July, 1969

“Watch it, Bobby! You almost made me drop it!”

“I did not!”

“Yeah, right! You never do anything wrong.”

I ignored my brothers’ arguing but the sound of a car trunk being closed drew me over to the window to see what they were doing. They were standing at the rear of our father’s car and Brian, my oldest, always-responsible, sibling, was patting the back of Bobby, my youngest, always-irresponsible sibling. Clearly they were up to no good.

Normally, I’d be in the midst of their scheme; most often the instigator; but not today. No, today was for more solemn callings.

I turned to check my reflection in the mirror. I tugged at where my suspenders cut into my shoulders and straightened my shirt cuffs, then tried to flatten my hair while wishing I’d never succumbed to my beautiful girlfriend’s pleas to grow out my crew cut into something more fashionable for the late 60s.

I’d worn a no frills, no maintenance crew cut since I was six. It had seemed the perfect way to pronounce my masculinity at age six, but what does a six year old really know?

September, 1953

“I’m scared Mart. I’ve never been to kindergarten.”

“You’ll be fine,” I tried to reassure my sister Trixie. “No one else in your class has been to kindergarten either.”

I squeezed her hand, trying to dispel her fears when I realized that there were some kids who had to repeat kindergarten, so not everyone was new. And those repeaters included the meanest bully in my class the prior year.

“What if I’m not ready for kindergarten?”

“You went to Miss Sharon’s Preschool last year. She makes sure all her kids are ready. Brian was ready. I was ready.”

But you and Brian are smart. I’m…”

“You’re smart, too.” I worried that Trixie might not believe that, since I often told her otherwise.

I stopped in front of the door to Trixie’s classroom. While I’d promised Moms I’d walk her to the door, I was not stepping foot inside the room, fearing that someone might mistake me for a kindergartener and not a full-fledged, experienced first grader. “This is it, Trixie. It says Miss Logan on the door. Isn’t this the class you visited on Orientation night?”

Trixie nodded her head. I could tell that she was holding back tears. And Trixie never cried.

“Do you think Brian will find his room okay?” Sleepyside Elementary School was housed in two buildings. The older structure housed kindergarten, first, and second grades. A newer, larger structure housed Third through Seventh Grades. Today was our older brother Brian’s first day in the larger building.

“Don’t worry about Brian. He knows his way around.” I tried to reassure her. She had enough concerns of her own on this momentous day.

“And you can find your room?” It had become obvious that my clever little sister was stalling, but I sympathized with her reasons.

“Yes. It’s just around the corner.”

“Excuse me.”

I stepped aside so that one of Trixie’s classmates could pass.

“I need to go, Trixie.” I started to say I didn’t want to be late getting to MY classroom when I noticed the girl I was letting pass. I’m sure I gasped aloud when I saw her long dark hair and coy smile.

“I...I…” I stuttered and then bowed.

I bowed? What kind of idiot first grader bows to a kindergartener?

The kind I was.

Realizing how foolish I must look, I quickly tried to recover and offered my right hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Oh no. That was even dumber than bowing.

The girl giggled. “I’m Diana. Diana Lynch.”

“This is my sister Trixie. I think she’s in your class.” Without thinking I bowed again.

Not wanting to dig myself any deeper into the total geek pit, I turned and headed up the hall, hearing Trixie’s laughter as well as that of the beautiful Diana. What an impression I must have made.

But I felt her watching me as I walked away.

July, 1954

“Now, Mart, I want you to leave Trixie and her friend alone today. You and Brian have friends over all the time and you don’t like it when Trixie tries to join you.”

Moms never scolded us without good cause, but her tone was definitely serious this day.

“Every time Tad or Keith come over to play with me, Trixie bugs us the entire time…”

“And you don’t like it. She usually just checks to see what you’re doing and then she finds something else to do on her own.”

Trixie never found anything on her own, but she always left them alone when Moms told her to. I didn’t really want to play girl stuff so I figured I could leave Trixie and this mysterious visitor alone.

“Trixie’s friend is quiet and shy. She’s an only child and not used to a rambunctious family like ours. I hope you’ll respect that.

Quiet and shy? Sounded kind of sissy to me. “What’s rambo-unklish?” I asked Moms.

“Rambunctious.” Moms corrected. “It means loud and noisy. She doesn’t have older brothers who run through the house like wild animals.”

I nodded my understanding. While I wished Brian were home instead at Cub Scout Day Camp, it sounded like being alone would be better than hanging around some sissy girls. “I don’t want to play sissy stuff anyway.”

“Who did you say is a sissy?” Trixie had come up behind me and gave me a shove. “I’ll show you who…”

“Trixie!” Moms grabbed her hand before she could hit me again. “Mart was just promising to leave you and Diana alone.”

“Diana?” I interrupted. “Diana Lynch?” I couldn’t believe that someone as lovely as Diana Lynch might want to play with my sister.

“Yes Diana! And she’s no sissy! She may be the prettiest girl in the entire school, but she’s nice and fun, and she’s MY friend.” Trixie started to shove me again, but Moms was quicker and stepped between us. “So you leave us alone!”

“Don’t worry.” I turned and walked out into the hallway. Glancing into the dining room I noticed that there were two places set. “Hey, what’s that?” I pointed at the large table.

“It’s a dining room!” Trixie laughed.

“No. Who’s eating in there? We only eat in there on holidays or when we have company.”

“We are having company! Diana’s my company!”

“But there are only two plates.” I pointed again.

“We don’t want you with us. Watching you eat might make Diana puke!”

“Trixie!”

“Sorry Moms, but…”

“Trixie wanted a nice ladies luncheon. I thought you and I might eat in the kitchen,” Moms explained. “I can set a place for you if you’d rather eat with the girls.”

“Ladies luncheon? No thanks!” I pretended to be gagging and barfing as I headed down the hall and out the front door, letting the screen door slam behind me. Just as I stepped onto the front porch I noticed an old sedan pulling into our driveway. I watched as the prettiest girl at Sleepyside Elementary—Trixie had just said so—got out of the car and headed towards me. I couldn’t believe she was using the front door. No one ever came to our front door. I began to think that not only was she a sissy, but she must be some kind of snob!

