Tag Archives: Cary Grant

Lightning in a Jar: My She Was Yar

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Chapter 9:

Anxious. That was me. I was on the phone with George, and the clock was ticking, as I was supposed to meet up with James and Sam at Eisenhower Park in less than an hour. My plan had been to get an early start, so by now I should’ve been on my bike, halfway there.  After all, it was six miles away and I didn’t want to show up all sweaty and out of breath. I needed time to compose myself, and here, one phone call was threatening to derail everything.

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Eisenhower Park today looks very much like it did then.

George was being his usual, persistent self.

“Who the heck is James?” He’d repeated his question, a question that startled me out of what had been my quiet reverie and anticipation of seeing James soon.

Who the heck is James? His intonation made the name sound more like a contagious disease than someone for whom I was feeling a growing attraction.

Frankly, I wasn’t sure I owed George any explanation. After all, it wasn’t as if he and I were going steady or anything. We’d just dated a few times and after the third date, I did all I could to discourage him, short of demanding him to cease and desist.

For the first time, someone was daring me to explain what I was not prepared to reveal, all because of a slip of the tongue. My slip. What could I possibly say that would make any sense, when I, myself, hadn’t figured out what James was to me?

James was my secret, hidden from prying eyes. Partly because I was embarrassed to admit I liked him. Partly because there was something so different about him. Nothing like the other guys I knew. James was like an orchid requiring extra care from outside pollutants, and I worried letting others in would spoil it. They’d draw their own conclusions and judge unfairly. I’d told no one about my friendship with him and Sam. Not even my closest friend, Liza. Not a soul.

So why bring him up now, especially to someone like George? In all likelihood, he’d run and tell Jake. Not that he’d care. The two of them would probably just have a good laugh over how, after being dumped by a senior, I was dating a measly sophomore. Which, wasn’t true, of course, but soon word would be all over school as if it was. Yes, I cared what people thought. Opinions of others mattered. Which is why I decided to ignore George’s question, and instead focus on the purpose of his call.

“Hey George, what’s up?”

“Okay, if you’re not going to tell me, fine. I’m calling to see if you’d like to go on a bike ride today, and maybe stop at Friendly’s?”

Was this his way of saying he was on to me?

“Um, don’t think I can,” I said cautiously.

“Why not?”

Think, think. “My mother needs help with a sewing project?” I said the first thing that came to mind, more like a question than a statement. Which was dumb. Most people knew my travails with Home Economics and sewing. If my mother did need help, I’d be the last person she’d ask, on account I couldn’t sew a stitch.

He was quiet for a moment, which should’ve been my in to say goodbye and hang up, but instead, I asked, “Is there anything else?”

He took a deep breath. “Well, I was calling to see if you’d like to be my date for the prom.”

The prom? As in the senior prom–the one that I had hoped to attend with Jake? Somehow, the idea of going with George felt like it would be a consolation prize. George, with whom I didn’t have a thing in common or felt an iota of spark. And yet…

Yet, I had to admit, the idea was tempting. It could be my last chance to remind Jake of what he’d given up, and make him pine for me in a way he never had before. This thought made me waver, though, when I thought of going to the beach with George, and making out, I wasn’t as sure. I’d sooner swallow fistfuls of sand.

“Hmm.” I paused, then added, “Let me get back to you on that.” I needed time to think this through. Time that I didn’t have right then. The clock was still ticking.

“Okay, but let me know soon. ” He seemed disappointed.

“I will. Promise.” Click. Poor George. I was sure he deserved better.

Looking at my watch, twenty minutes had passed since the time I had originally planned to leave. With the half hour it took to get there on bike, I wasn’t sure I’d make it on time.  I needed to make haste. I bolted out the door and hurried to the garage to get my bicycle.

When we first moved to Long Island, I didn’t know how to ride a bicycle. I never had one in Queens. It’s not that I was deprived. I did own a tricycle, which I used until the age of five, but a bike didn’t seem a neccesity in Queens, where you could get just about anywhere on foot or by public transportation.

