A Memory Lane Challenge
By Donna McCrohan Rosenthal, East Sierra Branch
When Liz mentioned at our last meeting that playwright Ntozake Shange had died, I heard my mouth volunteer, “I went to college with her.” Later that same evening, when our speaker told us her daughter had attended Mary Baldwin University in Staunton, Virginia, the same mouth chirped, “I went to high school in Staunton.”
On my way home, I got to thinking that I must have sounded pretty loopy, as though if somebody had showed me a nickel, I would have said I went to elementary school at the Denver Mint where it came from.
But in my defense, I did go to Barnard College with Ntozake. She wrote the Obie-winning For colored girls who have considered suicide / when the rainbow is enuf. After that, classmates told me that she and I had lived three rooms apart in the same dorm. I believe I’d answer the hall phone for her occasionally, and she for me.
Concerning Staunton, I attended high school with Francis Collins, now director of the National Institutes of Health and who led the Human Genome Project. We’d play pool on the pool table in my basement. Also in Staunton, I had Amparo Arnaz de Rodón, a cousin of Desi Arnaz, as my Spanish teacher. Ricky Ricardo even named her once on an episode of I Love Lucy.
Skip ahead to New York, where I one day found myself walking toward Tony Randall on 58th Street. As we approached each other, he dropped his head to avoid recognition. As we crossed, I couldn’t help blurting out, “I don’t want an autograph and I won’t bother you, but would a bravo be okay?” He responded, loudly, enthusiastically, rambunctiously, waving his arms over his head, “Don’t just say it. Shout it! BRAVO!!!.” Then he hurried off.
On one miserable night, in driving rain at LaGuardia airport, Vincent Price looked stranded. The friend with me knew him and asked if he needed a ride. Alas, he didn’t. Otherwise, I’d have a better story here.
And – incidentally – I’ve personally known four people who appeared on U.S. postal stamps, and sat next to another on a subway.
Do I have a point to all this? Well, yes. We can’t get too excited that I handed a phone to Ntozake or a cue ball to Francis. Even so, I’ve gotten 400 words out of this rambling assault on memory lane. Consider it a challenge to members of the Southern Region of the California Writers Club.
Poke through your lifetime of recollections and pull out a chance encounter of note, or a childhood adventure, or a celebrity who spun you around in a revolving door. Turn it into a memoir of 500 words or less for our website, socalwritersshowcase.com.
A feature article remains up for the first month, then we archive and keep it clickable for at least five months. It makes a nice impression. It provides an attractive link to give editors.
Do it for your family. Do it for your portfolio. Do it for bragging rights. Do it because you’re a writer, and that’s what writers do.