She was carrying a bouquet of freshly cut flowers. That seemed kind of snobby to me, too. I reached to take them as she came up the steps onto the porch.

“No! These are for your mother!” She stepped away. “They’re my hostess gift.”

“My mother isn’t a hostess. She’s a mom…and a wife…a housewife!”

Diana huffed as I held open the screen door and then followed her inside.

“Moms! Trixie!” I yelled. Diana cringed as if I’d hurt her ears. “Diana is here and she brought flowers!” I watched as Diana gave Moms the flowers, Moms thanked her and went to the kitchen to get a vase. Then Trixie led her upstairs. As I expected, Trixie talked non-stop while Diana just nodded her understanding.

I tiptoed to the bottom of the stairs, trying to hear what Trixie was saying.

“This is the bathroom. Moms and I cleaned it this morning because usually the boys make it GROSS.

“This is my brothers’ room.” They were heading down the hall. “Brian is really nice and helps a lot. He’s at Cub Scout camp this week.” Trixie made it sound like he was some kind of god. “You’ve met Mart. He’s a total creep.”

Gross? Well, Moms was always telling me to not pee on the floor and to pick up my dirty clothes. But creep? Total creep? I admitted to myself that I taunted and teased Trixie too much, but I was NOT a creep!

I tried to hear what Diana said in response, but all that drifted downstairs was their giggles. I waited as they went into Trixie’s bedroom and shut the door, and then tiptoed up the stairs. A lot of laughter was coming from Trixie’s room. Fearing that I was the reason for that laughter, I crept up the hall and stood outside the bedroom door.

I jumped back when it flew open.

“What are you doing?” Trixie’s face was flushed in anger. “Are you listening to us?”

“I was…I…You ah, you never introduced me to your friend.”

“You know her from school. You met her downstairs.”

“Not really.”

“If I introduce you, you’ll just say something stupid.”

I heard Diana giggle from across the room and felt my face grow warm.

Trixie opened the door wider and let me in. “Five seconds!” I walked over to Diana and offered my hand. “Martin J. Belden!” I couldn’t believe I said my full name. “I mean Mart. Everyone calls me Mart.” I tried to recover.

“Mart, this is Diana Lynch. You met her on the first day of school, sorta’.” I was surprised at Trixie’s formality.

Diana offered her hand without looking up. I prayed that she would let me see her eyes. Someone at school had said they were purple, just like Elizabeth Taylor, and I wanted to see if that was true.

I started to ask if I could see her eyes, but then remembered that Moms had warned that she was shy. “Welcome to Crabapple Farm, Diana.” I touched her hand but didn’t shake it.

“You can call me Di.” She looked up and smiled weakly.

My mouth dropped open, I’m sure. She had the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen. They were violet, just like Elizabeth Taylor’s.

And Elizabeth Taylor was one of the most beautiful women in the world.

April, 1957

“Do I really have to sit through this?” I’d been whining and complaining to my parents since we’d left our house. I did not want to watch our school’s Third Grade Spring Pageant. Each month of the school year a different grade was responsible for providing entertainment before the start of the Sleepyside Elementary PTA business meeting. My entire family had sat through my Shimmying Snowflake routine as part of the Fourth Grade Winter Program in January and now I was being subjected to Trixie’s turn as a Dancing Daffodil.

“Brian isn’t here!” I protested.

“Brian has Boy Scouts. Otherwise he’d be here, too.” Moms never took her eyes off the stage.

“It’s not fair,” I protested again.

“Mart!” Moms shifted our youngest sibling, two year old Bobby, from one side of her lap to the other so that she could lean towards me. “Trixie sat politely through your program in January and I expect you to pay her the same respect tonight.”

I turned to my father, hoping for some support. His stern look made it clear that I was expected to sit and suffer.

I squirmed a bit as our music teacher came down the center aisle and sat down at the piano in front of the raised stage. She was followed by two third grade teachers who took the chairs next to her. I recognized the tune she began playing as the very same one we’d used for last year’s third grade spring pageant, as well as the year that Brian was in third grade. Obviously Dragon Breath Berry never changed the program. “This is the exact same…” I quickly stopped speaking when I saw my father’s scowl. One of the teachers stood and, after Dragon Breath played a few bars of music, several of my sister’s male classmates, dressed as trees, entered the stage from the left, singing about birds and flowers and green leaves or something. They were making their best efforts to march, but the brown cardboard “trunks” of their trees limited them to an awkward type of shuffle. The only boy who was even close to keeping in step with the music was Nick Roberts, who I recognized from Little League. I was trying to decide on the appropriate insult to throw out at our next practice when the line of trees reached across the entire stage and, while they continued to ‘march” in place, several third grade girls entered from the right.

Clad in green t-shirts and tights with large yellow paper “skirts”, I recognized them as the infamous Dancing Daffodils that had been in prior years’ programs. It was considered a big honor to be selected as a Daffodil, although the group of eight year olds in paper skirts did more

leaping and twirling around the shuffling trees than dancing. I was surprised to see that Trixie, who was not known for her gracefulness, was at the front of the line. As always, she was trying to jump higher and twirl faster than any of the other girls. I thought she looked pretty neat until her paper skirt started to slide down in the middle of her largest leap. She tried to catch it, but it fell all the way down and bunched around her feet. She managed to stay erect for a moment, but finally fell forward. The girl immediately behind her reached to help, but my ever-graceful sister fell head first off the stage and into the lap of Dragon Breath.

The other girl looked down at my sister and, obviously not knowing what to do, she began twirling around, unaware that, without any music, the rest of the class had stopped shuffling and leaping and began to leave the stage.

While Dragon Breath was trying to get my sister off her lap, the other two teachers ran up onto the stage. One stopped and grabbed the lone Dancing Daffodil while the other chased after the rapidly dispersing students.

After a collective gasp and long awkward silence, several people in the auditorium began coughing and choking to disguise their laughter. My mother stood up, practically threw Bobby at my father, and headed down the aisle to help my sister, who was now kicking and yelling for Dragon Breath to put her down.