But soon, after moving to Jericho, my brother, who’d figured out how to ride a bike on his own, offered to teach me. I was 12. From then on, there was no pinning me down.

My, she was yar. I’d heard Katharine Hepburn say it to Cary Grant in The Philadelphia Story, about a yacht they once owned together, and the sentiment sounded perfectly apropos for my bicycle. “My she is yar,” is what I’d say when anyone asked me why I spent so much time on my bike. Purple and shiny, I could give a little upward flick to the kickstand, climb onto the triangular seat, and be off in one fell swoop.

I’d go anywhere. I knew all the short cuts and back roads to get to school, the library, and the parks. I could ride my bike to the mall, and to neighboring communities, through Hicksville, Westbury, Mineola, East Meadowbrook, and even all the way out to Jones Beach.

My, she was yar.

There was no greater feeling than the one of riding your bike at top speed, along traffic, weaving in and out as I pleased to get where I needed to go. I even rode along one of the highways, and through lush winding roads dense with foliage, as well as through corporate parks and along railroad tracks. Just me and my bicycle, free to be me. I’d astound myself by how far my bike could take me before I’d turn around and head home.

Now, I was pedaling as if my life depended on it, and maybe it did. I’d been so miserable, these last few months after the breakup, that I didn’t realize until now how much I needed this. How much I was looking forward to it. Yes, there it was again. A yearning deep inside, beckoning me forward. To him.

As I reached the appointed spot for our assignation, I eyed James and Sam right away. James looked up and I could see his face immediately relax. Sam made a face and said something about it being high time I got there and what took me so long.

But I wasn’t listening. My eyes were on James and his on me, and my heart was full.

We were magically entranced, until Sam broke the spell by making a big deal about getting on his bike. James and I followed suit, and soon the three of us took off down a trail that led deeper into the park.

Just James and me–and Sam. There would be no more talk of prom that day.

(To be continued.)

Missed an installment? Catch up by visiting the page, Lightning in a Jar: High School Years.

Lightning in a Jar: Wounded Prey

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CHAPTER 4:

I was raised on romance. Songs like, “Fly Me to the Moon” and “I’ve Got You Under My Skin,” and countless memories of sitting in a darkened theater watching the larger-than-life romances of Doris Day and Rock Hudson, Louis Jordan and Leslie Caron, not to mention Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and their respective princes.

Grace Kelly and Cary Grant.

Romance on the Silver Screen: Grace Kelly and Cary Grant.

At home, I was hooked on late night movies. Two o’clock in the morning and you could find me watching Fred Astaire blithely dancing across a ballroom, in his top hat and coattails, whisking Ginger Rogers into his arms as they danced cheek to cheek. Or, a debonair Cary Grant gazing passionately into Grace Kelly’s eyes. Ditto, Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, who suggestively asked Bogie to pucker up his lips and blow.

As a little girl, I imagined one day meeting my own knight-in-shining armor. I even had a dream about this mysterious someone. He was on the battlefields of World War II (don’t ask), injured in combat and I was a nurse who had to nurture him back to health. We fell passionately in love and when I awoke, I had the faint memory of something that never happened. At least, not to me.

But then Jake swept me off my feet. There had been other crushes, as far back as first grade, but none amounted to anything but a passing fancy. With Jake, it was different. For six months we spent every possible moment together—in school, after school, on the weekends, and it seemed, whenever we couldn’t be together, we were on the phone. Kismet.

Maybe I would’ve been better off growing up on the set of a movie. I could have gone to the school sock hop with Andy Hardy. I would’ve treated Clark Gable a whole lot better than Scarlet O’Hara ever did. I could’ve danced in the rain with Gene Kelly, forever living my happily ever after on a Hollywood sound stage.

But instead, I grew up in reality and real life doesn’t promise the same happy endings. It’s filled with twists and turns, jealousy, misunderstandings and ultimatums. There’s love, yes, but there’s also love gone wrong, growing apart, moving on, and that’s all she wrote.

So, when Jake unceremoniously dumped me for another—a senior with soft brown curls, upturned nose and a smattering of freckles—I was devastated and downright miserable. Nothing and no one could console me.

