Chapter 12 - Mike's Poster of Evie

According to Boy: (For some reason, I have the sense that I wrote about this before. Perhaps not as a chapter topic, but maybe in connection with another topic.)

The infamous Evie poster started out as a prank on Evie’s first visit to New York. We were staying in a room I had rented at the hotel where I lived—the Fifth Avenue Hotel. Unlike subsequent stays at the Waldorf-Astoria and the Statler Hilton, I was not able to get a student rate at the Fifth Avenue, even though it was owned by the university. The cost of the room was exorbitant for my budget. We barely had money for meals. Lucky for us, we were not much into eating those days. We lived on sandwiches from a great little deli in the Village, and on wine.

It was during this visit I for the first time in my life realized just how sweet life could be with a girl like Evie. The feeling was right, the smell was right, the taste was right, the lips were right, the brown eyes were right, the soft thighs were right—everything that could be right, was right. And, best of all, she was a terrific girl. I was in love.

So, being the consummate (perhaps aspiring) photographer, I had to get a picture of this girl. And I did. She had nothing on but my white dress shirt. She was sitting on the bed, her dark curly hair tousled sufficiently to be interesting, knees crossed, shirt unbuttoned (but not disclosing anything), and gripped in her right hand was a can of Budweiser. She still swears that she never drank beer, but I the picture to prove otherwise.

What made the picture captivating to me was the deep color of her brown eyes and thick lips. I shot the photo with my Nikon Photomic T, using Kodak Tri-X Pan black and white film. I knew from experience that this film would render a grainy, but very sensual picture.

I got the negative developed and printed after she had gone back to Grand Rapids. I remember looking through the pictures while still standing at the photo counter. I could not believe what I saw. It was the most incredible picture I had ever seen. It looked like something you would expect to see in the ad of a new perfume. She looked so unbelievably beautiful, and sexy.

I spent a large part of the evening opening up my desk, and checking the picture out, then putting it back. It was not the type of picture that you allowed your roommate to see. I knew that if he did, he would make some comment, and I would break his nose. So I left it in my desk.

The more I thought about it, the more I wondered how it would look as a poster. So one Saturday afternoon I took the negative to one of those specialty shops in the Village, and had them take a look at it. The photo clerk blew it up on his viewer, projecting it on the wall. The clarity and contrast were pretty good, so I ordered a poster.

I think they had to send it out to a studio to have it made, because I waited about a week for it. Every other day I would stop in to see if they had it. Finally, they told me it was done, and they brought it out to me, sliding it out from between two pieces of cardboard, they laid it out on the counter. My jaw dropped. While it was produced from a small-format camera, the focus was perfect, and the contrast high. They had done a great job. I think it cost about twenty-five dollars.

I didn’t tell Evie I had it made. And I certainly did not put it on the wall of my shared room. I rolled it up, and tucked it away in my closet.

Then, the next time Evie came out to visit, while she was in the bathroom I taped it on the wall above the head of our bed. At first she did not notice. But when she did, she just about blew a gasket. She was not terribly happy about my having it made up. It was more than a little risqué, and that was the part that she did not like.

I did assure her that no one but she and I had ever seen it. Then it was a little easier for her to handle.

Until this book was written, we remained the only two people who had ever seen the poster. With a little coaxing, I managed to convince Evie that we should include a picture of it in these pages.

The Real Skinny: "I bought more stamps, put my money in the travel jar, and kept my suitcase out"

The real skinny (according to Girl): We thought it was final. I would never come back. I would stay in Michigan, and he would stay in New York. He would not talk to me and I didn’t get it. By the time the plane landed in Grand Rapids and I was home again, he would call and we would begin again.


We knew we both wanted the same thing, to be together. I bought more stamps, put my money in the travel jar and kept my suitcase out.

Mike's Mood Swings When Evie Left, According to Girl

Mike’s mood swings when Evie left according to Girl: I recently read that a person’s eyes dilate when looking at someone they love. Also, apparently the eyes will also dilate when looking at something or someone they hate.


Sounds interesting. This was similar to what happened at the airport scenes of the weekends I spent in New York.
I loved coming to New York. I hated leaving.

Our director instructed us to put our emotions and souls into the initial scene one. We heard the lights, camera action, as I came down the ramp from the plane. He would be waiting, in his jeans and dress shirt. Sleeves rolled up, I think they were French cuffs, however when you did not bother with the links, it was easier to roll them up. He spent hours, working on papers, and the typewriter with legal pads and pencils at his side, his hands were free and clear of anything that might be a distraction. He stood there while I ran, cutting through the crowd and passing the slower traffic on the bridge, I would find his arms, we would kiss, and yes, my eyes would probably dilate. That’s why he would call me his brown eyed girl.

I was not sure why he loved me. He could find a rich girl on campus. He could find a Coco Chanel snob. He could find someone who had degrees, parents with status, an intellectual; he could easily have assumed the role of a graduate student snob.

