Chap. 13: We Each Must Make A Decision

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Apart, But Planning For the Future
Satan Won’t Quit Either
We Each Must Make a Decision


The coming of fall brought an interesting development. My father had taken that job with Goodyear, in Akron. Near the end of August he located a house and the family made the move. The development? I was with them.
No, we hadn't split up, Linda and I. My father had known for a long time now that I wanted to get into Data Processing, and that my luck, at least for the time being, had seemingly run out. So he did some inquiring into DP positions available up there, as well as sala-ries and the like, and things looked rather promising. Knowing that the pay would be better, and thus help fatten the joint account Linda and I had started, I opted to go with them. But I made it clear up front that breaking into DP was my sole reason for going along, and that my feelings toward Linda would not change in the least. I also intended to make a number of trips back to see her, because I knew that neither of us could withstand total separation for the entire 2-year period that remained before my 21st birthday.
Within the first three weeks of the move I made my first trip back to Cincinnati. As with any type of separation, the first weeks are the hardest for any couple, and we were no exception. The letter I received from Lin a few days after returning to Akron, dated September 12, 1967 illustrates the point well. To emphasize the depth of her feelings the way she meant to, she made extensive use of her love for the Beatles' songs. She quoted the key passages from "Do You Want to Know a Secret?", "Yes, I Will", and her favorite (for ending letters, anyway), "P.S. I Love You". The first song points up her love for me, the second that she intends to be faithful (shades of Ron?), and the third couldn't fit better on paper:

“Hi, honey!
How was your trip back? I hope you’re not too tired. I had a nice day. It would have been nicer if I could have had you with me all day. At lunch I missed you immensely. I want you so much.

‘Listen. Do you want to know a secret?
Do you promise not to tell? Ooo, ooo, closer.
Let me whisper in your ear,
Say the words you long to heeeaaar,
I’m in love with you.

I’ve known a secret for a week or two.
Nobody knows, just we two,

‘Listen. Do you want to know a secret?
Do you promise not to tell? Ooo, ooo, closer.
Let me whisper in your ear,
Say the words you long to heeeaaar,
I’m in love with you.

I’ll be true to you, yes I will.
I’ll be true to you, yes I will.
I won’t look twice when other guys go by.
I’ll be true to you, yes I will.

Somehow, this time it’s all so clear to me.
The way to go is easy to see.
My heart is sure you’re the guy I’ve waited
for, and
I’ll be true to you, yes I will, yes I will.
I used to be the kind
Who said every guy’s the same and love was
just a game for having fun.
But when I looked at you
I knew that I was wrong and that I really
could belong to only one.
I’ll be true to you, yes I will,
Every dream that you have I’ll fulfill.
I never promised this to anyone before,
But I’ll be true to you, yes I will, yes I will.


As I write this letter,
Send my love to you,
Remember that I’ll always
Be in love with you.

Treasure these few words till we’re together,
Keep all my love forever,
P.S., I love you, you, you, you,
I’ll be coming home again to you, love,
Until the day I do love,
P.S., I love you, you, you, you
I love you.

Love
Luck and
Laughter, your fiancée,
Lin

P.S. I love you.

I didn't have too much trouble keeping occupied between job interviews, because by this time my dad and I had become "hooked" on rebuilding player pianos. Our first effort, in 1963, is still not playing at this writing, but trial-and-error learning has its problems. My cur-rent time between interviews was spent carefully putting into practice what rebuilding work we felt confident enough to do without generating the same mistakes as on the earlier instru-ment. That meant new cloth on all the bellows and all new hoses. That effort took up a lot of time for me. Most of two weeks, anyway.
As time passed, the separation began to take its toll on both of us. Witness the moods in two consecutive letters I received from Lin:

"Well, I can't think of anything else to say except I love you. I could say that 1,000,000 times and it would never be enough."

No problem there, but:

"I wish I could be in Akron with you because I miss you. You are so sweet it's hard to believe. Things aren't right without you…
"I'm running out of things to say except I need you, I miss you and I want you. I love you, darling, with all my heart."

