(The part of the story below that happened in this universe is true)
I never had a girlfriend until I was in my twenties, though it wasn’t for lack of wanting one. I simply didn’t know how the game was played. I was shy, bookish, and clueless about girls. Three strikes before I ever stepped up to the plate.
One of my earliest failed efforts involved a young woman named Phyllis Camden.
I met Phyllis at a baseball game. Growing up in a farming community in Illinois, summer baseball was a way of life. My brother and I played Little League and Pony League, traveling 10 to 40 miles to play teams from nearby towns. Almost every town had one.
In nearby Quincy, Illinois, with about 50,000 people, there was a minor league team called the Quincy Cubs. On summer nights when there wasn’t a kids’ game, families would go watch the Cubs play. It was at one of those games that my family went with another family we knew, and Phyllis tagged along.
Phyllis was pretty. We were both about sixteen, and I liked her immediately. Though shy around strangers, I was energetic and funny around people I knew, and because I knew everyone there except Phyllis, I was unusually confident. To my amazement, she and I hit it off. This was the first time I’d ever sensed a girl might be interested in me, and I was ecstatic.
Phyllis was funny and surprisingly confident for a young, pre-liberation woman of that era. I was absolutely charmed.
We never had time alone that night, i.e., no kissing, no hand-holding, but I went home convinced she could be my first girlfriend. All I had to do was make it happen. Unfortunately, my options were limited. Though I had a driver’s license, I wasn’t insured to drive the family car, and I owned no car of my own. All I knew about Phyllis was that she lived in Camp Point, about ten miles away. I didn’t have her phone number because I hadn’t asked.
What I did have was her attention. So I pursued her the only way I could.
I wrote a letter.
In rural Illinois at the time, you didn’t need a street address. If you put someone’s name on an envelope and mailed it to their town, the postal carrier would get it there.
What to write, though, was another matter. I didn’t yet know how to translate a good in-person interaction into good writing, and asking for help wasn’t something boys did then. In an alternate universe, my letter said, I had a great time with you. Could I get your phone number and see you again?
In this universe, it did not.
I don’t remember exactly what I wrote, but I know it was dreadful. The only part I remember is inviting Phyllis to dinner at our house the following week with the family she’d attended the game with.
I never received a reply.
When the night of the dinner arrived, though, I was hopeful anyway. That hope was misplaced. Phyllis didn’t show up, and worse, she’d shared my letter with my friends, who spent the evening laughing at me. If I hadn’t been trained by the era to swallow pain, I would have cried. Instead, I did it inwardly.
I never saw Phyllis again in this universe.
But in another one, the letter worked.
In that universe, a few days later I received a letter addressed to Kevin Ahern, Fowler, Illinois 62338. The return address read Phyllis Camden, Camp Point, IL. She wrote that she’d had a wonderful time talking and laughing with me, that she thought I was cute, underlined no less, and she included her phone number.
I called her. We talked. I asked if she had a boyfriend. She said no, but she wanted one. I invited her to the school sock hop. She said yes.
When the night arrived, I got dressed up and brought her a corsage. She was beautiful. We danced. We laughed. I introduced her to my friends. I was bursting with pride.
Walking back to the car afterward, I put my arm around her and held her hand. Then she turned, kissed me, and surprised me with her tongue. She whispered that she knew a place by Bear Creek. Would I like to go there?
In that universe, a naive country boy and his far more knowledgeable girlfriend drove to Bear Creek and climbed into the back seat of his parents’ car.
I would tell you more, but what happens in an alternate universe stays in an alternate universe.
I met Phyllis at a baseball game. Growing up, baseball in the summer was a way of life for young boys in the farming community in Illinois where I lived. My brother and I played Little League and Pony League and we lived for our weekly games, traveling 10-40 miles away to play against teams in other towns. Almost every little town had kids’ teams in those days.
In nearby Quincy, Illinois (about 50,000 people), there was a minor league baseball team called the Quincy Cubs and on summer evenings when there wasn’t a kids game, families would go watch the Cubs play. It was at one of those games that my family and another family we were friends with went to a Cubs game and Phyllis tagged along with them.
