Seniors get excited

First Kiss by Nancy O'Conner

First Kiss

by

Nancy O'Connor©

I was fifteen that summer of 1962. Life was filled with friends and slumber parties and swim practices, and yes, boys. I’d had lots of crushes and admired boys from a distance, but I hadn’t yet had a “real” boyfriend or a “real” kiss. I’d been practicing, though, kissing the bathroom mirror and the backs of my fingers, so when the time came I wouldn’t make a complete fool of myself.

Then John Lenker came along. He was a popular Redlands boy who decided to become a “ringer” on the Yucaipa swim team that summer. He was a terrific swimmer, but it seemed he liked the idea of being a big fish in the small pond Yucaipa’s team had to offer. At sixteen, he was an older man, and gorgeous. He was powerfully-built and darkly-tanned, with a buzz cut so short his black hair just made a shadow across his scalp. The haircut made him swim faster, he said. And he had big dark eyes and lashes so long it was criminal they didn’t belong to a girl.

With his winning personality, he quickly charmed his way into the Howe family. My brother was the swim coach and bent over backwards to welcome this accomplished swimmer to his team. I would like to think being the coach’s sister had nothing to do with John’s interest in me, but I was soon crazy about him. At swim meets, I even held his retainer for him while he swam his races—wrapped in the corner of his towel, of course. And since John rode his Vespa scooter from Redlands to practice every afternoon, it became a regular routine for him to stop on his way home at our house on the boulevard to have dinner. He still holds the Howe family record for taco consumption—twelve in one sitting.

One night after dinner, John and I lingered on the patio, while the rest of the family went inside to watch television. Dad had made vanilla ice cream, and John had done his part turning the crank when the going got tough. Mom brought us bowls of ice cream topped with strawberries from the garden. When we finished off our dessert, things got quiet between us, and the tension grew. He made his move, and it was even better than I had imagined it would be. Sweet, lingering, and strawberry-flavored, the memory of John’s kiss has remained, sort of like his taco-eating record, as a defining moment of that summer.

The Movies

by

Lynn Ferrin©

I have been thinking that you could not possibly write a life story of someone my age and leave out the movies. Actually, the industry and my generation grew up together.

The first movie I ever saw was probably in 1924 when I saw the silent film, “The Gold Rush” with Charlie Chaplin, the little tramp , as he was called. There was one nail-biting scene I have kept in my memory of his cabin in the frozen Klondike, which was slipping over the precipice of a high cliff. Poor little Charlie had slid with the cabin and was hanging out the door kicking frantically to save himself.

In a few years, my brother and I had a lovely routing of going to a Saturday morning matinee. Those were wonderful times. There was Buster Keaton, Harold Lloyd and Tom Mix, and, of course, the Keystone Kops. Lots of chases and pie throwing. The silence of the films was broken, however, by the screams of the kids and also the music of a local organist or piano player would try to play mood music for whatever emotion was being portrayed.

I was in charge of my little brother, and since I was older and could read better, I was expected to read to him all the dialogue that was flashed on the screen. He always accused me of leaving out some of the words and was going to tell Mama that I didn't read it all. We got ten cents each for the show and also a nickel to spend. Those were the days of penny candy, and you could have quite a tote bag of sweets if you spent your money wisely.

The next startling event for the movies was that they were discussing talking pictures. Impossible and unbelievable! I remember a very unusual night when my parents called in a baby sitter and went by themselves to see “The Jazz Singer,” with Al Jolson. It actually had only a few lines of spoken dialogue, but the great Al Jolson, in black face no less, sang his wonderful renditions of “Mammy” and “Sonny Boy.” My own first talkie was a Fox Movietone Newsreel of the inauguration and address of Herbert Hoover in 1928.

By the 20's and 30's, they had gotten the sound down, and we heard great musical stars like Deanna Durbin, Jeanette McDonald, Lily Pons, Paul Robeson, and the the big musical extravaganzas with casts of hundreds.

The theaters at that time were of ornate and elaborate architecture and decoration. They usually tried to copy some exotic style like Egyptian or Grecian. There were beautiful chandeliers and carpets. People did not eat in the theaters, but almost always there was a confectioner's shop next to the theater for after movie snacks. Back then people dressed up to go to the movies, like going to church. It was not until the advent of drive-in movies that the “come as you are” lifestyle developed.

The next thing to conquer was color. In 1939, they made the wonderful movie “Gone With the Wind,” from the popular novel. It was done with a new color system which was brilliant and bright, and the movie was three hours long. It was perfect – the cast, the costumes, and the script, which kept to the book. When it was over, I couldn't get myself back to the present. Also, because of crying so hard and staring at the brilliant color, I had a terrible headache.

Then my companion began to urge me to go so we could, “beat the traffic.” Here I had been living every scene for three hours. I heard Rhett Butler tell Scarlet he “didn't give a damn,” and I wanted to sit and enjoy my misery.

Finally, after he kept urging me to come on, I was able to speak to him and give my answer. I said, “Aw Shut Up.”

April Dandelions