The Girl Who Came Through Vickery Gate: A True and Rare Romance

By James A. Plessinger and Diane F. Colby

The Girl Who Came through Vickery Gate is a true story of a rare romance that travels through a couples love and incredible life beginning from the first moment Dottie Williamson enters the gate at Kings Point Academy and meets Jim Plessinger until her last breath, when she passes through another gate.

Jim and Dottie were soul mates and were happily married for almost sixty-one years. Dottie comes to the United States Merchant Marine Academy in New York to meet Jim on a blind date put in motion by a chance meeting of their fathers and attend the Saturday activities consisting of a football game, tea, and dance on October 30, 1948. When Dottie walks through Vickery Gate, Jim is done for.

She saw me there, so she came up and put her right hand up and said, Im Dottie. I put my hand out and I held her hand. I looked in her eyes and said to myself, I will never, ever let go of this hand in this world and the next. I was absolutely smitten, just blown away.

So much so that on that first date, the skinny young man summoned the nerve to give Dottie a lingering kiss, profess his love, and propose marriage during the last dance.

Stunned, she ran.

I didnt know where I was, Jim said, spending the next few days in a heartbroken stupor. I had poured out my heart. But then there came a letter from Mount Ida College, where Dottie was studying, to say that she had a wonderful time and would very much like to see him.

The poor Jim met Dotties wealthy family and was surprised when she happily drove to his familys flat to meet his parents. Dating right up until Jims graduation from Kings Point, they married nine days after on December 22, 1951.

This relationship survives Jim spending a year at sea; becoming a Naval Officer; unemployment; moving; the loss of their first child, Susan; having two other daughters Diane and Sally; and becoming a lawyer at almost forty years old in Connecticut and later on in California. Dottie, who never failed to get a job within an hour, managed to be a doting mother, charming hostess, and eventually a real estate agent. Then that shattering day comes. Dottie dies in Jims arms, leaving this world here on earth from complications of Alzheimers disease.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524533694

James A. Plessinger

Author James Allen Plessinger First-time author James A. Plessinger graduated from the United States Merchant Marine Academy and achieved the rank of a full Lieutenant in the US Navy. James received a Doctor of Law degree from UConn School of Law. He participated in over four thousand civil and criminal cases in the states of California, and Connecticut, as a trial attorney since his admission into the Connecticut Bar in 1967, and the California Bar approximately in 1986. James was licensed to practice in all California State and Federal Courts, including the California Supreme Court. During a custody appeal to the Connecticut Supreme Court in 1979, James created a Bill of Rights for Children, which found its way into law books. At one time, the published case became the leading case regarding international custody. A great storyteller with a sense of humor, he penned his memoirs during his eighty-fourth year of life alongside his daughter as he remembered and relived memories he was excited to tell. James was a dedicated supporter of many charities with Dorothy, and both were lifetime members of the Episcopal Church. In later years, they were active members of Saint John’s Episcopal Church in Roseville, California.  Author Diane Frances Colby First-time author Diane, with her father, James Plessinger, during the last year of his life and their last year together—not knowing that it would be—writes her first book. A second book was in progress. What began as a journal and storytelling between father and daughter became much more. Diane graduated from Syracuse University with a BS degree, where she went on in business,  retail buying, and promotion. Diane later obtained a California real-estate license in 1988, where she was an effective communicator, trainer, and received several awards in her field. After leaving her native state of Connecticut, she has enjoyed Northern California with her sons and animals. Diane and her father spoke of the hope of this book speaking out to the much-needed cure for Alzheimer’s disease, and the day those in such despair are healed.

Book preview

Copyright © 2017 by James A. Plessinger, Esq. & Diane Frances Colby.

