I spot a handsome guy looking
at me, with a kind of subtle grin.
“Hey, he has eyes for you.
Keep smiling at him.”
I check him out. He’s
slender, with dark wavy curls, and a nice smile. I’m guessing maybe 5’10”, near
six feet.
He walks over to me. “May I
join you?”
“Yes.”
Pat jumps right in, “Of
course you can.”
He glances at Pat, then turns
to look at me and smiles. “You caught my eye. Hi, I’m Johnny.”
“Hi, I’m Judy. Do you live
around here?” I’m thinking about the turnover on the base where we all live and
I’m cautious. I’m not wanting somebody briefly stopping for a short job on the
base then just have them leave.
“I’ve lived here nearly all
my life. My dad and mom live on base. He’s a statistician and physicist at
Michaelson Labs. I’m an electronic technician out near the hangers and work on
telemetry.”
I’m surprised I’ve never seen
him before now. “I work on the base too, at the Navy Exchange and Jewelry shop
in Ridgecrest. I work in the jewelry,
camera and photo department and decorate the store and all the windows. I run
the fast registers when it gets busy, too. ”
“Wow, next time my dad drops
off photos, I’ll have to come with him.”
A few hours slip past as we
dance and talk. Poor Pat sits there watching and listening to us. She accepts a
few dances from a couple of guys through the evening. I don’t want her to be
bored so I’m glad she is accepting the dances.
Near closing, Johnny looks at
me and asks, “Can I take you home”
Raised to think it was far
too forward to accept a ride with a stranger, I say “No, but thank you.”
Pat jumps in once more, “But
you can take her home tomorrow night.”
We both turn to look at her
as if she has lost her mind.
“Take her out tomorrow on a
date.”
“Oh,” we both say at the same
time.
We exchange addresses, phone
numbers and the next day drive to a lovely little Mexican restaurant in
Bakersfield, California. We listen to Ray Charles on the juke box sing, “ I
Can’t Stop Loving You”. We enjoy a wonderful meal and visit. It proves to be a
good way to get to know each other.
And this is the beginning.
___________________
When I’m at work, I decide to
look up his father’s photos, which is a big no-no, but I have a serious reason,
I tell myself. I want to know more about him and his family. Nothing shows what
people are like better than family photos.
I see him, his mother and father too, smiling and happy in each picture.
There are other people in the photos, a very tiny woman I find out later is his
beloved grandmother. She gave birth to five children. Her oldest, later I find
out, is Aunt Sis, the Matriarch of the family. I grow to love this woman. Her
father died when she was little and her tiny mom married again, only to have
two boys, and two more girls. Her second husband drank and gambled. On payday
his grandmother watched like a hawk for him to come home. He would stop and
bury cash in the front yard, even in the snow during the winter. She retrieved
it as soon as possible to pay bills, and buy groceries. She was a strong woman
in her early years. Now she lives in the same home as Johnny, and his folks.
His aunt and uncle live a couple of steps away and share in taking care of
their mom, too.
His home is stable and happy.
So goes my nosey search. I’m hoping to see him while I’m at work.
He comes in with his dad to
the NEX to pick up his pictures. I have seen his dad in the past because he
seems to bring in film often, is kind and polite. I feel excited to see Johnny
again. There is definitely an attraction here.
I notice that Johnny moves
slowly and isn’t in a hurry for anything. He’s neat, has a quiet sense of humor
and plays a mean saxophone in a rock band. I love the music and end up much
later sometimes playing piano, background rhythm mostly, when they practice.
Since he’s an electronic
technician, his hands are callus free and finger nails are clean. My first
thought when I noticed them lazily relaxed on the steering wheel as he is
driving on our first date. Hummmm, they are almost graceful and good for what
he does but would be awful fixing a car or repairing plumbing or getting into
anything that could cause damage or dirt to them. He isn’t a physical person,
but cerebral.
Our dating lasts five months
before we wed.
___________________________
I should have known this
marriage will bring unusual situations. I know nothing about what really is expected
in a marriage.
Since I’m Catholic, we do the
right thing and go to classes. We meet first with a priest from town,
Ridgecrest. He asks questions. I feel it’s important to tell the truth, so
always do.
