Lost In His Blue Eyes

A telephone call to Rick, an old high school friend whom I had not spoken with in over three decades, delivered the news I was least prepared to hear.  Eddie was gone - dead at the age of forty-two in one massive explosion of his heart.  Could I even comprehend a world in which he no longer existed?  Thirteen years too late for his funeral, I wept, but not for a man.  It all seemed so long ago, and yet, the memories and emotions endured . . .

I had just turned sixteen, and it was the summer of '66 when I first saw Eddie.  I had yet to outgrow my childhood awkwardness, and it seemed to me that no boy would ever find me the slightest bit appealing.  A few classmates had piqued my interest in prior years, but those were mere grade school crushes compared to the desire that filled me on the day I first laid eyes upon Eddie.

"Honest Bin! His eyes were such an unusual shade of blue, I actually had to look twice just to be sure of the color," Becci mused on.

My best friend, Becci, had arranged the summer job for us both through a friend who worked at the Penn Theater.  During the week leading up to our first night, she gushed almost nonstop about the boy she had met and flirted with the week before when she stopped by the theater to discuss summer employment.

Motion picture magnate Marcus Loew constructed the Penn Theater, now known as Heinz Hall, in 1927 as an opulent movie house; it was being utilized as a center for live performances in Pittsburgh during the mid-sixties.  Built in the French Baroque style, it could seat nearly 2,700 people.  Regarded as one of the most magnificent theaters east of Chicago, it was common to hear first-time show-goers gasping aloud upon entering it.  An Italian marble staircase led from the fifty-foot grand lobby with its high vaulted Venetian ceiling supported by a ring of massive gilded Corinthian columns.  Shimmering Austrian crystal chandeliers and imported silk damask draperies complemented its strategically placed artwork painted by Renaissance masters.

The opportunity to personally meet and interact with popular entertainers of the day such as the Beach Boys, James Brown, and Johnny Carson was more than enough incentive to want to work at the Penn Theater.  The three dollars cash I was paid to escort patrons to their seats each night was just butter on the concession stand popcorn.

Nightly Monday through Saturday shows began at eight and ended around eleven. Ushers were permitted to leave after intermission for a forty-five minute break unless drafted by a supervisor to peddle orange drink and lemonade to the masses. My dad picked me up after work each night precisely at eleven-thirty, no exceptions.

Evening breaks spent hanging out at the White Tower, a burger joint down the street from the theater, composed the most exhilarating summer of unchaperoned freedom I was ever to know.  Listening to "our" song on the record machine, touching another’s knee under the table, smoking, pretending to inhale, and drinking coffee were the subtly seductive elements of our nightly ritual.  If I tried, I could almost hear "Lightning Strikes" pulsating on the diner's jukebox, echoes of a prophecy long past.

As Friday night approached, my anticipation grew exponentially with each of her retellings of a romantic encounter with an unnamed blue-eyed usher.

From the moment she introduced me to Eddie, I was filled with a jealousy unlike any I had ever felt for another female, either before or since.

So enamored was I with this boy, I could not even look into his eyes for fear the disapproval I would find there would be more than my captured heart could bear.  Fortunately, only seconds after introductions, the two sets of double doors at the front of the theater swung open and a sea of humanity, anxious to be seated, temporarily spared me from certain rejection.

Once the show began, Eddie and Becci, along with a few other employee couples, wasted no time slipping away to vacant seats located at the back of the darkened theater. I was left alone. While Becci wrapped her arms around the very real flesh of body, I could only watch wide-eyed from my isolated post.  As she gently pushed the falling locks of hair from his face, I stood hopelessly by, fantasizing it was me whom he truly craved.

It was during intermission that first night that Eddie and Becci rejoined me briefly until it was time for the concert to resume and the lights to dim.  Eddie introduced us to one of the other ushers at the theater, another Ed.

"Why don't you and Ed get acquainted," Eddie inexplicably suggested to Becci.  "Binnie and I can get to know each other too," he said, smiling and motioning me to follow him to a stairwell at the rear of the theater. I dutifully trailed behind him in stunned disbelief.