Copyrighted in 2014; By Diane Frances Colby (For James Allen Plessinger and Diane Frances Colby)

Registration Number TXu 1-927-639; May 5, 2014

All rights reserved by Diane Frances Colby

Photography used for the Cover design by Great Neck Photographers, Owner Dante Mastre, of Great Neck, N.Y. Recreation of the Vickery Gate at the U.S.M.M.A.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2016913262

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-5245-3371-7

                eBook               978-1-5245-3369-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a true story, the characters are real. Some of the characters are still living and some of the characters are no longer alive. The story is written through the eyes of James A. Plessinger. Facts, opinions, and personal views expressed within the book are based upon the best knowledge, belief, and recollection of each author.

Book Cover Design created by Xlibris team, Joel Cobb, with contributing effort from Nicholas J. Colby.

Interior Gallery Design supervised by Michelle Postrano and H. Jimenez.

Rev. date: 02/20/2017

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

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Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Part 1 Underway

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Part 2 Anchors Aweigh

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Part 3 Rough Waters Ahead

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Part 4 Final Journey

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Chapter 88

Chapter 89

Chapter 90

Afterwards

James Allen Plessinger’s Legal and Personal Background

Dedication

The Fireside

by C/M James Plessinger

August 8, 1950

As we sit at night near the crackling fire

Warm and dreamy in a tender embrace

Our future seems to stretch before us

Brighter than your smiling face.

Your hand so tightly pressed in mine

Your cheek, glowing like the burning embers

Lies softly, caressingly, against my lips

Which speak to you in midnight whispers.

Outside, beating against the window panes

The winter wind, cold and merciless

No, wind! you shall remain out there tonight

You shall not disturb the lover’s bliss.

Even the great old clock above

Ticking away these moments sublime

Shall bring no fear to our young hearts

For does not love conquer time?

The spell of two souls that entwine as one

The tender yearning in your innocent eyes

Kindles a spark which soon becomes

A flame of love that never dies.

Ah! Life will always be dear and sweet

And sorrow forced to leave and hide

As long as there are such as we

To love and plan by a fireside!

Acknowledgments

Many thanks for the love and support of wonderful family members, years of sensational friends, clergy, church members, business friends, physicians and medical personnel, former classmates and alumni from Kings Point and Mount Ida College—too many to mention by name—and the loving animals who have all made for such an incredible life.

Many thanks, to Denny Santos for being a supportive publishing consultant, Alex Stine, and the staff of Xlibris. Sincere thanks to Terri M., a great and thoughtful editor. Thank you, Eugene Hopkins. This book would never have left the pier without you.

A very special thanks to the early readers: The Very Reverend Clifford Haggenjos Jr., Julie Moskus, and Cindy Lee. Your sincere input and ability have provided meaningful encouragement. Also, a special mention and thank you to Barbara Lee and Bob Sleiertin for your kind help.

Cover photography was created by Great Neck Photographers, located in Great Neck, New York. Thank you to owner Dante Maestre for such talent and mastery in recreating Vickery Gate like it was when this romance began. Not only does the work rise to an exceptional level, but your laughter and willingness made bringing back history a pleasure.

There ought to be some especially special words to thank Scott Wade Colby and Nicholas James Colby, two wonderful grandsons and sons and young men who never gave up and held up with strength. Forever, your youthful love and humanity are appreciated. There is complete faith that the cure for Alzheimer’s disease is bound to come about from understanding, knowledge, and efforts such as yours, and most of all from the type of love shown by you—the secret to keeping the mind, heart, and soul lively and engaged. Chart your course and stay the course. May you be carried for a lifetime by the wings of an angel. Hugs and kisses to you.

For lovers of all ages…

Prologue

I n 1948, I was a student at the United States Merchant Marine Academy known as Kings Point, located in the town of Kings Point, Long Island, New York, on a site formally known as the Chrysler Estate. It was majestically situated in and around a body of water called Oyster Bay, where on a clear day looking west one could see the impressive skyline of New York City. Back when Japan bombed Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, Congress appropriated money to construct an Academy to train officers for our Merchant Marine. Construction went fast, and the first students enrolled became the Class of 1942. Of this first class, 142 students sadly lost their lives while training on merchant ships that were torpedoed and sunk by German and Japanese submarines. A memorial in honor of these Cadets who were lost at sea was erected next to an outside pool near the bay, which still stands today.