I noticed that there were tears running down my father’s cheeks. I started to ask why he was crying, but quickly realized he was trying not to laugh. “I think we need to get the car,” Dad said as he held Bobby with one arm and guided me along with the other. “Your sister...” he choked on the words. “Trixie is going to need a quick getaway. We both began to howl with laughter.

We hurried out to our car and Dad drove around to the stage door. “Wait here with Bobby,” he instructed me as he ran inside. A few minutes later he came back with Moms, Trixie--who was now wearing a large man’s shirt spattered with paint, and Diana Lynch, still wearing her daffodil costume. That was when I realized that Diana had been the daffodil who’d tried to help Trixie when she fell. Both girls’ eyes were red and puffy, and dried tears streaked their green-painted faces, but they seemed to be fine. “Diana’s father won’t be here to pick her up for another hour so we’re taking her home,” Moms explained as the two girls climbed into the car, one on each side of me.

“Thank you for helping Trixie,” I said to Diana. “I wasn’t much help.” She looked down into her lap. “She still fell off the stage.”

“Yeah, and right onto Dragon Breath!” I turned to my sister. “Tell me Trix, how bad is her breath?”

Diana looked at me and smiled. “You guys really call her that?”

“Well her breath does stink!”

“Yeah, but not as bad as her pageants.” I stared in awe. Not only was she pretty, but she was funny too. The two girls’ giggles quickly turned to loud laughter. Diana grabbed my hand and squeezed it.

I forgot all about stinky breath and stinky pageants.

March, 1959

Just as the third grade was responsible for the PTA entertainment in April and the fourth grade was responsible for January, the fifth grade was responsible for March. After what had become known as the “Disaster of the Dancing Daffodils”, Dragon Breath Berry had turned over responsibility for the “entertainment” to a younger teacher who composed programs with far less musical and that better reflected the academic curriculum of each grade. Fifth grade was the first year we studied American History so the year Trixie was in fifth grade, a new program was presented called “An Introduction to Famous Americans”. The first Famous American in the program was some Native American—we called them Indians back then—who had lived here hundreds of years before there was an America. He was followed by a Viking Explorer, Christopher Columbus and a blonde Pocahontas who saved John Smith. I’d dozed off during the Founding Fathers (and some Founding Mothers since there were more girls in the fifth grade than boys), when I was jerked awake by my friend Tad Webster, who was sitting behind me.

“There she is. Diana.” He sang her name to the famous Paul Anka tune.

“Who?” I looked up at the stage and there she was, the beautiful and talented Diana Lynch.

She and Trixie had been best friends since kindergarten. That friendship had been sealed during their shared humiliation at the Disaster of the Dancing Daffodils in the spring of third grade. Their occasional afternoon visits became more frequent and, now that they were “mature fifth graders” they had occasional sleep-overs. Recently, these visits were more frequently at our home since, within the past three years, Diana’s mother had given birth to two sets of twins. But Trixie still enjoyed visiting her friend at the Lynch’s small apartment on Main Street.

The more time she spent at Crabapple Farm, the more open and friendly Diana had become and I could no longer hide my growing infatuation. It seemed everyone at Sleepyside Elementary EXCEPT Diana knew about my furtive feelings.

The object of my unrequited affection was now on stage, wearing a much-too-large blue jacket with gold buttons, gold felt epaulets, and a paper tri-cornered hat. To most others she probably appeared silly, but I thought the costume was beautiful.

“Good Evening.” She bowed and then had to wait for the applause.

“My name is Arnold Benedict and I was a general in the Continental Army during the Revolutionary War. While I was the commentator of the fort at nearby West Point, I plotted with the British to surrender it to them, giving them control of the Hudson River. The Americans found out about my stretchery but I was able to avoid capture. I then served in the British Army, but spent the rest of my life in shame.

“My name, Arnold Benedict, is now synomagnimonius with the word traitor. Americans may not remember my stretcherous deeds, but they know my name.”

Diana waited for applause but there was none. “My name, Arnold Benedict,” she repeated. “Is now syno…synogogminous with the word traitor. Americans may not remember my stretcherous deeds, but they know my name.” I watched in wonder as she bowed and then exited the stage. I started to leap to my feet to applaud but was held down by my father’s arm.

I looked up at him and then over at my mother and brothers when I realized that, just as the night of the Disaster of the Dancing Daffodils, the audience was completely silent.

One person in the back of the auditorium began to laugh and then was joined by others. I looked up at my father, not understanding the joke.

“His name was Benedict Arnold. Not Arnold Benedict,” he explained.

I looked up at the empty stage, my heart breaking for the lovely young lady who had just given a nearly perfect speech.

It was NEARLY perfect.

October, 1961

It was a beautiful autumn Friday afternoon when I came out of Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School and headed with our neighbor Jim Frayne and my brother Brian towards the bus loading area. My friends and I had a lot of chores and fun planned for the weekend and, somehow, I’d managed not to have any homework. I was surprised to see Diana Lynch waiting at the bus stop with my sister and Jim’s adopted sister, Honey Wheeler. Trixie and Diana had been best friends since kindergarten—at least they had until about one year prior. I had never discussed why with Trixie because I didn’t want to reveal my secret feelings for the most beautiful girl in Sleepyside. I knew that Diana’s family had gained some wealth and moved from their miniscule apartment on Main Street to a large contemporary house overlooking the Hudson. According to Trixie, they now employed a number of servants and had adopted the lifestyle of the rich and famous. Trixie no longer felt comfortable visiting Diana and the invitations had become less and less frequent. I gave a silent prayer that I was presentable as I approached the girls.

“Do my eyes deceive me? Is that a notebook which you have crammed so unattractively into your skirt pocket? Am I to deduce from this evidence that you plan to spend a small portion of the forthcoming weekend in the pursuit of knowledge?” As always, I tried to conceal my insecurities by taunting my sister and using big words.

Trixie looked at me sourly. “The answer to your simple question is yes. We have to write a theme for our English class.”