As my visit drew to a close, we would head to the air terminal (yes, terminal was the perfect name for this last scene). We were grumpy. Overtired, broke and mostly not wanting the movie to end this way. Why do some movies just have sad endings? Much like many love stories, my visits always seemed to make us cry at the end.

Our movie closed with silence, an empty head and heart. The eyes told the story. Bach, Concerto Number Three in D Major playing in the background, the final moments, I grabbed a pillow, pushed back the blue seat on the plane, looked out the tiny airplane window at the yellow and orange sunset with the silhouette of the skyline and tears streamed down my face.

I left. It was over. Seven hundred forty six miles. I will miss him.

Chapter 11 - Mike's Mood Swings When Evie Left

According to Boy: Under normal circumstances, I did not suffer from mood swings. When I would have a particularly bad day in school, I might get a little bummed out, but I would just work a little harder to make up for it. I called it "work therapy." Sometimes I would put on my running shoes, and run a hard five or even ten miles. I would run until my body hurt so badly that I forgot what was bothering me. That’s how I handled my anger the day I left my camera in a taxi—I went out and ran about a dozen miles, with engineer boots on. I was in such pain afterward that I forgot all my other problems.


During the days and weeks leading up to one of Evie’s visits I would be in the best of moods. My anticipation was like a high. I tried to consider every possible problem that could occur, and make contingency plans. I would ask myself questions such as these: "What if it rains? What if she doesn’t want to go to a play? What if she doesn’t like Italian? What if they don’t let us register at the hotel?" There were always a hundred bad things that could happen for every good thing. I felt like I must consider them all, at least those I could think of.

I would always meet her at the airport. And I was always on time. When possible, I would try to get registered at the hotel before I met her. My thinking was that if I was already signed in, no clerical error could waylay us. I would have a bottle of wine ready, and chilled. If she was hungry, I would have a place in mind that I knew she would like. It might not have seemed so orchestrated, but I did my best to have everything covered.
Part of that planning included improvisation. If one of us had a good idea about something to do, we would easily slip into it and change the set plan. It was more fun that way. But that did not change the fact that the overall plan was still in effect; it was just that it allowed for changes. Sometimes we would get caught up watching Johnny Carson, and take a pass on walking Times Square at midnight. I guess you could call it rigid flexibility.

We both would have a great time every time she would visit. We absolutely never had a disagreement. That is, not until it came time to take her back to the airport. Then, just as we started counting down the hours, and then the minutes, I became a different person. It was terrible. I hated to see myself get that way, but I did. I could not help it. I would always find something to crab around about. Evie never initiated it—she was nice no matter what. But I changed.

I knew what the problem was—I had spent so much time and energy anticipating her visit, and I had such a great time with her, I could not bear the thought that she was leaving. It killed me to think that within the next few hours I would no longer be able to hold her, and taste her sweet mouth. It drove me nuts.

I never touched her in anger. In fact, in the forty plus years we have been married, I have never physically struck out against her. It is just not in my nature to do such a thing. But I was really rotten to her when she was getting ready to leave me alone in New York.

I tried and tried to work on it, but I never mastered my disappointment. Thank God she did not give up on me before we got married. Once she moved out to New York for good, I don’t recall ever again experiencing those manic/depressive symptoms.

I could never really relate to what Shakespeare intended when he wrote that "parting is such sweet sorrow." To me, there was nothing sweet about it. It was more like post-partum depression.

The Real Skinny: "She's cute"

The real skinny (according to Boy): So often, when I think about Evie, I am reminded of the movie, My Cousin Vinny. The movie was made in 1992, and starred Joe Pesci and the second cutest girl in the world, Marisa Tomei. I would be hard pressed to describe my favorite scene—they are all great. But the one I recall best is the one where Vinny presses a witness (Vinny was a trial lawyer) to state how cute his girlfriend was. That’s how I have always viewed Evie. She’s cute.

Not only is she cute, but she is a darn good writer. Don’t you just love her little rat story? I wish I had thought of that. She doesn’t, however, mention the fact that one time I was able to retrieve her contacts from the drain. There would have been no point trying the second time, because I knew exactly where they were. I will concede the fact that they might eventually have ended up in that rat pawn shop (more than likely, however, via the East River).

New York Accommodations When Evie Came to Visit, According to Girl

New York accommodations when Evie came to visit according to Girl: Just like little Annie Oakley, when I came to town I was "packing." However, I was not packing a 22 caliber rifle (to split a playing card edge on, and put five or six more holes in it before it hit the ground).

What I packed were two main ingredients for a trip to see Mike. First, of course, my birth control pills, yep, this little sharpshooter did not need to return to Michigan with a problem. And, secondly, my contact lenses.

Didn’t need a suitcase for those. Didn’t have to check a bag at the airport. I could wear Mike’s shirts for my sleepwear and after two quick days for a visit, I would be back in the Midwest.

They would be impromptu, I would call Mike and tell him I needed to see him. My check would come, I would head to the bank to cash it. I then went to the airport and bought my ticket. And, by the next weekend, I was in flight.

