It was in the late spring of 1957. i was already a love lorn teenager at 13, a seventh grader at Lebanon Junior High School. It was a Saturday. i had once again gone to a Saturday afternoon matinee at the Capitol Theater, a “B” Western preceded by the “Movietone News” reel, a Looney Tunes cartoon (hopefully), and a serial, “Rocket Man,” “Lash Larue, or “Buck Rogers.” Admission was a quarter. i had a Three Musketeers candy bar for a nickel and a coke for a dime.
After the movie, i went to the Tasty Shop next door and had a “suicide coke.” i don’t remember the cost but if was more than a dime, i would be shocked.
For some strange reason, perhaps because i was a lazy teenager, i called home for a ride instead of walking five blocks. i walked across Main Street to await my ride on the sidewalk by Bradshaw’s Drug Store. Perhaps it was from the Bradshaw’s soda fountain counter by the prescription order and pickup window. i really don’t know.
But while i stood there, a song wafted through the air. It was the Coaster’s just released “A” side of a two-sided 45 RPM. The “B” side was “Young Blood,” which still makes me smile today. The “A” side was supposed to be humorous as well, i suppose. But in my state of mind, it connected with me. “Searchin’.” Yeh, i thought, even then i was searchin’ for the love of my life.
My search took off and i found many wonderful women, two of whom i married, i thought had ended my search. But i found out the search had a ways to go: nobody was at fault; the fit just wasn’t long term.
The search continued. The Coaster’s song was on my mind:
Yeah, i’ve been searchin’ Ah-a, searchin’ Oh yeah, searchin’ every which a’way yay-yay Oh yeah, searchin’ Ah-a, searchin’ Searchin’ every which a’way yay-yay But i’m like the Northwest mountie You know i’ll bring her in some day (Gonna find her) (Gonna find her)
Well now if i have to swim a river You know I will And if i have to climb a mountain You know i will And if she’s hiding up on a blueberry hill Am i gonna find her? Child, you know i will
‘Cause i’ve been searchin’ Oh yeah, searchin’ My goodness Searchin’ every which a’way yay-yay But i’m like the Northwest mountie You know i’ll bring her in some day
Well Sherlock Holmes Sam Spade got nothing Child, on me Seargent Friday Charlie Chan And Boston Blackie No matter where she’s hiding She’s gonna hear me coming Gonna walk right down that street Like Bulldog Drummond
‘Cause i’ve been searchin’ Oh Lord now, searchin’ Mmm child, searchin’ every which a’way yay-yay But i’m like the Northwest mountie You know i’ll bring her in some day
Tonight, Maureen and i concluded a five-day personal celebration of our 40th anniversary by going to one of our favorite places, one where we had celebrated before, the Wine Vault and Bistro. It was a six-course, paired wine with Turley Zinfandel’s featured. It was forty years from when my search came a wonderful conclusion.
You see, i remember every detail of when we first met. She does also, but her memory is a little faulty. Of course, she thinks the same about mine, and in the short term, she is nearly always right. Of course, i allow her to think i have acceded to her claim she’s right all the time, except for this one particular moment. A man would have to be bordering on, if not steeply mired in crazy to claim his rightness with his wife.
40 years.
For many. years, i have posted the story of how we met. i am undeterred this year and that story is at the end of this long winded explanation about us, you know, the forty-year folks.
Sunday will be our fortieth anniversary.
We were not what many people would consider alike.
Maureen is a San Diego native, born in Coronado, and growing up in Lemon Grove. She spent four summers in Europe, a couple with a Parisian couple in a VW van speaking only French. She lived in Monterrey for two years after college, and spent a year with me in Jacksonville, Florida, during my last operational tour in the Navy. She is high fashion, gourmet dining and cooking, refined, experienced in interior design, and an incredible mind and eye for detail. Oh yeh, did i mention beautiful. And that beauty may have changed a bit, but she remains one of the most beautiful women i have ever met.
