Showing posts with label University of Cincinnati. Show all posts
Showing posts with label University of Cincinnati. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 9, 2019

How I Met Linda



Linda and me, May 1978. Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

Linda, May 1978. Smokies.

Sorry about the font size below--I'm having a strange technical problem]

How I Met Linda Sanders


In the fall of 1976, when I was 28 years old, I was living in a $40/month apartment on Hollister
Street near the University of Cincinnati. I had been able to get a Teaching Assistantship
in the College of Education. I would teach two sections of “Reading and Study Skills” and
would tutor students in English classes. For this work, I would get my tuition paid for graduate
courses in Reading Education--and I would get a enough income to pay for my apartment.
It was slim pickings, but I had learned to live on very little money. I had one other gig--working
about 10 hours a week in the University of Cincinnati library.


That fall I took 4-5 courses, including a great course, “Psychology of Reading,” taught by
Linda Amspaugh. That class consisted of about 20 girls and two guys--me and Bob Moore.
During the semester we often met in small groups in class and had lots of opportunities to
speak in class and to listen to our classmates. I liked the idea of being in a class with so many
women. I had attended a high school with 2000 boys and no girls (St. Joseph High School),
and a college with 7000 guys and no girls (the University of Notre Dame). These experiences
left me a little stunted in knowing how to talk to girls--to say the least!


As the semester went on, I began to notice a girl in the class, Linda Sanders (didn’t learn
her name right away). She was very pretty and somewhat shy. Sometimes she’d come to
class late from her job as secretary in the Health and Physical Education Department. When
she was late, her cheeks would turn a bright crimson. At the end of the semester I began to sit
near her and talk to her a bit both inside class and after class. But I still knew very little about
her, and when the semester ended I thought maybe I wouldn’t see her again. Except--at the
end of the semester, many students in the class asked Linda Amspaugh to teach another class
and keep the group together. Most people promised to enroll in “Sociology of Reading” for the
winter/spring semester.


Christmas Break and January were incredibly cold--the coldest weather in Cincinnati history.
One day we even hit a record of -24 degrees Fahrenheit. My apartment was so cold that I could
not keep warm unless I got into my sleeping bag. That winter was memorable for a couple
reasons . . .


I did enroll in Sociology of Reading, and luckily Linda Sanders also enrolled. Again, Bob Moore
and I were the only guys, ha ha (and by the way, for a while Linda thought my last name was
“Moore”). As the semester progressed, I unconsciously found myself sitting next to Linda most
of the time and talking to her often after class. We even began running into each other in odd
places--like in the stacks of the UC library--a real bizarre coincidence considering the location
of stacks, deep in the bowels of the library.


As the semester went along, Linda would often offer me a piece of hard candy as we left class
or took our mid-class break. One day she didn’t mention any candy, and I jokingly asked her,
“Where’s my candy?” Then, in a move totally uncharacteristic of me, I thrust my hand into the
front pocket of her khakis and grabbed a piece of candy. Neither of us could believe I did that,
but we both laughed at that spontaneous move.


On day in early March, Linda asked me if I’d like to come over to her house for a soup-bean
and corn bread supper. I enthusiastically said yes. When she told me the day (a weekday night,
maybe a Thursday), I told her, “Oh no, I have something going on that night.” What was going on
was that I had a date with another girl to go to Hap’s Irish Pub to hear Malcolm Dalglish and
Grey Larsen play music. I had very few dates in those days, and to think this is when Linda
asked me to come over. Finally I told her, “I can come over but I’d have to leave by 7:30. Would
that work?” She said it would.


So I went to supper at her house. I can’t remember who else was there. Maybe her roommate
Mary Ann Hageman. Or her brother Steve. It was a nice time and a nice modest supper. At 7:30
I said goodbye and left to go to Hap’s Pub with another girl.


Another time during the month of March 1977, we heard that Malcolm Dalglish and Grey Larsen
were going to play music at Jim Tarbell’s bar, “Arnolds,” on 8th Street near Downtown Cincinnati.
Linda and Mary Ann Hageman were going to go there, and I said that I could meet them there
after I got off work at the University of Cincinnati library. So I worked until 7 or 8 o’clock, and then
ran down Vine Street hill, about two and a half miles, all the way to Arnolds’ Bar and Grill, where
I found Linda and Mary Ann. Luckily they gave me a ride home in Linda’s VW bug later that
evening.


