When I first met Dolly I was eighteen years old and just out of high school. She was twenty-two. The year was l944 with WW II still raging. Dolly and I worked in a war plant making struts for fighter planes.
I was a gofer in a large machine shop, while Dolly was a machinist to whom I made occasional deliveries. A good-looking woman, I found myself attracted to her. On one of my deliveries, she unexpectedly asked, "How old are you?" Startled, I found myself groping for words and responded hesitantly, "Eighteen."
"My name's Dolly," smiling as she said it. "I take it that you're no longer in school. How do you like working for a living?"
"It's okay for now, but I'm a musician and am looking for that kind of work. This will hold me over until I find something."
Her smile broadened as she heard me mention musician. "What instrument do you play?"
"Saxophone and clarinet. I also play drums and violin, but I've really lost interest in them."
"Do you play with any bands?"
"Not at this time. I just joined the Musicians Union and have feelers out."
Still smiling-and what a sweet smile-she said, "Well, if you play some place let me know. I'd love to hear you."
After that encounter I was more than attracted to her-smitten is more like it. A few days later I gathered enough nerve to ask her to have coffee with me after work. She readily accepted my invitation. Her intelligence easily matched her attractiveness. I found this combination of attributes much to my liking, although I can't say intellect was the biggest factor in wanting to see her more.
We started meeting regularly for coffee, then began dating. Our dates usually consisted of long walks on weekends and an occasional movie, ending with a little necking. On one occasion I tried to go beyond petting, slipping my hand to an intimate place. She gently stopped me, saying, "I really like what you're doing, but I'm an old-fashioned girl. It's too soon. I think we should wait until we know each other better."
Dolly had her own late-model car and was financially sound. She didn't need her machinist's job for the money. She just wanted to help the war effort. She lived in an upscale women's residence near the local university. I knew that I attracted her despite our age difference, but my desires were fleeting, my interests scattered in half a dozen directions, typical for my eighteen years. The world was my oyster and I tasted life amply, with little thought to even a small personal commitment other than to music.
Spending more time with Dolly, though, I began to recognize various qualities of her personality much to my liking. She had an indomitable spirit and a mature attitude beyond her years. One afternoon when she had driven me home from work, I introduced her to my mother doing some weeding around the front of our house. They talked for several minutes while I took over the digging job, staying close by trying to listen in on their conversation. When Dolly went her way, my mother remarked, "What a fine young woman. She is just a lovely person." She had that look in her eyes that only a mother can have recognizing a real benefit for her offspring.
As our days together passed, I found out more about her background, as well as her other traits. She came from a distinguished New England family. Both her mother and father were dead. Her father had been the top administrator in the building of the Hoover Dam. While telling me about his career, she revealed a part of her personality that unsettled me. She suddenly became angry, saying, "President Roosevelt fired my father. It was strictly a political move because Dad was a Republican. Roosevelt had listened to some of his advisors who had no love for my father. The firing broke Dad's heart...his spirit as well. He became despondent and lapsed into a deep depression he never overcame. Then he died suddenly."
She became livid, calling Roosevelt foul names. This upset me because I, like most Americans, regarded him as a great hero. I soon overlooked her tirade, however, understanding how she must have felt. She loved her father and missed him greatly. I couldn't blame her for those feelings.
What attracted me most, besides her physical beauty, was her inner strength and a purposeful sense of living that I didn't find in most people. Her openness completely charmed me. She made no overt attempts to control our relationship or to move it in any direction. We both felt comfortable in each other's presence. She could have been an ideal mate, but I refused to recognize it at the time. I didn't want to dilute my music ambitions.
Several months into our relationship, things began to change. I quit the factory because so many musicians were now in the service, making all kinds of music work available. I had been classified 4-F because of a leg injury sustained as a child, exempting me from military service. Quitting the factory meant not seeing Dolly every day. I started to avoid getting together with her since I began meeting other women with more in mind than weekend walks and movies. I failed to recognize in my youthful view of the world that she possessed the strengths I needed most and that I could have learned from her. She had the stability I totally lacked, which took me years to obtain myself. Eventually, I stopped calling her, nor did she contact me.
* * *
Two years later while in college in southern Ohio, I ran into a mutual friend. He told me Dolly was now enrolled at Ohio State University. He had her address that he gave me upon request. During those two years, I had kept thinking about her, eventually becoming aware that perhaps I had made a mistake disappearing as I did. With spring break coming up, I decided that on my way home to Cleveland, I would stop off in Columbus and see her.
Arriving at her address, an off-campus women's residence, I nervously announced myself to the receptionist, who phoned Dolly's room. I was told to wait in the adjoining lounge and that she would be down in ten minutes. Waiting seemed an eternity. When she appeared I was overwhelmed by her radiant beauty, but noticed she seemed nervous, even upset. She looked as though she had been crying. Doing her best to greet me cheerfully, she said, "This is a pleasant surprise. What are you doing in Columbus?" I waffled through a lame excuse, adding, "I heard you were in school here. I ran into Ken Baylor, who gave me your address. I figured that since I was in town, it would be nice to see you again."
We exchanged brief catch-up information, but when that ran its course, she told me she was engaged to be married. I felt a severe pain in the back of my neck, as if somebody had punched my head from behind, leaving me slightly dizzy. I responded with a forced smile, congratulating and wishing her my best. In those few moments I came to grips with the realization that she cared more for me than I had ever allowed myself to admit; that she had given me up as a lost cause, which I was; and that I'd made a huge mistake, losing her as a result.
The conversation went bone dry. I congratulated her once again, said goodbye and left. Heading directly to the bus station, I felt down and empty, wondering how I could have been so stupid as to throw away such a wonderful gift.
I don't know if there's a definite age at which maturity begins, but I believe it began with me that afternoon in Columbus.