Me? i am a small town, country boy, from Tennessee. i am into sports, loved life at sea, once chewed tobacco twists and drank beer at the same time, cuss like a sailor because i was one, clumsy, forgetful, overlook the small, and sometimes important stuff.
Oh yeh, she was fluent in four languages. i spoke Tennessee Southern.
It’s a wonder she agreed to go out with me to the Belly Up Tavern to see John Lee Hooker that Saturday night after we sealed the deal on the partitions she sold me for my ship. Then, she actually agreed to go out the next Monday to the Belly Up again to see Doc Watson.
That first night, she made fun of the plaid inserts in the seats of my RX7, and probably turned up her nose at the rust red color, too but didn’t tell me.
A somewhat disinterested Maureen and me in my Coronado Cays condo i shared with JD Waits, my shipmate, and his sailboat.
She spent a lot of time in the RX7 that summer. i would leave my ship at liberty call, change clothes and clean up. Then, i would drive across the bridge, maneuver onto the 94 freeway, and exited on College Avenue. She and two other young women shared a small home a few blocks off of College. i would pick her up and we would drive to La Jolla. This seemed to happen about two to three times a week. We ate a numerous restaurants in La Jolla.. The one that was my long gone favorite was the Blue Parrot. It was in the lower level of a shopping and dining complex on Prospect Avenue. The menu was good, the Caesar Salad was terrific, and a jazz trio played most evenings. We would talk after we ate and i would drive her home. That’s when she would turn on a classical FM station, and promptly go to sleep. i usually got back to my apartment after 11:00 and went aboard my ship the next morning about 0600.
Another difference she turned up her nose for beautiful interiors at my old pea green couch that was very comfortable and cost $100 when i bought it in College Station, Texas in 1977.
That was the basics of our first spring and summer: lunches, dinner, a few concerts, and an occasional sailing on my shipmate’s sailboat. That September 1982, JD and i moved into the photo condo with my daughter Blythe’s approval. JD got engaged in December to Mary Lou. Maureen and i became engaged in February. He and i moaned and moaned how we had screwed up one of the greatest bachelor pads ever.
Then, there was one night we had dinner in Kensington. We were headed to Hotel Del Coronado’s Boat House. It had been converted into a restaurant downstairs with a small bar upstairs. The room next to the bar had couches, chairs, and occasional tables. Hors d’oeuvres, and desserts were served. We would have a dessert and a liquer for Maureen and an after dinner drink. But for some reason, i pulled over the curb and stopped in a nicer section of down. We were on an overpass with a canyon with plush vegetation below. We were talking about life, philosophy, and all that stuff. i don’t know why. But i do know that it was the first time i realized we thought alike in the most important things. It was a big moment for me.
In another six months, we were engaged.
We were married in her father’s backyard, Saturday, July 30, 1983. Maureen had rejected some beautiful venues for weddings because of the cost. So she spared no expense on the catering. There were tables set up around the yard with each having their own special hors d’oeuvre. i have included the menu at the end of this post. My brother Joe, a Methodist minister, came from New England to perform the service.
Maureen and i wrote our vows. Several days ago, i reread them. A particular segment stood out for me:
It has cast the light of clarity on relations with other people important in their lives, redefining and deepening those relationships.
It struck me how we both have a plethora of friends of almost every kind. We have friends across the political spectrum. We have friends of many of the religions in this world. We have friends who are just few steps away from homeless. We have friends who are pretty close if not already independently wealthy. We have friends that cover the racial and sexual preference spectrum. We have friends who are Hell’s Angels. We have friends who are deep into spirituality. We enjoy them all. And they all have made our two lives together enriched.
As i have said many times and deeply believe, “I am a lucky man to have her enter my life.”
Forty years, actually forty-one years, and 137 days from the day we met. But who’s counting?
The annual repeat of how we met is below:
It was early March 1982. i was the Weapons Officer of the USS Okinawa (LPH 3) home ported in San Diego. The Weapons Officer billet was titled “First Lieutenant” on other amphibious helicopter carriers. Regardless, it meant i was charge in pretty much everything not aviation, engineering, operations, or supply related.
