Once the first summer term ended I planned to fly down to Ft. Lauderdale where Sheila lived and spend the rest of the summer with her. After some serious soul searching earlier that summer I’d decided that given the slightest opportunity I’d lose my virginity in Florida, assuming Sheila was willing, but that was not to be. Fate intervened when I was informed by Coach Geiger that my summer school grades had brought my GPA down to the point where I was ineligible to play football that fall. To get my grades up I needed to register for the second summer term.
The whole point of working was to make enough money to enable this trip. I felt like my dog just died; I told Sheila the bad news as we exchanged letters, stamps were five cents but long distance was expensive. Her reply, stained with tear drops, told me how her dad had gotten the speed boat all fixed up and how could this happen but there was nothing to be done.
I’d left my job at the steel mill and could focus full time on my classes and feeling sorry for myself. From that point in time it was barely a week before I was to meet two people who were to change the course of my life. Within the same week I met them both. One perfect summer morning in Buffalo, New York as I was hitchhiking down Main Street to class at SUNY, Steve Washburn stopped to pick me up. We hit it off immediately, he was funny and still makes me laugh; we became fast friends.
Steve was 5’11 about 160 pounds had long blond hair and was prematurely bald on top at 24, but he made the comb-over look cool. He was deep into the philosophy of fun and his beach-boy Zen was irresistible. He made me laugh and think at the same time. He was a record promoter for the singer, Glenn Yarbrough. (http://www.glennyarbrough.com/discography.html).
On a cross country promotional tour visiting radio stations and college campuses, Steve was passing out records and material in hopes of generating business. Steve had met Yarbrough when he was a Hawaiian beach boy and became so indispensable in assisting with a concert there that Yarbrough put him on the payroll. Steve moved in with me temporarily as he worked the Buffalo area over the next week.
It was an idyllic summer night in Buffalo, Steve and I had gone to campus to check out a campus mixer. Steve liked to trip over chairs, furniture, cars, anything really and make it look like an accident; he would make loud noises; he was a master at replicating the peacock call and generally excelled at attracting attention. It was all fun to me. As we were leaving I noticed Cathy, she was leaning on a rail on the south end of the student union building all alone, an exquisite alluring vision. When I said, “Hi” she said, “Hi’ back; that’s all I needed to start a conversation. The three of us went to the 300 Club, a nearby pub where they served twenty-five cent draft beer to get better acquainted. Steve didn’t drink and left early as Cathy promised to give me a ride home.
She told me, “I read an article saying that to meet someone you need to make eye contact. Gazing across that crowded outdoor mixer, looking for a handsome man to make eye contact, I found you. You were so handsome; I stared at you, until finally you caught my eye.”
As we talked I found myself falling into deep pools that were her brown eyes, like a buck caught in the headlights, mesmerized by her obvious beauty and charm. Unlike Odysseus I wasn’t chained to the mast. She laughed, smiled, played and teased and overcome with her alluring Siren song, I fell like a giant redwood.
Cathy was of Norwegian descent; a tall, slender blond with sparkling eyes and a magical smile. She had a refreshing air of straight forward honesty and directness. She didn’t play games, loved animals and drove a Corvette. Physically she was a knockout. There was a strong mutual attraction; we found ourselves unable to stem the tide.
Physically our bodies exhibited a raw hunger for each other, a passion unlike anything I’d previously experienced. Our relationship was torrid; we crashed into each other like waves on the shore. It was our second or third date. It was my first time and I remember thinking, “Wow, is that all there is to it!” of course that was at the beginning, but by the time we were finished my thinking was more like, “Now I know what heaven feels like.” We’d stay out until three or four in the morning unable to tear ourselves apart. We were together every day, if we weren’t, like the first day of a fast, I found myself actually aching to be with her. I met her family, two younger sisters, a corporate father and charming mother; they lived near the country club. They were more than gracious. I had a room of my own in the basement. When Cathy’s Mom found out I liked beer she made sure the refrigerator was always well stocked. I ate dinner with them three or four nights a week.
Our lovemaking was an intimate sharing of souls wrapped in truth, beauty, love and respect. We felt that nothing seemed more natural. We spent an entire day making love over and over again, finally stopping because we were both famished. I couldn’t go swimming for awhile for all the welts on my back from her fingernails. One day she told me, “I want to have your baby!” It changed me because when she said it, I thought, “That sounds so appealing.” This had not been my mindset before I met her.
