SAILING AWAY ON GRACE LINE

Grace Line

Paul and I set off on our week-long honeymoon cruise.  We would visit Curacao, Aruba, Haiti, St. Thomas and Caracas, Venezuela.  I had never been to any of these exotic locations and I was pumped! Paul loved the sea and was always happiest when aboard ship. I didn't feel quite well, but tried to ignore it.  However, by the third day I had familiar symptoms and we visited the ship's doctor.

"Well, it certainly sounds as if you have more kidney stones and since we are at sea, there is nothing I can really do," the doctor said, sympathetically. "You will probably need more surgery as soon as you get home." 

Discouraged, Paul and I trudged back to our room.  How would we pay for more surgery?  I had given up my job (and insurance) and Paul had no insurance at the Players.  We both tried to be cheerful but a pall had settled over our honeymoon. Because of feeling ill, I had missed seeing Aruba and Curacao. 

We ate a delicious dinner in the elaborate dining room; we tried to laugh and joke but our stories fell flat.  After dinner we walked on deck and looked at the stars.  I suddenly thought of Paul's mother, Mabel, and her last words to me in private.

"Now, Linda," she said, "Paul's dad and I have been married many many years and during all that time we have never seen each other naked.  I hope that you and Paul can follow this tradition."  I had no words.

But now I repeated Mabel's sage words of advice to my new husband.  He looked at me in the moonlight and said, "I think the ship has already sailed on that one."

We both began to laugh and couldn't stop.

TO BE CONTINUED

A MAGICAL DAY AT THE WORLD'S FAIR

             I don't think there has been another World's Fair since the glorious Fair of 1964.  Remember--at that time DisneyWorld and Universal did not exist.  There was no CGI.   Cell phones, computers, Kindles and all the other electronics we have grown so accustomed to today had not yet been invented.  So what we experienced at the Fair was amazing, unbelievable, fantastic, unheard of.  And even though I had been born in New York, I had lived most of my life in a small Florida beach town.  So what I saw that day impressed me as nothing ever had before.  Paul and I went from one marvel to the next, agog.  We were like children exploring the Circus for the first time, the best circus the world had ever seen!

                           

I had no favorite exhibit; I loved all of them.  But Paul loved It's a Small World After All the best.  He continued to love it for the rest of his life and saw it over and over again when the exhibit came to DisneyWorld.  He liked to think that Small World was the world of the future--a place where all the people in the universe coexisted in peace and harmony, where no one was marginalized.  And we had reason to think it was possible as those years were the beginning of the civil rights movement, the women's movement and the birth of gay rights.

We were naive of course, but I remember that day at the Fair showed us a world of unimagined possibilities.  And just think of what we have now; it's almost beyond belief.  But the ideal of peace and harmony that Paul saw in It's a Small World eludes us still.  We're not even close.

And that breaks my heart.

THE 1964 WORLD'S FAIR IN NEW YORK

Paul had arranged a honeymoon cruise on Grace Line, the company he had once worked for.  He didn't like to fly so we took the train from Sarasota to New York.  In those long ago days the train station was downtown.  When the train roared into the station, we boarded, all set for our honeymoon adventure.  I got off the train in an unknown town and walked up and down the platform trying to get my sleeping leg to wake up.  As I strode along with a broad smile, the heel came off my left shoe and I fell down on the filthy platform (the stains on my homemade going away suit never came out.)  I looked around for my high heel and saw that it had fallen onto the tracks.  I then noticed a huge run in my nylons.  My big smile slowly faded as I limped along in my soiled suit and ruined stockings.  I saw Paul coming toward me with two cups of coffee and a stunned expression.  His pretty young bride looked like a homeless woman.  Paul helped me back onto the train (I had twisted my ankle) and when I was safely seated he handed me a cup of coffee and told me to be careful as it was very hot.  Exhausted from the wedding, I fell asleep within five minutes and the hot coffee poured into my lap.  I screamed so loud the porter came.  Chaos reigned.  Passengers handed me napkins, paper towels, hankies-- anything to stem the tide of coffee which was now dribbling down my legs onto the floor.

We arrived in New York many, many, many hours later.  Paul looked fresh as a daisy.  I, on the other hand, had wild hair, a filthy suit, a broken shoe, ruined stockings, a dirty face and a look of profound shock.  Paul's mother was speechless.  My new husband tried to make the best of it.  He brought forth a big, phony smile
and said, "We're all ready for the 1964 World's Fair!"