And, by this time, it began to get to me, too. In response to a letter similar to the one above, I said:

"I miss you quite a lot - even more than before…
"I appreciate the way you miss me so much, and it goes double for me missing you."

Corny, yes, but painfully honest. And as if that weren't enough, the Devil had to get his two cents in, too. A few letters later he had things so mixed up that our moods would change within the text of a single letter. Subject matter aside, witness the initial mood here, in response to her letter, and yet, on the other hand, the ever-present assumption that we'll survive it all that's in evidence in the end:

My dearest love, Linda,
There are a couple things I want to understand, or straighten out, whichever way you want to look at it.
First, you said your father’s comment about “swallowing hard” Sunday was needed. I resented him not letting us work it out. The way I feel, “what’s it to him?” It’s our business. This is one of the few things I don’t want
them involved in. There are many things you want
them left out of, and I’ve gone along, even though it was sometimes hard to do. Even if you felt your father’s comment was needed, how about the looks your mother gave you to get you to go along with things I wanted to do? That’s not needed. That is interfering. I went along
with you on the things you wanted them left out of. How about backing me up on this one?
- - - - - - -
Miss you very, very much. I only wish I could
resign myself to the fact that I might lose you. I’m all upset about it. For so long I didn’t worry. You told me not to. All it took was that one letter last week – that thought you wanted me to keep in mind.
Take care of yourself.
Remember: I love you. Sent a picture for our album.
Your loving fiancé,
Jim
PS. I love you.

We better set a date for the wedding soon – I
know it’s two years off, but we’ll need to work things out for the Monkees’ appearance at our reception plenty of time in advance.
I love you, and I will until the end of time.
Lovingly,
Jim

Yes, the separation was taking its toll, all right. Satan had our tempers going pretty good at that point. All that time apart was very wearing on us emotionally, and our differences of opinion about what situations / events we wanted to keep her parents from getting involved in didn’t help, as evidenced by that latest letter I’d written to her. Between the moods on these issues, the time it would take (by letter, at least) to even get close to a compromise on them, the misinterpretation of many things the other person had said because we didn’t have voice inflections to help, especially when words or phrases could have more than one meaning, and the moodiness we felt at simply not being together gave the enemy plenty of opportunities. And he used them all. And yet, we both clung to the fact that we'd make it. And yes, she wanted to have the Monkees perform at our reception. I knew it was a pipe dream, but I let her plan it all to keep occupied, and keep Satan from getting any more of a foot in the door than he already had. And the prevailing mood of that last letter indicated he had a pretty good hold on things.

