Try To Remember . . .

Brian put a link on Facebook today about the original investors in the play "The Fantasticks."

One couple who had invested about $330 have seen a return of $80,000! When it was on

Broadway the first time, my friend, Marybeth Homeoke's brother was sometimes responsible

for taking his sister and her friends to various places. He had an exceptional singing voice and

would often harmonize with his friends while they were delivering us to some event. We were

freshmen at SEA and they were College Men.

One of the songs I remember them singing was "Try to Remember." At that time, I knew

nothing about "The Fantasticks" but I knew the song was mesmerizing. If then was now, I

could easily Google it and find out about the whole musical. Another song they often sang was

"They Call the Wind Mariah." Again, I knew nothing about "Paint Your Wagon," but I loved

the song.

Marybeth's brother's passed away at an early age, just as his father had, leaving a beautiful

wife and children. Both of Marybeth's brothers seemed to spend "quality time" with her.

Her brothers were both in college at that time and her mother worked full time.

Marybeth's mother worked at Anheuser-Busch, and she provided transportation for herself

and two other ladies. For a time, Marybeth, Kathy Fox and I rode to St. Elizabeth's with

them. One lady, and SEA graduate, was sweet and nice. I believe the other lady's name

was Bernice, and she lived in a house near St. Louis Hills. She had the kind of skin that

was tanned most of the year (before tanning beds) and on the leathery side, presumably

from smoking, which she did, quite a bit.

Bernice always wore a lot of clunky jewelry and sort of rattled as she walked.

Her brunette hair was shaped into a smooth bouffant which had been heavily

sprayed and patted into place. When she smoked in the car, she would keep the front

passenger window opened slightly. Each time she raised her cigarette to allow the

smoke to waft out the window, I held my breath, expecting the hair sprayed to ignite

from the cigarette tip.

For some unremembered reason, we eventually began to take the bus, which by today's

standards seems to be lengthy and cumbersome. I would walk a block to catch the

Chippewa-Watson bus and get a white transfer to the Arsenal bus. On Watson, close to

Hancock, Marybeth and Kathy would catch the same bus. The stop for the Arsenal bus was across the street from a doughnut shop and sometimes we were unable to resist temptation.

The Arsenal bus deposited right across the street from SEA. If we were early, we would

go to the bakery shop up the street. Of course, we would never do the doughnut shop and

the bakery shop on the same day. We had our standards.