In 1964 Ricky G. was in my freshman history class at New Trier. He was smart, very cute, and a big star on the frosh swim team. I admired him. And in 1964, Seventeen Magazine said that if you liked a boy, you should say “hello” to him whenever you saw him.
So I said “hi” to Ricky in the hall every day from January until June.
The day school ended, he asked me out. (Thank you, Seventeen Magazine!) Because he was still only fifteen, we doubled with his older friend John Barnard and his date, Peggy Fridstein. I wore a nothing blouse and culottes. We played miniature golf and went to see the brand new automobile sensation- the Mustang- at Fergus Ford. And then I went home. My mother had given me a ten-thirty curfew.
He did not kiss me good night. Too shy.
A few days later Ricky needed another ride to my house. He was on his way to Camp Thunderbird in Bemidji, Minnesota, and he wanted a second chance at that kiss.
And this time he tapped Steve C. to be his designated driver. This he did, and Steve dutifully stood a few yards yards away, eyes discreetly cast down, as Ricky said his broken-hearted adieux for the next eight weeks. (A lifetime in teen romance years.)
He didn’t kiss me good bye. Too shy.
Then Steve drove him to the camp bus.
Then Steve drove back.
“Well, Rick’s gone,” he reported matter-of-factly. “Want to go out Saturday night?”
He was handsome, chestnut-haired, green-eyed, had a drivers license and smelled like English Leather.
And here.
I said “yes,” and thus began an intense- and very problematic- relationship between me and my first “older man.”
You see, Steve was what was then known as “fast.” He was a sly, wise-cracking, eye-to-the-main-chance kind of guy. A promoter. An operator. A huckster, with light years of wordly experience on me in terms of savoir faire.
A teen-aged man of the world. (If your world was Glencoe, Winnetka and Wilmette, Illinois.)
I was a scrawny, flat-chested bookworm who had barely been kissed.
Kiss History Sidebar: Actually, that’s not true. When I was in third grade, Ernie Palmer kissed me. I came home and reported this new uptick in my love life to my mother.
“Ernie Palmer kissed me!” I announced.
“Where did he kiss you?” asked my very startled mom.
“In Bob Kuenzel’s living room.”
(Somehow, I don’t think this was exactly what information she was looking for.)
Then during first two quarters of freshman year, another Steve- Steve H.-became my very first real boyfriend at New Trier. He ran track and he was VERY smart and VERY dedicated to his studies.
From day one, he would say to me, “Ellen, if you’re not off this phone in five minutes, I am hanging up on you. I have algebra homework to finish.”
And he would. (All this hardcore work ethic paid off when four years later he became our valedictorian of New Trier’s 1967 class of 1200 kids. And he went on to Princeton, I believe. He’s a pediatrician now.)
But in between class assignments, Steve H. did appreciate me, and one night, smack in the middle of Lawrence of Arabia, he laid one on my smacker.
So now I wasn’t Sweet Fourteen any more and Never Been Kissed.
But Steve H. and I broke up right after New Year’s Eve. No idea why. Maybe I took up too much Bell Telephone time.
And that was the sum total of my amours to date.
Sophisticated Steve C. wanted to take it to the next level.
And I wasn’t ready for the next level.
Making out. Ick. Gross.
Our running battle of the no sexes took place in movie theaters, basements, cars- anywhere teenagers go that parents don’t.
And I want to make it clear that I’m not talking about moral turpitude or sexual blackmail or anything. This was simply a case of a very smooth sixteen year old playboy and a very prudish still-fourteen year old nerd.
But I could hold my own. And I did.
Our skirmishes took place during It’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad World, and The Pink Panther, and all throughout Johnny Mathis’s Greatest Hits in Billy S.’s famous basement- “The Passion Pit.”
Finally Steve C. became so exasperated with me that he declared, “That’s it. We’re through. Baby, you’re a sexual yo-yo.”
(I thought this was the coolest statement ever. I was agog with admiration. I didn’t realize he had stolen it from R. J. Wagner in the above-mentioned Pink Panther.)
But Steve C. tried everything in his bag of tricks to get me to play a little ball. In a Hail Mary play, he even broke his hard-and-fast bachelor rule and asked me to go steady.
Timeline on his offer: On Thursday night, Steve asked me to go steady via telephone. (I vividly remember his shooing his pesky kid sister, Joanie, off the phone. She liked to listen in on our calls.) I gushingly said yes.
On Friday I didn’t see him the whole day. That Friday night we girls had a slumber party at Patty Pearlman’s house. No boys allowed.