This priest is a kick. He goes
to his room and comes back with a helmet, plops it atop my head and bangs on
it. “Isn’t this something? The newest design.” My head reels and my ears ring.
He talks about his bike. He’s into motorcycles. Then he says, “Come with me.”
And we follow him into his room. There before us are hockey sticks, to use in
the Mohave desert? That is funny to me. He is a dreamer if he thinks this will
work, I think. There’s sand only, everywhere around us, and sage brush. He
tells us Henry Kissinger is his friend and sent hockey sticks to him for the
kids. I’m thinking that’s like playing golf in a swimming pool. It makes just
about as much sense.
“We are planning to put a
cement court in back of the school and use roller skates to play. The kids
should pick that up fast.”
He also has Hawaiian
artifacts on the wall and all kinds of outdoor game paraphernalia.
It takes him time to get down
to business. Meanwhile, he serves us a
generous helping of ice cream and we talk about marriage. Something I feel he
knows nothing about.
Our next meeting is on the
base where another priest meets with us. This one will officiate our ceremony. It is a
very different setting. Serious and somber. We don’t know him. I find I’m
nervous. I see Johnny is too. This priest is intimidating.
After the first few meetings,
and we come every day, the priest asks me if I believe in birth control. “I do, I know it’s important to be responsible
in planning and preparing a family so children are safe with a good home.” I
continue, “Children need stability, food, a secure home and clothes. I believe
they should have a life without pain and difficulty.”
He looks up at me as I if I have
called the devil for a personal visit. Slams his book shut. Stands up as though
a spotlight is on him for this grand performance. Then utters, “I can’t marry
you. It’s against Gods laws to use birth control.” And out of the room he goes
in grand flamboyant style, nose in the air.
My Poor husband-to-be is
mortified. He’s red faced and stutters, “What will we do? We can’t get married
now and we’re only three days away from the ceremony with everyone already here
from traveling far, just for our wedding.”
I tell him we’ll figure this
out. Then we go our separate ways home.
After I get home I phone him only to find out
he isn’t there but is climbing “B” mountain to think things through. It’s
winter and heat will dissipate quickly in the late afternoons. It’s not a
mountain by any standard, but a large hill. It’s called “B” mountain because
every year high school seniors re-paint the “B” that stands for “Burroughs High
School”.
I go to his mom and dad’s house and wait for
him for hours. His parents are wonderful. His dad worked with Oppenheimer on
the development of the bomb. I can’t imagine how that must have been. We visit
through the nervous hours. When Johnny finally shows up I just tell him,
“Marriage and our vows are between you, me and God. I’m going to lie because
the priest is just a man with a stubborn belief he best knows God’s laws. We’ll
not argue with him, but get it done the easiest way for us, especially since we
only have three days before our wedding. I’ll get in touch with him and tell
him I’ll never use birth control. To this day I laugh because I wanted six
children. What irony.
--------------------------------------------
The night before our wedding,
my grandmother comes here from Seattle. I’m thrilled to share this time with
her. It’s so good to see her. It makes my wedding day all the more special. My
grandfather passed some many months ago. They were married over 50 years.
I iron my wedding dress, then
we all sit down for dinner. My mother has a sports car, an Austin Healey and
she mentions it. My grandmother’s ears perk up and out of the blue says, “How
did you know? Who told you?”
We all stop and look at her.
“What are you saying, grandma?”
She looks at everyone with a
huge grin and says, “I’m getting married to Earl Healey when I get back home.
He was the love of my life when I was young. We were dating and some floosy
flirted with him and swept him off his feet. That was the end of us. Later I
met your grandfather and we married. Now, I’m finally with Earl.
“That’s wonderful grandma.”
My parents are still staring
at her.
I wait for the mother-daughter
talk. Even up to the very last moment. My mother is a nervous wreck, and gets
cranky easily. She starts to yell about something then says, “I’m not going to
the wedding.” Of course I’m used to her outbursts and know she will come. She
has always been strict, smelling my breath when I come home from dates, and stern
about the time I must get home. Five minutes after midnight once she called the
police because I was late and I was 18 years old then. Midnight was my
bewitching hour. Oddly enough, I was a very good girl.
