Wentworth-By-The-Sea, 1969 Chapter One: The Arrival |
Hiram, Ohio April, 1969 I had to maneuver a slalom course between a backgammon game, a pedicure-in-progress and a forest of coffee cups to get to the television. The Late Night News had just flashed a brief story about a raging hotel fire on the New England coast - not much interest to a dorm of college girls in the middle of Ohio - except to me! I was watching my summer employment going up in flames. I was counting on waitressing at one of the last of the grand hotels. I needed a respite from the uncertainty of life in 1969. I needed a change of pace - new activity, new people, a new setting, and maybe a new romance. For a year and a half I felt like the weight of the world had rested squarely on my young shoulders. Since returning to college I had jumped headlong into the eye of the storm that seemed to be raging on most campuses. I felt indignation, anger and frustration over political processes and politicians that had allowed the War in Vietnam to linger on so long. I became vocal at campus rallies and participated in demonstrations in Cleveland, New York and Washington DC. All of us knew we were being watched. A friend of mine from high school worked for the FBI and had actually seen a file with my name on it. But the greatest fear I felt was the fear that the local draft board would soon seal the fate of my younger brother. Despite my efforts to make a difference, Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King were assassinated. Despite my efforts, the War n Vietnam escalated. And, finally, despite anything and everything I could do, my younger brother became a US Marine. I had been in the streets of Chicago during the 1968 Democratic Convention and I had returned home emotionally battered, drained of my idealism and very, very tired. I needed a light-hearted summer to restore my youth, my sense of humor, and my ability to play. I wanted to forget Vietnam, the mace in Chicago and my disillusionment with the American system. I had chosen Wentworth-By-The-Sea as my retreat from reality. It exuded Victorian formality, charm and grace. I had hoped that the 95-year-old resort, along with the ever-healing ocean, would regenerate my senses, my values and my optimism. And there it was burning bright and spectacular on the Late Night News. |
Wentworth-By-The-Sea, 1969 The Story Begins... |
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