The summer before, working as a page delivering mail to offices, I was ga-ga over Arlene, the secretary in the Columbia Special Products office. We appeared to be the same age. There was no way a woman working professionally was going to date a summer-job college guy working as a page.
The following year, I was re-hired for the summer as…
The summer before, working as a page delivering mail to offices, I was ga-ga over Arlene, the secretary in the Columbia Special Products office. We appeared to be the same age. There was no way a woman working professionally was going to date a summer-job college guy working as a page.
The following year, I was re-hired for the summer as a news writer for Chicago's all-new CBS station (I still have my Writers Guild West honorary inactive card, despite the Union initiation fees taking my entire first paycheck). A little investigative journalism work, and I learned Arlene was still single and working in CSP.
On a break, I sucked in my breath, walked down the hall, around the corner and asked her for a date.
Returning dejected to the newsroom, Alan, one of the on-air anchors (who had helped with the investigation) notice my glum face.
"Turned down," he stated.
"Yeah. She said she liked older guys."
"Grow a beard," he said, running his hand through his beard. "It'll make you look older and the girls'll like it."
So I did in Summer 1970. It's been with me ever since in one form or another. Right now it's a neatly trimmed goatee carefully barbered by the Uptown Signature Beardsmith. I did go back to a moustache only when I started working professionally after college, but when shifting from sales to advertising, the beard returned.
Arlene still wouldn't go out with me, but Denise in National Sales asked me out. She said that I looked "liberated," and it gave her confidence to ask me out. We had a wonderful summer, and then it ended when I returned to school.
The wonder of a beard. The wonder of what if I transferred to a college in Chicago and stayed with the news writing?
The summer before, working as a page delivering mail to offices, I was ga-ga over Arlene, the secretary in the Columbia Special Products office. We appeared to be the same age. There was no way a woman working professionally was going to date a summer-job college guy working as a page.
The following year, I was re-hired for the summer as a news writer for Chicago's all-new CBS station (I still have my Writers Guild West honorary inactive card, despite the Union initiation fees taking my entire first paycheck). A little investigative journalism work, and I learned Arlene was still single and working in CSP.
On a break, I sucked in my breath, walked down the hall, around the corner and asked her for a date.
Returning dejected to the newsroom, Alan, one of the on-air anchors (who had helped with the investigation) notice my glum face.
"Turned down," he stated.
"Yeah. She said she liked older guys."
"Grow a beard," he said, running his hand through his beard. "It'll make you look older and the girls'll like it."
So I did in Summer 1970. It's been with me ever since in one form or another. Right now it's a neatly trimmed goatee carefully barbered by the Uptown Signature Beardsmith. I did go back to a moustache only when I started working professionally after college, but when shifting from sales to advertising, the beard returned.
Arlene still wouldn't go out with me, but Denise in National Sales asked me out. She said that I looked "liberated," and it gave her confidence to ask me out. We had a wonderful summer, and then it ended when I returned to school.
The wonder of a beard. The wonder of what if I transferred to a college in Chicago and stayed with the news writing?