I can’t believe we could smoke on the plane. No screening, no IDs— anyone with a ticket could get on a plane. The planes were big and loud. I think that the sky would shake when those silver bullets careened through the clouds. The flight attendants were all girls. Not a hair out of place, nails with clear polish and white pearly teeth showed when the red lips parted to offer drinks or dinner. The visits were fast and incredibly delicious. When there was a roommate involved, we would head to the Statler Hilton and get the student rate rooms.

It was there I lost my, no, not lost, I misplaced, no, perhaps, the glass of water should have been less available. But, the contacts were gone in the morning. My view of Manhattan was suddenly diminished. The Staten Island Ferry would not have the clear view of the city, the Empire State Building would wait for another weekend. Sites would wait. It was okay because we could spend more face time.

We imagined they were down the drain. Yes, with the slimiest of sewer rats. They would probably be taking them to the rat pawn shop at the entrance to the train tunnel. The finder would discuss their value with the owner, and they decided to re-sell them as glass bowls, handmade, each being unique, and the little artist’s mark in the right lens to determined authenticity, much like the digital watermarking software used for a photograph.

So, the little rat family, had a fabulous dinner with the pawnbrokers bounty, and I jumped on the Sunday night plane, a bit blinder, but, with the Annie song running through my mind.

"Buffalo gals, won’t you come out tonight?

Come out tonight, Come out tonight?

Buffalo gals, won’t you come out tonight,

And dance by the light of the moon."

(by Cool White, copyright unknown; featured in It’s A Wonderful Life.)

And as for me—I will be back. Within a few weeks I will be packin’, just watch me.

Chapter 10 - New York Accommodations When Evie Came to Visit

According to Boy: I was never able to understand why hotels such as the Statler Hilton and the Waldorf-Astoria gave me a discount when I rented a room. To me that did not make any sense. The way I figured, it was a lot like a bar discounting the price of sandwiches for non-drinkers. Why? A hotel should cater to a clientele that has money to spend in its restaurants, gift shops and bars—that would not be students. Also, I suspect that students (in 1968) bounced a higher percentage of checks than business travelers. And if anyone was going to steal a robe or a towel, or tear up the place, I’d bet it would more likely be the student, than the family man. So why give lowly students a discount? Beats me. I guess I will have to defer to Hilary Bradt on that one. Nevertheless, I asked for a student discount, and they gave me one.


I am not exactly sure what it cost to spend a night at the Waldorf, but sixty-five dollars per night sounds right. While coming up with that amount was not an insurmountable task, it did require me to save up. I did not have a credit card, so I would have to pay cash up front. Who knows what would have happened had I run up a lot of additional expenses? I think that there might not have been a charge for local calls, and the only way to place a long distance one was "collect." So there really wasn’t much of a way to run up charges.

Evie’s contact lenses always presented a challenge. We literally spent almost the whole time in bed. What an adventure that was. She was so incredibly fun to make love with. How very crazy it is to be so very much in love, and not have to get out of bed to go to work—at least for a few days. We usually bought the use of the room for three nights. That’s about all we could afford, and about all the time we could take off. So, what’s the deal about Evie’s contacts?

Within the first fifteen minutes after arriving at the hotel, Evie would take out her contacts, and place them in a hotel glass, on the back of the bathroom sink, with about two ounces of water. We would then make love the rest of the night, and wake up about noon the next day.

Of course, the first thing I did, upon waking up, was always to brush my teeth, or get a drink of water.

Not yet familiar with Evie’s habit of leaving her contact lenses submerged in a glass of water on the back of the sink, on this one occasion I grabbed a glass from the back of the sink. Noticing that it had a little stale water in it, I dumped it out, and ran fresh water in it.

Later, when Evie got up, she asked me if I had seen a partial glass of water with her contacts on the bottom of it.

"I think I know where they might be," I told her.

Using only my hands, with a damp washcloth to provide a better grip, I disassembled the plumbing. I engaged the stopper in the sink, and dumped the horrible-smelling dregs from the trap into the sink. Carefully I examined every tiny piece of debris until I found the first contact. I had locked the bathroom door so Evie would not have to suffer the odor, nor view the mess I was making. I placed the filthy contact back in the glass, and went after the other one. Eventually I found the second one, and put it with its buddy in the glass. I ran a little water on them to keep them moist. I was pretty proud of myself, but I still was not ready to return them to Evie.

I then put the sink back together, and washed the stinking black mess down the drain. I scrubbed my hands well with bar soap, and then

cleaned the contacts as best I could.

Eventually I unlocked the door and invited Evie in to see what I had found. "How did you find them?" She asked me, visibly shocked to discover that I had located her contacts.

"You really don’t want to learn the details," I told her. "Just be sure to clean them well before you put them in."

This same thing happed a few months later at another hotel. This time, however, I was unable to find the contacts. In fact, I remembered drinking the water in the glass, and probably ingesting those miniature Frisbees.

It seemed so amazing to me that I could totally mess up her vision like that, and she never spoke a cross word to me. I recall thinking that this girl must be an angel, or else she really loved me. As it turned out, both were true.