Kings Point, in the year 1948, was one of four Federal Academies. The others were West Point, on the banks of the Hudson River in upstate New York, which trained students to be Army officers; Annapolis, located in the city of Annapolis, Maryland, which trained students to become Naval officers; and the Coast Guard Academy located in New London, Connecticut, which trained students to be officers in the Coast Guard. Presently, there is a fifth Federal Academy located in Boulder, Colorado, where students are trained to be Air Force officers. Kings Point students were called Cadet-Midshipmen, a term founded from West Point where its students were called Cadets combined with Annapolis where its students were called Midshipmen.

I was one of approximately 1200 Cadet-Midshipmen being in the Class of 51B. That class started in January of 1948 and continued on to graduation in December of 1951. The 51A class started in June of 1947 and graduated in June of 1951. Other than special holidays, attendance at Kings Point was year-round. Like the other Academies, Kings Point did not have a college-campus lifestyle, although we competed with colleges in practically every sport. Being strictly regulated, we all went to bed at 10 PM (military talk, 2200 hours) when a bugle sounded taps and arose every morning at 6 AM (0600 hours) when a bugle played reveille. Although it took four years to graduate each Cadet faced his second year at sea, called Sea Year. Two Cadet-Midshipmen, one enrolled in the Deck curriculum and the other in the Engineering curriculum were placed on privately owned merchant ships that would travel worldwide taking the Cadets to places most had never seen. The election between Deck and Engineering was the only election a student was allowed to make.

The first year at Kings Point, the Cadet was referred to as a fourth classman rather than a freshman and known to the other Cadets as a Plebe. Third classmen spent the year at sea. Second classmen were equivalent to college juniors, and first class was equal to senior year—the year of graduation for those who survived the other three.

Kings Point divided its incoming students into one of three battalions. Each battalion in turn had two companies, totaling six companies in all. The first battalion, consisting of companies one and two resided in the dormitories closest to Oyster Bay. The second battalion, consisting of companies three and four resided in dormitories located on the south side of the campus. The third battalion, consisting of companies five and six resided in two dormitories, Jones Hall and Barry Hall, located on the northern side of campus across from O’Hara Hall, the large gymnasium where athletic activities—such as varsity basketball, intermural sports, and dances—took place. Except for eating in a huge building, Delano Hall, near the center of campus, the fifth and sixth companies rarely came in personal contact with the other companies. When all the companies did meet for events—such as parades, sports, and social activities—the entire group was called a Regiment.

I arrived at Kings Point on January 4, 1948, and elected the Deck curriculum instead of Engineering, since math was not one of my strong subjects. The academic year was separated into four quarters, with academic courses predetermined and divided between the two. The uniforms, more than nine different ones in all, were divided between khaki for warmer months and blue for cooler months. Having been pre-assigned to the sixth company, I resided in Jones Hall. Looking westward, I was fortunate to have a view of a bronze statue of a risqué goddess to look at—Aphrodite, known in Greek mythology as the goddess of love, a symbol of peace and tranquility, to change despair into hope. She was surrounded by what could be called a wishing well where coins could be tossed and secret wishes made.

I say fortunate because there were no women at Kings Point at this time (women were not accepted until 1974), except for the pretty girl who serviced the canteen in the underground tunnel that connected all the dormitories and a few women who were employed at a small store in that tunnel where one could purchase inexpensive gifts and daily used toiletries. Once my academic career started, which was approximately fifteen days after the arrival of the 51B class, I passed by Aphrodite daily. In some way she kept a watchful eye on the Cadet-Midshipmen, and she winked at me.