Eddie sat down on the step beside me, telling me he had been thinking about me since I arrived.  As if he knew I was too shy, he leaned over and kissed me full on the mouth; it set my mind to whirling, stopped time in its tracks, gave me wings with which to soar to the sky.  It was my first kiss.

Finding the will to resist, "I don't want you to do that," I objected in my sweetest voice as he attempted to fondle my girlish breasts.

"Can I call you?" he asked as we parted.

"Uh huh," I dreamily replied.

He lived in the North Side.  His dad was a union carpet installer, and it was decided that Eddie would work in the business after graduation.  Even at sixteen, he had the sturdy physique and large powerful hands of a laborer.  Ironically, the same strong hands could effortlessly guide pen over paper to create the most life-like sketches, perform intricate repairs on a car engine, and direct a cue ball to its intended target with precision skill.  In fact, Eddie was good at most everything he attempted.

He went to Perry High School where he was a member of both the stage crew and the swim team.  I attended Langley High School as a quiet mediocre student who played the flute in band, and otherwise, led a dull and inconspicuous life.  We were both about to enter the eleventh grade when we went on our first official date.

I prepared for the momentous event hours in advance.  Prior to my date with Eddie, an accurate description of "me" would have been a scrawny, no-fashion-sense kid who, other than battling an occasional pimple, never gave her looks a second thought.  Eddie was about to change all that.  Painstakingly, I selected the clothes to wear.  I brushed my long brown hair until it had a high sheen and applied just a touch of pink lipstick and a spritz of Arpege perfume, the fragrance that Desi Arnez Jr. preferred the girls he dated wear according to "Seventeen Magazine" circa 1966. I examined my appearance in the mirror and thought for the very first time that I might actually be a little attractive.  

Eddie arrived in a taxicab at seven o'clock in the evening to take me to Noble Manor Bowling Alley.  He told me I looked nice.   I asked if I could have the fabric loop from the back of his button-down dress shirt; these were silly little things a girl collected and a boy allowed her to remove only if he thought she was special.  At Langley High School, a girl's sum popularity could easily be assessed simply by how many shirt loops she had collected during the school year or who had given them.  Some shirt loops carried more consideration than others, and I knew I had scored big when Eddie gave me his.   My dad issued stern instructions to have me home by eleven-thirty, and Eddie made sure to beat the curfew by at least fifteen minutes.  My bowling score didn't break fifty points that night; my aim was squarely upon him.   In the cab on the way back to my house, I sat on Eddie's lap.

 He whispered a barely audible "I love you" in my ear.

"I love you too, Eddie," I boldly confessed.

Until he got his driver's license and the use of a borrowed '57 Ford convertible, Eddie either hitchhiked or rode two connecting buses across town to be with me as often as he could manage.  During the school year that usually amounted to one or two visits per week in addition to the weekends we worked together at the Penn Theater.  Sitting on my front steps waiting for him, I thought as he came into view that the sunshine followed him down the street and took up residence in his gleaming white smile.

The rest of the time, whenever we were able to circumvent the continuous busy signals on our two-family party lines, we talked on the telephone.  During the sixties, it was unthinkable for a girl to phone a boy, especially in the early stages of their relationship when his opinion concerning her character was likely being formed.  If Eddie became frustrated while trying to reach me and gave up, those were just precious moments of his attention lost to me forever.  A few times I was driven to such desperation to free the telephone line for Eddie's nightly six o'clock call, I picked up the receiver and informed one of my chatty neighbors that I had a family emergency to report.

Eddie and I spent hours on the phone discussing our love, the past, the present, and most significantly, our future together.  I hung on his every word so completely I was even able to block minor catastrophes in deference to whatever he was saying.  While babysitting my siblings, my toddling sister tried to alert me that my brother, Timmy, had accidentally set the kitchen curtains ablaze.  Oblivious and annoyed, I warned, "Mary Beth, do not bother me while I'm talking with Eddie."  It wasn't until I saw smoke that I actually realized my house was on fire.

