the box she handed it to me to pin it on her. My nervous hands were sure to stay well above her bosom, but when I started to push in the pin I worried I would poke it into her flesh. Fumbling, I reached inside her neckline to shield her skin, but accidentally touched the strap on her brassiere. I shook as I quickly removed my hand. She calmly thanked me and pinned my boutonnière on my lapel.
Which one of the guys drove to the dance I don’t recall, but it was a typical westside car. Some of the guys from the eastside who I had seen around Brynwood Country Club when I worked there brought their dates in Porsches, MGs and Jaguars.
It was a beautiful night for a dance at the War Memorial Center that overlooked the dark shimmering waves of Lake Michigan. We spent a lot of time sitting out on the steps taking in the night air and small talk. When the signal came everyone who wasn’t already in the ballroom headed there.
People gathered on either side of the roped off white runner that ran the length of the room. Pomp and circumstance played as each chapter, its sweetheart and president were announced. Witt AZA was the last of the eighteen chapters, and Steve P who had succeeded Pidge as president beamed as he escorted Marlene down the aisle.
When the processional was over everyone danced as the lights in the ballroom dimmed. Afterwards we went to Mama Mia’s for pizza and garlic bread. Some of the guys went to the Pizza Wagon, but on a special night I didn’t want to celebrate at the place I worked.
As I remember it was a wonderful time. I only hope Rina thought so, too.
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