I looked over to Di. Despite her hunched shoulders and grim look, she almost smiled at me. I quickly learned that Honey had invited Di to spend the weekend at her home and enjoy activities with the members of our newly-formed club, the Bob-Whites of the Glen. Di was hesitant, but finally agreed to call her mother for permission. Thus began another of the “mysterious situations” that Trixie always seemed to find. Once we initiated Diana as the sixth member of our club, we set out to prove that her recently discovered “Uncle Monty” was a fraud, and help her realize that real friends didn’t care if she lived in a tiny apartment or luxurious estate. Trixie was caught snooping for clues by the fraudulent uncle, but I, being less impulsive, was able to save her and gather sufficient evidence to prove his duplicitousness.

Our efforts resulted in a reward for the Bob-Whites, an invitation to join the “real” Uncle Monty Wilson for Christmas at his dude ranch in Arizona, and the enduring gratitude and admiration of the entire Lynch family.

Including the raven-haired Diana.

January, 1962

After Trixie—with my assistance I might add—had exposed the bogus Uncle Monty and all of the Bob Whites had spent our Christmas holiday visiting the genuine relative, Diana had become more comfortable with her family’s overnight wealth and overcame her feelings of inadequacy enough to become an active member of our semi-secret club. While still our “Shy Di”, she was gaining more self-confidence each day.

As always, Trixie was looking for an adventure and three months after Di joined the Bobwhites she involved us in putting together an antique show and sale to raise money for charity. Of course, preparing for the show took time away from our studies and our usual chores and responsibilities, and got us dragged into another one of Trixie’s adventures.

It was an exceptionally cold day in January when Trixie called us together at lunch time so we could formulate some plan to keep our commitment to help with exercising the Manor House horses. We had agreed that Jim, Honey and I would ride after school while Brian, Trixie and Diana would go directly home.

As always, Trixie and I were at sword’s points. If anyone said a word against either one of us, the other would spring to his or her defense immediately, but we were so close in age, and, I being older and a boy, felt compelled to tease her at every opportunity.

“It’s hard to do everything,” Trixie complained. “We have to work every minute we can on the furniture. We have to study, too, and to help at home. We work harder than people do in the mines in Africa.”

I smiled at the opportunity to mock her…again.

“I think you are confusing, in your usual befuddled manner, Africa with Siberia,” I said smugly. “If you’d do a little reading now and then, instead of pursuing elusive individuals who practice infraction of the law, you’d…”

“I’d be as big a bore as you are, Mart Belden, with your big words that don’t mean anything,” Trixie, her face bright red, retorted.

“Don’t argue, please,” Diana said. “Remember, we all have to work together.” She glanced at me with a scowl contorting her pretty face.

“All right, O dove of peace,” I said as I winked at her. She really had a way of smoothing my ruffled feathers.

She reached under the table, took my hand and squeezed it.

And I knew she liked me, too.

If I knew then that she liked me, it was confirmed and sealed a few weeks later.

The Bob Whites had spent the entire day preparing for our antique show, followed by Trixie leading us to the police station to report another activity she considered suspicious. Sgt. Molinson quickly dismissed us—as he usually did—and we were waiting for Tom, the Wheeler’s chauffeur to pick us up. Tom had my younger brother, Bobby, as well as Diana’s twin brothers, who are close friends with Bobby. After we had all squeezed into the back of the large limousine, Tom advised us that we were all invited to dinner and games at Crabapple Farm.

Moms had prepared a delicious repast—as always—of hamburgers, baked beans, Waldorf salad, homemade pickled beets, corn relish and more, followed by dessert of pumpkin pie. After cleaning up, we crowded into the family room where my Dad had built a roaring fire in the fireplace. He and the three younger boys had devised a version of Simon Sez for us to play that included “forfeits” or penalties for anyone who missed a command.

Redeeming the forfeits turned out to be more fun than the game itself. After Bobby had commanded Trixie to sing “The Star Spangled Banner” and she’d managed to croak it out without breaking any glass, it was Terry Lynch’s turn to give Diana a command.

Terry struggled some time before he announced he had something but he wasn’t sure if it was allowed.

"Now you tell me what penalty to give Diana," Moms said to Terry. The little boy whispered in her ear.

I watched as Moms listened and then smiled broadly.

"I'm really going to enjoy this one," she said before looking over at where I sat on the sofa. Then she leaned over and whispered the penalty in Diana's ear.

Diana, blushing to the ends of her finger tips, walked over, leaned down and brushed my cheek with a kiss.

Unlike the gales of laughter that followed Trixie’s singing, the entire room went silent and I felt my face grow warm. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, everyone began laughing so hard we couldn’t continue the game.

It was the high point of the evening.

And of my slightly-less-than fifteen years on earth.

May, 1965

It was the night of the Sleepyside High School Senior Prom. I’d rented a tuxedo, ordered a corsage and made reservations for dinner at one of the best restaurants in Westchester County.

While most schools had a Junior-Senior Prom, Sleepyside reserved that event for seniors only, and Dan Mangan and I were the only members of the Bob-Whites who were in the Class of 1965. Dan had moved to Sleepyside during our freshman year, shortly after the evening of Diana’s and my first kiss. Despite a very rough start, he’d become the seventh member of the Bob-Whites and, being in the same grade, he and I had become fast friends. Jim Frayne and my brother Brian had been seniors two years earlier, and Diana, my sister and Honey Wheeler would have their own prom the next year.

Dan was a bit of a lothario, and had had his choice of a number of girls to invite to prom. He’d limited his options to just senior girls and eventually narrowed the list to Annie Downey, our class president. Of course, I had only considered asking one girl. Diana Lynch would be attending as my date.

I stood in the bedroom I shared with Brian, staring into the dresser mirror. I adjusted my madras plaid bow tie, thankful I had rented a clip-on instead of trying to figure out how to tie the darn thing. I then played with the matching cummerbund, wanting everything to be perfect—or perfectly perfect as Diana and her friends liked to say.

Finally deciding that I looked as good as I ever would, I took my white dinner jacket from where it hung on the back of the closest door and started to put it on. “Mart, you got a minute?” Dad knocked on the door frame before stepping into the room.

“Yeah, but Diana…We have dinner reservations and I don’t want to be late.”

“I know. This is a big night for you two.”

“It’s just a date. It’s not like…” Diana and I had gone out together countless times, but always in a group. Tonight, going to the Senior Prom was our first real date. While we planned to join several other couples, including Dan and Annie, at the dance, I was driving her in Dad’s new car and we were going to dinner alone.