The plebe’s life was not easy and the year was considered the most difficult at the Academy. Besides squaring every turn when walking, plebes must shine shoes of upper classmen who put them in front of their rooms, serve meals in the dining room, and had to endure constant daily inspections of their own room by upperclassmen who would place them on report, issuing demerits for minor infractions that had to be worked off in their limited free time. Worst of all, plebes were not allowed to have an overnight away from the Academy for the first six months, so basically were confined to the dorm. Visitors, however, were allowed on selective Saturdays and Sundays.

The sixth company was divided into three platoons, each of which had three squads. My name is James Allen Plessinger. As my name begins with the letter P, which just happens to be near the middle of the alphabet, at average height of 5 feet 11 inches and weight of 150 pounds, I endured marching to and from the dining hall and classrooms placed as, the middle man in the middle squad of the middle platoon.

Whenever a fourth classman walks through Vickery Gate, he impliedly agrees to abide by the Kings Point Motto "Acta Non Verba. Four years later a transformation has come about and that once apprehensive fourth classman is changed into a confident young man. These three little Latin words, Acta Non Verba, meaning Deeds, Not Words," immediately becomes the principle philosophy that encompasses each graduate throughout his personal and professional life. These words etched into each Cadet’s being, are inscribed on the class ring purchased by every Cadet with their monthly federal allowance and proudly worn during their lifetime.

Speaking as a Kings Pointer, Midshipmen and Cadets at other Federal Academies undergo a similar metamorphosis. Regardless of the color and type of their uniform, or the motto of their school, they graduate with a positive way of life that governs their personal and professional lives.

"Acta" means moving forward and being a Kings Pointer means keeping your eyes on the horizon.

PART 1

Underway

Chapter 1

I t was an incredibly starry night on Friday October 29, 1948. I had recently turned nineteen. It was 9:30 PM just before taps, when for some unknown reason I went outside my dorm Jones Hall, where I lived and shared a room on the second floor of the dorm. I looked up at the stars—there seemed like a million of them—and thought about a girl I had invited to the next day’s activities, consisting of a football game, which would start around 1, followed by a tea with biscuits scheduled for 4, followed by a Halloween type dance at O’Hara Hall, which would start around 7.

Since it was the night before Halloween, instead of wearing my dress uniform I would be dressed for the dance in some type of casual attire, one I had informed the girl of so she could dress appropriately. The dance, although somewhat informal, would be featuring a real band. To my amazement, a girl who I had never seen or even talked to had responded to my writing to her at her college. I remember cautioning her that I have a face only a mother could love. It may have been this admission that caught her eye. In any event, to my surprise, she sent me a note agreeing to come if she could bring her roommate, Carole Brown, who she described as being beautiful, and who was in training to become an airline stewardess. I wrote back saying no problem and she wrote again saying that they would be arriving at the main gate about 10 in the morning.

This blind date had been set in motion by my father and her father, who were casual friends, and who met by chance at a coffee shop in Bridgeport, Connecticut. As parents are wont to do, each bragged about his children. My father apparently said he had a son named Jim at Kings Point who did not have a date for the Saturday affair. Her father likely bragged that he had a beautiful daughter named Dorothy who was attending a prestigious girls’ college named Mount Ida located in Newton Center, Massachusetts, just a few miles west of Boston. Her father gave my father the room number of his daughter’s college and suggested she might be willing to come to the football game, tea, and dance being held on Saturday October 30, 1948.

To my surprise, my father called me and gave me the girl’s room number trying to be a match maker, and suggested that I write and invite her to our Saturday’s activities. My father was keenly aware that I had graduated from Bassick High School in Bridgeport without honors and without ever having a date with a girl. Lucky for me that the girl from Mount Ida and her roommate would be finding their way to Kings Point and arrive at Vickery Gate.

All this flashed through my mind as I continued to gaze at the stars. There was no sign, no voice from above, but suddenly my heart started to beat a little faster. There was a stirring in my soul. I thought to myself, I think I’m going to marry the girl who comes through the gate tomorrow morning. I went to my room and slept until waking to the sound of reveille.