One of those responsibilities was being in charge of the quarterdeck where all visitors entered the ship. From previous regimes, we had a large red torah that spanned the entrance into the helicopter deck below the flight deck. It was impressive, but Captain Dave Rogers called me to his cabin one afternoon. “Jim, I want our quarterdeck to be the best quarterdeck on the base. I want it to be the most impressive and known to be the best by everyone home ported here.”
I, of course, replied, “Aye, Aye, Sir!”
i discussed how we could make the quarterdeck renowned across the waterfront with my division officers and Boatswain Warrant Officer 4 (CWO4) Ellis. The Bosun had a bit of a beer gut. He was married to a wonderful Filipino woman who created a lovely macramé lanyard for the boatswain pipe the bosun gave me when i was transferred. She was about 4’8″ and almost that wide. Great lady, just a bit wide.
My team came up with the idea of a sitting area next to the quarterdeck. At the time, when guests or visitors came aboard, they had to wait for the watch to contact whomever they were there to see. That sailor or officer would have to come to the quarterdeck to escort the visitor. Often, the time it took to get to the quarterdeck was lengthy.
So we decided we could create a sitting area with panels, some chairs, maybe a sofa, and hang framed photographs about the Oki on the walls. That way, the visitor wouldn’t have to stand around in the working bay of the helicopter deck. Great idea.
We had to decide where and how to get panels. Since the Bosun and his first class were going to make a supply run Friday, the next day, i asked them to check out panels while they were on their run. Liberty call was early and the Bosun and his first class left around 1300. They were dressed in their standard liberty civies. The Bosun had on Levis with a blue tee shirt with his thick black hair combed back as much as it could to resemble a ducktail. His first class had on his biker’s jeans, white tee shirt with a leather jacket and a silver chain dangling down from the jeans. He had straw blond hair also combed back and the gap of a missing tooth was the final touch. They left for their mission.
i had a bunch of paperwork to work through and continued on after liberty call. The bosun came into the office with several boxes of toilet paper (i never understood why he didn’t get it through supply).
“i didn’t think you would be coming back to the ship, Bosun,” i remarked.
“Well, i didn’t want to keep this stuff at home over the weekend,” he replied.
“Did you find any panels?”
“Well sir, we went to Dixieline (a local lumber and home center). They didn’t have them, but they told us to go to Parron-Hall.”
“Parron-Hall?” i puzzled.
“Yes sir. They’re an office furniture place downtown across from the county admin building. We went there, but that place was way too classy for us. They had desks in the showroom worth more than my house.
“You are gonna have to go down there and see about them panels.”
“Aww, come on, Bosun, i have a lot on my plate.”
“No sir, you are gonna have to go down there. It’s on Ash Street.”
Then he added, ” You know sir, the woman who waited on us was really pretty. i noticed she didn’t have a ring on her finger. i’m pretty sure she’s single.
“And she’s way too skinny for me.”
Epilogue
Maureen, 1983
Midday on Monday, i drove down to Parron-Hall Office Materials. i asked the receptionist to see the person who had given her business card to Bosun. i stood at the entrance to the showroom. Maureen came walking across the show room with the sun shining in the window behind her (think Glenn Close in “The Natural,” only prettier). She claims i had my piss cutter on my head. That, of course, is not correct: i am a country boy from Lebanon, Tennessee raised correctly by my parents, Army ROTC at Castle Heights, a Naval career and, by the way, an officer and a gentleman. My hat was off.
We had numerous discussions about the panels, which required about four or five “business” lunches over the five or six weeks for the panels to arrive. When the deal was done, i asked for that date to see John Lee Hooker at the Belly Up. We attended several events over the summer including sailing with JD in the “Fly a Kite” race where we became (or at least JD became) a legend. We went out to dinner too many times to count.
And, as i have noted before, one night up in Mission Hills, i was driving and just pulled over and parked in a residential area overlooking one of canyons. We talked. And i realized we thought a lot alike. It took until early February before we determined it was, as they say, it was meant to be.
