Kathleen McNeil had luxurious, long, wavy black hair, usually free or in a ponytail. I found it irresistible. I would slowly, reverently stroke it, which she found soothing. At least, she let me continue.
I had been moved from the third to the fourth grade in part because I had become visibly bored and unproductive in school. My grades dropped, I didn’t care about doing the work which was so simple, even a child could succeed. Fourth grade was more challenging, and my performance perked up. But I still suffered episodes of boredom, gazing out the windows across the asphalt playground in front of school to the cars rolling past on Montgomery Pike. Through the oak trees, past the repurposed swim set which served as a parking lot for bicycles, to the Presbyterian church and cemetery on the other side.
Then Kathie would shift in her seat, dark hair flowing side to side as she adjusted her position while Miss Leeds took us through that days Social Studies lesson. My social studies including grasping Kathie’s ebony locks, feeling their smoothness, admiring the lazy coils descending from her neck. I’d stroke, she’d lean back, and we both could concentrate again.
One day stands out forever. On a field trip – to where I can’t recall – we shared a seat on the school bus transporting us. An extended opportunity to melt in her eyes left me mesmerized by her gaze. Her eyebrows, as dark and full as the hair above, presided over a face often gripped by a serious, knowing aspect. On the way back to school, she gave me an extended precis of the movie she had recently seen, “South Pacific”. Nellie Forbush and her French plantation paramour, Emile DeBeque. I see know their connection was a bit too mature for an eleven-year old. Rather, I heard a lot about Bloody Mary and her daughter, Liat. Kathie seemed particularly entranced by Liat’s infatuation with Cable, the brainy lieutenant who challenged existing restrictions to spend more and more time with the exotic Polynesian beauty.
Kathie suggested she wanted to see the movie again, but I was too dense to pick up on the opportunity. Instead, I planned a Christmas party as a boy-girl affair, convening at my house, then walking up to the Pike to the Monte Vista theater to see “Lil Abner”. After all, it also was a musical, and based on a cartoon to boot. I intended to walk side-by-side with Kathie, sit next to her in the darkened auditorium, and…well, I didn’t know what that was all about, but it was something boys and girls did together.
On the way back home, Kathie walked with her best friend, Shelby Cooper. I dragged behind, listening in as they giggled about Sadie Hawkins day and traded guesses as to which boy each girl in the crowd would ask to their imaginary dance. When Shelby asked Kathie for her choice, she hesitated, turning around to find me, and silently smiled.
I discovered among my father’s record albums, a curated collection of classical music , “modern” jazz, and the odd set of show tunes, a colorful sleeve picturing Mary Martin and Ezio Pinza on the cover. This was a double album, which folded open like a book, and many more photos appeared inside. I devoured the ones of Liat and Cable, sure that Kathie saw us in their fated affair. “Bali Hai” and “You’ve Got to be Carefully Taught” especially resonated, evoking that forbidden island and its potential girlfriend. The romance of their story stayed with me far longer than Kathie did.
I visited her house, in upscale Amberly Village a mile north of mine, once in our sixth-grade year. Her room smelled of freshly washed linen, and we sat before a wooden doll house, sharing a fantasy through the family who lived in it, little plastic people with bendable arms and legs, clothed in tiny cotton pants and dresses.
Sixth-grade marked the end of elementary school. Next up: Junior High. In our city, there were two choices. One could go to the local junior high, Schroeder, a mile away from Pleasant Ridge, the elementary, for 7th, 8th, and 9thgrades, then on to the local high school, Woodward. But, those who scored in the top fifth of the grade school class on tests we took had the option to travel seven miles into the city on Montgomery, taking the #4 bus to Walnut Hills, a college prep institution, for 7th through 12th. There was no question where I would go, the option was never given to me by my parents.
When I talked with Shelby and Kathie about the choices, I was shocked to discover that, while Shelby had opted for Walnut Hills, Kathie would be staying close to home at Schroeder. She explained that, as an only child, her parents did not want her traveling so far away. I thought that a bit strange, and tried to talk her out of it – I did not want to lose my Girlfriend! Looking back, I realize there may have been other reasons: maybe she didn’t meet the qualifying standard for Walnut Hills. Or maybe, her parents didn’t trust the neighborhood. Walnut Hills was the center of the Black “ghetto” at that time, and had a reputation among those living in the rarefied suburban fringe where the McNeil’s had their acreage as not the safest place to visit.
No matter, I was devastated. Especially when I read, years later, on a visit home from college, that Kathleen McNeil had been crowned “Miss Cincinnati” and would represent our city in the Miss Ohio contest, hoping to be selected to compete in Atlantic City. Her talent was listed as “violin.”