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Inquiring minds want to know what you did on your last night in Rio. So think back a moment, sit down and start writing. Give us all the details. Did you spend all night hanging with friends? Spend it with a certain special someone? A not so special someone? At a despedida? Walking the beach? Now is the time to record the events surrounding your departure. Don't worry, we won't tell your kids! Don't forget to include the song titles that take you back to that time!!! Music is truly a wonderful thing.
"Escrevi teu nôme na areia, a onda do mar levou, eu fiquei chorando, sô a saudade ficou. . ." |
We'd like to here about your last night in Rio, too. Please take a moment and tell us what you remember of that last night or day.
Letter from Tom Page:
We stayed at the old
Hotel Leblon at the
end of the beach for several weeks before
leaving Rio for New York, in December, 1953.
My father was on old friend of the hotel
owners, Jose, Chico, e João, and they were
my friends, too. Several days before
we left, the mother of my girlfriend Tinka called to invite me for dinner on my last
night in Rio.
On the appointed evening, I walked down the beachfront to
Tinka's house. Her parents and her two younger
brothers were away at the Gavea Golf Club for dinner, and
her mother had left us there alone for the evening.
Their maid prepared dinner for Tinka and me. I
stayed until around 22:30 hours, and left to walk back to
the Hotel Leblon just as Tinka's family arrived from
Gavea. Tinka's mom graciously coordinated my
"going away" evening with Tinka. My
obligação to her remains after all the years.
I remember my sadness and my awareness of
loss as I walked along the beach to the hotel. I was leaving some of
the best friends I ever had and leaving my
first girlfriend, and I didn't know when,
if ever, I'd return. I had to wait
ten years, but I returned to Rio as a young
man. I didn't really know it then,
but I had left as one in 1953, too.
Tom Page "maudx@yahoo.com
Letter from Anonymous:
We were leaving Rio on June 16 for the USA. To be honest, I wasn't thrilled. My family spent the 15th with coworkers of my dad, some kind of boring party. But the food was good, or so I thought: vatapa, caipirinhas, etc. Unfortunately, something in the good food was bad and I spent my last night throwing up, the whole night into the next morning. At the time, death would have been a preferred choice, but I'm glad I survived.
Letter from Bruce Stirling '70:
We left Rio in April, 1965. The Brazilian moving company, FINK, packed up all of our belongings in Leblon. We prepared for departure by checking back into the Miramar Hotel, where our Rio adventure began almost four years earlier in 1961. I was in the 7th Grade. As strange as it might seem, I looked forward to home leave in Tucson, AZ. A chance to see old friends again, and I looked forward to our new diplomatic post in Tegucigalpa, Honduras, where I was assured we'd have horses. Hey, what did I know? I was only 12!
Word spread we were leaving, all except April, who was allowed to remain behind to graduate. Our monkey (Bigorrilho), the parrot, and the dog were leaving, too. Approximately 18 feral cats were shipped downtown to the "cat park," where they were left to fend for themselves amongst the cat lovers. My mother still feels bad about the cats. If left on Dois Irmaos, they would end up as samba drums.
I remember a "despedida," where the class presented me with a small gaucho knife, a key chain address book with Maracanã stadium on it, and Neil Goldstein gave me a Jacarandá letter opener (he doesn't remember this anymore). Still have them all. At the "despedida," Raymond Simonpietri approached me and told me, "Ann wants to go steady with you tonight before you leave," or words to that effect. I remember seeing Ann over his shoulder looking on from a distance. I'd never gone steady with anyone. I was elated, yet I think I spent the rest of the night too shy to go anywhere near her. I don't remember what I told Raymond. I lived with that memory for a lot of years. I saw Ann again, 22 years later, at the 50th Anniversary in 1987 in Rio. I never mentioned it to her. Even though Ann was one of the many people I hoped would attend the reunion, I spent that night without really talking to her. I didn't want to know that Raymond made the whole thing up, or to discover that Ann had no memory of it.
I thought I could handle leaving Rio, but I was sad about leaving the new girls behind, Jeanette, Bronnie, and Iona, not to mention long time loves, Suzie and Cathy. I used to sing myself to sleep in 1964-65 and for some time thereafter to Trini Lopez's "Angelita" (from "The Latin Album") thinking about Suzy. We rode on the back of beer trucks up the "zigue zague" at the end of Leblon, and I used to walk her home from school. Cathy and I went to camp together at Acampamento Araras, and we exchanged mail up until 1968. I had a crush on half of the class. And this was just 7th grade!