Chapter 2

A fter the daily parade around the American flag, it was raised to the top of what I believe was the tallest flag pole in the country, if not the world, as our band played The Star-Spangled Banner. This was followed by the usual military march as we retired and I returned to my room. A few minutes before 10, I asked my friend Brian Ramariz, who had agreed to escort Carole Brown, to meet me at Vickery Gate. Showing up first, I waited alone.

A few minutes after 10, the entrance door opened and two beautiful girls walked into the reception area. Never having seen her before, I didn’t know which girl was Dorothy, but she noticed me in my uniform standing at the sign-in desk. She approached me, held out her right hand, and said, I’m Dotty.

I grasped her hand and said, I’m Jim.

As I held her hand I looked into her hazel eyes. I suddenly knew that I wanted to hold that hand for the rest of my time on earth. I said to myself, I will never, ever, let go of this hand in this world and the next. I was absolutely smitten—just blown away. She was so beautiful, with soft, natural-blonde spiral curls resting upon her shoulders, and I fell madly in love with her before I released my hand. Brian arrived and politely greeted Carole Brown, and we continued out of the gate area into the impressive grounds of the Academy.

Dotty had an air of sophistication about her but still seemed warm and friendly. My confidence level immediately jumped given the opportunity to be with her. A short distance from Jones Hall, I pointed out where I lived and we continued on to the bronze statue of Aphrodite, where we sat down next to one another and gazed at the immortal goddess. I nervously explained that Aphrodite was known in Greek mythology as the goddess of love and asked her if she had a coin in her purse.

Dotty opened her purse and nodded. Yes, I have a 25 cent coin.

I had come prepared and had my quarter in hand as well as an extra one just in case. We turned our backs for a moment to Aphrodite, tossed our coins over our shoulders into the water, and made a wish. I never asked Dotty what she wished for, and to this day I never found out. I too kept my wish quiet, but I can tell you now my wish was that Dotty would learn to love me. I always felt as I passed that statue the last two years of my stay at the Academy that I now knew something about Dotty’s wish.

We left Aphrodite, and flowing with school admiration, I gave Dotty a tour of the campus, ending where Kings Point kept its boats at the piers jutting out into the cold waters of Oyster Bay. There was one object everyone would notice: an older sailing ship, named Emery Rice that never left its berth. It was used as a workstation for my classmates who had received demerits for some minor wrongdoing, such as failing to keep their dorm-room clean or failing to salute an officer passing by. I’d accumulated more than my share of these demerits and had spent too many hours painting and scraping that old ship.

Dotty was obviously impressed with our campus which bore no resemblance to her Mount Ida College setting. Our setting by the bay was impressive as she could, on a day such as ours, see the tall buildings of New York City approximately thirty miles west.

After we had completed my guided tour, it was time for the football game. We were to do battle against a team from the University of Bridgeport, of all places. In our talks, not wanting to seem like I was hanging onto her every word (although I was), I discovered that Dotty and I were both born at Saint Vincent’s hospital in Bridgeport, Connecticut but I was delivered approximately six months before her (September 5, 1929, for me, March 7, 1930, for her). As you will discover I grew up in Bridgeport while she grew up in wealthy Fairfield, the next town over heading toward New York City.

Suffice it to say, Brian and I escorted Dotty and Carole to the wooden seats on the east side of Tomb Field and then joined our classmates, who were now assembling to march into the stadium to deliver a hats off cheer to both teams. I might note here that Tomb Field was aptly named for our football team, which could not have a player weighing more than 200 hundred pounds according to then-current regulations, thus they were routinely buried there losing two out of every three games.