Early November brought a letter from Lin saying that she had had a seizure the day before and given her head a pretty good whack, but that she was O.K. Still not having experi-enced one of her seizures, though, I pushed the panic button. And I guess it showed pretty much, too, because I had hardly any problem convincing my parents how important it was that I get down to Cincinnati right away to check on her. Problem now was busfare. My funds had been exhausted sometime before, as no job leads had come through. Soon we were searching all over the house for any spare cash (it was Saturday and the banks were closed), trying to come up with enough for the bus ticket. Even if I had to settle for a one-way ticket for the time being (I kinda liked that thought!). I think I really realized how well I'd gotten the urgency of the affair across when my two sisters emptied their piggy banks to help. That turned the tide, with a few bucks to spare.
Dad drove me to the station and I got that one-way ticket. Problem now was timing. The bus left Akron about 10:30 P.M., arriving in Cincinnati about 2:30 A.M.
Once in town, and having been contemplating the timing problem en route, I sur-veyed the situation: Sunday morning, 2:30 A.M., and here I was, standing in front of the Greyhound station, with no obvious place to go at that hour. And the typical November weather with a sharp chill in the air didn't help any. I figured the temperature couldn’t be much above freezing – I could see every breath I exhaled. Then I had an inspiration.
I hailed a cab and had him take me over to Dennis' parents. Thank goodness for that "few bucks to spare". Why not to Linda's folks? I don't remember. I think it was just that I couldn't bring myself to wake them at that ridiculous hour. On arrival at Dennis' house I de-cided I was too shy to want to disturb them at that hour either. So what did I do? I laid down on the driveway, using my suitcase for a pillow. I dozed on and off over the next 4-1/2 hours. I was up and around, doing exercises to keep warm when at about 6:30 Dennis' mother came to the door to get the morning paper. Needless to say, seeing me standing there scared her silly. After all, it was still dark outside, and she didn't know who I was right away. After she calmed down she invited me in, and I finished my night's sleep in the guest room, including a bout with the chills, probably due to exposure.
About 10:00, I thanked her for the hospitality, picked up my suitcase, and headed out for Linda's on foot.
Around 15-20 minutes later I sat my suitcase down on their porch and rang the bell.
"Hi, dad."
"Well, hello, Jim! C'mon in. What brings you all the way down here unannounced? Nothing serious, I hope."
He closed the door as I walked to the couch. "No, I was just worried about Linda. After that last seizure and all." By then Linda had heard me. She came bounding down the stairs. I stood up just in time to catch the full impact as she ran head-on into my open arms.
"Oh, Jim! I sure have missed you! I haven't seen you in almost a month!"
"That bear hug never felt better. And she almost smothered me with that kiss," I thought. Then I said, "I know, honey. I've missed you too. How do you feel by the way? That last seizure sounded pretty bad. So I wasted no time getting down here. I had to know."
"I'm fine, now, Jim. But it's sure a comfort to know you'd go to all that trouble just for me."
"Because I care about what happens to you, honey. I love you. I kissed her with eve-rything I had. I sensed at that point that Satan had lost that foothold. The love the Lord had given us just blew him away.

"Jim, honey," she said later as we sat in the porch swing for a little privacy, "I lost this job, too."
"Had you told them about the epilepsy?"
"No... I didn't have the courage to." As if to keep me from having a chance to scold her, even out of love, she quickly continued: "But I'm already looking for another one. Making use of that stubborn streak. And this time I'll tell 'em. I promise." She smiled. A couple minutes of silence followed, and it was too much for her. "Jim?"
I'd been teetering on the brink of this decision since I left Akron. Her reaction at see-ing me, and my own feelings, finally tipped the scale. I spoke up.
"Linda, I'm not going back to Akron."
Her face showed happiness at being together, and at the same time concern over what I would do about a job. "What are you going to do, Jim?"
"I'll just start looking for DP jobs around here again. All I know is I've been away from you for the last time. We came too close to breaking up. I love you too much to ever risk that again. If I have to take another job while I search, that's fine. I'll do that before I leave you again."
She melted. "I've missed you an awful lot, too. And hearing you say that makes me feel so much better!" She kissed me warmly. "I love you, Jim."
Shortly thereafter, I made arrangements to stay with my grandmother and Aunt Cindy while I looked for a job. Cindy was the one who’d made Linda’s beautiful white strapless formal. I didn't like leaving Lin so early in the evenings, but I had to catch a bus that would make a connection to get me “home” to Norwood. And the transfer meant more time spent on the bus. Again. But this time I didn't care. We were together for good this time. And it was a good feeling. I had no idea why at the time, but from the day I came back down to Cincinnati, things really started falling into place. (I should have known it was the Lord taking care of us, especially after everything we’d both turned to Him about recently, and the fact that the timing on many events was just plain TOO accurate to be coincidence; but the fact that it WAS the Lord, and the magnitude of it, would not truly register with either of us until we became even more closely tied to Him. It would then become obvious what He had done for us up to this point in time. JAW 11/24/99 – Thanksgiving day, 1999 – I thank You, dear Lord, for every moment of the 14 truly loving and devoted years you gave Linda and I together.)
What was that I just said about things suddenly falling into place? Within two weeks of my decision to remain in Cincinnati, I had a DP job! Computer operator trainee for a grocery store chain. Low man on the totem pole, yes. But I was into DP. And most vacancies were for experienced people. So, once again, I had proof that He was with us.
Shortly after hearing I had the job, my folks offered to let me use my car!!
"You're kidding!!" Linda exclaimed.
"Nope. That's what they said. All I have to do is find some way to get up there to get it. Hey - if we can work it out, how would you like to go along? Then I wouldn't have such a lonely ride back, either."
"I'd love to. But how do we get there?"
"Greyhound, I guess."
"But what do we use for money?"
"I didn't say I had ALL the answers." I smiled. She kissed me.
Within two days her parents loaned us the money for two one-way tickets to Akron. Linda and I rode up the next Saturday and picked up my little Rambler wagon without incident (she waited outside while I picked up the keys). I sure was glad she'd been able to come along. It didn't take long to realize how lonely the return trip would have been. Not to mention staying awake at the wheel with as long as we'd already been awake that day.