And then there was after the dance. Dad sat on edge of my bed and patted the mattress next to him. “Sit. Just a minute or two.

“Prom. It’s a big night. First date or hundredth; it’s a big night. And your mother said that you’re planning to go to an all-night after-prom party?” Dad cleared his throat and I realized my father was nervous. I sat down. “It’s chaperoned and everything. We’re…it’s just a party.”

“No booze?”

“Not for me….or Diana!” At least I couldn’t imagine Di drinking alcohol. “Well I know…too often…I remember my prom…a lot of kids…you can get carried away. Booze does strange things to your self-control. I know we’ve talked about…ah…the birds and bees…sex, but that was in general terms. You now…you’re…”

“Dad! Diana and I haven’t even thought about…” I protested even though I had thought about it—sex—a lot. If I were completely honest I’d have to admit I thought about it whenever we were together and most of the time we were apart. Diana had been the prettiest girl in kindergarten and she had grown into the most beautiful girl in the entire school. Every boy in Sleepyside as attracted to her. But a part of that attraction was her innocence. I knew she wasn’t ready for anything more than kissing. We’d never done anything other than sneak a few quick kisses.

“I respect Di too much. I…We…” I stared down at my feet and noticed one toe was scuffed. I rubbed it on the carpet.

“Sometimes we have good intentions but…Diana is a beautiful girl and she’ll look so good in that formal gown, with her hair and make-up done. After the two of you spend an entire evening together…music and dancing…touching.

“I want you to promise me that if you do get carried away…” Dad cleared his throat nervously. “I’m not giving you permission and I’m not passing any judgment. I had the exact same talk with Brian two years ago and I gave him the same practical advice…”

Dad handed me several condoms. “Just a little insurance.”

He stood and left the room. I stared down at the small packets in my hand. I was certain I wouldn’t need them that night but…I got out my wallet and tucked them inside. Someday…

I didn’t need them that evening. Most couples had dinner at the Glen Road Inn but Diana and I drove up River Road to the Riverside Inn. We then joined our friends at the dance in the school gymnasium. The junior class had done an excellent job decorating, but it was still unmistakably the gym.

Following the dance, almost everyone headed to the all-night party at the VFW Hall. However, several couples had plans to head up to the overlooks on the Hudson Parkway to “watch the submarine races”. Much to my surprise, Diana suggested we do the same.

I didn’t know what to say. Other guys had shared stories of their girlfriends' initiating sex; after all it was the 1960s with women’s liberation and everything, but the last thing I’d ever say about Diana was that she was liberated.

I know my mouth fell open and I almost tripped several times as we walked across the parking lot towards my car. Going parking had NOT been in my plans for the evening.

But I was a seventeen-almost-eighteen-year-old male and, as I already admitted, I was always thinking about sex—sex with the most beautiful girl in Sleepyside. If she wanted to find a place to park on the Parkway, I was not going to refuse. And, thanks to my father, we were prepared.

“Are you sure?” I asked as I started up the car.

“Sure?”

“Sure you want to go…ah…go parking? I…I have…” I subconsciously patted the wallet in my back pocket. “I have protection.”

Diana looked over at me, obviously confused. “Protection? From what?”

“I, ah, I have, ah, prophylactics….” I wanted to bang my head against the steering wheel. Why did I always have to be a human thesaurus?

“Propha—what?”

“You know…condoms. If…if you want to.”

“Oh my gosh, Mart. How could you suggest such a thing?” Surprisingly, Diana wasn’t upset. “I just want to watch the submarines, silly.”

And I knew that neither of us was “ready”.

February, 1968

“So do you have plans for VD?”

“VD?” I looked up from the large textbook that I was perusing. I had an exam the next afternoon in my International Trade and Policy class and I was nowhere near prepared. “What do you mean, VD?” All I could think of was venereal disease, such as syphilis or herpes.

“No doofus.” My roommate Lennie got up from the tattered, lumpy sofa that dominated the living room of our off-campus apartment. “Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day.” “Tomorrow?” I dropped the large tome onto the floor. “I completely forgot.”

“Yeah, and Suzanne said that Di is expecting something special.” Suzanne was Lennie’s girlfriend and, like Diana, a sophomore at Binghamton State University, located about an hour from Cornell, where Lennie and I were juniors.

“Just send her flowers. That’ll buy time until you can come up with something better.”

“Flowers? They cost money!” I got up from the chair where I was sitting. “What am I going to do? I have no money and I have this exam.” I picked the book up off the floor.

“Hitch a ride to Binghamton and surprise her.” Lennie was totally indifferent to my dilemma. Of course he was always unconcerned about everything except professional football.

“I’ll be up all night cramming. Then I have my Management Accounting exam on Thursday. There’s no way I can go to Binghamton tomorrow.”

“Actually, I doubt anyone will be going to Binghamton tomorrow. The weather forecast is for 10 to 14 inches of snow, strong winds with gusts up to 50 mph, and temps below zero. You can tell Diana that you’re coming and then back out because of the weather. That’s what I’m counting on with Suzanne. I’ll just say I was planning to surprise her, but the roads are too bad.”

By this time I was pacing the room. This would be the first Valentine’s Day since Di and I had decided we were “ready” to consummate our relationship and she deserved much more from me than a promise I knew I wouldn’t keep.

“Suzanne is right. Di will be expecting something special.” I confessed to Lennie. “And I’ve kinda’ led her to believe that I had something special planned.”

“Like back to back exams and a blizzard?”

“Yeah.” I sighed heavily.

After checking with several other guys in our building I learned that the family of a guy who lived on the first floor owned a hundred year old hotel in Tioga County, Pennsylvania. After I pled my case, Roy spoke to his father and arranged for me to have a room for a very reasonable fee; twenty hours of tutoring Roy in accounting. Of course, it meant cutting my Friday afternoon class to hitch a ride to Binghamton, at least two hours of driving through the mountains of northern Pennsylvania, and then making the same trip again on Sunday; all in sub-zero temperatures and avoiding snowstorms.

But Diana was thrilled when I called early Valentine’s Day morning, apologized for having to postpone our celebration because of my exams, and promised a perfectly perfect romantic weekend at a “secret” hideaway. All I needed from her was the use of her car to get there.

