Back in the day (early 60s) I had a good friend in high school and then college who provided me with some great memories. I will call her Louellen (her middle name and her mom’s pet name for her) largely for the relative anonymity as well as the alliteration with Lakeside which is an especially fun memory.
Louellen had a great sense of humor and got me to appreciate the wonderful satire created by the Chad Mitchell Trio, a folk group whose songs (such as “Lizzie Borden: You Can’t Chop Your Mama Up in Massachusetts”, “The John Birch Society”, “Super Skier”, and the like) have brought me much joy over the years. (They also did a chilling version of the Irish ballad “Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ye” that always brings tears.) Anyway, we would hang out at Louellen’s house and play board games and cards for hours on end over weekends, summers, and occasional sleepovers.
It was Louellen’s house that often provided respite for me during my growing up as my mom was in and out of the hospital over a period of years, and I lived intermittently with a variety of friends and relatives. For a period of time, I lived with people for whom I babysat, but I had to go back home to water my mom’s violets. My mom had a rule about no boys in the apartment when she wasn’t home, and I was a pretty good kid and respected that rule. My aunt, who lived about 20 miles away, felt responsible for me in my mom’s absence and tended to believe that, as a teenager, I must be sneaking my boyfriend into the apartment. She had the lock changed. My friend Howard from the high school stage crew created a new key for me. I had to water those plants and get to my belongings as needed. But I had an ornery streak; and, just to get back at my aunt for not trusting me, I developed a little pattern. My mom and I lived in an apartment. My boyfriend and I would go to the apartment and enter via the front door…in full view of a nibby-nosed neighbor who saw her mission in life as reporting such things to the custodian who would report to my aunt. Up the elevator we would go. My boyfriend would, per mom’s instructions, wait in the hallway for me while I watered the plants and got whatever I needed. Then we would go to the other end of the hall and walk down the fire escape and sneak out between buildings where the custodian could not see. We would go to Louellen’s house, play cards all day, and return to the building, sneak up the fire escape, go down the hall, board the elevator, and exit via the front door with the nibby neighbor watching. When my aunt would confront me I would tell her that, no, I did not spend the day in the apartment with my boyfriend but was at Louellen’s house playing cards all day. My aunt would call Louellen’s mom who would confirm my story because…well, because it was the truth! (In my older years, I have come to feel a bit guilty for egging on my aunt that way as I realize she was only looking out for me.
Well, on to the Lakeside story. After our first year of college, Louellen and I went, along with five other friends for a week at a Methodist resort town called Lakeside (because it was on a lake, of course). We were able to get a pre-season deal because one of our friends’ father was a minister and had a cabin there. So we piled in a van and trekked off to Lakeside. (One friend’s dad — not the minister — send us off with the advice, “If rape is inevitable, lean back and enjoy it.” Times were different back then, but it was still a rather questionable attempt at humor.) We enjoyed Lakeside, sat by the water, spent a day at an amusement park, met a few other pre-season renters, went dancing, did some souvenir shopping at a lovely little gift shop where I (a jewelry fanatic even then) purchased a beautiful pair of earrings that were actually Sarna brass bells made in India. A good time overall.
But one evening, everyone — except Louellen — wanted to go dancing and drinking in a nearby town. Louellen was not feeling well (and was not really a dancer or a drinker) and wanted to stay at the cottage but not alone. I was a dancer but not a drinker and decided that I would stay back with her. So we sat around in the living room, played euchre, read books, chatted. No TV available. Nowhere in town to go as the few places open pre-season closed for business in the evening. Just a quiet night in a cottage in a town that was nearly deserted. At night. Just the two of us. And we kept hearing slight rustling sounds. And we’d get a bit tense. (This was back waaaaay before spooky campground movies were around, but we had imaginations, so…..) The noises continued, and we became increasingly nervous. Finally, Louellen got a strange look on her face and began to chuckle. She was on the sofa by an inside wall. I was in a chair between the door and window (in the direction of the sounds). “Are you wearing those earrings you got earlier today?” she asked. “Yes,” I replied. “Are they real bells with clappers?” she asked. “Yes,” I replied, then, “Oooooohhhh. Duh!” And we had found the source of the rustling noise! (So when I say I am “ding-y”, there is evidence to support that!
After we were able to breathe a sigh of relief, we decided we were miffed that our other friends were staying out into the wee hours, so we crazy-foamed all the doorknobs and went to sleep.
Louellen and Lakeside — great memories!