My Slumber Party With Dick Clark
In the 60s, when my family was living in the suburbs outside Philadelphia, I went to a private Catholic school called Mater Misericordiae Academy for Girls (now Merion Mercy). Because I lived kind of far away from all my class mates, I didn't hang with them very much. But every once in a while, I was invited to a slumber party.
As an aside, the "main line" of Philadelphia, where Mater was located, was not really that far away from Newtown Square, where we lived. But I was the youngest of six kids, and by the time I was in school, my mother was too damn tired to drive me hither and thither, as she had done with my older brothers and sisters. Everywhere outside of "the square" was too far to drive, as far as she was concerned. Consequently, I was never a Brownie or a Girl Scout, nor did I ever play any team sports. (But, trust me, I'm not bitter about this. At least not enough to take up guns or religion.)
My mother was willing to send me to the public pool nearby for swimming lessons for some reason, for which I am grateful. Years later, when I was 15 years old and we had a pool near our new home in Arizona, I had to teach my older brothers and sisters how to swim. One of my sisters still doesn't know how, because she was already married and living elsewhere by the time I became the family swim coach.
Back to the slumber parties...
One memorable party took place in a very old, historic mansion in the wealthiest part of Philadelphia. When my parents dropped me off, it was dark, and we drove up a long tree-lined drive, until we pulled up under a porte-cochère. It was winter time, so the leafless trees were somber, writhing limbs in the moonlight. The house loomed above me in the darkness, with its forbidding gables, cupolas and turrets. Inside, it smelled of wood polish and the scented handkerchiefs of Victorian ladies. Fires crackled in carved-stone hearths. The ceilings were high and the walls paneled in hand-carved mahogany. My little school mates were already wearing their flannel nighties and slippers.
I have no memory of whose house it was, of the other girls at the party, what we ate, or whether or not I felt like I fit in. What I do remember is how we waited until the adults were asleep, and we went into the library and snuck behind a false book case, to descend into the passages that wound throughout the basement of the house. These passages had been used by servants to get to other rooms without bothering those above. But these passages had also been used to hide slaves, during the time of the Underground Railroad. We didn't run into any ghosts, or even Uncle Gomez. But we were skeert.
Another fond memory of a Philadelphia slumber party bubbled up when I read the 8 Random Facts/Habits post at Bill's Random Thoughts. This is a blog that I go to in order to slow down and breathe easy. I don't know why I feel this way. I enjoy Bill's writing, as well as his demeanor. He speaks about the Jersey shore poetically, and reminds me of my childhood again and again. In his post, Bill talks about how Dick Clark (American Bandstand) did a stand-up comedy routine at Bill's high school graduation in 1958.
Which reminded me of another slumber party... Here we were, a bunch of little 9-10 year old girls, in their pj's, having escaped parental guidance. Outside, in the middle of a summer night, which meant it was probably 9 or 10 PM. We went down the street until we got to Dick Clark's home, and scurried up the stone steps to the front door and rang the doorbell. Then we took off like bats out of hell and hid behind the bushes next door. I will never forget the image of Dick Clark actually opening his front door, and looking a bit perturbed, he came out onto the front porch. He peered into the darkness and called something out, then shook his head and went back inside.
Our hearts were in our mouths.
I still remember what he was wearing: a gold and black paisley silk smoking jacket. Ooh La La!
