(Note: this prompt first came up on July 23, 2018, which is when this story was originally written and published. I have added some new anecdotes and made some edits. It should be noted that as a high school teenager, I was not paying much attention to the political world around me.)

The radio alarm woke me the morning of June 6, 1968. I listened to the news, silently wept and pulled the covers over my head. I couldn’t get out of bed. After some time, my mother came in to see why I wasn’t up yet. “They got Bobby”, was all I could get out between my tears. Eventually I got up and got on with my day. It was almost the end of the school year and I listened to Ted’s beautiful eulogy for his brother while sunning myself in the backyard. Somehow, my life would go on, even though the world had changed in ways I didn’t yet understand. The liberal dream was never the same, but 50 years later, we can only imagine what life might have been like had RFK lived.

The year began for me with auditions for “Bye Bye, Birdie”. I was truly upset that I didn’t get the role of Kim, the 16 year old who is chosen to go on the “Ed Sullivan Show” and be kissed good bye by Conrad Birdie before he enters the Army. (None of us resembled Ann Margaret and the movie veered dramatically from the play.) I was called back for the role, but it went to Freshman Debbie Lakin, the sullen girl I knew from my cabin at Camp Nahelu in 1963. In my opinion, she wasn’t nearly as qualified for the role as I was, but they didn’t ask my opinion. I did meet Rick Hartsoe, new to the school, director of the top choir and our musical director. He’d be my choir conductor for my remaining high school years and my friend to this day. (Decades later I asked a close friend, who was in the auditions, about this. He said Debbie gave a good audition; they had no idea how stiff and difficult she’d be to direct. As I predicted, she did not give a good performance. She was self-conscience and inexperienced.)

I had the role of Randi, Kim’s little sister (the role was originally a little brother, but never mind). I was also in all the teenager scenes, so got to sing “The Telephone Hour”, “Got a Lot of Living”, but also “Hymn for a Sunday Night” (“Ed Sullivan…we’re gonna be on Ed Sullivan”), and “Kids”; classic songs. The show was lots of fun and I made friends for life; John Zussman was the rehearsal pianist and Patti Peters (now Zussman) was choreographer. Truly, friends of a lifetime.

This photo depicts Hugo, Kim’s steady boyfriend after he knocks out Conrad. I am the girl just to the left of center, being comforted by my mother, looking horrified, with knee bent. Also in this photo was my other best friend – since 8th grade and other future bridesmaid – Debbie Fauman Horwitz, leaning way over with fingers in her mouth.

It was during this period that I began dating Mark Stone, the first really cute boy who liked me. I was smitten. He was also the first non-Jewish boy I dated and I had a huge blow-out with my parents over him, but I didn’t care. (This would be an on-going theme between my parents and me.) We went to a “make-out” party at my friend Carol’s house. I wore a form-fitting outfit that was a hand-me-down from an older cousin, but it looked good on me too. I was happy with how I looked and to be by his side for the evening. I floated through the school day. Spring break came and he went to Florida. I stayed home for daily play rehearsals. When he got home, he had moved on to a different girl in our class. I was heartbroken. Debbie passed me a note with the lyrics to a song, saying “sometimes it helps to sing a sad song to cheer you up. I’ll teach you the song after school.” The note, written in pink ink, is glued inside my high school scrapbook. The song was “I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You”. Thank you, Elvis (and Debbie). I saw Mark again at our 25th high school reunion. He was still adorable, and a sweet, gentle soul. He worked in some field that used art, perhaps commercial art. He is gone now, taken too soon. I was glad I had my moment with him.

Throughout 10th grade, in religious school, we prepared to be confirmed into our faith. At the time this was a big deal in Reform Judaism. It took place on the holiday of Shavous, which celebrates the giving of the Ten Commandments and usually takes place in early June. Several of us wrote parts of the service. I still have that program. Since my congregation was not yet performing b’nai mitzvot (for girls), this felt important and meaningful. My parents had a big party at our house in the evening to celebrate and, in my grandmother’s name (though she wasn’t aware enough to realize it), I was given a lovely garnet ring which I still have tucked away. My grandmother passed away a few months later, not even remembering my name. The last time I saw her, she was bound to a chair so she wouldn’t wander and she called me “Little Girl”. I vowed I would never let that happen to my mother and, decades later, I kept that promise.

Later in the month I went off to my beloved National Music Camp in Interlochen, Michigan for the fifth summer. I majored in acting and voice, had a small role in “Hamlet”, sang in the choir, took a dance class after lunch and, of course, Operetta later in the afternoon. We performed “Princess Ida” that summer, one of the more operatic of the Gilbert and Sullivan repertoire and one of the few in three acts. I was thrilled because, unlike most, this one had a few speaking parts and I had the role of Chloe, so I wasn’t just “chorus” and my name was actually in the program! The Featured photo is in the third act, as we prepare for war against the men. I am on the right…we are singing, “Please you do not not hurt us…” (hence the long face). We aren’t nearly as fierce as our leader would like us to be. Second from the left is Marcy Zussman, John’s sister, with whom I was quite friendly. We lived around the corner from each other back home also. The production was brilliant and a life-long friend had a lead, while other great friends were in the chorus. I will see several this summer as we return to camp to celebrate the life of Dude Stephenson, our beloved operetta director, recently deceased (note – this story was originally written six years ago). As was custom, camp ended with a tearful rendition of Liszt’s “Les Preludes”, always the last piece performed by massed orchestras, choirs and dancers. The singers hum along on the last few measures, which include a high “C” and our conductor, Mel Larimer, always called it “murder on the high C”! It didn’t matter, we were all sobbing by that point. The summer had drawn to a close.

