It was awful. Martha and Joe had not seen one another since
graduation. Martha’s work had carried her away. Joe had taken
his father’s place on the assembly line. He like the work and
was able to build himself a small nestegg. He drove a Mustang
convertible and drank beer at the bowling alley. Martha had a
little efficiency apartment in Philly with three other girls. She
exchanged contemporary greeting cards with Joe four or five
times a year, though she did not refrain from seeing other boys.
Whether or not she secretly hoped Joe would some day pop the
question is hard to tell—there was Dave, there was Victor and
Bruce. Joe had a piece of land all picked out should he someday
acquire a wife: he would build the house himself, he had always
been good with his hands and loved hard work. His mother and
father worried about him though; he did not have many dates.
Would he ever leave home, bring them grandchildren? These
were questions that haunted them. So they were understandably
proud when they read in the morning paper today about Joe
and “an unidentified airline stewardess from Philadelphia…
committing fornication last night…at the Philharmonic.” The
Orchestra maimed them almost beyond recognition.