While we smooched on the sofa we watched Tiny Tim on the Johnny Carson show and wondered, like the rest of the country, “Where did they find this oddball?” Going to the drive-in we never watched the movie. On the way home we were so worked up we stopped at the golf course for a hole in one. Not in the rough or the fairway but freely on the green. It was fun and liberating with a tinge of naughty.
I have relatives in Cincinnati, Ohio, their name is Fink and I’m related to them through my Grandmother on my Father’s side, her maiden name was Fink. I loved these people because they were always so good to me and my family. When I was growing up there were frequent treks back and forth for weddings, funerals and reunions between Indianapolis and Cincinnati. There was a big wedding in Cincinnati the summer of 1968; my cousin Jeannie Fink was getting married.
After some discussion Cathy’s family gave their assent for her to accompany me to the wedding. Standby airfares were cheap, one way from Buffalo to Cincinnati for two, about $30; we would ride back to Buffalo with my family in their RV. It was an opportunity for Cathy to meet my family, things were moving fast.
There must have been 400 people at this raucous German Catholic wedding. The reception was held in a large hall with a big band and lots of food and beer. It was obvious to everyone that we were in love. People teased us about the “next” wedding. We danced and partied like there was no tomorrow.
When we returned I started making plans, operative word “I”. This was a mistake; never make plans without your partner’s full participation. Aptitude testing was around but I wasn’t aware of it. Turning to the library, I selected a book of occupations and started combing through until hitting upon something that rang a bell, “Naval Architect – Marine Engineer”. The sea, ships and navy had always been alluring; in grade school I dreamed of attending the Naval Academy.
Disillusioned and feeling jilted about my college education so far; yes, I was on a full athletic scholarship, but it wasn’t working for me. Football consumed about forty hours a week, which seemed inordinate for a three hour game on Saturday, much less the $.81 per hour my scholarship was paying. I was playing ball to get an education, but it didn’t feel like it was happening. Disheartened with lecture halls with 300 students and a professor reading out of a textbook, I perceived a lack of value received and yearned for something more practical.
Further research revealed that a school for Marine Engineers existed in Baltimore, Maryland and it was a better proposition than my football scholarship. If accepted I would receive room, board, books, tuition and $200 per month while enrolled. It was a two year program, six months of school, a year at sea, another six months of school, pass a test and I’d have a license as a Marine Engineer. I applied and a few months later I was accepted. Who was my inspiration and motivation for this dramatic change of direction? None other than Cathy, who I hoped to impress with my manly provider engineering skills.
Our summer came to a close. As a footnote I have absolutely no recollection what classes I took that second term but I must have passed and brought up my GPA. Football practice began in mid-August and Cathy and her family went off for a week’s vacation without me. Steve had left me a number of Yarbrough records which helped me wallow in self pity. Have you ever heard his album, “The Lonely Things”? If you’re lovesick, don’t; it could be suicidal.
Cathy returned for a brief reunion before setting off for Denison, where she was finishing her senior year in Granville, Ohio. Most stable relationships require two critical elements, good communication and proximity. Without them most of us just aren’t strong enough to make it work. I shot myself in the foot with my marine engineering venture by not talking seriously to Cathy about “our” future. Maybe she would have said there wasn’t going to be one or maybe she would have told me what she wanted. She was less than enthusiastic when I told her my plans for engineering school. That should have been a cue, but I was young and stupid. We said our goodbyes and began to write each other.
With one last cockamamie idea up my sleeve, I devised an illicit assignation; brought on by angst over the loss of Cathy’s presence. Not forgetting how the coaches had abused me as a redshirt the previous year, I thought, “They don’t care about me, why not indulge my own selfish gratification”?
Setting out the Sunday after our third game I found myself hitchhiking to Granville, Ohio for a reunion with Cathy at Denison. Without telling anyone, even my best friends and roommates, who I knew would talk when pressured by the coaches; I simply vanished into the Freeways.
Cathy was surprised and excited to see me. We went on a romantic hayride, attended a bonfire pep rally, I met her friends, followed her along to class and went out for beers afterward. We went shopping, rented a motel room and made wild passionate love. It was a fantastic week and I’ve never regretted it one iota.
After receiving a call from the Coaches, it didn’t take my Mother long to figure out where I was. She called Cathy’s dorm and reached me there. She told me everyone was worried and I needed to get back to Buffalo. Cathy drove me out to the freeway on Sunday morning and I hitchhiked back. It was the last time for a long time before I’d ever be so deeply in love again.
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