To Be Continued

MY WEDDING DAY

Our wedding day dawned bright and clear....and very, very warm.  It was the hottest May 22nd in Sarasota's recorded history.  I thought of my beautiful handmade wedding dress with it's long sleeves, long skirt and 35 covered buttons.  I was already sweating.  My dad drove me to the church and let me off at a little wooden cottage where brides dressed.  As we passed the rectory I saw Father Smith, the priest who was to perform the ceremony, in old work pants, scrubbing the steps.  Not a good sign.
                                                                           
I had left the Catholic Church while I was at Wesleyan for many reasons and yet here I was.  I would have liked a small garden wedding with a few close friends.  I was paying for the wedding on my $50 a week salary, but somehow decisions were made by others and I stood by like a sleepwalker.  I was a guest at someone else's wedding.  My maid of honor, Sue, and my dear friend, Kathy, arrayed me in my bridal gown.  Putting the 35 buttons in the loops took 20 minutes as we all stood, smiling, as the sweat poured down our slender, nervous bodies.  At last I was ready and my friends escorted me across  Orange Avenue and into the packed church which was so hot I thought I would faint.  (Father Smith had forgotten to turn on the air conditioning until five minutes ago.)  Someone handed me my bouquet of pale yellow roses and I took my father's arm.  Little Debbie, Paul's niece and our flower girl, was walking down the aisle, strewing rose petals while my brother, Jim, looking so sweet and handsome in his little tuxedo, was carrying a satin pillow with the ring.  Both children looked so young, so vulnerable that I wanted to cry.  Sue looked at me and smiled (I think I looked terrified), then started down the aisle in her yellow silk dress.  Then it was my turn.  I saw Paul standing by the altar; he looked miles away, but smiled reassuringly.

My father and I started walking down the endless aisle and I realized that the woman playing the Wedding March was the worst organist I had ever heard.  Friends smiled at me, but I couldn't remember who any of them were.  I started to panic and then I saw 12-year-old Paul Rubenfeld,* my close friend from the Players.  Young Paul was wise beyond his years and we had connected.  I looked into his eyes and my heartbeat slowed down.

My dad handed me off to Paul  and the wedding began.  I remember absolutely nothing about the ceremony, but suddenly it was over and we were walking up the aisle, husband and wife.  Father Smith had done his duty.  As Paul and I walked along, nodding and smiling to everyone, the organist once again showed us all her astonishing lack of talent and musicality.  Paul looked at me and rolled his eyes wildly.
I laughed.

*Paul Rubenfeld grew up and became Paul Reubens, the actor  who created Peewee Herman.  We still have a connection to this day.

LIFE CHANGES

The old Players Theater

I had always been a girl with goals both large and small.  Now my goal was to get through the day.  I wasn't good at my job; my family was fractured and I had no idea what to do with my life.  In the early 60's girls went to college and then married a lovely boy from another college to whom she was "pinned."  Some girls had careers.  I had been trained to become an actress, but for some reason I was too terrified to try.  I had no idea how to start.  I pictured myself living in New York City in a tiny apartment with four other girls.  Working as a waitress while going to auditions.  Being rejected.  Over and over again.

To escape this grim fantasy (which was probably very realistic) I spent my spare time at the Players Theater, where I had spent a good deal of my youth.  I made some friends; I worked on costumes; I went to cast parties.  At work I went out to lunch with Lorrie who was pregnant and was trying to figure out if she should marry Boot.  Marrying a Black man in 1964 seemed fraught with danger.  Becoming an unmarried mother of a biracial child in the South seemed equally dangerous.  But I kept these thoughts to myself.

On the homefront my parents were determined to keep my grandparents in the dark about their separation as they feared they would be shocked and upset.  My personal feeling was that since dear Nana had abandoned her first husband and son when my father was 12 so she could have a better life, she had no real reason to be shocked.   But as usual I kept my thoughts to myself.

But then one day everything changed.  I needed to ask our director, Peter, a question. Someone said he was in his office so I went and knocked on the door.  No answer.  I knocked again and called out his name.  Silence.  I opened the door and saw Peter on the floor unconscious.  I ran for help and honestly what happened after that is all a blur.  I think an ambulance came and Peter was taken to the hospital.  No one talked about what had happened.  I never found out exactly what was wrong with Peter, but I knew he drank.  If explanations were made, I didn't hear them.  Quite suddenly Peter and his wife moved to New York without saying Goodbye.  A new director was needed immediately to direct Bye, Bye Birdie, a musical Peter had already cast.

A professional actor and director named Paul was hired.  He had run his own summer stock theater in Malden Bridge, New York, for many years and had given a 14-year-old girl named Barbra Streisand a chance to be an apprentice one summer.  She turned out to be a capable little actress and played five roles.  No one knew Barbra could sing.  Paul stepped right up and directed Birdie, which turned out to be a huge success.  I was his assistant for the next production and dutifully wrote down his notes for the cast at rehearsals.  Paul turned out to be a sweet man I felt comfortable with and he could easily make me laugh.  We became friends.