James had said I was bubbly, which is why he called me Bubbles. But after Jake dropped me cold, it was hard to believe I had ever been upbeat or could be so again. Laughing and joking seemed pointless. Crying came naturally.

The shock of the breakup paralyzed me. After crying on my mother’s shoulder for two and a half hours, I took to bed, and stared at the ceiling, wondering how I would ever be able to return to school and show my face. The humiliation of it all. I had neglected many of my friends while I was dating Jake. Would they welcome be back into the fold or would I need to find new ones?

My best friend, Liza, had never liked Jake in the first place. “You could do better,” had been her refrain. I could do better, but it scared the bejezus out of me. I thought I had done better with Jake, but now Jake had a new girlfriend and they were in love. I wondered if Liza would say the same about her. That she could do better.

I couldn’t sleep that night or the next. I had no appetite, not even when my father offered to take us all to Sizzler’s for charbroiled burgers. I was mad at him. I blamed him for forcing us to go to D.C., certain as I was that the trip was the source of my problems. After all, had I not been gone a week, Jake and I might still be together.

I briefly thought about James. Last time I saw James, I was angry and said things I now regretted. I wondered what it would be like when I saw him again come Monday. How could I face him? Ugh. I wasn’t looking forward to going back or seeing him. And, I wasn’t sure which would be worst.

I heard the phone ring. Three times. My parents had a rule that the phone had to ring three times before you could pick it up. No more, no less. Go figure. There was a persistent knock on my bedroom door.

“Mónica, teléfono,” said my mother in Spanish.

Exhausted, defeated I dragged myself into my parents’ bedroom to take the call, carefully shutting the door behind me so as not to be overheard. A thought crossed my mind. Maybe Jake was calling to apologize, to beg me to take him back.

Picking up the receiver, I said, expectantly, “Hello?”

“Hey, heard what happened. You up for some company? Say the word and I can make it in 10.”

It was George, one of Jake’s good friends. I recognized his distinct nasal voice. George, who was just a tad taller than me, had jet black hair and swarthy looks. He also had no discernible personality to speak of, told dull jokes, and had a few whiskers that appeared to be growing willy-nilly on one side of his chin, which he said he kept to impress “the ladies.” George and I had never hung out on our own. I barely knew him and I found him rather annoying the few times he tagged along on my dates with Jake. And, now suddenly he wanted to pay me a visit. Someone must’ve told the hyenas that the prey was wounded and it was time to come in for the kill.

The smell of fried plantains wafted through the closed bedroom door. My mother was making dinner, and probably also cooking up her fritters made with white rice and bananas. My favorite. Her way of trying to make me feel better, and normally it would do the trick. Normally.

Normally, I’d be racing down to the kitchen to steal a bite before dinner. But I no longer knew what normal felt like. I had no appetite, nothing. Just a bland feeling creeping over my heart, cut by the pain of losing Jake.

“So, would you like me to come over or not?” The hyenas were getting restless.

Summing up all the enthusiasm I could muster, I said, “Sure. But make it in 30.”

I needed time for the swelling in my eyes to subside. Too much crying, I suppose.

(To be continued.)

Missed an installment? Catch up by visiting the High School Years page.

In Praise of Black & White

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Several years ago, my daughter was having a sleepover party for her birthday. She had the whole evening planned. Pizza, board games, cake, a game of Twister, and a movie.

Not just any movie, but, a classic: The Naughty Nineties, starring my personal favorite duo, Abbott and Costello. Who can forget the baseball routine, “Who’s on first?” This iconic comedy bit debuted in their 1945 film, “The Naughty Nineties.” Here’s a clip:

So, my daughter’s plan was to screen the movie. She couldn’t wait to introduce her friends to this comedic duo, who had given us hours and hours of laughs and guffaws. But, no sooner did the opening credits start rolling, when one of her friends said this:

“Black and white!?? This movie better be so good I forget it’s in black and white.”

And with that, my daughter’s excitement in sharing with her friends something she found thoroughly enjoyable was unceremoniously deflated, like a pin, pricked into a prized balloon.