“Of course, we can us my car, Mart. How else did you plan to get anywhere?” Diana responded. “Is there anything special I should bring? Special clothes or…”

“Oh, I doubt you’ll need clothes at all. You might want to wear a nice warm coat but once we get inside…”

“Mart!” I could tell she was blushing by the tone of her voice. “Seriously! I’ll pack something for a nice dinner out, but otherwise…”

“But otherwise…” I laughed. It sounded like she wanted to spend the weekend the same way I did.

“Oh, I love you so much Mart!”

“I love you, too. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

I hung up the phone, feeling invigorated despite my all-nighter. I was in love with a beautiful woman and she loved me in return, and we were going to spend an entire weekend at a romantic getaway…hopefully in bed.

My usual ride to Binghamton wasn’t going that weekend and I ended up paying twice as much as he charged to squeeze into the back of a VW Beetle between two guys passing a joint back and forth, offering me a toke each time it passed. I’d sampled some Alice B. Toklas in the past-what college junior in 1968 hadn’t—but I preferred to stay sober and not risk my entire future for an illegal substance. I declined each time. Of course, I was still concerned about how I’d smell when I arrived at Diana’s dormitory after over an hour in the smoke-filled vehicle.

I was starting to feel a little high from the fumes when one of the guys shook me from my stupor. “Hinman? Aren’t you going to the Hinman complex?”

I squeezed out of the car and then waited for the driver to pull the lever so I could open the trunk. I grabbed my small bag, slammed the hood down and headed through the shoveled paths without looking back.

Diana smelled the weed as soon as she came within ten feet of where I waited in the parlor of her dormitory and my romantic weekend almost ended before it had begun. Fortunately, after carefully examining my eyes to see if the pupils were dilated, she believed my explanation. Within a short while we were headed west on U.S.17 in her 1967 Mercury Cougar XR7. Diana had wanted a Mustang convertible similar to the one our friend Honey Wheeler drove, but each time I got behind the wheel, I thanked Mr. Lynch for the bigger, heavier car with a powerful 390 cubic inch, 6.4 liter FE series big block engine.

Diana cuddled next to me while I drove and the two hour drive passed quickly. She slipped on the plain copper ring we’d used in the past before we left the car and squeezed my arm tightly as I registered as Mr. and Mrs. Martin Belden. It was obvious that she was anxious for us to get to our room.

I declined the offer of the bellman to help us with our bags. While Diana had brought a fairly large suitcase, I had a small gym bag and didn’t want to squander any of my very limited budget on a tip.

Diana seemed a bit disappointed when she saw that we had a small room. Despite her frequent protests that she hated her family’s new wealth, she did enjoy some of the perquisites that came with it: especially the Mercury that allowed us to spend time together. I knew that I could never provide her the types of luxuries her father did and it often bothered me.

“I hope this is okay,” I offered. “I had…I am on a strict budget this weekend.”

“Oh! It’s perfectly perfect, Mart.” She spun around. “Our little love nest.”

“I like the sound of that,” I said as I pulled her to me and led her to the bed.

We spent most of the weekend in that bed. I was somewhat surprised at Diana’s passion, but just accepted that we were finally becoming comfortable, confident and less inhibited in our love-making.

At least that’s what I would have thought if I’d been thinking. The truth is I was a sex-obsessed twenty-year old and the hormones that were oozing from every pore blocked any semblance of rational thought that weekend.

We did leave the room for meals and enjoyed a long walk through the historic town, but each time I could barely wait to get Diana back to the room.

We slept in late that Sunday morning, but I woke ready to make love again. I nudged Diana awake and took her quickly, knowing that our weekend was coming to an end. She didn’t resist, but she wasn’t as eager as she had been the past two days.

“Is something bothering you?” I asked after we’d finished, or I should clarify that I had finished and Diana had pulled away.

“Not really.” Diana sat upright and pulled up the covers, displaying the first modesty in two days.

I reached for her with one hand and she swatted it away. It was then that I realized her passion had peaked sometime on Saturday. There definitely was something bothering my Valentine.

“I guess there is. I…I guess I don’t want the weekend to end.” She laughed in a way I’d never heard before. It stopped suddenly, and she looked at me soberly. “Of course, it doesn’t have to.”

“We can spend every weekend together, Di, but I can’t afford anything like this.”

“I wasn’t thinking about weekends.” She choked on the words.

I sat up. We’d had this discussion before and it never ended well. Diana wanted to get married. I did too, but she wanted to get married NOW and I wanted to wait until we finished school and I could support a wife…and…family.

“We’ve talked before, Di.”

“I thought…” She choked on the words and tears began to run down her cheeks. “I really thought that you set up this wonderful weekend so that…I thought I might see a ring this week. Really, Mart! I don’t want to wear some fake copper ring that turns my finger green. I don’t want to pretend we’re married when we check into a hotel, upscale or not. I don’t want to worry each month until “my friend” makes her visit.

“I thought you were on the pill.”

“Yes, I’m still taking those pills...and I’m still getting headaches and bloating up with water and… You haven’t been thinking…at least about me.” She paused and the silence in the room scared me.

“I promised my parents that I’d complete two years of college. I will have kept that promise come May. I hate college. I hate Binghamton. I’m done.

“And I’m ready to get married.” She looked at me expectantly. “Are you?”

“I love you Di. But there’s school. I want to finish school and then…Job. Money.”

“And how many times have I told you I don’t care about money. I’ll get a job and we’ll…”

“I don’t want that kind of relationship,” I protested. I told her many times that I had no problem with her working, but I was not going to let her support me. I wanted ours to be an equal partnership and that was not equal.

“So you’re ready for sex but not the responsibilities that come with it?”

“I’ve never said that, Di. I do love you. I do…”

“I never wanted to make an ultimatum, Mart, but I guess this is one.” She was crying now. “It’s time for me to make plans for May. I’ll be done with school and I’d like to plan a wedding…” She could barely speak between sobs. “I guess that’s not going to happen with you.”

She got out of the bed, no longer embarrassed by her nudity, and walked towards the bathroom. “I think you need to find your own way back to Ithaca.”