On Saturday night, Steve broke it off with me. He said he “couldn’t take the pressure of going steady any more.”
Oh well. He moved on to riper pastures. But it was a wild roller coaster ride while it lasted.
I lost touch with Steve C. after high school. I hear he lives in Florida now.
Married a knockout. Naturally.
And has three children.
All girls.
Steve C. might have been the teenage terror of the Edens movie theater back in the day- the scourge of all young maidens everywhere along the North Shore.
But payback’s a (fourteen year old) bitch.
Now let’s all to go to Washington Gardens.
(And will someone please tell Ricky I’m still waiting.)
I know all of the guys and for a small fee I will keep it quiet!!
Yes, guys, his silence can be bought. I remember when it was just the price of a Dairy Queen. I think there’s been a “standard of living” increase.
Thanks for always having my back, Kenny. And didn’t Steve H. pick you for his Collegiate Team at Ojibwa?
ABSOLUTELY LOVED IT. CAN UNDERSTAND IT ALL. STRANGE THAT THIS EXPERIENCE COMES TODAY. I HAD THE PLEASURE OF GETTING SEVEN GUYS,ALL OVER 86 YEARS OLD WHO HAD THE WONDERFUL OPPORTUNITY TO BE AT CAMP AT THE SAME TIME 80 YEARS AGO. CAN YOU POSSIBLY IMAGINE THE JOY AND CONVERSATION THAT TOOK PLACE FOR ALMOST TWO AND A HALF HOURS ? YES I GUESS YOU CAN SINCE YOUR BROTHER WENT TO THE SAME CAMP. ALLAN
You had your own Camp Ojibwa reunion! Nice! How great that you guys all got together to relive golden days on Catfish Lake. I do understand, and my nephew is a counselor up there right now. Thanks for chiming in, Allan. Some of my best friends-and subscribers- are Ojibwa guys.
EVERYBODY SHOULD HAVE MOMENTS LIKE THIS SOMETIMES IN THEIR LIFETIME. TRULY A JOYFUL EVENT. ALLLAN
Amen, buddy.
Every thing went good at New Trier, dating wise until my senior year. I found myself going steady with 2 girls at the same time. One girlfriend went to Glenbrook North and the other went to New Trier in 1966. This was the only way I could pull of this blunder. As time went on I felt really bad about the situation, but all my bonehead buddies in my advisory class kept telling me I had a good thing going. Of course I was on borrowd time and eventually got busted by my New Trier girlfriend’s sister who caught me out with Miss Northbrook. This of course led to a breakup. Then I got the big idea I would come clean with Miss Northbrook and this led to another breakup. Here I was out in the cold on the North Shore 3 months before graduation. All this did teach me a lesson on how to be a one girl at a time guy anytime I got into a serious relationship. Oh, by the way, Miss Northbrook went to my graduation dance with me, only to breakup with me 3 weeks after graduation. Yeah, I had it coming!!!!!!
A nice mea culpa, Steve. And how refreshing to read someone owning his less-than-terrific behavior. But I forgive you. As for the young ladies in question….?
You learned a good math lesson at an early age. 2 girls + 1 guy = 0 girls sooner or later.
Thanks for sharing.
Living next door to you was very entertaining. I watched a stream of guys constantly on your driveway…first, on bicycles, then motorcycles, then old cars, then fancy cars. It was hard to keep track of everyone. Now I know what was going on? behind the scenes !!
Yes, you had a front row seat. You and Kenny (see his comment) can now go into the extortion business together! Thanks, El, and see you soon for that postponed lunch date. Happy Fourth to you and yours.
Same to you & your family !!!!
Well, this does take me back a few (ha!) years. . .Third grade, really? Ernie had only just moved to town! This was really fun to read,also fun to remember the times. Not that any of us are probably really wanting them back, exactly. But there are definitely some very live memories out there. . .Anyway: Hope this finds you better than well, and enjoying a different time in life, Ellen. All the best.
Bob, what a surprise! How the heck are you? Yes, the Avoca days were fun but I like these days, too. Hope you’re great. So glad you dropped by.
I had no idea Bob used me like that. I feel so violated-especially since I didn’t know (or have forgotten-I never registered who our valdictorian was and still can’t picture him-what’s the H?). I’m glad you were a capable guardian of your own virtue since I clearly wasn’t vigilant in your defense. Maybe I knew you could handle anything-including Bob. Thanks for the chuckles. I had no idea you are such a great writer.
Harrison. And I had no idea you went to an Ivy League school. I just thought you were cute! Thanks, Ernie.