Love at First Dance __by Elaine Foley The first time I saw John was at a tea dance (“The Elmata”) sponsored by my sophomore class at the Elms College, in November 1951. This was the first social activity allowed after spending our freshman year in strict confinement. For me, it had been a relief to get a break from teenage boys at an all-woman’s Catholic college. My girlfriends and I were having a rousing good time and driving the nuns crazy, without worrying how we looked or competing for boys’ attention. Most of us didn’t have any boyfriends, so dating consisted of being “fixed-up” with somebody’s neighbor, cousin, brother, or boyfriend’s roommate. My roommate, Veronica, had a classmate who lived on Lamb Street in South Hadley Falls, next door to three boys around our age. This friend decided to snag the eldest of the three as Veronica’s date for the tea dance. Jeanne Shea, my “Junior Sister”--who was headed for the convent and trying to drag me with her—finally gave up and decided to fix me up with a “nice French boy” from Chicopee. Paul was barely my own height (5’ 4”), and he had a bad complexion. I did not like French boys in the first place—especially the “nice” ones, so I zoned out and pretended he wasn’t there. I felt sorry for him but what could I do? At the same time, I noticed a vague attraction to that tall, thin guy with Veronica…but he was her date, after all, so I only got one dance with him. We chatted briefly as we danced, and at the end of the evening we glanced back at each other. I thought that was the end of it. The following year, we were preparing for the Junior Prom—one of the highlights of Elms College life. Even though I was elected chairman, I made it clear that I had no intention of attending. No more blind dates for me! The dance was held around Valentine’s Day, and I came back early from the Christmas holiday to start planning. In the dark, damp, cavernous basement of the school building, I discovered an old Celtic harp that had been set aside and forgotten. I spent hours alone down there, carefully cleaning and decorating the harp, without really knowing why. Meanwhile, above ground, the whole school was in an uproar that I’d staunchly refused to attend the Prom. There was no way the chairman could NOT be there! This went on for weeks, until I came up with a compromise: I’d consider attending with that tall guy from South Hadley Falls, who I’d met at the tea dance—but no one else. When I told the girl from Lamb Street, she couldn’t believe it: “What do you want to go with him for? His brothers are nice but he’s a bird! (oddball). All the neighbors say so.” But since she didn’t like me either—being a very proper girl—she must have considered us a good match. She went home to Lamb Street and told John that she knew of someone who was looking for a prom date. “You might remember her from last year, when you went to the tea dance with Veronica.” As the grand event approached, I was determined not to waste any money on a nice gown. I grabbed a $13 number off Ann August’s sale rack at the last minute, planning to throw it away immediately after the dance. It was glaringly ugly: a hot-pink bodice with a maxi overskirt made of nylon netting. To this day, I still regret leaving behind the $40 dress I really wanted in Todd’s upscale clothing store. It had a gold brocade bodice with a three-quarter length royal blue net skirt, topped by a gold brocade three-quarter length evening coat with a Mandarin collar. I imagine my escort would have been blown away if I’d come prancing down the stairway in THAT! But I was stubborn, and I also didn’t want my mother to spend such an extravagant amount of money. Meanwhile, back on Lamb Street, it was the afternoon of the Prom, and John M. Foley suddenly realized he needed to buy his date a corsage. With little money, no driver’s license, and no car, he hitchiked and walked from flower shop to flower shop throughout Holyoke and South Hadley, only to find they were all sold out. In desperation, he talked his youngest brother Dan into driving him over the bridge into Willimansett. By the time they reached the town’s flower shop, it was 5:00pm and their sign read CLOSED. Luckily the shop owner happened to live in the attached house. John banged on the door and talked her into unlocking the store for him by explaining that his entire life and future depended on getting the very best corsage for the most beautiful girl in the world! (Little did he know how right he would be.) It’s a good thing I didn’t have to see what he went through to buy me the rarest and most expensive flower he could find. When the big night finally arrived, I strolled nonchalantly down the long staircase of the residence hall to the guest room, where our escorts were waiting. There he stood, tall and handsome in a tuxedo, holding an orchid corsage. The instant I set eyes on him, it hit me: “This guy is one of those science and numbers people”—one of the few topics I knew nothing about and never would. “He’s obviously a future math professor!” I saw it all in a flash, and the rest is history. And that’s the story of how one woman’s “bird” can become another’s prince—although it can take a few slams against the wall to make him fully realize his royal nature. Together we went outside and walked over to the dance hall. The gymnasium had been transformed into a fairyland by my classmates. A faux ceiling of multicolored crepe paper was strung with glittering, handmade stars. At the center of it all—the crowning glory—stood the gleaming silver Celtic harp! For the theme of the dance, I had chosen ”You And The Night And The Music” (A. Schwartz). All the nuns and parents sat in the balcony overlooking the grand event and pronounced it the best prom they had ever attended at the Elms College. I still have the program, printed in the shape of a black harp. John and I danced together all evening, like he’d never danced before--or would dare to dance again. Once I felt him brush the top of my head gently with his lips. We both had the overwhelming sense of finding “home,” and even my parents could see this was IT for me. __Elaine Foley