Teach
10-20-2017, 06:40 AM
The TV, Better Yet A “Do Not Disturb” Sign
The TV was playing. I could hear it as I stood just outside the door to our room. Even though it was close to midnight, I would go downstairs to the “Pink Elephant” Lounge for a nightcap. I came back up about fifteen minutes later. The TV, much to my chagrin, was still on.
That June, 1968, I had just completed a 2-year teaching stint at a Long Island high school. Over the summer, I had returned to “my roots,” Boston, MA. It was that July that I noticed an article in the travel section of The Boston Sunday Globe. The article talked about a “Singles Week” up in the Catskills; it was scheduled for the week of August 18 through 25.
I remember calling one of my Boston buddies. I told him about the “Singles Week”. He was game.
That Sunday, August 18, Dave and I traveled west on the MassPike. When we reached Sturbridge, we took Route #84 to Hartford, CT. We eventually crossed over the Hudson River via NY’s Tappan Zee Bridge. Eventually, we picked up Route #17 and headed north to Liberty, NY. We were staying in resort-hotel called Grossinger’s.
When we arrived about mid-afternoon, I saw more eligible young women in one place than I could have ever remembered in my nearly 26 years on earth. It reminded me of the Al Capp cartoon-strip, “L’il Abner,” There were probably more women at Grossinger’s that day than on “Sadie Hawkins Day” in Dogpatch. I also saw racks and racks of clothing. You would have thought we were entering the women’s clothing section of a department store.
After we registered and checked out our room, we proceeded to take a look at the facility. It had everything: indoor and outdoor swimming pools, golf, tennis, volleyball, steam & sauna. You name it.
That evening, we were seated in the dining room with women who were a possible match (The “Singles Week” was code-named “Operation Match”; the resort used a computer to sort out the information we provided and then seat us with women with whom they thought we would be most compatible). In fact, that evening, my friend Dave carried on an extended conversation with a Connie Francis look-alike from Montreal, Canada named Joanne. During the course of the week, Dave and Joanne would become what my mother would have called “an item”.
Well, as I’m still searching for “my perfect date,” Dave and Joanne were going strong.
I can’t remember whether it was a Thursday or Friday night, but Dave asked if he could be alone in our room with Joanne for a few hours. I asked, “What hours do you need? it for?” Dave replied, “Oh, about 8:30 to 11:30 p.m.” I said, “Fine”. I then asked, “How will I know that you and Joanne are still doing what I assume you’ll be doing?” Dave replied, “If you come to the room and hear the TV, you’ll know that Joanne and I are still in the room. If you don’t hear the TV, you’ll know ‘the coast is clear’”.
That evening, I hung around Grossinger’s “Pink Elephant Lounge”. I recall that during the course of the evening I talked with several woman. But nothing clicked. In hindsight, maybe I was just being too finicky. I believe, at the time, that I was also being realistic. As most of the women at Grossinger’s were from the New York City-area, I knew that unless I fell “head-over-heels” for some women, I wasn’t going to drive over 200 miles from Boston to see her.
At about midnight, I returned to the room that Dave and I shared. I heard the TV. I'm thinking, "He still in there with Joanne." I went back to the “Pink Elephant” for a nightcap. I returned to the room about fifteen minutes later. I still heard the TV.
Well, frankly, I was both angry and exhausted. I didn’t want “to rain on Dave’s parade,” but I needed to get some sleep. It’s then that I said, “The hell with it, I’m putting my key-card in the slot and going in, carnal knowledge or not.”
What I would see next totally surprised me. Dave was alone sleeping like a log in his twin-bed. No Joanne.
As it turns out, soon after I got back in the room, I went right to bed. I figured I’d talk to Dave in the morning.
That next morning, when both Dave and I were awake, I said to Dave, “I thought our signal was that if you and Joanne were in the room, you were leaving the TV on. Yet, when I finally walked in, no Joanne.”
For his part, Dave was effusively apologetic. “Oh Walt,” he said, “I’m so sorry,” he continued. “You’ll never believe what happened,” he continued. “Tell me,” I said. “I’m all ears” (my ears do stick out).
Dave then continues, “Joanne and I, early on, were engaged in “extracurricular activities” (as we were both teachers, we both understood that that expression was “code” for sexual activities). “It couldn’t have been much later than 10 o’clock,” Dave continues, “that we finished our “love-making” (another code) and called it an evening. I saw Joanne back to her room and then came back to our room. I started to watch TV for a while. Well, I must have been so tired, I fell asleep. I must have left the TV on.” Dave continued, “I didn’t even hear you when you came in.” “That’s because I’m considerate,” I retorted.
As we headed for breakfast, I said to Dave, “Maybe next time, if we’re in a similar situation, you can just put a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door-knob. That way at least you have to get up and remove it (a few years earlier, when I was in college, I knew fraternity guys who put a neck-tie on their door -knob to signal they were in the midst of a relationship). And, then I said to Dave, “I hope”. We both chuckled.
As a postscript: Dave and Joanne would meet in New York City a couple months later, but it didn’t pan out. Yet, as they say: “All’s well that ends well”. Dave would soon meet a woman – she was working in Boston – who was from upstate New York. They were married the following summer. I want say that Dave's wife is from Ogdensburg, NY. I ’d kid Dave by saying you must have this thing for women from northern climes (both Ogdensburg and Montreal are on the St. Lawrence River.).
As for me, I talked with several women when I attended that “Singles Week” at Grossinger’s in August, 1968. Yet I returned empty-handed, not even a telephone number. All I returned with were several “Grossinger’s” T-shirts that I won playing volleyball. However, all was not lost. I would meet my wife Lee at a house party in September; we were married the following June.