I had supper again with Linda later that month at her apartment on Clemmer Street. This time her
Mom and Dad were there. I got along great with her Mom and Dad, and at some point Linda’s
Dad said to me,” We’re going to Mammoth Cave over the Easter weekend. Want to come with
us?” Linda and her Mother were gob-smacked when Art Sanders asked this. He hadn’t
consulted with them at all! Anyway, I immediately said, “Yea, I’d love to come with you.”


Around the middle of March, during a warm spell after the bitter-cold winter, Linda and I ran into
each other again in the library. Then we went outside and sat on the hill in front of McMicken
Hall where I had seen a circle of crocus in bloom. There, we sat in the middle of this circle, and
kissed each other for the first time. [January 2019]


[to be continued]

Sunday, April 3, 2016

April in Ohio--the Denise Levertov Poem

April in Ohio

By Denise Levertov

Each day
the cardinals call and call in the rain,
each cadence scarlet
among leafless buckeye.
and passionately
the redbuds that can’t wait
like other blossoms, to flower
from fingertip twigs,
break forth.
as Eve from Adam’s
cage of ribs,
straight from amazed treetrunks.


Lumps of snow

are melting in tulip-cups. #


Long ago, around 1976, when I was working as an English tutor at the University of Cincinnati, a colleague by the name of Sarah Cotterill showed me this poem by Denise Levertov. I think the great poet had been a visiting professor at the University of Cincinnati around 1975 or so--and wrote this poem in response to Ohio's treacherous spring weather. Sarah Cotterill herself is a wonderful poet and has published some fine books of poetry.

Forsythia

Forsythia in snow, and a frozen daffodil

The only intact daffodils are ones I picked a couple days ago!

View from my deck on a snowy April 3, 2016

Cardinals, chickadees, sparrows, all sorts of birds, around my birdfeeders this morning

Monday, May 5, 2014

The Beginnings of Our Life Together

Our Mythology

We decided to get married in late November of 1977 and announced it to Linda Sanders' parents shortly before Christmas. Linda's father, Art, had the oddest response to our announcement. He simply said, "What did you say?" I don't know if he didn't hear what Linda had just said to him or if he was gob-smacked stunned! She repeated the news, and he responded the same way. And then a third time--by then, I thought I was in deep trouble! And then, as when Peter denied knowing Jesus, a cock crowed. Well, almost. I think Linda's brother Steve understood what was being said, and got up and shook my hand and hugged his sister. I never knew what went through the minds of Linda's parents. Did they think we were just buddies, just friends? Did they think we hadn't known each other long enough? I'll never know the answers to these questions.

Linda and I had been in the same graduate education class at the University of Cincinnati (UC) beginning in the fall of 1976--"Psychology of Reading," taught by the great professor, Linda Amspaugh. Linda Sanders was working as the secretary for the Health and Physical Education Department at the University of Cincinnati; I was in a Masters of Education program there, specializing in reading theory and pedagogy. I was one of 2 guys in the class--with about 20 girls. Both guys were named Bob--Bob Moore, and me (Linda thought my name was Bob Moore for quite some time). During that first semester, I gradually began to recognize this pretty, very quiet girl, who typically slipped into class a bit late because of her work schedule, often red-cheeked from embarrassment at coming in late. She didn't talk in class (Bob Moore and I talked all the time!). Gradually, Linda and I started sitting next to each other. Sometimes we would chat briefly after class as we walked down the hallway.

At the time I lived a short walk from campus, on a tiny diagonal street called "Hollister," between Vine and McMicken My slum apartment cost me $40 a month--and was worth it! It was bare bones to be sure and it was absolutely freezing in the winter. But for a student with no money, it was perfect. Linda lived about 3/4 mile away, just off the west side of campus, on Clemmer Street--but I wouldn't find that out until March of 1977.

After a wonderful semester in Linda Amspaugh's Psychology of Reading class, students asked her to teach a follow-up class, and she was able to do it--a Sociology of Reading class. The same people signed up for it, including Linda Sanders and me--and that was good luck indeed. For if she and I hadn't signed up, we might have never gotten together. This new semester, the Winter/Spring of 1977, Linda and I began sitting next to each other and talking much more (I was barely aware of this; it was pretty much unconsciously done). And we began to coincidentally run into each other in the stacks of the library. The stacks of UC's old library weren't places you visited by accident. They were dark and maybe a bit scary, almost dungeon-like. But they were quiet, a good place to study. The odds of running into a classmate there were not good. So I look suspiciously on those chance meetings!