It was an impressive sight to see approximately a thousand uniformed Cadets marching onto the football field as a Regiment, led by our Cadet Officer Regimental Commander with his sword drawn. When all assembled on the field, he shouted Halt! and then Left face. As a unit, we turned and faced the Bridgeport crowd, saluted, and cheered them. Then our Regimental Commander shouted About face! The unit quickly reversed position and faced the Kings Point spectators, who chanted Go Kings Point over and over. His next command was Hand salute! which we crisply did. Our marching band began playing The Star-Spangled Banner, and then our final order was shouted: Dismissed! We broke ranks and ran to our seats.

I think I ran faster than any other Cadet that day, knowing Dotty was waiting for me. Those with families and friends located them in the crowd while the rest of the Regiment sat together in the bleachers in a roped-off area, creating a cheering section for the Academy. Brian and I found Dotty and Carole. It appeared Dotty had been teary-eyed and moved by the ceremony. She tenderly wiped her eyes and said that she had never seen anything like it before. I believe, for her, our love affair started with that march onto the field.

As we sat together munching on hot dogs, we watched Bridgeport beat Kings Point, 20–18, a close game for us, nevertheless, another heartbreaking loss for the Academy just the same. In some circles, though, a loss by only two points was considered a moral victory to Kings Point, who oftentimes lost by more than thirty.

As soon as the game ended, we walked downstairs below Delano Hall to a lounge where the tea had progressed. Although I longed to hold Dotty’s hand, I held back, knowing it wasn’t the appropriate place to do so. Although a boring affair, I anxiously awaited the dance so I could dance close to Dotty, which first would require a change of clothes into something more casual. The girls were reasonably dressed up. Halloween costumes were out.

Brian and I walked the girls to one of the dorms near the bay that had been closed and secured to allow the women a place to change. We, in turn, returned to our dorm to change from our uniforms into the casual dress of jeans and, for me, a long-sleeved checkered sport shirt. It was the first time since entering the Academy in January of 1948 that I had taken a uniform off except to shower and sleep. After changing, Brian and I walked back to the dorm reserved for the girls and saw that they were already waiting outside for us. They seemed to share our excitement about the dance. My eyes were glued on Dotty. She was wearing a black skirt and a white blouse with a black bow tie around the collar. Even with the change she still looked sensational. She seemed to notice me too.

We arrived at O’Hara Hall just as the dance was about to begin and found a table for eight. We were immediately joined by two more of my classmates with their dates. I could hardly wait for the dance to start. Of course, there were no alcoholic beverages served, so we sipped our Cokes and began to listen as the band played melodies that only a few people reading this book would know or even want to know. But for those around the table we listened, laughed, and even got up on occasion to dance. It was the perfect time to sneak my arm around Dotty’s shoulders. She smiled at me when I did. What a smile she had.

With these songs that you wouldn’t enjoy in today’s world pouring out of the instruments, Dotty and I began to dance. When I held her close, the feel of her breasts and the swaying of her hips started to excite me. I was wondering if she’d noticed when she smiled again and said, You’re really good. I like dancing with you. Let’s not stop for a while. Dancing with Dotty was a heavenly experience. I could have danced the whole night away with her. It seemed as if the dance floor belonged to us.

As the clock neared 11, the orchestra leader announced that this was going to be the last dance of the night, which meant the party was ending. A picture, taken that evening about an hour before the last dance shows Dotty and me surrounded by classmates and their dates. My arm is tightly around her shoulders. The photographer caught that special moment.

We decided to dance the last dance, a slow and romantic song called Far Away Places. I now had enough nerve to hold Dotty very close to me, so close that I could feel her heart beating next to mine. As the dance seemed to come to a close, I couldn’t contain myself any further. I squeezed her and gave her a lingering kiss smack on her lips, the first time I kissed a girl this way. She seemed surprised but seemed to like it.

Then things went a bit crazy. I told her, I’m madly in love with you. I want to marry you immediately after my graduation in December 1951. I was flustered.

