Heres how it happened.
When I was 23 I fled New York City for
San Francisco, got a job as a research analyst for the San Francisco office of
a national ad agency, got my own apartment (instead of staying with my parents)
got my first car and thought Id made a great move. Why hadnt I come
to San Francisco, Tony Bennetts city by the bay, before? Then
I became infatuated with a copywriter whose name was Angela White. Angela was
the epitome of those blonde, tanned beautiful California girls Id
imagined before coming out West. She was also smart and very ambitious. I knew
that a lowly researcher and ordinary-looking guy like myself didnt have
much of a chance with a girl, I should say woman, like Angela but I had my
hopes. Besides being a lowly researcher I was also a would-be writer and had
actually published some stories in the romance magazines that were popular at
the time. Id done some work on the products Angela wrote copy for
and I contrived to stop in her office every now and then. She took some
interest in my writing I told her these formula-written stories were just a
prelude to the real ones I hoped to do some day, and she even gave
me some useful critiques.
On this evening Id worked late and
was leaving the office when I saw Angela still at her desk. Id asked her
to dinner a few times before and shed of course turned me down, although
in a nice way. After all, a woman had to do her hair and catch up with her
e-mails. But this time when I stopped by and suggested she stop working and go
out for a bite to eat she looked up, gave me one of her brilliant smiles, and
said that yes, that was a good idea. Needless to say, I was
exhilarated.
There was a fairly good restaurant a
block away from our building and we agreed wed go there. The maitre de,
as soon as he saw Angela, led us to a very nice table and a waiter promptly
appeared. We ordered and Angela asked me about my latest story. I told her it
was about a young man in San Francisco whose girl friend was about to go back
to the Midwest to care for an ailing father. They meet at a bar for a last
drink (my title for the story) and he tries to persuade her to stay. The story
was told mostly in dialogue, with, I must admit, a big nod to Hemingway.
Im afraid that in my euphoria at sitting across a table from Angela I
babbled away and when the waiter came with our orders I was a little surprised.
Im sorry, I said after
the waiter had left, I didnt mean to bore you.
Thats all right, she
said. Your story sounds, uh, interesting.
Hows the copywriting
going?
Its okay. We have a
presentation tomorrow. Thats why I was working late. Hows your
driving going?
After having three lessons Id
bought a used Chevy and was tentatively driving it around the city.
Pretty good. I drove to Golden Gate Park last weekend. I like driving a
lot better than taking the subway. Im working my way up to driving to the
ocean and then maybe over the bridge to Marin. I heard its nice over
there, sunny when its foggy here.
Our meals came. We talked about San
Francisco weather some more. She was used to it, having grown up there. I told
her how nice it was to have cool weather, even if sometimes foggy, after the
hot humid summers back East. We talked about our agency, about which clients
were good to work with and which werent. I thought our dinner was going
pretty well. At the end, I reached for my wallet but she insisted on paying for
her share. More than a few tines I thought about suggesting we do this again,
but I didnt. I didnt want to press my luck. Two weeks later the
word around the agency was that Angela was engaged to marry Stan Brooks, our
Marketing Director.
I told myself that I shouldnt have
been surprised. Angela was ambitious, very ambitious. Stan Brooks, besides
being Marketing Director, and besides being about 40 years old, was a tall
tanned guy, handsome, fit he and Angela would make a great-looking couple. Stan
was also a nice guy hed even complimented me once or twice for some work
Id done, unusual in the ad agency world. Still, the word for how I felt
was devastated. It was an actual physical pain. After a month
or so I decided I couldnt stay with the agency, not where Id be
reminded of Angela every day. I quit.
It turned out to be a bad time to leave
your job. The country was in one of its periodic recessions. Ad agencies
werent hiring; they were cutting back. So were the major companies in San
Francisco that might have market research jobs. It was bad enough brooding over
Angela, now I was unemployed and my money was fast running out. I took to
driving out to the ocean and looking out to the horizon I think viewing
something that would always be there helped make my problems seem less
important. Still, this didnt help when it came to paying my rent. I was
seriously considering going back to New York. Id hate to leave San
Francisco and go back to dirty grimy crowded New York, back to my parents
apartment in the Bronx, back to riding the subway. But I wouldnt have to
pay rent to stay with my parents and after all New York was the center of the
advertising industry.
Then I got a phone call from the Los
Angeles office of the ad agency Id quit. Theyd had a sudden
retirement and needed a research analyst on just the products Id worked
on. Would I consider joining them? Stan Brooks, Marketing Director of the San
Francisco office, had highly recommended me. Stan Brooks? Angela must have had
a hand in this. I wasnt sure exactly how this had come about but I took
the job.
So thats how I became a Southern
Californian, although, as Tony Bennett sang, my heart remained in San
Francisco. I married Lois, a Los Angeles native. Our daughter Pam went to UCLA
our son Greg, who wants to be a screenwriter, went to USC. I became a Dodger
fan instead of a Giants fan. I even tried surfing. My writing? Somehow, after
the Angela episode, my ambition died. In any case, when I became head of the
offices research department I was so occupied with my job that writing
was out of the question. Still, when I retire Ive told Lois that instead
of going to Europe or someplace like that I want to take a trip to San
Francisco. And I might even try to finish that story I told Angela
about.