I have no idea where this ‘fit’
she displayed comes from and I’ll never know what started it off.
Not once does she mention
what is ahead for me. I don’t bring it up, even though I have waited every day for
weeks for her to talk to me. I enter marriage as green as a turnip, if they are
green? I am into a new world without guidance.
We marry on October, 27, 1962
which is a Saturday and the 300th day of the year.
Fun bit of Trivia.
Our wedding is held on the
Military Base, China Lake, in a big “A” framed chapel. I designed the dresses
for my bridesmaids and Maid of Honor, who wears a light blue satin dress, and
dark blue satin for the rest of the bridesmaids. Since it’s a winter wedding, I
show the season by applying white fur along their scoop necklines. They turn
out lovely. Floor length, short sleeves and they wear long white gloves. The
dresses are feminine. My mother chooses my dress. I hate it, initially. But it
does the job. Scoop graceful neckline, short sleeved, long train, and it
actually turns out nice. It grows on me. There are soft beaded pearls on the
scooped neck. The best men wear black slacks and white jackets.
I have two jobs, so paid for everything I
could. My parents still pay for quite a bit. After a lovely but short
reception, we leave town. I wear a green wool dress with matching green mohair coat for my going away outfit.
Very stylish for the time. I drive almost the entire trip, we have an VW style beige
Volvo. Our friends paint ‘Just Married”
all over it, they tie tin cans on the back that make a terrible racquet as we
drive off. When we get out of sight we remove the cans.
We head west over the Sierra
Nevada mountains through Kernville, then turn north of Bakersfield. After hours
of driving, we find ourselves on a lonely two-lane road. After many long miles,
we enter greenery and leave the barren desert behind. In the dusk of the
evening the trees make a canopy overhead. It gets very dark and we have no idea
where we are. It then turns pitch black out and seems we have no hope of
finding a motel. I keep driving. There isn’t any activity around us. No
businesses, Nothing. Suddenly an owl flies across the hood of our car and looks
right at me, as he veers to the right and away.
I’m now shaking. “Johnny, it’s really creepy out here. It’s so dark and isolated.”
“Yea. Like It’s out of some
Hitchcock scary movie.”
“Oh, gee, thanks for that.”
We drive in silence for
several more miles, still remaining in the middle of California. I spot a sign,
and the bad, dull bulb burps on and off, “Motel”. It’s in the middle of
nowhere. At last we have found a place.
“I’m dead tired.” I glance
toward Johnny, who is relaxed in the seat next to me.
“So am I.” He doesn’t like to
drive. I, on the other hand, don’t mind at all. I actually like driving.
I pull into the motel on a
dirt path with small individual cabins to our right and the office to the left,
attached and part of a two-story house. A dim light is in the empty reception
area, just hanging down by an electric cord. I have the creeps big time by now.
“Johnny, let’s get the hell
out of here. It’s exactly like Psycho.”
“You’re right. My neck has
goose bumps, even.”
I spin dirt under the tires
leaving too fast. We continue driving north. After what seems like forever, we
come to a pleasant motel on the south end of town. There isn’t anyone around. Its
dead quiet out. To the left are some trucks parked in front of a business, and
also along the side of the building. Rail road tracks are behind the trucking
firm. We can’t see any other buildings as it’s too dark out and they must be
far apart.
We enter the office. “Good
evening”. A pleasant sleepy man greets us, signs us into a room and gives us a
key. “There’s a complimentary coffee in your room and a local newspaper too.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry we’re
so late. We’ve had a long drive today.”
“That’s O.K.” with that he
turns and leaves as we go outside and move our car to the front of our motel
room.
We are in the last room on
the south side of the Motel. We open the door and face a clean, orderly, lovely
room. “It’s perfect.”
“Yeah. A far cry from what we
left behind us. That place made my skin crawl.” Johnny said as he turns the TV
on but sees the test pattern, so he turns it off. T.V. stations normally shut
down around 10 P.M. There isn’t a radio.
I go into the bathroom. “Hey,
come look at this. It’s really wonderful. The sink is large with mirrors that
angle on each side of the flat surface at the back of the sink. I can almost see the side of my hair from both
slanted mirrors, clever. Behind the right sided angled mirror is the toilet,
and the other a shower. It is a sensible, handy layout. “ I love this.”
