Back in 1939 I started working at Duke Manufacturing, where I made $65 a month. That was good money–lots more than my friends made.

I first saw Cliff the day I went in for my interview and thought he was the office boy. He asked me if I wanted a Coke. I did not want a Coke. I wanted a job.

Nothing–I mean NOT A THING–attracted me to Cliff. I only went out with him because the girls in the office kept after me to date him. Well, I worked in payroll. So, one morning, I took all my paperwork into the drafting room where Cliff worked.

I then waltzed over to Cliff and said, “Oh, CLIFF . . . should we go out tonight like we did last night?” He turned bright red and stammered, “Well . . . okay . . . I guess we can.” He was so out of it, I didn’t think he’d show up.

That evening Mother and I stood behind the curtains and peeked out the window, watching for him. Cliff drove up in front of our apartment building right on the minute. We went out that night and had a good enough time, but I was dating another guy–my Steady Eddie.

Well, Steady Eddie’s mother insisted that he drive her to visit friends and relatives on Friday nights, so he asked if that was okay with me. What was I going to say? I agreed. But no way was I going to sit home alone every Friday night, and Cliff was an okay second-string guy.

Back in the ’40s there were rules for dating. First, the guy always asked the girl out. If she accepted, he set the time and picked the place. Both dressed up–coat, tie, white shirt, shined shoes for guys; dress, stockings, heels, white gloves for girls. First date fresh flowers were a must.

Then there was the “how to walk” rule. The guy walked curbside and protected his date from getting hit by a car or splashed with mud. At the end of the evening (girls had a midnight curfew), he walked her to the door, thanked her for a lovely evening, and if it was the first date, he shook her hand.

Never, ever kiss your date goodnight on the first date. After all, she was a good girl, with a reputation to uphold. If she wasn’t a good girl, he could play by an entirely different set of rules!

Anyway, my Steady Eddie eventually went off to World War II and ended up dying in the Bataan Death March. Cliff and I got married and stayed married until Cliff died fifty-three years later. So I guess calling in the second string worked out okay for me.