She seemed stunned and didn’t respond. Before any further words were exchanged, she turned to Carole, directing her attention to the close of the evening and the dance ending. Carole, it’s time, we must leave. Our ride is waiting outside. They both grabbed their coats, which we helped them put on, and walked briskly out of the hall. Brian and I accompanied them to the gate, where they slipped into the backseat of the car waiting for them. With only a wave to us, Dotty and Carole roared off into the night, presumably heading back to Fairfield.

Of course, Brian did not know of my kiss or of my proposal, and I never disclosed it. Standing at the gate, I felt lonely without Dotty near me or in my arms. I went back to my dorm wondering if I had made any impression on her. Our separation began to tug at my heartstrings. I already missed her. My thoughts swirled around in my head. What a day. What a dance. What a girl! Will I ever see or hear from her again? I pray to God that I will! I wondered if she did respond how I would deal with my emotional outburst of love.

It was four or five days later when there was response. It came in a small note-like envelope with a Mount Ida sticker in the upper left-hand corner. I stared at the envelope for at least twenty minutes, afraid to open it. I assumed it would thank me for the Saturday activities and then most likely wish me a great career. I finally mustered up enough courage to open up the envelope—and my whole world changed in front of my eyes…

Chapter 3

Y ou may wonder who and what I was like before I met Dotty. You may want to skip this chapter because the only word that comes to mind is boring. I was a Depression baby born on September 5, 1929, in the midst of the worst Depression ever experienced. I was a second child; since my sister, Jean, was born six years earlier. My father was part German and part Hungarian but never spoke anything but English—and rarely discussed his past, other than that he had grown up in Budapest, Hungary, and served as a German naval officer in World War I. When the war came to an end in 1918, he sailed in the Merchant Marine, where he jumped ship in New York City and entered the United States legally by going through Elis Island. From there he somehow ended up in Passaic, New Jersey, working at a factory owned and operated by Germans. He learned English quickly and caught the eye of my mother, Clara Estelle Allen, who liked to be called Clare, and who held a clerical position at that factory.

My father’s intellect was easily detected. He was fluent in five languages and sometimes broke into one of them for fun. He was a patient man who loved my mother to death and openly displayed his affection toward her. He was always interested in the stock market, and one could find him many times behind a newspaper; he read many different publications daily. He had a kindness about him, but then again, he also had strict values that he clung to, and although at times he seemed quiet, he was a strong thinker. He kept himself in excellent condition.

My mother played piano beautifully by ear throughout her life, and she spoke of her dream of studying at the Julliard School of Music, an opportunity that never came about. My mother spent much time with the arts; she loved to read and was very learned. She never raised her voice and was always polite and obliging to others. While my mother was a delicate woman, my father was strong, so they balanced each other out nicely and made a wonderful couple.

She always told the story that she believed herself a direct decedent of the Revolutionary Patriot Ethan Allen, but for the most part, it was a well-kept secret, for she had grown up almost an orphan and her heritage was hidden throughout life. She felt her ability had been passed down to her by her father and grandmother, and from her distant ancestor Mary Francis Buchanan, Ethan Allen’s second wife, who had musical talent. Sadly, as my mother had lost her own mother soon after childbirth, she was brought up by her father until he passed away when she was only eight. After that, she had lived with her grandmother, who died when she was seventeen, and then lived on with friends until she met and ultimately married my father, Eugene Plessinger.

My parents fell in love and wed soon after meeting. Jean, the historian of the family, says that Eugene and Clare were married when they were both twenty-two years old and moved to Bridgeport, Connecticut. They rented a modest home near Saint Vincent Hospital, where both my sister and I were born, leaving me no other family except for my sister, mother and father who always lived happily together. Other than later in my life, when my father sponsored a few distant relatives, Violet and Ilona Plessinger, when they came to the United States from Austria, I grew up without grandparents, uncles, aunts or even cousins, but I was too dumb to be lonely.

