Don't Get Directions From A Harvard Man

Don't Get Directions From A Harvard Man

Home Copyright 2005 Harris B. McKee

I guess that my uniform was exotic. The Korean war had ended only four years earlier and some military perks extended down to ROTC. My round trip home half-price fare on the train cost only $33 from White River Junction, Vermont to Des Moines, Iowa. But I had to wear the uniform.

It must have been the uniform that turned the head of Connie Fanor, a senior in college in Boston , who was returning from Christmas in Rockford, IL. I guess that she wasn’t traveling on such a tight budget because she had a Pullman seat. That proved to be quite nice because of the privacy that it provided. And she welcomed me warmly into her suite.

A month later at semester break, I hitchhiked down to Cambridge to visit Dave Hermanson, who had been our government teacher at Indianola High School the previous year. Remembering the nice train trip, I made a date with Connie Fanor. She suggested that we meet at the Brigham’s Ice Cream store on the corner of Boylston and Massachusetts Avenue. When I told Dave my evening plans, he said that he knew exactly the place and would show me how to walk there.

At 7:30 that evening, I went to the corner and waited, and waited, and waited. At 8:00 I called Connie; she said, “I was there, where were you?” When I responded, “I was there, where were you?” she asked me to describe the other businesses on the corner. I mentioned a Waldorf cafeteria and a bank. She said, “I know exactly where you are. Go stand in front of the bank. I’ll be there in five minutes.” Ten minutes later I called her again. “I don’t know where you are.” she said. “Please take a cab to my dorm.”

I expected a ride around the corner but we headed down Massachusetts Avenue across the bridge. She greeted me at the dorm and immediately set off to show me where she had been waiting. Sure enough, at the corner of Boylston and Mass Ave in Boston there were the same Ice Cream Store, cafeteria, and bank that stood on the corner of Boylston and Mass Ave in Cambridge.

We had coffee in a coffee shop, lamented our difficulty in getting together and I went back to Dave’s apartment. I never saw her again. Maybe if I’d worn my uniform….

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