Which makes me wonder, have black and white films become a relic of the past?  Today’s kids, accustomed to movies in color being the norm, not to mention 3D, and out-of-this-world special effects and graphics, seem to have little tolerance for the cinematic gems of the past. Or what I call, the golden age of the silver screen.

Yet, there’s so much these films still have to offer. Granted, they may look dated, but many of the story lines still resonate. Why else would today’s Hollywood moguls pore through the vaults of MGM, Paramount, and United Artists in search of movies to remake?

Films like, The Shop Around the Corner, 1940, which was remade into You’ve Got Mail, 1998; The Big Clock, 1948, became No Way Out, 1987; The Mummy, 1932 and 1999; The Day the Earth Stood Still, 1951 and 2008;  King Kong, 1933 and 2005; Cape Fear, 1962 and 1991; and Father of the Bride, 1950 and 1991. And, that’s just naming a few. In fact, plans are underway for a remake of one of my favorites, The Thin Man, which will star Johnny Depp. Yet, when all is said and done, there’s nothing like the original.

Black and white dramas have timeless morals, and the comedies, wit and snappy banter that inevitably leads to a happy ending. The horror films are all the more exciting because they leave much to the imagination, and the singing and dancing are pure delight. It’s not for naught that the American Film Institute’s Top 100 films feature black and white movies in the top two spots: Citizen Kane and Casablanca.

If black and white cinema is a dying art (and thank heavens for The Artist for its attempt to revive it), then it’s up to us to take a second look at the legacy these classics leave us, and share them with the youth in our lives.

So, the next time you have movie night with your family, consider staying home and watching a black and white film. Trust me, you watch them long enough and, frankly, you do end up forgetting they’re in black and white. My kids started watching these films at a young age, and, as a result, black and white is second nature to them.

I have gathered a list of some of my favorites. They are in no particular order, and represent a smattering of the films my kids were raised on. Quite a few of these are Cary Grant films. (Hint: Look for the “CG.”)

Drama:

A Patch of Blue, a 1965 poignant drama about race relations and love, starring Sidney Poitier and Elizabeth Hartman.

To Kill a Mockingbird

A Patch of Blue

All About Eve (Bette Davis at her best!)

Mr. Lucky (CG as a bad guy with a heart)

Jezebel

The Miracle Worker

Film Noir:

Laura

The Big Clock

The Postman Always Rings Twice

Double Indemnity

The Lost Weekend

Alfred Hitchcock (He’s in a genre all by himself!):

Lifeboat

Rebecca

Suspicion (CG)

Notorious (CG)

Shadow of a Doubt

Mystery & Crime:

Myrna Loy, “Asta,” and William Powell star in the original, “The Thin Man,” based on the novel by Dashiell Hammet. Together, they made an additional five films for the series.

The Thin Man (see the entire series before you see the Johnny Depp version)

The Roaring Twenties

The Spiral Staircase

Angels with Dirty Faces

White Heat

Some Like it Hot (gangsters and comedy)

Comedy:

Harvey

Duck Soup

Here Comes Mr. Jordan (remade into Heaven Can Wait, starring Warren Beatty)

His Girl Friday (CG)

The Awful Truth (CG)

Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House (CG)

The Time of their Lives

Arsenic and Old Lace (CG)

Cheaper by the Dozen

I Was a Male War Bride (you guessed it, CG)

Father of the Bride

Bringing Up Baby (CG)

So, are there any black and white films you recommend? Please add your favorites to the comment section below.

A Rose for Miss Callahan

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In kindergarten, all we ever did was play, and sing and dance to the tune, “Skip to My Lou.”  We’d also gather around in a circle for story time. For this, I had two teachers: the lovely and serene Miss Callahan, who always wore pretty dresses, pink lipstick and shiny, black pumps; and Miss Diamond, a gray-haired, pointy-nosed spinster with a laugh that crackled, snapped and popped.  Miss Diamond scared the wits out of me, mostly because she reminded me of Miss Gulch, the character in The Wizard of Oz who wanted Toto to be destroyed on account that he bit her. I didn’t want to picture Miss Diamond around dogs.

