2134 The Incident - Part 1 of 3

Friday, November 28, 2008

In an earlier post (2129 Living a Reality Show) I mentioned an incident that had messed me up for the next umpteen years. In 43 years, I have never told anyone about this, no one, ever. Not even the psychiatrist.

I was a few months over 21, and nearing the end of my first year of teaching high school math in a small tourist town in Pennsylvania. I was doing well, loved most of the kids in my classes and they liked me. Even though it was only my first year, the principal had told me that I would be the head of the 5-member math department the following year. They liked my methods. I pretty much pioneered what is now called Master Teaching. I'd been married about 9 months to Ex#1, who was in the Army, in Germany. I was beginning to like me. Beginning to feel like maybe I could control my life after all.

One Friday evening my friend Jean had to work late in the next town over, inventory at a shoe factory. Jean didn't drive, and the person she usually commuted with would not be working late. She could get a ride to the outskirts of our town with a coworker, but he turned north then, so she needed a ride from there to her home. She had asked me to meet her in the bar of the hotel at the intersection. She wasn't sure of the time, "probably between 9 and 9:30." (This was in 1966, before cell phones.)

In 1966, women never went to bars alone. It just wasn't done. I couldn't get anyone to go with me. I tried waiting in the car, but it was cold. There was nowhere to sit in the tiny lobby. So I shrugged and went into the bar.

The bar was very dark. No TV. There were maybe three men in the bar, all together at one end. I sat down at the bar, at the other end, by the register, where the bartender had his stool. There was a bright light there. I had brought a book with me.

I ordered a screwdriver, and told the bartender that I was waiting for a friend, and would appreciate it if he could kind of watch out for me. I didn't want to talk to anyone, just read my book, and please, I did not want any drinks bought for me (I'd noticed the heads go up at the other end of the bar when I walked in). If anyone offered, tell them "no thank you" for me. "I don't want conversation." And I opened my book and stuck my nose in it.

Sure enough, within minutes, there was another drink in front of me. I did not look at the other end of the bar. I just said to the bartender, "Thank whoever bought this, but I cannot accept drinks." I didn't even look to see where he went, who he talked to.

No more than fifteen minutes later, I became aware that someone was standing at my elbow. He reached over and closed my book. It was one of the county sheriff's deputies, the one who patrolled the town.

He informed me that I was under arrest for solicitation of prostitution.

It gets worse. Part 2 is here.
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