FINDING PENNY MARSHALL

     I went on an adventure yesterday. But first, some background:

     From the day we met in high school, I've thought about Penny Marshall. She was in 3 of my senior classes at Lincoln, sitting next to me in 2. We talked and she was fun and sweet and very pretty. Best, of course, was she seemed to like me. I certainly liked her.

     Her interest grew, I think, after she'd read a copy of a short story I'd written for English class the year before. "A Hard School's Test" was the tale of the hero's tension filled preparation for the big Geometry Regents Exam and his stunning dream the night before about being chased for hours by a series of obtuse triangles. My teacher gave me the highest grade in the class, 95, and read it to everyone. His sole criticism was that the story had no plot. A plot? People were rolling in the aisles, doubled up with laughter when he'd read it. It needed a plot too?

     Penny must've agreed with my analysis because, after reading it, she seemed much more impressed with me. When I casually mentioned our school's football team and how it was fun to go to the games she responded: "If that's an offer, I accept."

     It was our first date. It was also MY first date. It was exciting. All that I remember, however, is that it was cold at the game and Penny complimented my clothes coordination. "So few guys make the effort to have their socks match their shirts," she commented. And I thought: "Socks are supposed to match shirts?" Still, happy about the stroke of good luck, I nodded.

     Penny was very smart. She wrote papers and essays that I read and had no idea what they meant. I told her they were excellent and thought provoking. Unfortunately, she made the mistake of reading one in English class. At its absolutely incomprehensible ending, many in the room groaned, rolled their eyes and shook their heads. A few exclaimed: "What?" The teacher herself sounded peeved with Penny. Obviously, they didn't see what I did!

     We went out a good bit. Penny lived in a gated community called Sea Gate on the western end of Coney Island. Two busses to get there and a third if I wanted to take the private one through the Sea Gate community to her Maple Avenue home. The first time I was there Loving Spoonful music played in the background. Her father was incredibly mean to me, ignoring all my attempts to make conversation, while her younger, very pretty and bubbly sister Vickie was flirtatiously nice. At one point she grabbed my head and hugged me to her chest. "Vickie has very soft breasts," I remember thinking...and feeling.

     Penny, Vickie, Penny, Vickie! This was one wonderful house on Maple Avenue!

     Penny was precocious. So much so that she graduated in January, 5 months before me. That last term was sad, not having her in 3 of my classes, sitting next to me in 2. She felt differently...excited about being at Brooklyn College...cue the ominous music.

      In June, I got us tickets for a Friday evening Mets game. She was away on vacation but planned on returning the morning of the contest. Two days before she called to say she wasn't as she was having so much fun she wanted to extend the time away. Sadly that wasn't the true reason.

     A week later Penny told me the truth. One of her college professors had driven up to see her. "It was so romantic," she insensitively said. "And he proposed to me!"

     "Proposed what?" I sarcastically replied.

     Marriage! I was heartbroken. Also 16. Seems that, without knowing it, I'd been involved in an unfair competition. I couldn't offer marriage and this guy probably understood her essays.

     We remained friends but, of course, it was never the same. Once we were together and she looked at the clock. "Oh, he should be getting out of class now," Penny said in a dreamy voice. "Ugh," I thought.

     A few years later we made plans, dinner plans, for the last time. "Vickie is still single," she announced. But I got sick and didn't make it and we never rescheduled. Years after that we ran into each other on the street and talked about all the fun we'd had. She concluded by saying how much she'd loved "our" restaurant. Unfortunately I'd never actually been there. Perhaps she was thinking of someone else!

     Many more years went by and I thought little about her. Until the age of personal computers and an email from Classmates.com. It could show all the people from my Lincoln graduating class that signed on. I checked, of course. Penny wasn't there. Nor was Vickie in her class. Periodically new solicitations from Classmates.com came in and I'd look to see if she'd joined up. Nope. Feeling a bit teased, I extended the search to google and social media. No luck.

     Until yesterday and another Classmates.com email. As usual neither was listed. Suddenly I felt a strong desire to leave the current world and reconnect with the past. I was going to find Penny! I wouldn't give up. I kept looking and found a link to a site that located people. Typing in Penny Marshall brought me nothing of value...how could it, it was almost surely not her name any more. But Vickie Marshall in New York did...a person in Brooklyn. I clicked on it and found that Vickie Marshall in Brooklyn was 2 years younger than me! Could this be the real one of her?

     I found more information...a list of her relatives. And one was Jaye Penny Leeds! Could Jaye Penny be the real one? Some more nosing...there is a Jaye Penny Leeds in New York who's one year older than me. My gosh! Had I been dating an older woman? No wonder it hadn't worked out. Still, of course, I wasn't sure.

     More information was available but not for free. I paid $9 and did a search. There were Jaye Penny's last 3 addresses. One of them is 1616 Maple Avenue! I checked a real estate site at that address. For $1 I saw a bunch of current pictures of that home with the unfriendly dad!

     Penny's email address (hopefully active) was there, too, and I wrote her yesterday. I've not heard back. Maybe I will, maybe I won't, maybe she doesn't remember me now at all. Where ever life has lead her over these many years, even back to Maple Avenue, in a way it doesn't matter.

     With all that I now remember...half of which I wouldn't have recalled two days ago...I realize that I've refound the 17 year old counterpart to my 16 year old self.

AARON

Aaron has been my favorite person on all of W. 13th Street where I live. He's friendly, lively, energetic and loud. Often he'd see me in the lobby after I'd completed a morning run. He'd ask how far I'd gone and when I told him he'd throw his head back, smack his hands and say that's incredible, you are in such good shape and you look SO young. I was perpetually delighted by his comments, but did have the modesty to realize that it is, of course, all relative. Aaron was 94.

Aaron liked something about me even more than my running exploits: We were both graduates of Abraham Lincoln High School in Brooklyn. "Of course, we went at very different times," he'd tell anybody who happened to be in the lobby with us. Then he'd laugh, grab me around the shoulder and pull me in for a hug, generally slamming my chin into his chest. Damn, 94 and strong!

It took awhile before it occurred to me that I'd not seen Aaron in a while. I intended to ask about him but, somehow, I didn't. Till 1 day last week when Dino, our super, approached me in the lobby and said Aaron had just died. He'd been ill and surgery offered his only hope for full recovery, so he chose to roll the dice and bet that it wouldn't. But it did.

It must've taken a lot of courage to risk what he had in the hopes that he could regain his full vitality. I'm not surprised that he tried.

This morning I walked through the lobby on my way to work and expected to see him. Early morning this past Saturday, I thought I'd see him walking towards 5th Avenue on his way to make breakfast for and visit his girlfriend. No such luck. Aaron and I both went to Abraham Lincoln High School in Brooklyn. Just at different times.

Lincoln's lost a prominent alum.