But oh, Miss Callahan! How I adored this sweet, soft-spoken teacher who’d stand by the door each day as we arrived at school, pleasantly greeting each of her students.

Miss Callahan wrote in my baby book, "Monica's dark eyes and bright smile helped to brighten our classroom."

“Why, hello!” she’d say, as if she was surprised to see that we actually had shown up for school.

One by one, she’d shake our hands as we entered the classroom.  Meanwhile, Miss Diamond would sit at her desk, writing out her plan for the day.  She’d put on her glasses and look at us shrewdly, as if she was expecting that any minute we’d do something bad, or worse, burst out with a curse word. But we never did, at least, not that I can recall.

We all loved Miss Callahan. Our schools days revolved around her, and I wasn’t the only one who would try to jockey into a position near her for story time, or wheedle my way to her side so that I could hold her hand while we danced in a circle.  Poor Miss Diamond. No one tried as hard to sit by her. No one seemed to care whether she left the room or stayed with us all day.

On the last day before Spring Break, I brought in a gift for Miss Callahan. With my mother’s help, we cut a pink rose from the rose bush in our yard. My mother suggested I take two, one for Miss Diamond.  I stubbornly shook my head, as I couldn’t see the logic in bringing a flower for someone who frightened me.

I couldn’t wait to give Miss Callahan the rose. On the bus, my fingers curled tightly around the stem, careful not to touch the thorns. I imagined how thrilled she’d be when I gave her the rose.  How she’d hug me in heartfelt appreciation and invite me to sit next to her during story time. Surely, I would become her pet pupil after this!

As the bus pulled up, the excitement was too much to bear. I could no longer contain my euphoria that I would soon be bestowing this precious flower upon Miss Callahan.  I sprinted up the steps to the school and walked briskly down the hall, carefully holding my precious cargo.

As I approached the door to the kindergarten, my heart stopped. There was no sign of Miss Callahan. Panic set in. I couldn’t even feel that a thorn was pushing into my index finger, about to pierce skin and draw blood.  I became frantic. Like Cary Grant in “North By Northwest,” I knew something was awry. Where in the world was Miss Callahan?

Dread soon turned to despair.  For, instead of Miss Callahan, it was Miss Diamond standing by the door. When she saw the rose, her eyes widened with surprise as she said,

“FOR ME???!!”

Oh, no! My mind went blank! I tried to think of something to say while I quickly looked past her, into the classroom, for signs of Miss Callahan. She was nowhere to be found! Miss Diamond looked at me expectantly.

Crestfallen, I had no choice but to nod my head in response to her question. I hoped she wouldn’t see the tears welling in my eyes. Miss Diamond plucked the rose from my suddenly strong, vice-like grip, and haphazardly plunked it into a vase on her desk. She then told us that Miss Callahan had a doctor’s appointment and would be in later. Desperate thoughts began spinning in my head. Could I take the rose back to give to Miss Callahan? Would Miss Diamond notice? Or should I tell the truth, how the rose was not meant for her, but for Miss Callahan?

Here, I'm in the back row, ready for story time.

Too much of a coward, I spent the rest of the day in absolute agony, going through the motions of playtime, story time and dance.  When Miss Callahan arrived, she noticed the rose on Miss Diamond’s desk and admired its beauty. The rose that was meant for her. I could say nothing. After school, I went home, ran into my mother’s arms and cried. My mother had been right. If I had brought in two roses, one for each, this would never have happened.  I would not have been crushed with disappointment.

When school resumed after the break, we were all excited to see Miss Callahan again, back in her usual spot, ready to greet us.  This time, Miss Diamond was standing with her, and I noticed something different about her. Something that didn’t seem so scary anymore.

I started to think, maybe it had something to do with the rose. And that’s when it hit me.  No one had ever given Miss Diamond a gift before. All of a sudden, she seemed a little nicer, kinder.  Could have been my imagination, but now she wasn’t as terrifying as Miss Gulch. Though, she was no Miss Callahan, either.  Still, when circle time came, I made it a point to walk past Miss Callahan and take Miss Diamond’s hand. Miss Diamond looked down at me and smiled.