I never missed an opportunity to show off my handsome boyfriend to classmates at local hangouts, football games, and school dances.  The females at my school took notice of Eddie immediately.  Oh, how I delighted as girls who were not in my particular circle of friends broke ranks with their normal cliques to congratulate me on my "really sharp guy."  Arising each morning, I pictured his face and welcomed whatever occurrence the new day would bring with eager anticipation.

Ever the rebel, Eddie sometimes caught me off guard.  The first time was at an evening band meeting, taking place in a classroom before a concert we were putting on in the school auditorium.  He had come across town to see my flute performance and would have been left alone outside the room had my band instructor not allowed him to join us.

Eddie didn't know any of the students in my class, but that didn't inhibit him in the least.  As we were being seated, Eddie sat down first and pulled me onto his lap, staring defiantly into my teacher's disapproving eyes.  The seating arrangement was clearly inappropriate for the setting, but I went along with it anyway.  It was with the oddest mix of emotions that I endured the entire session, a sort of trashy pride.

As charming and talented as he was bold, while in class one day, he sketched my profile on a piece of notebook paper and surprised me with it.  Drawn completely from memory and signed "Love Eddie," it was exquisite.  "I'll treasure it always," I promised. I was sure that no boy had ever done anything quite so wonderful for a girl.

The two of us spent our time alone together with me discussing plans for marriage and raising a family and him advancing his own ideas of romance.  While I wiled away my school days preoccupied with writing "Mrs. Edward Poplowski" on book covers, study notes and bathroom stalls, Eddie passed the evenings in our basement game room or the back seat of a car, patiently and tenderly trying to coax me one step closer toward submission.

"I love you, Bin," he swore.  "I'll take care of you no matter what happens. You don't have to be afraid to love me."

May of the following year, my Junior Prom was made unforgettable as I entered the magnificent Carnegie Hall on his arm.  Eddie carried a small metal flask of whiskey in the inner pocket of his white brocade tuxedo jacket and brought his own pool stick for the after-prom party at Monroeville Bowling Alley. We danced all evening, and in his uninhibited way, he made himself the center of attention on the ballroom floor.

At the after-prom party, Eddie continued drawing attention to himself.  He looked so sensual leaning across the billiard table with his cigarette loosely dangling from his lips and his serious steel-blue eyes squinting, lining up the next shot. Watching him blow smoke rings into the air as he coolly cleared the pool table, I pondered how it was that such an untamable boy loved me.

In the wee hours of the morning, he joined me on the skating rink floor.  Like all of the girls that night, I was having difficulty simultaneously roller skating and holding up my long white prom gown.  Eddie removed his cummerbund and tied it around my waist, allowing me to hike my eloquent dress up through it.  Soon, all of the other girls on the roller rink floor were mimicking my utilitarian eveningwear.

The prom theme that night was "Now and Forever," and I just knew that's how it would be for Eddie and me.

The period of late '66, '67, and part of '68 was a happy carefree time for us, our own personal enjoyment and gratification the number one priorities in our lives.  Eddie's two best friends, Rick and Billy, were our constant companions and worked with us at the Penn Theater.  So many nights we rode around in either Rick's Rambler or Billy's car, singing along to tunes on the radio, laughing about everything and nothing, boys boasting, girls gossiping, couples making out.

It was on just such a night in the fall of '67 that one of the boys managed to obtain a fifth of Sloe Gin.  We passed it around while parked in Rick’s car, taking turns drinking out of the bottle until it was gone.  I was so intoxicated by evening's end there was no feasible way to hide it.  When I entered my house that night, my dad immediately recognized that I had been drinking and did something he had never done; he beat me with his belt.  Violently ill and sore for the next two days, never again did I take a sip of Sloe Gin.

After the drinking episode, my dad forbade me to see Eddie.  It would take a good month of pleading and promising my dad that I had made a mistake that would not be repeated before he would allow us to resume our relationship.  For the duration of his exile from the Warman household, Eddie sent Rick as a decoy date to pick me up and deliver me to the reassuring security of his waiting embrace.  While obedient in my vow to refrain from alcohol consumption, abstaining from Eddie was quite another matter.  Two hearts entwined, my dad or anyone else could not have kept us apart.

