It Happened South Of The Border In The Summer Of 1966!!!
May 17 '03
The Bottom Line I was 13 and he was 17, and we both spoke different languages. Maybe, it was only puppy love, but it felt very real to me!!!
A funny thing happened to me while I was reading a wonderful Epinion (He's not capable of writing any other kind of Epinion but a wonderful one!) by dreamy-eyed dreamboat, Don_Krider, called
The Monkees: They outsold The Beatles & The Rolling Stones combined in 1967
http://www.epinions.com/content_98439958148
In part of it, he wrote:
The new compilation was produced by Andrew Sandoval with new sound production by Bill Inglot. Despite the age of these recordings (in 2006, some of these tracks will be 40 years old), the sound is as clean and clear as if they were brand new.
This means that it will, also, at that time, be 40 years since the year of 1966--the year Johnny Angel graduated from high school and the year I finished seventh grade.
Of course, at the time that I finished seventh grade, I didn't know that Johnny Angel existed--and I had just broken up with a sweet guy named Benny over a little misunderstanding; had become interested in an "older" guy at church (two or three years older) named Buddy before finding out that he already had a Betty in his life; and then suddenly realized that eighth-grader, Dorman, was somebody to check out.
It didn't hurt in the least bit that Dorman bore more than a faint resemblance to my cousin, Jimmy.
Just by reading this:
"It Might Be Wise To Wait Awhile," I Said. (Stockholder's I Was Wrong W/O)
http://www.epinions.com/content_3233718404
you can figure out how my starry, seventh-grade eyes saw Jimmy!
But there was a teensy-weensy problem re: Dorman in the form of another eighth-grader named Susan.
When Susan noticed that I was flirting with Dorman, she told me, "Leave Dorman alone!!! He's MINE!!!"
As if she owned him or something!!!
Let me say right here that I've always really liked Susan.
She was a sweet girl back then and is still a sweet woman.
This is probably the only time that I've ever gotten mad at her--and I wasn't mad at her for long!
But I just thought, at the time, that she was rubbing it in my face that SHE had Dorman and I didn't.
So I did something really evil: I drew a picture of Susan with a caption like she was telling me to leave Dorman alone because he was hers--and I had her wearing a maternity dress!!!
Then, before cooling down, I showed it to a few close friends--good friends who talked some sense into me, saying that Dorman and Susan had been "going steady" since the previous summer when they started riding their bikes together, so Susan had the right to tell me to lay off.
But I knew that couples DID break up, so I hoped that, if they did, Dorman would consider me.
As it turned out, his family moved, so I lost track of him for many years--and I believe that Susan did, too.
Anyway, she married her high school sweetheart, and Dorman married a woman he met while in the service.
But that is now, and this story takes place in 1966--the year that Johnny Angel both graduated from high school and entered college, and I didn't even know it! And the same was true of my former fiance, Charlie!
I took a picture of Dorman the night of his eighth-grade graduation--and was disappointed when it didn't turn out.
Little did I know that Dorman was about to pale in comparison to someone who actually ended up making me literally lovesick!!!
I've written about this experience here--and I did it in the comment section of this Epinion by mrkstvns:
The Most Romantic Seaside Hotel I've Ever Seen...
http://www.epinions.com/trvl-review-473F-16A68136-3889456B-prod3
Even though he was writing about a different hotel, I thought that this seemed like a great place to share some memories.
Anyway, I've pretty much left the comment as I made it in June of 2000 other than putting it into paragraphs for easier reading, boldfacing some of it, and correcting some typos.
If you're as hopeless of a romantic as I am--or, at least, get some kind of thrill (even if it's just to laugh at us) out of reading mushy stuff shared by hopeless romantics, I can give you at least a 99.9% guarantee that you're in for a real treat.
Also, if you have ever heard of the heartmelting guy I'm about to tell you about, please let me know, because we'd have a lot to talk about!!!
Enjoy!!!
AJ :o)
So, I thought as I started reading your article, Acapulco has become just another overcrowded, glitzy place.
I wanted to remember it the way it was in 1966 when I was there with my folks, aunt, and uncle--when it was more tranquil and not just like another could-be-anywhere, party-party resort designed for the wildest of MTV-style spring-breakers.
