A New Phrase

The phase “Sexual Harassment” has been appearing prominently in the media recently due to accusations against a well-known celebrity, and the reemergence of allegations concerning a former President. It’s really not a new story, but one that has been repeated throughout history, and sadly reminds me of what happened to my friend, Marie, a very long time ago.

Sunday was a gloomy afternoon, and the rain was pelting on the windowpanes when the phone rang. It was Danny, my old friend from “The Neighborhood,” and he inquired, “Do you remember Buddy L? I just wanted to tell you, he passed away yesterday.”

Of course, I remember Buddy L. He played the spoons at the parties, and I remember other things too, and not always the things that make me smile. There is one that makes me sad and ashamed.

I was 16 working after school sorting broken chocolates at D. Kopper, Bonbonniere, and filing during the summer months at Crum and Forster, but thanks to my friend, Joan, my social life had expanded. Once again Joan included me when she went to the many local parties In the neighborhood on Saturday evenings, mostly hosted by the returning veterans, none of whom had any idea how old we were. In today’s frightening world of drug and social transmitted disease, ours was a relatively innocent time. Whenever a location sans parents could be found, the word would go out, “There’s a party.” It didn’t matter if you knew the family, one and all were invited. The music would always be supplied by Buddy L, who played the spoons. His repertoire was limited, but we all sang as the spoons clanged together and did a lot of laughing. There was never any food, but a lot of beer and soda. Joan and I never drank the beer, and neither did our friends, Jeanne, Elinor or Marie.

Marie lived down near Paddy’s Market, out of the neighborhood, and somehow or other had formed a friendship with Jeanne, who included her in all our adventures. She would walk up the 10 or 12 blocks to join us nightly at Brokaw’s where an ice cream soda could last as long as two hours without interruption by Fred, the friendly proprietor. To put it bluntly, Marie was the most mature looking of our group, dark and sensuous despite her youth. She was a good friend, and a nice girl from a troubled family. None of us ever met her Mother or were invited to her home. For close to three years Marie was included in all our activities, walking the long distance up 9th Avenue, but allowing herself the extravagance of bus fare returning home at 11p.m.

We were young and far, far more innocent than most people will believe. The returning veterans, who while they were older and students in college, attempted to reclaim the youth they had abandoned during the war years. Our dates were innocent and not extravagant, mostly because money was limited. We went to local church dances, stopping for cokes on the way home, and perhaps being escorted to a neighborhood movie on a Saturday night with a stop at Child’s for coffee or Hot Chocolate. The guys, Timmy, Hank, Joey, Danny, Buddy, Roger and Finn were happy to be home again with no responsibility other than attending class and a Sunday stickball game. For the most part they dated the younger girls, rather than the girls they had left behind when they departed for battle. The older girls - 19, 20 and 21, had begun to look outside the neighborhood. They had been working and were ready to settle down. The men were not.

So my social life began quite early, and they were fun years. The weeks flew by consumed with school, work, concerts every Wednesday night in Central Park, as well as the church dances and neighborhood parties. Unfortunately in the year both Marie and I were Seniors in High School, something happened that I have long been unable to forget. An ugly rumor spread along the Avenue about Marie. It came from one source, an occasional visitor to the neighborhood and a fringe member of the male inner circle. His story was never validated, but ended her trips up the Avenue to join us. Marie learned about the claim from an unknown source, and even though she denied the vicious tale, the slander and humiliation enveloped her and removed her forever from our world. Sexual harassment was an unknown phrase, one that would come a generation later, but was equally destructive to young women in those years. Probably more so. Marie was ostracized, based on one young man’s slanderous allegation. Decades later I learned he admitted to fabricating the falsehood because of Marie’s rejection. Still the damage was done, our friend’s reputation destroyed, and we never heard from her again. Now every time I hear about false accusations or trial by innuendo, my thoughts return to a very young woman who was victimized, and the injustice my friends and I witnessed. Tragically, we were not mature, astute or wise enough to come to her defense, and our own age of innocence ended abruptly that summer.