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If You See Patricia ... Part One
It was 1964, I was a junior in high school, and I saw the most beautiful girl I had ever seen ... a girl named Patricia. To tell the story right, I have to start at the beginning, and the beginning was when my friend Gary, who lived on Plattsburgh Air Force Base, asked me if I wanted to attend a Teen Dance at the NCO Club on Sunday afternoon. I quickly agreed, so on Sunday, Gary and his cousin, Dave Richard, and I headed over to the NCO Club.
Ben "Never Rest" Everest, the Founding Father of Entertainment Unlimited, was the DJ and there were about a hundred teenagers gathered ready to Rock & Roll, Twist, Stroll, and do the Mashed Potatoes. Most of the teens were girls, air base girls who went to Peru Central and not to my high school. Gary, Dave and I smiled as we looked over the crowd. After a few songs I noticed a girl in particular, maybe slightly over five feet tall, with beautiful light brown hair with a wisp of hair falling slightly over her right eye. I'm sure I felt my heart skip a beat. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.
I told my buddies that before the day was over I would ask her to dance. They chuckled, knowing that when it came to girls I had about as much courage as Barney Fife. But I was determined. Everytime Ben Everest played a slow song, I tried to hike up my courage, but before I took a step towards her I would find an excuse. Two hours later, I heard the announcement: "OK, guys, this is your last chance. It's our last slow song." My time had come. Somehow I bravely moved across the empty dance floor to the wall of girls, my eyes focused upon the girl with the wisp of hair slightly over her right eye.
I tapped her on the shoulder, and asked, "Would you like to dance?" She turned and my heart fluttered. I was a foot away from the most beautiful girl I had ever seen in my life. I gazed at the wisp of hair over her right eye. "Sure," she smiled. So, we danced, slowly... and I told her my name and she told me hers, Patricia. I stumbled through the dance steps my mom had taught me when I was twelve, and we talked a bit about our schools. The song ended, and the dance was over. I returned to Gary and Dave, who patted me on the back for my manly maneuver.
The weekly Sunday dances at the NCO Club continued, and the three of us attended faithfully, as did Patricia and her friends. And each Sunday, the final slow dance was ours. I always asked, and she always said yes, and we danced and talked and learned more about each other. And on about the fourth Sunday I bravely asked for her phone number and she wrote it down for me following our dance. When I returned to my buddies that Sunday I told them, "I'm going to call her tomorrow and ask her to the movies!" After all, she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.
The following night I wrote out my speech to ask Patricia to the movies. I wanted to be sure to say everything just right and didn't want to leave anything out. At exactly 7:30pm I dialed her number. Yes, dialed, as this was the time before touchtone phones. I dialed, but I didn't talk to her that evening because I was too chicken to let go of my finger on the final number. At 8:15pm I gave up, determined to try the following evening. And try I did! This time I was braver and I let go of the final number and her phone rang. I was ready with my speech, already one day old. However, the unexpected occured. Her father answered the phone, so I hung up! Caller ID hadn't been invented in 1964, so I was off the hook for the hangup.
On Wednesday evening I called again, and this time Patricia answered. I could picture her holding the phone to her ear with that wisp of light brown hair slightly over her right eye. I read her my speech, closing it with, "Would you like to go to the movies?" She said, "NO." I was shocked. Patricia explained that she already had a boyfriend, but he didn't like the Sunday dances. So, she just attended with her friends, and she enjoyed our once a week slow dance. I was disappointed. Okay, I was heart-broken. The most beautiful girl I had ever seen had turned me down. That Sunday I didn't go to the dance at the NCO Club, staying home instead to count my baseball cards. I never went back to the NCO Club dances, but I never forgot Patricia and that wisp of hair slightly over her right eye.
Now, you'd think that the Patricia story would end there. But it doesn't! Join me tomorrow for Part Two of If You See Patricia.