Phyllis was pretty and I liked her immediately. We were both about 16. Though I was shy around strangers, I was energetic, enthusiastic and funny around people I knew. This was a perfect setting for me to “turn on” that persona because I knew everyone there (except Phyllis, of course) and I had confidence I never would have had if I’d met her under other circumstances.
To my delight, Phyllis and I hit it off smashingly. This was the very first time I’d ever detected a girl being interested in me and I was ecstatic. Phyllis was really funny and surprisingly confident for a young, pre-liberation female of that time. I was absolutely charmed by her.
I didn’t get to kiss Phyllis or hold her hand or anything like that, unfortunately, because we had no time alone that night, but I went home as happy as I could be. Phyllis could be the girlfriend had been wanting! All I had to do was make it happen, but my options were limited. Though I was 16 and I had a driver’s license, my parents didn’t have me on their insurance, so I couldn’t drive the family car and I had no car of my own, so I couldn’t get to where Phyllis was to pick her up for a date. Worse, all I knew about Phyllis was that she lived in Camp Point, a town about 10 miles from my town and I didn’t know her phone number because I hadn’t asked, kind of like the three strikes against me I mentioned to start this story.
What I did have was her attention and that was worth a lot so I pursued her in the only way I could – I wrote a letter. In the rural towns of Illinois in those days, there were no street addresses, but if you put a person’s name on a letter and sent it to their town, the postal person would get it to them.
Yes, a letter was the way to go, but what to say? I didn’t know much about writing in those days, so I didn’t have the ability to transfer the fun of our face-to-face interaction into a fun-to-read letter. Asking for help was not something young males did then either, so I was on my own playing a brand new game that I didn’t know the rules or strategy for. Three strikes, again.
In an alternate universe, my letter simply said, “I really had a great time with you the other night. Could I get your phone number and see you again?” Unfortunately, in this universe, the immature, unknowing Kevin did not do this. I don’t remember what I wrote in the letter, but I know it was dreadful. The only part of it I remember is concluding it by inviting her to come down to dinner at our house the following week with the family she’d gone to the baseball game with.
I didn’t get a letter back from Phyllis, but when the evening for dinner came, I was hopeful. It turned out to be a terrible night – one of the worst of my young life. Not only did Phyllis not show up, she told my friends about the awful letter I had written and they were laughing at me all evening. If I had not been pounded into shape by the patriarchy of the time to be the tough, strong young man I had become, I would have cried by eyes out. Instead, my tears were all shed inward.
I never saw Phyllis again in this universe, but in the alternate one, my letter went over really well. There, I received in the mail a few days later, a letter addressed to Kevin Ahern, Fowler, Illinois 62338 and the return address said Phyllis Camden, Camp Point, IL. In it, she told me how much fun she’d had talking to and laughing with me and she said she thought I was cute. CUTE! That word had never been used anywhere within my earshot in my life to that point and there it was in her own handwriting and she’d even UNDERLINED it. The glories of heaven could not bring a greater delight than what I felt at that moment.
Importantly, Phyllis gave me her phone number. A girl who thought I was cute had given me her phone number! Surely, it couldn’t possibly get better than this. I called Phyllis and we had another great conversation. I asked her if she had a boyfriend and she said no, but she wanted one. I invited her to the sock hop at our school in a week and she agreed. Everything was going my way.
Sock hop day came after what seemed an eternity and I got all spiffed up and took her a corsage. She was beautiful. I was totally smitten and she seemed to be too, as best I could tell. At the hop, we danced and laughed and I introduced her to my friends at school and I was bursting with pride. I had a girlfriend.
I gingerly held Phyllis’ hand and put my arm around her on the way back to the car after the dance was over. Before I knew what was happening, Phyllis swung around and kissed me right there in the parking lot. I had never kissed anyone before, so her tongue sneaking its way into my mouth was a big surprise. She whispered to me that she knew a place by the old Bear Creek. Would I like to take her there? OMG, OMG. Things were moving fast, but who was I to say no to my new girlfriend? We arrived at her secluded place and a naive country boy and his new, much more knowledgeable girlfriend moved to the back seat of his parents’ car. I would tell you more, but I’m afraid that what happens in an alternate universe stays in an alternate universe.
0 Comments