Tomorrow, we will go to the zoo and probably a Balboa Park museum or two, and like eat and Artifact, a great dining experience in the Mengei Museum. And on the day of the 40th, we will go back to the Wine Vault and Bistro, one of best dining experiences ever. i even posted a photo of us there on a previous anniversary.
i would emphasize that the amazing thing about all of this is her putting up with me and my antics for 40 years.
i’ve always been a bit ditsy and forgetful, but sitting here on the kind of day that allows the Southwest corner to put a spell on me: mid-70’s cumulus clouds hanging east behind Mount Miguel but none here and a sea breeze cooling me while i grill a steak, it occurred to me i think of myself as a practical and logical man.
But i’ve noticed in today’s culture, being practical and logical has become impractical and illogical.
Hmm…Well, Maureen’s salad, potatoes and green beans were great, and that steak wasn’t bad either.
i hit the six-month mark two days ago: One half year from actually turning eighty.
i’ve got a feeling “Life Begins at 8)” was not considering me. i also wonder if it really does begin at eighty, then i’ve got one hell of a lot of fun left to experience. It should be interesting. But after another horrible round of golf during FMG (for those who not remember, “FMG” means Friday Morning Golf, something i’ve been doing with two good friends from our last tours at the Naval Amphibious School, MAJ James “Marty” Linville, USA (ret.) and CDR Rodney “Rod Stark, USN (ret.), since 1991. Yup, 32 years. My golf has never been more than average, but now, i play three bad holes, get warmed up, play better for six holes with the exception of a couple of holes that attain FUBAR status, then i continue fairly decent for a couple of holes…and then it really goes into the deep mire of golfdom (my word, apparently). As i stated to the FMG crowd, i cannot tell if i play bad golf because i’m tired or if i’m tired because i play bad golf.
Still playing with these two, Pete Toennies, one of the original curmudgeons, and a whole bunch of decent folks and better golfers than me is just flat fun. Camaraderie they call it.
But sometime after my long nap Friday afternoon, i swore to finish my first phase of organization of the first bunch of photos and memorabilia on the temporary table i set up in my home office.
As a result, i have spent most of my Saturday revisiting some things past: Eventually, many of these will be posted here, primarily for relatives who also can get wrapped up in walking down memory lane.
In this process, i found a few i wanted to post now:
Blythe at Easter Time in College Station, Texas. The photo on the left was in 1977 before she turned five. The photo on the right, same place, same time of year, one year later.
The Easter Bunny probably is still scratching his head.
Then, a few years before that when Blythe was on her way to being, i would take naps after getting home from my sports editor job at Watertown (NY) Daily Times. It was 1972. i know because that was the only time in my life my hair was long (or as long as it could be prior to my reporting for two-week active duty for training (ACDUTRA) when i would get it back to almost Marine regulation. Snooker was an absolutely great dog, and like Cass, the lab and Lena, the mutt later, we would take naps together. And yes, i did sleep like that. Blythe’s mother took this photo.
Finally, to close out today, the photos are in sorted by years and in containers for each of those years. The office is less piled with stuff than it has been in a month (but it will begin tomorrow).
This is the last one, not a photo but a can of a two-sided document from 1944. It is a letter my father wrote to my grandmother. The dateline conflicts with what i recall, or rather recall from my mother’s recounting that period of history when i was an infant. i am trying to verify that. It is the government “V-Mail” letter, required then for service members to use in their correspondence during that awful war. Daddy was either in Gulfport, Mississippi with the 75th CB Battalion waiting to get underway for the Southwest Pacific, or he was enroute.
Regardless, Daddy only wrote more letters to his wife. His mother, Mrs. Myrtle Orrand Jewell, “Mama” to us, had quite a few. i don’t know how many as those photos and memorabilia are not complete. Still, he cared for his mother, an amazing woman, and i absolutely loved her for the short time i was fortunate enough to have her in my life.
The front of the letter. It folded with directions to be the size of a post card.
You know, it can feel good revisiting some things past.
Last night, i went to a wonderful ceremony. i met a lot of old friends, younger ones as well. It was a joy, a true joy for me.