It took over twelve hours, but I did.

February, 1969

I’d waited two days after that disastrous weekend before trying to call Diana again. Not surprisingly, she’d refused to come to the phone. She refused when I called a second, third, fourth, fifth…or any of the numerous calls I’d made that week. I caught a ride to Binghamton that Friday, this time with my usual ride and not with the potheads from the past weekend, and when I went to her dorm and had her paged, a girl I didn’t know came down and told me that Diana was gone for the weekend.

I spent the night in the Student Union and returned to her dormitory as soon as it was open the next morning. The same girl came down and again told me that Diana was gone for the weekend, this time telling me not to come back or she’d call campus security. I doubted campus security would do more to a polite, clean cut young man other than escort me off campus, but I wasn’t ready to test them, so I returned to the Student Union, made some calls and got a ride back to Ithaca that afternoon.

I continued to call; at first several times a day, then once a day and then every few days until I was advised by her Dorm Mother that future calls would be referred to campus security. My misery and guilt consumed me. I subsisted primarily on beer and potato chips, lost almost ten pounds, lost interest in most of my classes, but somehow made it through the rest of the semester. My GPA dropped, but thanks to easy A’s in two classes, I gained access into the honors program my senior year. When I returned to Sleepyside for the summer, I learned from Trixie that Diana was living in her parents’ Manhattan apartment and looking for work. Trixie refused to share any more information, but I quickly learned that Diana had signed with a modeling agency and was taking foreign language lessons. I knew Diana had no desire to work as a model, despite frequent offers, but the pay could be significant. I wasn’t surprised by the news that she was taking language lessons since Diana had always worked hardest in French class and talked about a number of careers that required foreign language skills.

Each attempt I made to contact her in Sleepyside or New York failed and I finally gave up, focusing all my attention on my summer internship.

By the time I returned to Cornell in September, I had accepted that Diana and I were no longer together, although I still believed that I would never again experience the kind of love we had shared. I accepted my fate to be the less-than-perfect goofball, boy next door, hard worker, good friend, but never truly standing out in anything. I was the proverbial middle child.

I went out with a few girls that fall semester, but spent most of my time focusing on studies and managed to pull off a perfect 4.0 GPA. I was headed towards pulling off the same thing for my final semester as an undergraduate when I learned that my senior project was selected to be presented at a conference in New York City, sponsored by the World Food Program. Attendance at the conference, with access to its Job Fair, as well as the recognition of my work, almost guaranteed a job at a national or international organization directly related to the areas of my study: Agricultural Economic and Social Development and Natural Resource Management. Even better, it might guarantee award of grants and fellowships to finance a Master’s Degree.

As student delegates, my friends, Jeff and Bill, and I stayed at a cheaper hotel several blocks from the conference site. We’d overslept and were running late for the Opening Session and were hurrying through the hotel lobby looking for the Conference Center when I saw a sign directing us to the Registration Table. I managed to catch a glimpse of the three young women sitting at the table and came to an abrupt stop.

“Here, guys!” I called to my friends as I turned and headed to the table, almost as if in a trance.

“Diana.” I choked on the words as my friends went up to the other two women.

She looked up from her work. Her blank stare slowly changed into a weak smile.

“Are you here for the World Food Program Conference?”

I almost cracked my lips I smiled so broadly. “I’m a presenter.”

“A what?”

“A session tomorrow morning. My senior thesis. I…Yeah. Me. I’m a presenter.”

She flipped through the manila folders in a large box. “That’s really nice.” She pulled out a packet and offered it. “Your meal tickets are behind your name tag. You’ll have to pay to replace them or your identification.”

She waited for me to take the packet. “Mart?”

I stared at her, speechless. She’d cut her hair, not much but just enough so that it had more bounce and some curl. And her makeup…obviously a professional had taught her what to do. She was more beautiful than ever before. If that were possible.

“I…Are you working here?”

“I work for the FAO. It’s just a clerical position, but it’s exciting. All that practice in French paid off. I really am working for the UN. And I’m taking Spanish and Italian classes since our headquarters office is in Rome. “I think you’re late to the session.”

I took the materials reluctantly and started to turn away. Jeff and Bill had their packets and were waiting at the entrance to the large banquet room where they were holding the opening session.

“Yeah. I’ve never been one to miss a meal, especially the morning repast.”

Diana tried not to smile, but I saw the corners of her mouth twitching.

I decided that it was a good time to leave.

I nibbled at the cold scrambled eggs, over-cooked bacon and dry toast while a number of speakers welcomed us to the conference. I didn’t hear anything they said as I was silently debating whether I should grab the moment and ask Diana out, or hope to impress her by my involvement in this prestigious international conference and ask her out later.

I finally decided to grab the moment and I pushed back my chair, tossed my napkin onto my plate and left.

Fortunately, Diana was still at the registration table so I hurried over there.

“Would you like to go for coffee?”

“I’m working.”

“You’re entitled to a break. Ten, fifteen minutes? Join me for a coffee break.”

“It’s okay, Diana. We’ll cover for a few minutes,” the older woman seated beside her offered.

Diana glared at her for an instant. “I’m working. You need to get back to the…”

“I’ve been trying to talk to you for a year. I finally see you face to face...give me ten minutes. Just a few words. Please.”

“Oh, Mart. You said plenty of words…usually big words…for fifteen years; trying to prove how intelligent you were and how stupid…You have nothing to say that I want to hear. Go back to your session.”

The older woman stood up and glared at me, as if to support Diana, so I turned and walked slowly back to the banquet room.

I spent the morning and afternoon in different sessions and signed up for two preliminary interviews by employers at the Job Fair. I was really hoping to stay at Cornell for at least another three or four semesters while I earned a master’s degree, but that wouldn’t be possible unless I found a way to fund that degree. In mid-February I was still exploring all my options.

Jeff, Bill and I found a relatively cheap place for dinner a short walk from the conference center, and were enjoying steaks and beer in the bar area when one of my friends pointed out Diana, who was having dinner with the other conference workers.

“Isn’t that the girl from the registration table? The one you were flirting with?” Jeff nodded towards where Diana was sitting.