My parents were always loving but poor. I cannot recall the first four or five years of my life, other than memories of moving into a former timeworn hospital that had been converted into a rooming house. It was a scary place to live, since the former hospital patients’ remains were kept in glass containers and stored in the cellar, where I was compelled to pass by them to stoke the coal-burning furnace, a daily job that was required of me. It was always terrifying to be in that dark cellar alone with all those body parts.

While in the old rooming house, I did met a boy named Tom Watson Jr. who lived around the corner. Tom was about three years older than I was and lived in another old house, where he and his mother cared for his invalid father, Tom Sr. From his wheelchair, Tom Sr. carried on a business printing names on Christmas cards as well as on cards for other special days. Until I went off to Kings Point, Tom Jr. was my best friend. We played baseball at Seaside Park, which bordered Long Island Sound, and attended football games in Bridgeport and then later on in New York City after Tom obtained his driver’s license.

While still at the rooming house, I attended Roosevelt School just a short distance away. The school was located in a very poor section of Bridgeport—literally right next to the railroad tracks that divided the city. I attended this school until the end of eighth grade. However, when I started fourth grade, my family moved to a flat—a three-story house with a separate family living on each floor. I had my own room, but although this flat, was somewhat of an improvement over our other living condition at the rooming house, it was located next to a mental hospital where on occasion one could observe patients jumping out of the window. A few hundred yards to the rear were elevated train trestles connecting Boston to New York City.

Since our family was on welfare, my memory of pulling a wagon to carry food that my mother obtained from a nearby welfare station is still vivid. My mother never had a driver’s license, so she always walked to that lifesaving facility, and I bravely accompanied her with my wagon. Because the neighborhood was one that could be modestly described as tough, I engaged in many fights, most of which I lost being undersized for my age and unable to punch my way out of a paper bag, as the expression goes. There was, however, one highlight at the flat: a small brown stray dog we took in and called Bozo. I loved Bozo. Although Bozo ran loose and often roamed the streets of Bridgeport, he always returned and slept snuggled near me in my room.

During all those eight years in the flat, my family remained poor. Remembering that my clothes were purchased at Army/Navy surplus stores, and having a sense of humor, I jokingly told my friends that I was the only one in fifth grade dressed as a Japanese admiral. Of course, I never wore such an outfit, but I never wore a suit or a sport coat, either, or even a shirt and tie until my parents purchased them for me in high school.

Until leaving Roosevelt School there are no accomplishments to report for my elementary and high school years. In fact, I was the only student who could not pass wood shop though I spent the entire year trying unsuccessfully to build a set of bookends. This early failure set in motion an unending string of failures in middle and high school in any course that required mechanical dexterity.

When Japan bombed Pearl Harbor on November 7, 1941, I was in seventh grade, and the family situation worsened. Dad was drafted and left home for Sioux Falls, South Dakota, for service in the Army. Mom was able to get a job at General Electric to pay the bills, but since she couldn’t drive, she had to depend on Jean for transportation. Jean had started working part-time and was dating. She was a blond whose intellect attracted many men, and so she had a series of interesting boyfriends all around town. She worked locally and sometimes for my father, who opened a television store, as our lack of funds prohibited her from attending college. Our age difference and her active social life left me home alone in the flat a large part of the time with only Bozo for company.

Although Bozo was important to me, my life in the world of sports occupied most free time which was made up of football, basketball, and baseball. There was no organized Little League, but since the neighborhood was filled with kids of various ages, we created our own teams. My two close friends, Al Sency and Gene Hull, played on the teams with me. Al’s parents owned and operated the local grocery store. Gene’s parents were musically inclined and played in local bands. Gene himself played a mean saxophone, and he was the smallest but fastest of our group.

Since most of us lived on or around Black Rock Avenue, the football and baseball teams were named The Black Rock Buccaneers. Without adult involvement, we played our baseball games at Seaside Park in Bridgeport, where there were numerous baseball diamonds. Mom and Dad, out of their meager funds, bought me a Louisville Slugger for my baseball playing.

Our tackle football games were played