Chapter 3 - The Courtship Begins

I loved having a friend like George, and so did my parents! Truth be told, my mother loved “That nice boy, George” from the moment he first knocked on my door, Christmas Eve 1968, with a gift in hand (I still have it – a red and grey wool scarf). I was at church with College Boyfriend, so George introduced himself and proceeded to win the hearts of my mom and aunt. The subsequent flower drop-offs for my birthdays and holidays sealed the deal for my parents. They recognized in him the goodness their daughter deserved. It took me a bit longer to recognize my “like” for George was also “love"...

May, 1971. The call came a day or two after that unexpected visit. Then others. Usually around 8:00 pm. “I just got off work. Want to go to dinner with me?” I always said yes, even though I had eaten earlier. He picked me up and we headed to Bob’s Big Boy Restaurant, where I learned the first of George’s lovable “quirks” – he always ordered the same thing. “I’ll have a Big Boy Combination Plate, heavy on the bleu (dressing for the salad), a side of onion rings, coffee now and Coke with my meal.”  Every night. No variations to his syntax or order. And each time he called – which was most weeknights - I said yes to his invitation. 

Bob's Big Boy. So many memories. 

We talked about everything and nothing. Two friends together. He would bring me home and we’d exchange a friendly peck on the cheek and a goodnight. I loved our not-a-date nights out. A few weeks into our blooming friendship, George invited me on what would be considered our first date. A Dodgers game.

We both grew up as baseball fans, and the Los Angeles Dodgers were our team. My dad was an avid fan. I can still picture him in his undershirt and belt-loosened work pants, a cold Pabst Blue Ribbon or Schlitz in one hand, Pall Mall cigarette in the other, on the patio on a warm San Fernando Valley evening. Listening to Vin Scully through the static of my little transistor radio, celebrating wins and critiquing losses. I remember the first game Dad took me to. The vivid green of perfectly mowed sod under the brilliant stadium lights; the crack of the bat to a well hit ball; and the roar of the crowd. It was a treat to go to a game with Dad. He taught me to love the game, and I made him proud with my card collection and baseball knowledge. 

If I loved baseball and the Dodgers, George was obsessed! He played as a youngster, made All-Star teams, and continued playing into his teens, until a shoulder injury sidelined him. He spouted statistics, remembered dates and cited ERA’s. 

Vin Scully. Baseball's All Time Greatest

He went so far as to risk suspension in junior high school to hear Vinny call one of the 1963 Dodgers/Yankees World Series games; transistor radio in his pocket, long sleeve shirt hiding the headphone cord, and earpiece in the cupped palm he held to his ear. The plan worked beautifully, until an inning-ending Sandy Koufax strike-out evoked a huge cheer in the middle of his otherwise silent English class. George remained a lifelong fan, and I found it a fitting tribute that his Boys in Blue pulled off a win on George’s last night on earth.

George's 1967 GTO

On a late, May afternoon in 1971, my friend George picked me up in his beautiful blue 1967 GTO, and we made our first trip to Dodger Stadium together.

We had great seats – Field Level – on the third base line. He bought a program and actually used the score sheet inside to record each and every play! George believed in getting to the game in time for batting practice, and we stood near the dugout in hopes of getting our program autographed by one of our favorite players. But the only player willing to sign my program was a rookie who was having a rough spring as a third baseman. He likely wouldn’t be on the team long, we thought, but he gladly signed my outstretched program. I had to take a second look when he handed it back to learn who it was. Steve Garvey! He went on to become a solid first baseman and Dodgers baseball legend.

George spared no expense on me. Dodger Dog. Soda. Peanuts. Frozen malt. And my souvenir of choice – a Dodgers Chinese yo-yo that I joyfully spiraled for the last couple of innings – and which I still have!

I don’t remember the outcome of the game. But by the end of that night I knew I had won. 

Yes, I still have my souvenir from our first date. 

As always, George was attentive and kind. Fun and generous. Well-mannered and respectful. He walked me to the porch, and for the first time we shared a romantic kiss. My stomach fluttered in that moment, and for the next few days as I remembered it. My boy-friend was now my boyfriend. I was thrilled. 

And so were my parents!

Paula and George, 1971