And Forty Years Ago (1968)
Sun., June 1, 11:17 AM
As I mentioned in my last post, years ending in 8 have been significant to me in some way. Lots of things happen in between, of course, but I am about to look at another 8.
This time I am looking at the same weekend ten years later. June began on a Saturday that year, and Boyfriend (not yet Fiancé) and I were planning a special Saturday night. “Shall we celebrate your birthday with your friends or mine?” he asked. “With yours,” I replied, “and don’t tell them it’s my birthday.
“Oh, no, ” he said. “We will have to ask your friends.” That is how we decided to have dinner with my friend Gloria and her husband, Bob. We chose the Riverboat Restaurant, in the Empire State Building. (Not there any more.)
I had bought a light blue minidress, with long sleeves and a scoop neck; it had big fluffy ruffles at the wrists and neckline. (Long after the dress was no longer in style, it was Husband’s favorite.) I wore silver brocade shoes with a matching purse, and finished off with a rhinestone locket and hanging rhinestone earrings — special occasion, y’know. Oh, yes, and blue (to match my dress) lace gloves, because a lady always wore gloves.
Boyfriend came into New York on the train and came up to my apartment. He had a birthday card for me. Taped inside was a diamond engagement ring. I thanked him and he kissed me, and added, “uh, here’s the box.” I thought that was so cute.
So Fiancé and I took the bus to the Empire State Building. Gloria and Bob were waiting for us; they were not yet seated because Gloria had made the reservations in Boyfriend’s name. As we entered, she told the waiter, “Here’s Mr. H——” and then, watching me remove my gloves, she cried out, “I knew it! I knew it!” Obviously, everyone was in a festive mood. It was a lovely evening. (There is a picture, taken by the restaurant photographer, and I know where I left it — in Husband’s room — and I cannot find it now.)
Fiancé and I walked back to my apartment later. I always loved walking in New York, even in heels; it was only about two miles, and we were in no hurry. He slept on our pull-out couch, and the next day we both took the train to go and tell my family.
It occurs to me that this is another memory that is now really mine alone. Bob died a few years later, and Gloria only thinks she remembers things; for example, she now confuses M.D.’s husband with my brother-in-law and remembers attending an anniversary party that was actually my fiftieth birthday party. Husband’s memory grows spottier every day. I suppose I had better remember a whole lot of other things, before I lose them too.
As CBS Sunday Morning reminded me, it is also forty years ago this week that Robert Kennedy was assassinated. I remember thinking at the time, it was a good thing we didn’t wait to celebrate on Gloria’s birthday (the eighth), when the country was mourning.
I had seen Bobby Kennedy orating on a street corner in Manhattan, just a couple of months before. He was not my favorite candidate, but he was nice-looking. That family can break your heart, even after all these years.