I returned to Royal Oak Dondero High School for 11th grade, was finally in A Cappella choir, to my delight and auditioned for the autumn play, “Arsenic and Old Lace”. I got the role of Elaine, the girl next door and fiancee to Mortimer, the lead (played by Cary Grant in the movie, which was much more slap-stick than the play). My favorite line from the show was: “Insanity runs in my family, it practically gallops.” I knew just what that meant. I liked this role, dated the bad boy who played the Jonathan/Boris Karloff character for a while. I also did his make-up for the play. Here is a photo of us after a performance, along with another friend. I made all the scars on his face.

In December, I turned 16. My parents had a Sweet 16 party for me and my girlfriends at a Swedish smorgasbord restaurant. It was a thing that year.

Chanukkah came and soon the year was over. Yes, all in all, a year of learning, acceptance, growth. I didn’t even discuss the political upheaval of the country. I was a teenage girl, caught up in my theatrical high school world.

I was aware of the Democrat’s convention in Chicago (little news penetrated our bubble in northern Michigan). I even had a friend who went; a sweet boy named Billy, another non-Jewish boy I started dating at the end of the school year and my parents and I again fought over. We went with a group of friends to the beach after school got out and feel asleep with his hand on my back. I had a sunburnt back with a hand print at the end of the day, but we still went out dancing that night. I left for camp the next day. He went to Chicago, got his head beaten in by a policeman’s club and was never the same, but it had  little direct impact on me – beyond electing THAT man (I was too young to vote). “Watergate” became synonymous with political scandal, “Saturday Night Massacre”, and his ultimate resignation, 50 years ago last week, but those events were still several years in the future.

 

You must not be too goddamn smart or you wouldn’t be here!
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When we first think of hair, we assume the reference is to that which is on our head but in reality that’s not always the case.

It was about 1971 and I had just asked a beautiful Stanford student out on a date. To tell the truth, I never thought in a million years she would say yes. I almost fell off my chair when she said, “Far out, that would be great!” The date was set for a Saturday so that gave me a few days to do all the important things that any young 70’s bachelor would do. That would be, wash and wax the car, take a shower, and buy a new shirt but it is also important to plan the order of these events as well. Any intelligent bachelor understands the importance of this type of planning. If I wash the car first, then I could use my old shirt to wash the car and since I was going to buy a new one, washing the car with the old one would kill two birds at once. That would mean that all I would have to do would be shower and stop to buy a new shirt on the way to pick her up. Perfect!

So there I was, after waiting all week with great anticipation with a clean car, some Hai Karate after-shave (the good stuff) and my new paisley print shirt with the long collars which was half unbuttoned and on my way to pick her up. Now keep in mind, in the 70’s, it was mandatory that you leave the shirt half unbuttoned so as to show off a distinguished chest of hair. the only problem was, I had all of three blond hairs on my chest which required squinting or a magnifying glass to see.

As I pulled up in front of her house I saw her waving from the front porch to come on inside. As I got to her front door she was looking even better than I had remembered! She asked if I liked candles and when I told her that I did she invited me to come inside so she could show me her collection of candles. Once inside I was impressed with how many candles she had and they were everywhere. “Take off your shoes and lay back in that big beanbag” she says “and I’ll show you some of my favorites.

Before long she has 30 candles lit all of which she really was so proud of, as she brought each one over for me to see. I was beginning to think we won’t even have to go to San Francisco tonight with the way things are going here. It was about then that she said, “Now this one isn’t very spectacular or anything but let me lite it so you can smell the cranberry-cinnamon fragrance. This one has got to be my favorite!” After she lit it, she leaned over to hold it for me and said, “Now take a BIG whiff” As she held it I took a big whiff but you cant imagine my surprise as the candle’s flame shot up the inside of my nose all the way to my brain! In doing so it took out every single nose hair along the way! Now if you know anything at all about burnt nose hair, and God help you if you do, it smells like burnt chicken feathers and there is nothing less romantic or arousing than burnt chicken feathers. As I let out a shriek and tried to force the flame out of my nose (that wasn’t pretty either) I scared the B-Jesus out of her which caused her to jerk away and hot wax spilled all over my chest with the half-unbuttoned shit. Well, I can kiss those three blond hairs on my chest good bye!

As any Bachelor will appreciate, even though it seemed as if my life has just flashed before my eyes, the only thing on my mind was… remain calm in light of the burnt nostrils, scalded chest, ruined shirt (Brand new I might add) and the smell of burnt chicken feathers embedded on my brain and just be cool!

To make a long story short, other than a large red burn on the middle of my chest, that night’s date to San Francisco that night was fun even though I declined visiting any candle shops. That day I learned several valuable lessons… I never take a whiff of anything on a first date, I have learned to keep my shirt buttoned up, and I never go into a date’s home to smell their candles without protection. So as things turned out, some us did learn from the 70s but I’m still waiting for those three hairs on my chest to grow back.

It is cause for pause -- a small foundation, begun but not completed, abandoned, sitting, sinking, slowly being reclaimed by the woods in which it was conceived.
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