Anyway, Linda and I had never had a date or even a long chat. I do remember that every once in a while she'd be eating hard candy or chewing gum and she'd offer me a piece. One day while walking down the halls with her after class, I said, "Hey, where's my candy today?" Before she could answer, I did something ridiculous. I reached into the front pocket of her pant and felt around for "my" piece of candy. I did it all so innocently, we both just laughed (and it was intended innocently). But afterwards, I thought to myself,"What have you done! That was a pretty daring move!"

Right around that time I had had a few dates with a girl I had met at St. John's Unitarian Universalist Church in the Clifton neighborhood, where contra dances were held periodically. This was pretty unusual for me--it had been quite a while since I even had a date. Most of the local girls I knew were friends in the Peacemaker Movement, and we just hung around together, pretty much like brothers and sisters. So there were no "dates" as such. Anyway, one day after our Sociology of Reading class, Linda invited me to her apartment for supper--for soup and cornbread. I enthusiastically accepted--and then realized that the day she wanted me to come I had a date with this other woman to go to Hap's Irish Pub in the Hyde Park neighborhood of Cincinnati to hear Malcolm Dalglish and Grey Larsen play their wonderful folk music. So I had to tell Linda that I could come, but I would have to leave before 8 pm because I had an "appointment" (not sure what word I used!). She said that would be OK. So that evening, I had soup beans and cornbread at Linda's apartment, and then went on a date with another woman to an Irish pub. That was the craziest thing that ever happened to me--an all-time first. I believe I met Linda's Mom and Dad at that soup bean supper--and maybe her brother Steve.

Well things happened quickly after that early March 1977 supper. I would try to visit her at her office in the PhysEd/Health Department, and if I didn't find her I'd leave her funny notes. And we consciously sat next to each other in class and ran into each other in the library. One night we made plans to meet at Arnold's Bar and Grill on 8th Street in Cincinnati, the great pub run by my old friend Jim Tarbell. That night I worked my minimum wage job at the UC library, then ran the 2 or 3 miles to Arnold's (luckily it was downhill much of the way). There I met Linda and her roommate Mary Ann Hageman. We listened to some great music, drank some beer, and then Linda and Mary Ann drove me home in their blue Volkswagen Beetle. I was so excited about being there with Linda and meeting Mary Ann.

It wasn't long before Linda and I sat on the lawn in front of UC's McMicken Hall, in a ring of blooming crocus. And it was there we first kissed. About 9 months later we told Ruth and Art Sanders we were going to get married. I didn't "ask for her hand." That didn't seem right to us. We had no engagement ring. We had no elaborate engagement scenario.

And that is how our story started.

We were married 36 years ago today, and some day I will tell that story.

Bob, Linda; Chris Cotter behind, and Mary Ann Hageman, obscured. May 5, 1978.

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

We Know This Drill! Snow in April. A Fine Denise Levertov Poem

Sunday it was 79 degrees and we walked around Holden Arboretum au naturel looking at all the spectacular spring flowers (well, part of that sentence is not 100% accurate). This morning it is 29 and snowing, with a few inches expected. We know this drill well in Northeast Ohio. Was it around 2008 when we had 4 feet of snow in April in Hambden Township, outside Chardon (around 2 feet around April 8th; another 2 feet around April 24th)? Of course that was after I had put my snowblower away for the season. My neighbor Bud came to my rescue with his front-end loader. There was no way to shovel that wet, heavy snow off my 100-foot-long driveway. Thanks Bud! So we know the drill. Yet every year we are surprised.

Somewhere in the early 1970's, 1973 or '74, Denise Levertov spent some time at the University of Cincinnati teaching poetry and holding workshops. I'm pretty sure that an old friend, Sarah Cotterill, was in those workshops and was influenced by Denise Levertov. I haven't seen Sarah since the summer of 1976. She was driving through Iowa and I was working at the Catholic Worker House in Davenport. Sarah and I had dinner at a restaurant in the Amana Colonies (a former utopian community). Anyway, I lost track of her and have only seen a bit of her poetry since then.

Somehow Sarah or someone else from the University of Cincinnati gave me a poem Levertov wrote that spring 40 years ago in Ohio. Here it is:

April in Ohio
By Denise Levertov
Each day
the cardinals call and call in the rain,
each cadence scarlet
among leafless buckeye.
and passionately
the redbuds that can’t wait
like other blossoms, to flower
from fingertip twigs,
break forth.
as Eve from Adam’s
cage of ribs,
straight from amazed treetrunks.

Lumps of snow
are melting in tulip-cups.