“I wasn’t flirting,” I protested.

“I don’t know what you’d call it, but you were definitely interested.”

“And she wasn’t,” my second companion offered. Bill knew Diana from when we had dated, but Jeff did not.

I watched as she and her friends enjoyed their meal, oblivious to anything or anyone else in the restaurant.

After some time I noticed an older man walk up to her table. They spoke, with Diana shaking her head back and forth the entire time. I continued to watch as the man took a free chair and pulled it up to the table, squeezing in between Diana and one of her companions. Diana scooted over, and the man followed, placing his hand onto the back of her chair.

Diana finally stood up, her face now contorted in anger. A waiter came up to the table, said something to the strange man and he got up and left. I watched as the waiter followed the man to the exterior door.

“Mart?” Jeff broke my spell and I turned to him. “She told you she wasn’t interested, but you sit staring at her while an excellent steak goes cold and your beer gets warm.”

I took a swig from my mug. It was warm. “Some old guy was putting the make on her and I was just watching to make sure there wasn’t a problem. Fortunately a waiter…”

“Just who is she to you?” Jeff finally asked.

I finished my cold steak and warm beer and then downed a cold beer before paying my tab and heading back to our hotel. There was a stiff wind and light snow was blowing when we left the restaurant. Fortunately I had warm gloves, but the only protection for my face and head was to turn up my coat collar.

I noticed a man standing in a recessed doorway across the street with his collar pulled up in a similar manner. I started to point him out to my friends when I saw why he was waiting in the shadows.

Diana was standing at the curb, less than ten feet from him. She was obviously waiting for a cab or, more likely, a limousine from the service her parents employed. Her long wool coat had a fur-trimmed hood that severely limited her peripheral vision and she did not see nor hear the man as he stepped out of the doorway and approached her.

I saw him take something from his coat pocket. I couldn’t see what it was, but I knew this wasn’t good.

“Diana!” I called out a warning but she couldn’t hear me over the strong wind and traffic.

“Diana!” I called again as I darted into the street. I managed to dodge between vehicles and get to the other side of the street unharmed, but Diana still had not seen nor heard me.

Or the man. The man that I recognized from the restaurant.

I jumped over snow pile along the curb and tackled him. I managed to hold him down until Jeff and Bill joined me. Between the three of us, we held him while we determined that Diana knew him well; so well, in fact, that she’d taken out an order of protection to keep him from following and harassing her.

Fortunately we were in an area frequented by tourists and the wealthy elite and the police arrived quickly. Their search of the man revealed that his name was Darrell Deacon and that he carried a small bottle of clear liquid that appeared to be chloroform, several handkerchiefs, handcuffs, rope, and a long knife.

Because I had intervened before he was able to assault Diana, the police were only able to charge him with violating the order of protection, but that was sufficient for the police to hold him while they investigated other potential charges. They took Mr. Deacon away in a squad car, leaving Diana on the street corner—with me and my two friends, of course.

“I need to call a car…or a cab.” Her voice quivered and she was shaking copiously.

“You’re shaking. I don’t think you should be alone.” I offered.

“I’m just cold. Once I get home.”

“Diana. As a friend—a fellow Bob White—I can’t let you go home alone.”

Bill had hailed a cab and Diana and I quickly climbed into the back.

“We’ll see you back at the room.” Bill called out as he slammed the door shut.

“Or tomorrow!” Jeff added. I prayed Diana hadn’t heard that.

Diana scooted across the seat and took my hand.

“We have a lot of catching up to do,” she whispered as the cab pulled into traffic. “A lot.”

July, 1969

It’s an understatement to say that things moved quickly after that evening in New York. Just as Jeff suggested, I spent that night in Diana’s apartment. We didn’t share a bed, but sat up all night talking; about her harrowing experiences with Mr. Deacon; about her modest modeling career and job with the FAO, about my academic achievements; and, most importantly, about our future.

By April, I had given her a ring. It was a simple solitaire worn by my Grandmother Belden, but she was delighted—especially since it was a complete surprise for her. She had never once mentioned anything about marriage since February, but I knew the time was right. In May, I received my Bachelor of Science Degree with Distinction in Research. With a cumulative GPA greater than 3.75, I managed to graduate Magna Cum Laude.

We’d initially agreed to marry in July and return to Ithaca in August where I would begin work on my Master’s degree. Diana had found a job at nearby Ithaca College that allowed her to take up to two free classes each semester and she would complete a Bachelor’s Degree in French shortly after I’d receive my Master’s. However, in June we were reminded of the old Yiddish proverb, Der mentsh trakht un Got lakht. Man plans and God laughs.

Our wedding plans did not change, but our long-term plans became short-term, and I accepted a position in the New York office of the FAO, while we prepared for the birth of our first child in February—after today’s wedding, of course.

I again stared at my reflection, I guess I am living proof that love at first sight is possible. I was completely besotted that day in September 1953, and I have been since.

I grabbed my ditty bag from the top of the dresser and placed it in my suitcase.

“Moms and Dad are waiting.” Bobby bellowed from the bottom of the stairs. “Have you seen Moms? Wow! She almost looks young!”

“I’m on my way.”

I latched the suitcase and started to lift it from the bed, but hesitated. I looked around the room one last time, thinking about all the memories that filled it, but also thinking about the memories Diana and I were about to make.

“Mart, you got a minute?” Dad knocked on the door frame before stepping into the room.

“Yeah, but Diana…I don’t want to be late.”

“Just a word or two.”

“Dad, I think we had this talk several years ago. We have a baby coming. There’s not much you can say.”

“I can say how proud I am of the man you’ve become; how proud your mother and I both are. And how pleased we are of the choices you’ve made—well most of them.”

I stood silently, holding back the tears. “If I can be half the man you are, Dad.”

“Half? Oh you’re more than that, son. So much more.”

“The car’s ready,” Brian called up stairs. “Is the groom?”

“You haven’t changed you mind, have you?” Bobby called up.

I looked at my father who was holding up my jacket, then one last time at my reflection.

“No. Never. Let’s go!”

As it was in the beginning, is now until the end Woman draws her life from man and gives it back again And there is love

Patricia's Passages Butterflies Home

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