The One That Got Away
Anyone who ever worked at Idora Park, or at least any guy, would say one of the fun parts or perks of working at Idora Park was all the girls that you met. At least if you were nice, decent looking, you could probably get a lot of dates.
When I worked at Idora Park, my parents didn't mind me so much having long hair during the summer. So by the middle of the summer my hair was usually down to my shoulders. I had bright blue eyes and gold frame glasses. I was already a power lifter for Youngstown Barbell, so I look pretty good.
This one summer when I was going to turn 16, I met this cute little brunette who had just turned 13. She was amazing. She was so very smart and mature.
The summer I turned 13 was one of the last times I ever got to visit Idora Park. My dad worked at U.S. Steel. He lost his job there soon after, and we wouldn’t get to Idora Park again until 1976 when he was a Teamster.
The best thing about Idora Park was the Wildcat—the second-best thing was the Jack Rabbit. I didn’t mind standing in line all day to ride them over and over, and if there wasn’t a line, I wouldn’t even get off the ride. I’d just hold up my wrist band and yell, “Go again!”
But the summer of 1973 was different. The Watergate Scandal was in all the papers and it looked like the Nixon Era was coming to an end. The War in Vietnam also appeared to be coming to an end. Skylab—the first space station—had just launched. I had recently discovered that I could make money writing short stories, and suddenly, I felt like putting away my childish things. Also, I'd recently discovered that boys weren't as disgusting as I'd thought they were.
It wasn't too long after the park had opened that I'd met her. She was there because her father had worked in a Mill and that's how they got in. Like so many picnics at Idora Park, different unions had days at the park.
We spent a lot of time talking to each other. And if one of my bosses would come she’d start playing the game. At this time I was working at the punk rack, where you throw the ball at the clowns and try to knock three of them down.
She and I had a lot in common. She said she liked to write and had been doing it for quite a while. And in fact, she had a few things published already. The first time that we talked to each other, we really got to talk to each other about what we really wanted to do.
Who knew an Idora Park guy could be so cute and so smart? That long, David Cassidy-like hair first caught my eye, and that brilliant smile was the reason I walked over to the punk rack. But I stayed for the conversation. I told him that I wanted to be a writer, and that I’d already gotten paid for writing a few things. I could tell he was impressed.
I told her that I wanted to write a book too. When I was a freshman in high school, I came up with an idea for a children’s book. But I told her I would probably never get to do that because in my family, you kind of did what your father did. My oldest brother was a machinist and then went into the Air Force, and I would also become a machinist.
I really liked to write jingles for different companies. And that was sort of my dream, to become a jingle writer for some advertising company, and write books on the side.
When he told me he wanted to be a writer, too, I thought it was bullshit, and I called him on it. But then he started telling me about this idea he had for a children’s book. It was so detailed and well-planned—definitely not the kind of thing you come up with on the spot to impress a nerdy girl.
He told me that he probably wouldn’t get to be a writer, though, because his dad was a machinist and he was destined to be a machinist, too. I understood, because my little brothers were already talking about working at the mill when they grew up, just like my dad, and they weren’t even ten years old yet.
I can’t believe I spent almost all day standing there talking to him—and spending all my Idora Park money. On the punk rack, of all things!
To this day I still can't believe how much we got to know each other in such a small amount of time. I still think of that day even today.
We talked for hours and finally her family came to get her, because they wanted to spend time with her also.
Her father asked her if she had been playing the game and she said yes. He asked, “How much money did you spend?”
She said, “All of it.”
My dad had given me and my two brothers some money to buy food. In those days, you could let your kids run around an amusement park without worrying about them. My brothers were eight and nine years old, which was old enough to go off on their own. Instead of buying food, I’d blown all my money at the stupid punk rack, talking to the cute operator. I thought my dad was going to explode.
Strangely, he didn’t blame me for spending all my money. Instead, he started yelling at the punk rack operator! I started praying for the earth to open up and swallow me. And I suddenly realized that I wasn't going to get any Idora Park fries or cotton candy, dammit.
He yelled at me for letting her play that long and for her not winning a prize. I didn't know what to say.
So I reached up on the wall where there was a big pink kitty-cat with a gold and black collar and I said, "Here this is for you."
He was still mad at me and said to her, “Don't come back this way. You know what those guys are that look like that work on these games.”
The earth refused to cooperate, so I just took the stupid pink cat with the gold and black collar and mumbled something like, “Thanks.”
My dad spent the rest of the day bitching me out for spending all my money while I wished I’d thought to ask the cute punk rack operator what his name was and schemed (unsuccessfully) to go back and find out.
I can't believe that in the time that we talked, which seemed like a couple hours although it may not been that long, that I didn't ask her for her phone number. I've often said that girls are mature way before guys and I still believe that today.
I didn't realize until after she was gone that she was someone that I would have like to know better. I wish I would have done something else for her.
So on my lunch break I went to look for her because I some money in my pocket and I would have given back some of the money she spent at the game. Because it wasn't the money that mattered—she mattered.
I couldn't find her so I guess she already went home. It seems like in a person's life or maybe just a guy's life there's always that one that got away.
I named that pink cat “Murphy,” and I kept it for the longest time. I carried it with me through my army years and through three different apartments. I owned it up until 1991 when Hurricane Bob destroyed my New Hampshire neighborhood, including the storage shed where I’d kept all my souvenirs and memorabilia. When I opened the box and saw it was ruined, I sat down on the floor amidst the soaking wet fluff and cried.
You never really forget the one who got away.
And sometimes, if you’re really lucky and fate smiles on you—you might find each other again.
Like the song goes, “Fairy tales can come true, it can happen to you…if you’re young at heart.”
See you on the midway!