A Ring on Her Finger

I've written about leaving home at 17 to go to beauty school in Salt Lake City. I recently read through a journal I kept during that year my roommates and I lived on the Avenues in the North East part of the city, first on "B" street and then at the Caithness, north of the big Catholic cathedral. There's time and always another post for those adventures.

Once we finished our studies--business school for them--we relocated to South Salt Lake to share an apartment in my Aunt Louise's home on Commonwealth Avenue. This was a neighborhood of older homes. Fitts Novelty Shop was at the end of the block. There was a tiny grocery store just beyond the other end, and a wonderful bakery a few steps from the grocery. The county hospital filled that entire block on the back side, north of Commonwealth at 21st and State Streets. Church--Haven Ward--was within walking distance, a few blocks to the south. Each summer Aunt Louise and Elsie Fitts organized a neighborhood reunion, inviting anyone who had lived on the street to a block party. Leone, my cousin who shared the house with my aunt, got us involved in our new surroundings right away.

The Stake President, William T. South, lived just down the street. I met his daughter, Mary Jane and her friends, Susan and Carol, one day as they were sharing their plans with Leone for Carol's makeover. Carol was dating Mary Jane's brother, Frank, when he was called to serve a mission in Austria. Agreeing to "wait" for him, she'd been keeping the missionary journal, the scrapbook, writing him letters, the whole nine yards. I thought this was all so silly. Well, Carol got her makeover all right, then sent Frank a "Dear John" letter, just as he was preparing to travel home, in June of '63. 

Frank seemed cynical and sarcastic when I met him. I wasn't interested in him. One of my roommates really liked Frank. I was more attracted to his brother, John, who had his eye on his sister's friend, Judy, so my interest turned towards a South cousin, Tom, who also lived in the neighborhood.

Leone was full of fun. She'd load up her car and haul the young adults in the ward or stake everywhere, or so it seemed. There were others who did the same but somehow, Frank and I always seemed to end up in her car! "Need a ride?", she'd say. I don't think either of us knew we were being set up. She seemed a committed matchmaker.

He and I did go to a surprise birthday party for his friend. Frank didn't know any of the other party-attendees. I didn't know any one there. I barely knew Frank! The birthday boy never arrived. He'd been in a car accident. We played ping pong--my first time at that and I was totally uncoordinated--made polite conversation and eventually the crowd dwindled away. This was a strange first date!

January 5, 1964. I began teaching a new SS class for eleven-year-olds that day but that is not why I remember the date. We were hanging out with friends, making plans for the Gold and Green Ball, listening to records--vinyls, kids, 78's & 45's--eating goodies. Frank drove me home. Just inside the front hall entrance of my apartment, he kissed me. Another first! Oh, others had tried, believe you me, but my mother had told me not to be kissing any boys, from the time I was little. And not to be holding hands with them, either. And to keep my feet firmly planted on the floor. Now here I was, kissed for the first time and thinking, "Is that all there is to it?"

Frank taught guitar lessons and lived at home while he was finishing his BA degree. He had little money for dating. If he took me for fast food, he would order nothing for himself and then eat what he had ordered for me. We took walks in the moonlight. He had a wonderful laugh, actually, more of a giggle, that would burst forth spontaneously and unexpectedly. He had a quick sense of humor, come-backs, and plays-on-words. He loved to talk about mythology and history. He was an excellent dancer and had participated with a folk dance group prior to his mission. We golfed a bit, just par 3's or hitting a bucket of balls. He introduced me to Mexican food. We didn't double with other couples but we did spend lots of time with his friend, Garn, his wife and kids. One of my biggest frustrations was Frank's lack of planning and his untimeliness. Gun shy of committing himself, even the simplest things were last-minute. And he was always late. However, as a surprise for my birthday, he replaced two missing topaz stones in my mother's engagement ring. I hadn't worn Mother's ring since she'd given it to me but it was a sentimental treasure and a sweet gesture by Frank.

 The South family was planning a trip to Island Park in Idaho in September. Frank had invited me to go. His mother said, "No!" She questioned the "appropriateness" of including me, an unattached woman.

August 23, 1965, a Monday. He and I spent the major portion of that day in the canyons that surround the Salt Lake Valley. Frank was skilled with charcoal or a pencil in his hand, sketching the scenery. The picnic lunch I had prepared was a hit. We planned a "Theater in the Round" evening. "Guys and Dolls" was playing. Frank arrived to pick me up. My roommate had her arms loaded to take out the trash. As we all met in the front doorway of the apartment, Frank handed me a ring! He had planned to propose in Idaho but his mother had said no so he put a ring on my finger so his parents could relax. Somehow, being engaged made my going okay.

When September came and my finger was now properly dressed, we took off for Island Park in a borrowed Volkswagen, detoured by road construction into sheepherder country--sheep as far as the eye could see in any direction that day--and arrived late to meet the South family and cousins. I don't think my future father-in-law ever believed our explanation.

One of the South cousins had owned and operated a saw mill. The mill had been closed for some time but the cabins were still there.  Introductions to the extended South family gathered at Island Park included some mention that I was a farm girl. Someone produced a saddled and bridled horse! Instead of admitting that I'd only been on a horse a few times in my entire life, I climbed into the saddle. Thank heavens for early television westerns. I dug in my knees and tried my darnedest to appear to be sitting T-A-L-L in the saddle without too much bouncing of my tush as that horse took off across the meadow. With my back to the onlookers, I could hold on to the saddle horn and hold on I did, for dear life! At ride's end, I calmly stepped down, thankful to be alive.

Being a part of this family camp-out at the mill included the nightly potty brigade.  It had been declared unsafe for us women to step out into the forest, heaven forbid, for a middle-of-the-night gotta-go, so EVERYONE went t o g e t h e r  before settling into bed for the night! The outhouse was a triple seater and no one seemed to have any qualms about using all three seats at the same time!

How many bodies can you fit inside a borrowed Volkswagen Bug? A whole lot of South cousins! And then what do you do? Drive at neck-breaking speeds across the flats somewhere near Idaho Falls, chasing sand cranes and jumping irrigation ditches, of course!

We set a March 18, 1966 wedding date. Frank would finish his BA in June. I made and sent out cute announcements of our engagement. My roommates and I and cousin Leone kept our plans for vacationing in the San Francisco Bay area in the month following my engagement. There were bridal showers that Aunt Valois, Aunt Blanch, Jane, and friends in Haven Ward hosted. Salon staff at Heiner's treated me to a very fancy dinner at Hotel Utah, and gifted me the wedding dress I had fallen in love with but couldn't afford. $150 was way over my budget. My dear friend, Ross, asked to provide orchids from his greenhouse for my bouquet. This, too, became a part of my story.