“I brought some straws,” a helpful voice chimes in.
“What do you do with straws?,” asks another.
“If you suck the beer out of the can with a straw, you will get drunk much faster,” answered the first.
It was a Friday night, and the residents of the first floor of Forest Hall dormitory were on their weekly beer-binging episode. We were newly enrolled students of Southern Oregon College, in Ashland Oregon. This was the fourth week of school, and our third outing. We were in the hills east of Ashland, overlooking the city. Besides the straws, this week we were trying out Colt 45 in 16 ounce cans. The beer in Oregon at the time was limited to 3.2% alcohol. Ashland was only 20 miles from Hilt, California, so Coors was a popular beer in Ashland, because of its higher alcohol content. There was a loop-hole in Oregon’s law, however. Malt liquor wasn’t considered beer by Oregon law, so it was exempt from the 3.2% limit. You could buy Colt 45 and Olde English 800 without having to go to California.
Needless to say, when all of the beer and malt liquor was consumed, we were ready for action! We returned to our dormitory complex and decided to visit one of the girl’s dorms. One of our company said he met a girl in one of his classes who lived in Aspen Hall. Let’s go!
It was a short walk to her dorm. We were pretty noisy along the way, yelling up at girl’s windows and having a good time.
“Angie, Gary Smith is here to see you, and he is here with several of his friends.” The girl at the front desk hoped she conveyed that there were quite a few boys in the lobby!
We were informed that she would be down shortly. After a brief pause, Angie and several of her friends came down the stairs. It seemed like such a good idea to go visit a bunch of girls when we conceived the plan, but in the reality, it seemed a little awkward and forced. I spotted a red-headed girl and built up enough courage to strike up a conversation. I asked her her name, and I found out it was Mary. I then dug in deeper.
“Where are you from?,” I asked.
“Toledo,” she answered.
“Toledo, Ohio?!?” This was interesting. “That is a long way from here! How did you know about Ashland, Oregon and this college, from so far away?”
After a pause, she answered, “Well, my sister went to school here.”
As it will turn out, “Mary” was trying out being called just “Mary,” not “”Mary Lou,” her true name. She also was from Toledo, Oregon, not Ohio. She was getting tired of explaining that Oregon had a Toledo, too, so she just went with Ohio. She didn’t think ahead to what she might now have to know about Toledo, Ohio. She didn’t need to worry; however, as someone suggested we go downstairs to the recreation room.
Most of us went down the stairs. The recreation room was a low-ceiling basement with ping-pong tables in the middle and pinball and vending machines along the sides. I followed the crowd, but once there, I soon realized that the cute red-head hadn’t come downstairs. I soon went back upstairs and wandered through the lobby. I walked out the front door, and Mary was sitting at the top of the stairs. She was a very cute girl with flowing dark red hair. I sat down beside her, and we started to talk again.
Talking with her was so easy! I always got a little tongue-tied when I talked with a girl, especially if I didn’t know her. I normally would start worrying about what we would talk about. This girl was different. I just talked with her without thinking. I learned she just had one older sister. She was a Spanish major. We didn’t have any common classes. She lived in Aspen dorm on the same floor as Angie.
She then turned the focus on me and I answered her questions about me. As the evening wound down, my focus was on remembering her name so that I could connect with her again. I asked her if she wanted to go to the Saturday night dance, the next night. She agreed, and I was to pick her up before the dance so we could walk over together. I remember repeating her name over and over in my mind until I got back to my dorm room and I could write her name down. I was pretty excited.
We continued to go to week-end dances and ate all of our meals together in the dorms. We liked to do the same things and, in a way, I knew deep down that Mary Lou was the one for me right from the start. As I got to know her, I realized how similar we felt on major issues in life. We just seemed right for each other. I felt comfortable with Mary Lou, right from the beginning. She completed me. It is hard to put into words. It wasn’t hard for me to commit myself to her for life.
By the fall of 1969, Mary Lou and I had been together since the fall of 1967. We did everything together, and I couldn’t imagine a life without her. I decided I wanted to marry her and set out plans on how to ask her. I knew her favorite spots on Earth were beaches. I came up with some reason to visit Mary Lou’s parents who live six miles from the ocean. My plan was to go up the Oregon coast and stop along the way at a romantic beach and pop the question. I hadn’t counted on Mary Lou being so fixed on getting home. She resisted wanting to stop at a beach for a walk. She just wanted to get home and see her parents. I finally realized my plan wasn’t going to work.
We finally got to the beach, and we walked south for a ways. When we stopped to turn around, I got down on one knee and asked Mary Lou to marry me. There was a long, long pause. I felt it was eternity. She finally said she couldn’t answer this question before she told me a deep family secret, which might affect my wanting to marry her. I was baffled. What could be so horrible that I wouldn’t want to marry her? She finally told me that her father had Type I Diabetes and it could be hereditary. Whew!!! That was her deep dark secret? A boy who lived across the street when I was younger had Type I Diabetes. He had to take a shot every day. I didn’t think anything of it. I guess Mary Lou was brought up not to discuss family business, and her dad’s diabetes was number one on the list. Anyway, once we got that cleared up, she said “yes,” and we were formally engaged!
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