49 Years Ago Yesterday

April 19, 1975. Some people remember dates that changed their lives forever. Sometimes for the better, sometimes not. You don’t always know at the time what the effect of that event will be. On April 19, 1975, one of my high school friends invited me to her boyfriend’s house for a party. It was my senior year, I didn’t have a boyfriend, and I did enjoy a good party so off I went. It was loud and there was drinking (hey, the drinking age was 18) and soon I was in the land of the merry. At some point, the host of the party, one Paul McFarland, asked his friend, Bruce to give me a ride home as it appeared I might be past the point of pleasantly intoxicated to not.

Bruce agreed and we hopped into his 1966 Ford Falcon but I was not ready to go home. I offered to pay for his gasoline so we could ‘ride around’ Newburyport as we did back in the day. Gas was around .50/gallon in those days and I was pretty sure I had a couple of bucks in my pocket. The only gas station that was open was in the next town over – Alan’s Salvage which was a diner/truck stop/gas station. Off we went. When Bruce pulled up to the pumps, I dug around in my jeans and came up with…lint. Not being too pleased, Bruce asked me to dig around in the seams of the seats and search on the floor (which had a hole in it!) for change. We found enough to get a couple of gallons.

I still didn’t want to go home so we drove to the Mall in Newburyport (for those of you unfamiliar it is not pronounced Mall like ‘all’ but Mall like ‘pal.’ And it’s not a shopping mall but a big hole in the ground that has a little water and a big fountain. Anyway, we sat and talked for a while, took a walk around the perimeter and then I went home. The whole time I thought he was Bruce Goldthorpe (another Bruce in his class of 1973). The next morning, I remembered him, thought he was cute, a good conversationalist and above all, a good sport that I actually didn’t have money for gas. I waited a few days but never heard from him. In those days, we had these amazing devices called phone books where you could look up someone by name and dial them. I wasn’t entirely sure that was his last name so I did nothing for a couple of days. Come to find out, later, Bruce thought my last name was Parlee, but I’ll explain that later.

Being disappointed I hadn’t heard from Bruce Goldthorpe, I made my friend call her boyfriend and ask about him. Paul was very puzzled since BG hadn’t been at the party. But, as they say, the light dawned in Marblehead and he explained that his cute friend who drove me home was Bruce Hurd. Well. Then I could look him up in the magic phone book which I did. And, for the first time in my life, I called a boy. (There were unwritten rules back then that girls didn’t call a boy first. I hope times have changed.)

Mustering my courage, I called the Hurd residence (5-9106) and Bruce answered the phone, except he didn’t sound like Bruce but a man who had tied a mitten to his face and was talking through it. Well, Florence Nightingale to the rescue. I told him I’d bring him soup. He thought that was nifty and again, thanks to the magic phone book, I knew he lived at 49 Carter Street. I donned my yellow raincoat, stole a can of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup from the cupboard and got my ass down to Carter Street.

And there he was. I didn’t know it at the time, but I had made a very good decision to call a boy. He would also be the last boy I ever called.

So let me explain about the Parlee thing. That’s my mother’s maiden name. My dad, being a very thrifty man of Scottish descent, snagged it from my mother’s brother after helping him on one of their many, many moves. He peeled off the letters that spelled ‘Parlee’ but there was a faint residue of it on the mailbox. It was a while before Bruce knew what my real last name was.

So yesterday, would have been the 49th anniversary of when we met. It seems a very appropriate and apt origin story for us. We laughed a lot over the years about the mistaken names, the chicken soup and not having money for gas. We laughed a lot about many things over the years. And there, boys and girls, is the secret to a great relationship. Laugh. A lot. And have a great friend, like Paul McFarland to play matchmaker.