UNREQUITED LOVE

In the early 40's, I fell in love with Ann Sheridan. Ann Sheridan, "The Oomph Girl", so she was labeled, hit a certain chord within my emerging awareness of the opposite sex. I was able to see Ann on Saturday afternoons, which were spent at the Monroe Theater in Rochester, New York. The theatre was located on Monroe Avenue, appropriately enough.

We had moved from Webster Avenue to Laburnum Crescent, about a half-block off of Monroe Avenue. The Saturday afternoon matinee consisted of two feature movies (one usually a western or a mystery), a serial (either "The Lone Ranger", "Tailspin Tommy", "Dick Tracy", "Captain Marvel", or some other comic book hero), a cartoon or short, and either Movietone News or "The March of Time". This took up the whole afternoon. We were introduced to such characters as Frankenstein's monster, Dracula, Charlie Chan, Mr. Moto (played by Peter Lorre until Pearl Harbor -- then, because he was Japanese -- no more Mr. Moto). Also, in the feature movie presentation, a James Cagney or George Raft or Pat O'Brien or Humphrey Bogart or someone like that, anyway, would play opposite Ann Sheridan. When she came on the screen, my heart melted and I imagined myself playing those love scenes with her. I collected movie magazines about her and coveted them in my bedroom where I would gaze at her and swoon. Then one day, as I was getting out of the movies, I saw what I perceived as an Ann Sheridan lookalike, who was my age. I later found out her name was Betty.

As I was walking home, I noticed that Betty was walking ahead of me. Then she crossed the street and entered a doorway that led to her family's apartment, above a store.

The next Saturday, I noticed that Betty was at the theatre again. Getting up enough nerve, I sat behind her. When the matinee was over, we walked out of the theatre and I bravely asked, "How did you like the movie?" She did not answer and kept walking until he crossed the street, again to go home.

The following Saturday, I made the big move and sat next to her, frequently glancing at my Ann Sheridan lookalike -- no acknowledgment from her that I even existed.

Christmastime was approaching and I thought I would get her a gift. That would surely break the ice. With my limited allowance and with money I had mad shoveling snow off various neighbors' sidewalks, together with my mother's advice as to what to get, I purchased a nail polishing kit. Then, one afternoon, nearer to Christmas, I followed her to her door. She went upstairs, again with no acknowledgment. I waited a bit, then I rang the bell to the apartment. Her sister came downstairs and let me in. I told her, "I have a Christmas gift for Betty." Her sister went back upstairs, then, after a little bit, she came down and said Betty did not want to see me. However, at that moment, her mother said, "Please come up." So I went up the stairs (evidently, her father was no longer a part of the family). Her mother was very kind and apologized for Betty not seeing me, especially when I had brought a gift. I handed the gift to Betty. She opened the package and found out what it was. The nail polish/manicure set. Betty said, "I don't put polish on my nails." Oh well, there goes ninety cents down the tubes. Her sister piped up with, "I do, can I have it?" Betty said yes. Her sister was a year younger than Betty.

After this moment of disappointment, I was able to walk Betty to school only she was on one side of Monroe Avenue and I was on the other.