“It’s pretty nice, alright.”
I shower after Johnny, making
sure my hair is perfect, re-apply my makeup and put on the special white satin nightgown
I purchased especially for tonight.
I walk into the main room,
approach the bed, I feel like a mannequin, numb from fatigue, bone tired and
much like a concrete block wearing lipstick.
We explore the independence
and freedom of wedded life. I have no idea what to expect and we both are
clumsy. I’m so tired I’m not enthusiastic. In fact I’m as excited as the
walking dead. We waited for this evening and now, finally free to explore sex,
ends up very different than what I thought it would be. I’m way too tired for
passion tonight. He is, too. We have time to learn, years in fact.
At some point after the sun rises,
we hear the blare of a frightening Air Raid siren.
I jump out of bed, run to the
window and look out. There isn’t a car on the highway, nor is there any human
being to be seen. My heart is pumping like it will explode. “Nobody is out
there. There isn’t any car. OH, MY GOD. This could be it.”
With that I run to the phone
and attempt to contact the office. It rings on and on. I hang up and turn to
Johnny, “nobody answered. What’s going on?” I turn on the TV and see just a
text pattern. Crap!
Running back to the phone, I
pick it up and hit number ‘9’ for the office again. “Hello, Meadow Motel, may I
help you?” a sleepy voice answers.
“Yes, please, we woke with a
start at the sound of a loud screaming Air Raid and I don’t see anybody
anyplace outside.”
“Oh, Mam, I should have
warned you that early every Sunday morning we have an Air Raid test. It’s
nothing. I hope it didn’t scare you.”
“Thanks a lot. It scared me
to death.”
So I go back to bed and we sleep
again, only to be awakened not too long after by housecleaning. She enters our
room, looks up and gasps. “On, I’m so sorry, your keys were left in the door.”
I am now officially
dumbfounded. I know we’re tired but to leave our keys in the door is just plain
stupid.
We check out of the motel and
head further North. By late afternoon we are in San Francisco. We choose a high-rise
hotel. It’s kind of seedy but we don’t know our way around here and it’s handy
so, as exhausted and stressed out as we are, we choose this place. We take the elevator up to the 14th
floor. That’s really the 13th. They just pass it up because of
superstition.
“What do you think of this
place?”
“ It will do, it’s OK. We can
eat downstairs. Are you tired?”
I answer with a breath of
slowly expelled air. “Yes.”
I look out the window and see
other tall buildings and a very active, populated street busy with people on
the sidewalks and a lot of traffic. We need to rest. “What a tough time we’ve
had so far. This is a memorable honeymoon of a new kind.” We laugh.
After dinner we go back up to
our room, relax awhile, have a more pleasant time together, and fall in a deep sleep when, suddenly, very
early in the morning, an Air Raid blares.
I jump out of bed and run to the window. “There isn’t anything moving outside.
NOBODY is out there. I don’t even see a car. We’re going to die.” I all but
scream.
I turn to Johnny, “That’s the
second Air Raid siren in two days. What the heck is happening?”
I run to the phone and call the
front desk.
“We just woke up with an earsplitting
Air Raid blasting. What’s going on?”
“Don’t worry, Mam, we have
that every week.”
I put the phone down and
wonder what is in store with the rest of our lives.
----------------------------------------------------
Epilogue:
We are not aware that October
27, 1962 is ‘Black Saturday,” the most dangerous day of the Cuban Missile
Crisis as events began to spiral out of control.
The Cold War lasted between
1952 and 1974. Foreign attack is a real fear.
There are 38 Air Raid Siren
locations and numerous air fields generally unknown to the people at the time,
in and around San Francisco. Alameda is active and on the ready as are all
bases. Children have been taught to duck and cover for years. There is a direct
and dangerous confrontation between the United States and the Soviet Union
where the Russians build nuclear missile sites in Cuba. President Kennedy has
to find a way out to resolve the crisis or risk a nuclear war. We are inches
from WW3 and are completely unaware.
The missile crisis abated on
October 28, 1962 when Nikita Khrushchev announces he is ordering a withdrawal
of the just installed nuclear missiles in Cuba.