Seventy-one years ago today - December 17, 1943

                     My First Love, Dolores

I don’t remember when it started, but sometime during the eighth grade, when I was in Roxboro Junior High, I fell for a girl I thought was the most beautiful girl in the world, Dolores Osborn. I pursued her for some time in spite of her lack of interest. Oh, she was pleasant enough with me, and I did manage to take her to a movie or two, but I knew I was not on her list.

I remember walking her home along Fairmont Boulevard after we had a soda at the Dairy Bar, one of the kid’s favorite hangouts. She told me about pididdle, a word one says when a car with one headlight appears, an invitation to a kiss, much like standing under mistletoe. If the other one of the couple repeats pididdle, it means they would also like to share a kiss. No sooner had she told me this when a car with one headlight appeared. I bravely said, pididdle, but there was no response. I struck out again.

The ninth grade dance was the social event of the year at Roxboro. To have a date was important, and needed to be arranged early or all the girls would be taken, at least all of the popular girls. At least two months before the dance I took Dolores to a couple of movies and worked up the nerve to ask her, “Would you go to the ninth grade dance with me?”

“Let me think about it for a day or two,” she replied. “I’ll have to ask my parents. They don’t want me to date as yet.”

Apparently, her parents did not consider going to the Dairy Bar or movies as dating. I didn’t know if this was her way to say no or not, so I would have to wait for her answer on Monday. I thought the day would never come. I sat with Dee at lunch and soon had my answer, yes. I was ecstatic. I now had a date for the biggest event of the year with my dream girl.

Two weeks before the dance my dream was scuttled. Dolores came up to me and said, “I’ve been going out with Freddie (my buddy Fred Hunziker) for some time now, so I can’t go to the dance with you. I’m going with Freddie.”

How could any girl be so cruel? Easy, I guess. It was now far too late for me to get a date. All the available girls had long ago been asked. I did get even in a way. Dolores loved to dance and Freddie did not dance. During the evening, I danced every dance, many with close friends of Dolores. She sat at their table with Freddie and never did get to the dance floor.

After the dance, I went with a group of friends, mostly female, to the Dairy Bar for an after party soda. There was one couple and two girls who did not have dates because their parents did not permit them to date. (Shades of a bygone day) I was seated between the two girls who were being quite chummy when who should walk in but Dolores and Freddie. The two girls knew how I had been shafted (as did everyone at school) so they both became, shall we say, amorous—right then and there.
One of the girls, a close friend of Dolores’s, put her arms around my neck and called out to Dolores, “We’re sure glad you dumped Howie for the dance. We’re having a great time with him.” It was not long before She and Freddie left.

When I started at Cleveland Heights High, one of my dreams was to sing in the choir. Even though I played an instrument and was in band and orchestra at Roxboro, I joined the chorus, a prerequisite to being in the famous, Heights High School A Capella Choir. When I auditioned, I earned a spot in the second tenor section. I was thrilled, knowing I would be in the next Christmas concert. Another choir member was my old crush, Dolores Osborn. Though I had taken her to the movies a few times, she was not interested in me. I had given up asking her for dates and was reduced to admiring her from afar.

December 17, 1943—everything changed. The choir was to sing downtown at Higbee’s department store, an annual event. Given permission to drive the family car, I asked several members of the choir including one girl who lived near Dolores. When she asked if I had room for one more and told me Dolores needed a ride, I, of course, agreed.

After the performance, the choir was treated to a short party with refreshments in a room at Higbee’s before we headed home. I sat with Dolores during the party where she did not seem so standoffish as before. As I took everyone home, I happened to end with Dolores as my last passenger. We spent the next two hours in the car in front of her house. I told her how I had felt about her since we met in the eighth grade. Before long we shared our first kiss. After some amorous conversation and quite a few more kisses, I walked her to her door. My feet wouldn’t touch the ground, my mind was whirling, uncontrolled, and I was deliriously in love.

At the choir party after the annual Christmas concert, I gave her a card with the words “A penny for your thoughts” and enclosed a bright new penny. Sometime later, she returned the favor and the penny. I still have that penny.

We were to share many Christmases together. We would also walk onto the stage together at Heights as choir alumni many times, sing Emitte Spiritum Tuum, and share memories with choir friends. We managed to sing Emitte one last time in 1996 at our fiftieth class reunion with about forty choir alums.

In September 1949, we were married. I got even with her for standing me up for the ninth grade dance. I never did let her forget that. In the years that followed, we had five children and then were divorced after she betrayed my trust by having an affair with one of my friends. Ironically, our divorce was final on our twenty-fifth anniversary. After our divorce, she married her long time boy friend. I eventually got over it, and we had a friendly relationship for many years, something of great benefit to our children. Fortunately, I am blessed to be one of those who remembers the good parts of life and can forget or minimize the bad. Her husband died of a sudden illness a few years later, after they moved to Detroit.

She passed away some twenty years after our divorce. In a testimony to how positively we had dealt with our children, they asked my wife, Barbara, a Methodist minister, to conduct the memorial service for their mother. Dee and Barb had grown to be such good friends they often went Christmas shopping together for gifts for our children. The service was a celebration of all of the positive things in Dee’s life.

In later years I often thought our problems and subsequent parting were a bit of a blessing in disguise for me, once I recovered from the resulting emotional trauma. Had that not happened my life would have been very different. I would probably not have had the several spectacular relationships that I have experienced. There are several stories about these women in my book of memoirs.