Our friends, Jim and Sharon Hileman celebrated their Fiftieth Anniversary, that’s “50” as in years of being married. Their two daughters, Mandy and Lindsey, created and managed the entire affair.
There were about eighty folks at the affair.
The Hilemans and Maureen and i are close. Close enough to have celebrated another of our close anniversaries together. To celebrate our tenth and their twentieth, we traveled to Kauai together, and collected a passel of great stories to share.
Maureen and Sharon have been friends since they attended high school together. Jim and Sharon met a disco when Jim was in the Navy in San Diego. Maureen was also part of that dance scene and was a bridesmaid at their wedding. Their 50th was actually Friday, July 14. Our 40th will be July 30. At the reception for Maureen’s and my wedding, Sharon attended the entire wedding and reception in Maureen’s father Ray Bogg’s backyard. It was a catered affair. Jim arrived pretty late during the reception. When Maureen and Sharon introduced the two of us. Jim apologized for not making the entire shebang and explained he had been playing golf. i asked him why he hadn’t asked me. We’ve been close friends ever since.
The four of us shared Padre season tickets for almost 25 years. Maureen and her high school friends have outings together constantly, including trips to Santa Fe and others. When i refused to go on a cruise Maureen had won for her performance (they wouldn’t let me have the conn, Sharon went with her. Jim and i have been in golf foursomes since the late 1980’s. In 1988, we also convinced ourselves to buy Padre season tickets while watching the 16-inning game when Orel Hershiser set the major league record of 59 consecutive scoreless innings pitched only to lose to Andy Hawkins and the Padres. We held those season tickets until 2012.
With Jim and i, there is no end to the banter and no end to the respect we have for each other. The same can be said or Sharon and Maureen, except their banter has a governor on impolite sarcasm.
Our daughters played together.
In other words, we are pretty darn close. It was a joy to see them rejoice and celebrate with their family and friends. They deserve it.
* * *
i sat with golfing buddies while Maureen sat with her high school friends. We spent a lot of time mixing with most everyone of those 80 folks in the room. Fun.
Then, Marty Marion, who was one of those golfers at our table and a legend among us, noticed my arms and commented they looked like his. That is, very bruised and thin, rough skin. All of the guys at the table thrust their arms out and we all had bruises and thin skin. Most of us agreed that any minor scrape or nick would produce bleeding and take a long time to heal.
i thought, “old arms.” i remembered our daughter Blythe when we were out for dinner in Austin about five or six years ago, commenting my arms looked like my father’s arms in his later years. i took that as a compliment, but it really meant i had old arms even then.
i think it’s indicative of any older man who has been active most of his life, in work, sports, or leisure in the outdoors. Heck, when i was growing up, the darker your suntan, the more attractive you were to the women. It was cool to have a dark tan. Just ask George Hamilton. Now, it’s an anathema to folks, just ask any dermatologist.
Looking around the room, i admitted most of the men were old. Fifty years of marriage isn’t a drop in the bucket. For that matter, forty years when you married relatively late, is also a pretty good chunk of time. And you don’t spend those many years together without getting older.
To be honest, in spite of old arms and the multiple kinds of aging problems, some more serious than others, or the growing possibility of dealing with one of those problems, i sort of like being old.
There isn’t a lot of pressure unless you put it on yourself. You are out of the mainstream and you are not going to change a lot of things going on in this world. You can relax. Most of us don’t of course. We are out to fix something, make something better, worry about the house falling down because it’s aging also. Problems, problems, problems. Beating up, at least with folks your age, the younger generation who are going to hell and a hand basket, even though our parents said the same thing about us. Remembering mostly the good, very little of the bad from our past, and even if the bad is remembered, it is somehow put into a good light such as yes, “that (place the event from your past that was a downer here) wasn’t the best, but it made me a better man.”
* * *
So i revelled in the folks celebrating Jim and Sharon’s 50th anniversary. Old ain’t all that bad. Enjoy.
And congratulations to two of our closest friends.