Things really settled in after that.
"Jim, I've got a new job! And they know about the epilepsy!" she beamed. We were sitting in her parents' living room that evening. It was now almost December, 1967.
"Beautiful, honey. I knew you could do it!" I kissed her. What kind of job is it?"
"Clerical work for a publishing company. I'm enjoying it already. I guess it's the peace of mind I have, knowing that they know."
"That sure does help, doesn't it?" I smiled.
“You can say THAT again," she said, relieved. She kissed me happily. "Go on, say 'I told you so'," she chuckled. I just smiled.
“And there’s something about this job that you’re not going to believe.”
“What’s that, honey?” I asked. I could tell she just HAD to tell me.
“You know how a lot of people are superstitious about the number 13, and how I never really have been, right?”
“Yeah, in fact you’ve often said it seems to be your lucky number.”
“Well, with them knowing about the epilepsy, and me loving the kind of work I’m doing, this is the best job I’ve had so far, and it’s in the Tri-State Building on the 13th floor, in Suite 1313.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I said grinning. Of course I obviously knew she wasn’t.
“No, I’m not,” she said, grinning with me.
“I like math, you know that, sweetheart, but even I wouldn’t want to have to figure the odds on THAT!” I said as we laughed together.

The only problem we had to contend with now was my rotating shift. And I do mean rotating. Different every week, on a four-week rotation. One week each of day shift, second shift, and third shift, followed by a fourth week composed of one or more days on each of those shifts, to get sleeping hours juggled back around to lead into the next cycle, starting over with day shift. That fourth week I work Monday night third shift, take Tuesday off, work Wednesday and Thursday second shift, take Friday off, then work Saturday and Sunday day shift, which leads back to Monday day shift to start the cycle over again. Sound confusing? Right. And we had to try and plan time together around that. But somehow we managed. Just being together made us feel anything was possible if we put our minds to it.

With everything pretty well set, both of us in jobs we loved, and able to be together at will, we both really relaxed. One of the things we were able to plan around that crazy rotating shift of mine was lunch with Linda and some of her coworkers on occasion, usually about every other week during my second shift months. I would come downtown early, have lunch with them, then do a little window shopping or check out the latest construction site around before walking to work for second shift. She really made some great friends on that job, and I loved it. That environment helped her continue to grow toward that “person, the woman, the housewife even” that she wanted so much to become. She learned that there really were people who could genuinely care about her regardless of the seizures, and that basically opened up a whole new world for her. It allowed her to be herself around them, build friendships she never had a chance for in school, expand her ability to express herself because she didn’t have to be so afraid of others’ reactions, and allowed her to become more comfortable with trusting many of those around her. The rest of 1967 came and went. We sat up with her parents on New Years Eve and watched Guy Lombardo. I drove home about 1:30 A.M. New Years Day, only to go back later and spend the day with them.


This work is taken from “A Once In A Lifetime Love: An Autobiography of Two High School Sweethearts”, copyright 2000, as yet unpublished, by the same author.