And, back then, it hadn't become an overcrowded city, either.
No, I wanted to remember it the way it was--and I still do, because those memories are very pleasant ones.
They included, among other things, a delightful, young diver named Ignacio Sanchez who was a brand-new 17 to my 13 1/2 years!
I discovered (through watching a sports documentary several years ago) that his son, Jorge, was preparing to carry on the family tradition.
By now, Jorge probably has a son who's diving.
Good Grief! Iggy a Grandpa!?!
Iggy--the name I thought of him by (though he probably was hardly aware of WHAT I called him)--spoke very little English, and I spoke very little Spanish.
My Tex-Mex aunt interpreted with words what was beyond us to interpret with smiles and hugs.
How did we meet?
Let's start with earlier that morning over 34 years ago (exactly 34 years ago this past June 17). *
*Note: As I mentioned at the first, I wrote this as a comment back in the summer of 2000, so I'm keeping what I wrote at the time the same, as far as content goes, right down to the dates.
My folks and Aunt Marce had gone shopping, and Uncle Finley and I decided that we wanted to go to the beach, which was across the highway from where we were staying (The Kennedy Motel).
Uncle Finley decided that he wanted to do some belly-surfing.
I stayed on the shore, sitting close to the water, writing the name of a boy I knew from school in the sand, and shrieking when a big wave came in, splashing me and erasing Dorman's name.
Otherwords, I was having a wonderful and silly time!
Then, the waves began to get a little too strong to suit my taste, because they were starting to slap me too hard and get water up my nose.
So I decided to move my little party a few feet back.
I got up and turned to walk to my new location when a big wave knocked me down, dislocating my trick-knee.
Just when I was getting ready to straighten it out and pop it back into place, I was hit by another wave. And another. And another. And another. and on and on and on and on. . .
I began screaming to the people on the beach that my knee was out.
Nobody came to my rescue.
I finally just began screaming "HELP!" over and over again.
Still, nobody came to my rescue, and the undertow was starting to pull me oceanward as if I were a fall leaf being blown along by the wind.
Uncle Finley, meanwhile, was continuing to body-surf.
He heard me shrieking, too, but thought it was just a continuation of my silliness until he heard pain and panic in my voice. He wondered why I didn't just stand up and walk away and went to investigate.
"Just get up, Little Bruiser!" he encouraged me.
"I can't!" I told him. "My knee's out!"
"No it's not."
I looked at my leg. Once more, it looked normal. "Well, it was out," I informed him, "but I guess the waves popped it back in again."
He took my hands and helped me to stand up--then, he told me that I'd better adjust my swimsuit. It had slipped down to where I was topless.
After I'd showered and swam in the pool back at the motel for awhile, Uncle Finley and I sat and ate wonderful bowls of homemade vegetable soup served with warm bread at this open-air, poolside snack bar.
I asked him if, when he first rescued me, he could tell I was a girl, and he laughed saying, "I sure could, Little Bruiser! There was no doubt that you were a girl!"
That night, we went to the El Mirador to eat and watch the cliff-divers. Below us, the emcee in the bar announced the diver of the night: Ignacio Sanchez, just 16 years old.
After Iggy prayed at the shrine, he got into a diving position, and the drummer in the bar band did a drum-roll and pounded the drums when Iggy hit the water and emerged.
I'd remembered that we'd already finished our meal and had just been sitting around waiting for the diving show. My knee had been starting to feel sorer by the minute, and I was thinking, I wish they'd hurry up and bring on the show so that we can watch it and then get back to the motel!
I was starting to get very impatient. But it turned out to be worth the wait to watch this graceful diver soar off the cliff like a bird and into the water.
And I was especially impressed with how he said a prayer first!
He came up into the dining room a few minutes later, because it was customary for his audience to tip him with pesos, either as they passed him on the way out, or else getting up from the table long enough to do so.
My folks asked me if I wanted to be the one to tip him. I also wanted to get his autograph, so I brought along a postcard for him to write on.
I limped over to him like an old horse and asked if he could speak English. He told me that he could speak a little. I told him that I could speak a little Spanish, too.