All too soon, the boys were facing the more pressing issues of men.  With fears of Vietnam and the draft looming on the horizon, Eddie and my personal battlefield heated up in the here-and-now with a new sense of urgency and purpose.

"You're going to force me to go elsewhere for lovin'," Eddie repeatedly warned whenever I prematurely put an end to his lustful one-track missions.

A partially-willing young woman in his grasp each night, raging hormones, and thoughts of the war and his own mortality took their toll on a psyche predisposed to unrest.

In self-defense, I became very good at rejecting Eddie's reality and substituting my own.  I believed that such coercion was the test a girl must pass in order that her intended husband perceive her virginity as a thing of value on their wedding night; I practiced this philosophy as if I was training for the Triathlon.

"And will you love and respect the girl who sleeps with you just because you ask?" I gently interrogated, staring into stormy blue eyes that looked right through me.  "Will you marry her just because she jumps in bed with you?"

"Dammit! Bin.  I'm probably headed for Nam," he snapped back.  "Maybe you should be thinking about that."

It was a confusing time for us both.

One portentous night in early '68, Eddie and I decided to venture onto the Fort Duquesne Bridge, a steel span of legendary proportion as the land needed to anchor it could not be secured.  By then, construction on the bridge had been delayed for six years, and it would be another two years before it was completed connecting the Golden Triangle of downtown Pittsburgh with the north shore.  How could I have known sitting securely there in Eddie's arms, perched halfway over the Allegheny River on a ghostly abandoned structure dubbed "The Bridge to Nowhere," that it was, in fact, a dark foreshadowing of the turn our relationship would take.

Nearing the end of our second year together, Eddie grew weary of my refusals to go past moderately passionate petting. During what I believed was an impromptu picnic in West View Park, nearing sunset on an unseasonably warm spring day, Eddie issued his final ultimatum.

"I'm done begging you, Bin," he announced only moments after we had hand-in-hand selected an isolated spot in the park and spread our blanket over the ground.

Rolling on top of me, he pinned me down so that I had no choice but to listen to the demands he was about to deliver.

"Make love with me," he pleaded, "while we still can."

"Tonight! Or it's over," he growled, changing his tone to show me his seriousness.

It was painfully apparent from the look in his cruel eyes that he had meant what he was threatening.

After several hours locked in a physical and mental sparring match over my virtue in that secluded section of the park, Eddie had finally had enough.  He got up and left me there.

I sat very still, too wounded to even cry.

I had my virginity; he had my everything.

Eddie sent Rick to ride me home that night; he didn't come along.

I locked myself in my bedroom and wondered how many aspirins I needed to swallow to put an end to my misery.  I settled for playing the record "Forever," by the Marvelettes, hundreds of consecutive times over the next few days and crying myself to sleep to the words: Darling forever, forever.  I'll play the part of a fool, just to be with you, forever.

During the six months following our big breakup, Eddie and I were pretty much on again, off again.  In response to my constant pleading phone calls, he once again took up the challenge he had so determinedly abandoned, but only between other fleeting relationships and never with the comforting references to our future he had once so willingly offered.

Eddie continued showing up on my doorstep intermittently throughout '68, all the while testing the waters elsewhere.

"Don't give up on me, Bin," he offered whenever I confronted him with his infidelities. "I'll do better."

I forgave him the way a mother forgives a naughty child, cradling this lost boy, thief of my heart.

After high school, he was in and out of trouble and halfway houses, drinking more heavily, and living the self-destructive lifestyle of a live-for-the-moment nomad.  I believed that my love would save him.

Eddie escaped the draft, and for another five years, I watched from afar as he broke the hearts of countless others - a fantasy for many, a dream-come-true to none.

In time, I had to admit that I couldn't make this vagabond love me. As his best friend, Rick, recently advised, "He loved you the best that he could; leave it at that."

I never forgot my first kiss, my first date, or my first love - the beautiful blue-eyed boy who blazed his trail through my teenage years.

Tim Brown can build houses and fill boxes with his teeth. He may fall asleep while conversing, but that will not bring his spirit down. Tim is currently working on a comics series called Gumption.