Six months later we were married.

COULD I HAVE BEEN THAT NAIVE?

Before I died of terminal boredom working for a boss whose only clients appeared to be some very ancient ladies whom I was told never to bill as they had all promised "to remember him in their will."  I hope they did. (He did have several male visitors from the Ringling School of Art who were hoping to borrow his car.)

I found a job at a law firm with several partners as apparently I gave the mistaken impression of knowing what I was doing.  The secretary in the cubicle next to me typed 100 words a minute and was "wild."  During slow periods Lorrie regaled me with stories that proved that she was both wild and progressive.  She was living with a Black man named Boot in 1964 and she told everyone else that Boot was an Indian which no one believed.  I admired her principles on race relations, but now I think she just liked Boot.  The second week I was there Lorrie said a large group of Florida legislators was coming to Sarasota and there would be a gala party.  Would I be willing to be a hostess?  Well, of course, I would!  My grandmother was thrilled and was sure I would meet the governor.  (I did not.)  I was to meet Lorrie at a posh resort on Lido Beach where cocktails would be served.

I saw Lorrie immediately.  She was wearing a bright red cocktail dress and talking to a much older man who turned out to be a Representative from a very rural county who was her "date."  I was introduced to a bland young man who represented Volusia County and who was apparently my date.  I was confused.

Alcohol was flowing freely and there was a great deal of jolly talk. I had a Coke with lemon. Lorrie was complimented on her "pretty legs" and I was told what a nice figure I had.  There was lots of laughter, bad jokes and extravagant compliments as we wandered around the pool consuming endless appetizers.  Somehow I had thought the evening would be far more  fascinating than                    it was turning out to be.                  

At some point the entire party drove to the Mecca for dinner.  Since everyone but me was quite drunk by this time, this was probably not a good idea.

"What's that thing on top of the tower?" asked the Representative from rural Florida.  "It looks like a
woman's tit!"

Neither Lorrie nor I could think of a suitable reply so we both studied our menus.  My date looked embarrassed.  Score one for him.  We all ate enormous amounts of delicious food and my tablemates kept on drinking.  I tuned out and concentrated on my plate, wishing I were back at Wesleyan singing the blessing at Sunday dinner. My longing was interrupted by Mr. Sophisticate's beefy hand on mine.

"So, what do you think of that, Missy?"  I stared at him stupidly until Lorrie helped me out in a voice freighted with meaning.

"He was saying that he told a man to get off the sidewalk and stand in the gutter."

"Oh, I guess I must have missed something.  Why did he have to get off the sidewalk?"

"Because he was a nigger," he said.

I looked at Lorrie who was staring into the distance, her face expressionless.  My "date" was flushing deeply.

"Well, I need to get on home," said Lorrie, standing and clutching her purse.

"But I thought you and I were--"

"No, my babysitter will be wondering where I am.  Thanks for a lovely dinner."  And she was gone.  Thank God she had brought her own car. Her babysitter was of course Boot.

"Well, shit," said the Honorable Representative.  "I thought..."

My date stood up.  "Miss Linda, you probably want to get on home too, don't you?" I nodded silently and stood.  He threw a lot of cash on the table, then took my arm.

We both got in his car, saying nothing.

"You don't do this kind of thing do you?" he said staring at the steering wheel. I shook my head.  "Did you even know what you were getting into?"

"No, I didn't realize....I was horribly naive."

He smiled at me.  "I like that in a girl."

Startled, I laughed.  And then he drove me home. 

A FALLING APART LIFE

Sarasota is beautiful, but I didn't notice.  My life had quickly fallen apart and I had no idea what to do next.  My parents split up; my best friends got married.

I didn't return to Wesleyan for my senior year.  I had no car; I had no job; I had no plans.  My father and I lived in a dump and my high school friends had scattered.  I went from being busy every moment of the day doing activities I loved to doing nothing.  With no enthusiasm whatsoever, I looked for a job and found one as a secretary to an attorney who had no clients, which was a good thing as I was a pitifully slow typist and had forgotten my shorthand.

 My boss was gone most of the time doing God knows what and I was alone in my windowless office hoping the phone would ring and it seldom did. I was seriously depressed but didn't recognize the signs.

I auditioned for a play at the Players and was given a small part.  I made some new friends.  There were several charming young men hanging around and I liked them very much, but they were not exactly boyfriend material.  My days and nights were filled with mild boredom, but I didn't really notice.  I was sleepwalking through my life and was going nowhere so very, very fast.

TO BE CONTINUED