Anyway, he was able to understand that I wanted his autograph and signed his name on the postcard. I told him "Gracias!" (which was one of the few words in my Spanish vocabulary) and turned to limp back to my table.
It was then that I felt him behind me, tenderly taking hold of me to escort me back to my seat. He asked my aunt (in Spanish) what had happened to me, and she told him about my accident.
Ever so often, he'd turn and look at me with the most wonderful smile. He also informed Aunt Marce that he was 17 and NOT 16 like they'd said.
I'd found out during our roadtrip through Mexico that the native sons were accomplished flirters--and I loved every moment of it!!!
But, for some reason, Iggy was a cut above all the rest!
Needless to say, we checked out of The Kennedy Motel the next day and into the El Mirador in order to be closer to Iggy!
We'd planned to take him back to our room, have a little party, and take some moving pictures. This was before modern camcorders, and, in order to take movies after dark, you had to be somewhere that you could plug in the bright lights.
It was a beautiful place to spend our last day in Acapulco (and I was not-so-secretly hoping that the grown-ups in charge of this trip might decide to cut our time down somewhere else and stay a day or two longer right where we were). But that wasn't to be.
We went to eat dinner and watched the cliff-diving show for the last time.
Iggy, again, was the star that night. There were two older (his age or a few years older) ladies there who were trying to get him all to themselves--and for other purposes besides a family party--but Iggy told them that he had to go see some friends (this all according to Aunt Marce who understood the language).
He came over and talked to us, and we all started back towards our room when the manager stopped him and reminded him that it was against the rules for the divers to visit the guest quarters.
"I just wish they'd mind their own business!" I exclaimed, and gave a toss of my head and body--which almost popped my knee out again!
Iggy steadied me so that I wouldn't fall down, and my knee decided not to pop out after all.
So we spent a little more time together and Aunt Marce took a still picture of us. Because we'd thought that we were going to be entertaining him in our room, nobody else had brought a camera along.
He told us that he would be off the next night but back on again the night after that.
But, of course, by that time, we would be on our way back to Mexico City.
Again, I tried to talk my folks, aunt, and uncle into staying there a couple more days so we could watch Iggy dive again and, maybe, even visit with him during the day.
But they all had jobs to get back to and schedules to keep.
The next day, I cried and cried.
But, just before we checked out, we learned that Iggy had come back to practice. So we got to take some movies of him diving in the daytime. And he saw us and waved. So I felt a little better. But I still missed him all summer.
Aunt Marce was going to send a copy of the picture, but she still had a lot of shots on the roll that had to be gone through before she could even develop the roll, much less send it.
I literally became lovesick when, day after day, the picture of Iggy and me didn't arrive in my mailbox. I started throwing up every few days and passing gas that smelled like rotten eggs.
More than Dorman--who was interested in Susan, anyway--Iggy was probably my first taste of adolescent love and loss.
As you can imagine, I was in hog heaven when that picture finally arrived. Someday, I'll scan it for you. It's up at my folks' place somewhere, and I haven't quite gotten the hang of scanning yet, anyway.
Anyway, back to what I was saying at the first, I was starting to think that the charm of old Acapulco had been replaced by an MTV atmosphere, overcrowding, etc.
And, in some ways, it probably has.
But it was comforting to know that the cliff-divers are still doing their thing and that the El Mirador is still there to watch them from.
And that place you told me about sounds so romantic! The same thing here in the USA would probably cost two or three times that much--especially, at a resort.
Even though there's a place not far from me which comes close as far as the room, itself, goes--and this is a place that I hope to be checking out before another year has passed and reporting on right here in Epinions!*
*Haven't had the chance to check it out yet but I certainly will one of these days!
Adios! If you see Iggy, give him my love--and at least one of the many flowers from your room! :o)
Jun 23 '00
10:52 pm PST
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Epinions.com ID:
AinsleyJo
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Member: Ainsley Jo Phillips
Location: Anderson, Indiana
Reviews written: 270
Trusted by: 221 members
About Me:
I'm hosting a write-off: http://www.epinions.com/content_5362983044
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