a safety breach and that very sad day

I don't remember much about that day. I know it wasn't winter and I think it was after school, maybe about 4:30 or so. I was at Alice's house. She lived on the corner of Coy St and Vassar, one street over from my house in our quiet neighborhood. We were in her house probably scavenging for food when we heard the siren coming our way. We quickly went outside to see what we could because ambulances rarely came into our area so we wanted to know what was going on.

It flew down Vassar past Alice's house with lights flashing and sirens screaming. Husbands got out of their cars from work and walked to the corner to peer down the street. Wives dried their hands on aprons as they came out their side doors from cooking supper to look. Kids grabbed their bikes and raced after the lights and siren to check out the excitement. People of every age, up and down the streets, came out of their small, safe nests to watch the ambulance race down the thru street. Something important was happening but nobody knew what.

It turned left several streets down onto Morehouse. We had lots of school friends and acquaintances down there. Kathy Butte, Linda Johnson, Illona Geiger. The McManamen's. We didn't go down there. Maybe it was too close to supper or maybe we were supposed to be doing something else. I just don't remember. But, we got busy again, doing whatever we were doing and the excitement of the ambulance faded for a little while that afternoon.

I was leaving Alice's house to go home when we saw the vehicle coming back our way down Vassar. This time there were no lights. No sirens. No excitement. It just drove back slowly down the street retracing the direction it had come in. It seemed strange. I didn't understand. Why no hurry? Why no rush to the hospital? What had happened?

We found out the next day that our classmate, 15 year old Michael McManamen, had killed himself that afternoon with a gun. We heard something about an argument with his sister or his mom or his dad but we never learned the whole story.

I had known Mike from school as an acquaintance not as a friend. He was a year older than I was. He seemed like an OK kid. His family seemed like a good one. No public drama. They were smart kids, good students, from a good, wholesome family. Everything seemed OK--but now we knew it wasn't. Something had been horribly wrong for Mike. His despondency must have been tremendously overwhelming. As far as he could see, there had been only one way out of his pain and he had taken it. My heart hurts for his family even now--my heart hurts for him, even now.

There were no counselors called into school for us the next day. There were only whispers at the lockers. Teachers didn't ask us how we felt or how we were handling it. We didn't even know if they knew. We all suffered our private pain in whispers, or in silence. We wondered how this could have happened to someone we knew. We wondered how bad life had to be to do this to yourself--to your family?

Something changed for me that day. My assumed safety buffer was breached. The illusion of "everything will always be all right if your family is good" was gone. Just because your mom and dad loved you and took care of you wasn't a guarantee that you wouldn't be blindsided by something awful like Michael had been. If it happened to him, couldn't it happen to someone close to me--or to me? Would it ever happen to me?

I just didn't know anymore.

losing my skirt and Terry Jones

One wintery Michigan afternoon, Alice, Rosemary and I were walking home from Jr High past Henry's Dept Store. It was out of our way but if we didn't go home that way we wouldn't get to see Terry Jones at the corner shoe store. And we HAD to see Terry Jones. He was about 19 years old and looked JUST like Paul McCartney. JUST LIKE HIM! To put it mildly, we were smitten. Silly girls.

I was wearing my cute white sweater, white tights and my cool army green a-line skirt with the industrial-type zipper up the middle of the front of the skirt underneath my maroon, heavy winter coat called a benchwarmer. (These were the days before girls were allowed to wear pants to school.) I wore the skirt often so the zipper wasn't too secure anymore. I usually pinned it at the top with a large safety pin. It was actually an old diaper pin I'd taken from my baby brother's stash. I think it had a chipped yellow duck's head on it. It could have been the chip that did me in.

Noisy teenybopper girls that we were we literally squealed in anticipation of waving to Terry Jones (we always used both names). We were one store down from Terry Jones in front of Henry's Dept Store when my skirt felt funny. I didn't really know how--it just felt funny. I ignored the feeling--after all, we were 30 seconds from the Terry Jones Smile and Wave. We'd stare in the store with big grins on our faces and he'd always smile and wave at us. In spite of our silliness and frequent passes by the store he was always cordial to us.

Back to the skirt--It felt funny. Strange. It felt loose. Then it happened. One more step and it dropped down around my feet. I was mortified. Alice and Rose took a step or two without me while I quickly scooped up my skirt and crammed it on top of my school books. I was in my slip on the highway in the winter!

"C'mon, Suzanne."

"I can't. My skirt fell off."

In unison, "WHAT?"

"MY SKIRT FELL OFF!"

"Where is it?

I lowered my books to show them my skirt shoved into a tight knot. I didn't know what to do. I simply couldn't walk home in my slip even though there were only a few inches showing from the bottom of my coat. (Actually, I could have done exactly that and no one would have been the wiser, but I was 13 and mortified. I NEEDED to make this an emergency!)

We rushed into Henry's like a small gaggle of noisy geese. We found a very proper saleslady and in a panic asked her if I could use the dressing room to put my skirt back on. She was shocked. We wanted to shock her. Most young teen girls want to shock proper ladies.

She said nothing and pointed to the room against the wall. I went in to get re-dressed. It took all of about 2 minutes to repin my chipped, ducky head safety pin securely at the top of my zipper. With a deep sigh of relief I exited the dressing room ready once again for the Terry Jones Smile and Wave. Noisily and in a tight little cluster, we hurried out of the store, laughing and whispering about the poor saleslady's reaction. We loved it.

Twenty feet to the Smile and Wave. We got serious. Grown-up. After all, someone who looks like Paul McCartney isn't going to think we're cute if we're too silly, is he? At the shoe store we looked into the window of the store. He's there.

Sigh. Sigh. Big sigh.

We stared inside and smiled at him.

There it was.

Terry Jones, our Paul McCartney double, SMILED AND WAVED!

It was as good as if Sir Paul had been there himself. We had our prize. The Terry Jones Smile and Wave.

We basked in the glow of the moment and dreamed of what it would be like to smile and wave at the real Paul McCartney. Our minds raced. If Paul really saw us, he'd think we were cute and want to date us and even marry us. We'd be Paul McCartney's girlfriend or wife! Or we'd meet and marry three of the Beatles or at least date them. (All of us? Logic? There was no logic. Only the moment mattered.)

We lingered on that special corner for a few extra minutes just knowing he was in there. Then we crossed the busy street and headed home to dream of the life of a Beatle's girlfriend.

There had been a serious glitch with my wayward skirt that wonderous afternoon, but we overcame it. Together, in concerted effort, we three averted calamity. Our mission for that fateful afternoon was complete.

We had survived to Smile and Wave again.

vacation

It's vacation time so I am suspending this forum for a couple of weeks. I have lots of new ideas, (or are they just old memories?) and, the good Lord willing, I will begin again when I return.

Take care, all.

Love,
Suz