The TV was playing. I could hear it as I stood just outside the door to our room. Even though it was close to midnight, I would go downstairs to the “Pink Elephant” Lounge for a nightcap. I came back up about fifteen minutes later. The TV, much to my chagrin, was still on.
That June, 1968, I had just completed a 2-year teaching stint at a Long Island high school. Over the summer, I had returned to “my roots,” Boston, MA. It was that July that I noticed an article in the travel section of The Boston Sunday Globe. The article talked about a “Singles Week” up in the Catskills; it was scheduled for the week of August 18 through 25.
I remember calling one of my Boston buddies. I told him about the “Singles Week”. He was game.
That Sunday, August 18, Dave and I traveled west on the MassPike. When we reached Sturbridge, we took Route #84 to Hartford, CT. We eventually crossed over the Hudson River via NY’s Tappan Zee Bridge. Eventually, we picked up Route #17 and headed north to Liberty, NY. We were staying in resort-hotel called Grossinger’s.
When we arrived about mid-afternoon, I saw more eligible young women in one place than I could have ever remembered in my nearly 26 years on earth. It reminded me of the Al Capp cartoon-strip, “L’il Abner,” There were probably more women at Grossinger’s that day than on “Sadie Hawkins Day” in Dogpatch. I also saw racks and racks of clothing. You would have thought we were entering the women’s clothing section of a department store.
After we registered and checked out our room, we proceeded to take a look at the facility. It had everything: indoor and outdoor swimming pools, golf, tennis, volleyball, steam & sauna. You name it.
That evening, we were seated in the dining room with women who were a possible match (The “Singles Week” was code-named “Operation Match”; the resort used a computer to sort out the information we provided and then seat us with women with whom they thought we would be most compatible). In fact, that evening, my friend Dave carried on an extended conversation with a Connie Francis look-alike from Montreal, Canada named Joanne. During the course of the week, Dave and Joanne would become what my mother would have called “an item”.
Well, as I’m still searching for “my perfect date,” Dave and Joanne were going strong.
I can’t remember whether it was a Thursday or Friday night, but Dave asked if he could be alone in our room with Joanne for a few hours. I asked, “What hours do you need? it for?” Dave replied, “Oh, about 8:30 to 11:30 p.m.” I said, “Fine”. I then asked, “How will I know that you and Joanne are still doing what I assume you’ll be doing?” Dave replied, “If you come to the room and hear the TV, you’ll know that Joanne and I are still in the room. If you don’t hear the TV, you’ll know ‘the coast is clear’”.
That evening, I hung around Grossinger’s “Pink Elephant Lounge”. I recall that during the course of the evening I talked with several woman. But nothing clicked. In hindsight, maybe I was just being too finicky. I believe, at the time, that I was also being realistic. As most of the women at Grossinger’s were from the New York City-area, I knew that unless I fell “head-over-heels” for some women, I wasn’t going to drive over 200 miles from Boston to see her.
At about midnight, I returned to the room that Dave and I shared. I heard the TV. I'm thinking, "He still in there with Joanne." I went back to the “Pink Elephant” for a nightcap. I returned to the room about fifteen minutes later. I still heard the TV.
Well, frankly, I was both angry and exhausted. I didn’t want “to rain on Dave’s parade,” but I needed to get some sleep. It’s then that I said, “The hell with it, I’m putting my key-card in the slot and going in, carnal knowledge or not.”
What I would see next totally surprised me. Dave was alone sleeping like a log in his twin-bed. No Joanne.
As it turns out, soon after I got back in the room, I went right to bed. I figured I’d talk to Dave in the morning.
That next morning, when both Dave and I were awake, I said to Dave, “I thought our signal was that if you and Joanne were in the room, you were leaving the TV on. Yet, when I finally walked in, no Joanne.”
For his part, Dave was effusively apologetic. “Oh Walt,” he said, “I’m so sorry,” he continued. “You’ll never believe what happened,” he continued. “Tell me,” I said. “I’m all ears” (my ears do stick out).
Dave then continues, “Joanne and I, early on, were engaged in “extracurricular activities” (as we were both teachers, we both understood that that expression was “code” for sexual activities). “It couldn’t have been much later than 10 o’clock,” Dave continues, “that we finished our “love-making” (another code) and called it an evening. I saw Joanne back to her room and then came back to our room. I started to watch TV for a while. Well, I must have been so tired, I fell asleep. I must have left the TV on.” Dave continued, “I didn’t even hear you when you came in.” “That’s because I’m considerate,” I retorted.
As we headed for breakfast, I said to Dave, “Maybe next time, if we’re in a similar situation, you can just put a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door-knob. That way at least you have to get up and remove it (a few years earlier, when I was in college, I knew fraternity guys who put a neck-tie on their door -knob to signal they were in the midst of a relationship). And, then I said to Dave, “I hope”. We both chuckled.
As a postscript: Dave and Joanne would meet in New York City a couple months later, but it didn’t pan out. Yet, as they say: “All’s well that ends well”. Dave would soon meet a woman – she was working in Boston – who was from upstate New York. They were married the following summer. I want say that Dave's wife is from Ogdensburg, NY. I ’d kid Dave by saying you must have this thing for women from northern climes (both Ogdensburg and Montreal are on the St. Lawrence River.).
As for me, I talked with several women when I attended that “Singles Week” at Grossinger’s in August, 1968. Yet I returned empty-handed, not even a telephone number. All I returned with were several “Grossinger’s” T-shirts that I won playing volleyball. However, all was not lost. I would meet my wife Lee at a house party in September; we were married the following June.