Our last night began with a rush hour limo trip from the Miramar to the docks, where we boarded the Delta Line steamship, the Del Mar. To my amazement, Cathy showed up to see us off. We stood on the docks, and I remember her summoning me aside to express emotions that had previously gone unspoken. The Beatle songs, "I'll Follow The Sun" and "Things We Said Today," always take me back to dockside that night. The sun was going down and the city lights were starting to shimmer. Last call for those going ashore was announced, so we walked to the gangway. Hurried and awkward kisses were exchanged. I returned to my room already missing everyone. When I went back on deck, Rio's lights were just fading from view, and my three sisters (Penny, Robin, and Mercy) were all crying miserably on the deck railing. It would be 21 years before I returned. I always wondered what it would have been like to stay and graduate from EA. "Of all sad things of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, 'it might have been.'"
Letter from Dave McGuerty '72:
Goodbye
to Rio
This isn't a night experience - it's a day one (can't
recall that evening). I wandered down to Arpoador all by myself and layed
out on the sand staring at the sky. Not a cloud in
the sky and all I could see was blue. I could hear
the waves and a few people. I just marveled at that rare
point in life where there are no obligations. There
were no tests to study for, no homework. Only
uncertainty and mystery on the horizon. What would
college be like? It seemed such a grown-up
concept. Was I ready for that? I didn't
realize at the time just how well EA had prepared me for
later-life experiences. I just kept looking up at
the sky and running through lots of good memories of what I was about to
leave. That which would never be repeated.
Because I believe we were there in the golden years of
EA.
No
one could have had it better. I stared at the sky
and saw it as a clean slate, vanquishing myself of all
the past sins of my past childhood. I
promised myself that I would always remember that moment
- and I have. It's still very special. I want to return
to that same spot upon my return. My senior quote
was from a Jethro Tull song: "Each to his own way
and I'll go mine, best of luck with what you find, but
for your own sake remember times....we used to
know."
Tchau e abracos. Dave McGuerty '72
Letter from Jose I. Perez, Jr. '79:
Last Night in Rio
I
sat back and tried to remember exactly what I did my last
night in Rio. Unfortunately, too many years (among
other things) prevent me from remembering all the events
of my last night there. However, I do remember
going to graduation night (Class of '79) one or two days
before I left back for the States. After just
having read Ruth Judd's recollections of that same
evening brought the memories RUSHING back -- what a trip!
Leslie Wilmot and I had already broken up but I was still very much in love with her and I asked her to come to the dance with me. She agreed but things were not the same as they once were. I think we got into a fight and I do not recall spending too much time with her... I am truly sorry to say.
It was a crazy night of drinking and talking and just trying to see everyone one last time. I had spent most of my year in Rio with Leslie, for which I have no regrets, however, I had not spent as much time with some of the other really wonderful people whom I had the pleasure of making friends with during that magical year.
I probably drank too much, which is why I have the lapses in total recollection that I am experiencing. Fortunately, though, I still remember that feeling of joy and excitement of having graduated from high school and getting ready for college but also that quiet desperation borne from the fact that I would be leaving something behind that I had never known...and never would again.
I grew up in Rio and now I was leaving something that felt so right and something that I didn't quite have the time, in one short year, to fully experience. I was leaving behind my first love -- someone, unbeknownst to me, I would not stop thinking about for my first two years in college. I was leaving a beautiful place with beautiful people and a rhythm of life I would never quite sense again (although Miami came close!).
I was also at Juliet's breakfast buffet and remember walking the two blocks back to my house at 6:30 or 7:00 AM. It was weird. I wish I could have stayed another year at least. I have since led a very productive and happy life and I have no regrets at all. However, that time in Rio was special and none of us will ever again know that combination of youth, exuberance, curiosity, encounters, and just the beautiful place we were in again.
If I knew then what I know now, my last night in Rio would not have been my last night in Rio.
Jose
Perez
Class of '79
jiperez@bellsouth.com
Letter from David Martin '69
A Rio Story
Good Bye Olga and Rio
Since 1969 I've wondered whatever happened to Olga
Peters. It seems hers was the last face of a
classmate at the Escola Americana I saw before leaving
Rio. My last night in Rio turned into quite an
adventure.
Seems we all ended up at that bar we hung out at down near Arpoador Beach for a good bye party. I was 16 and believed I was cool drinking Tom Collins. With the hour getting late and Saco 69's, the "tchaus," "keep in touch," and "good lucks" about over, I went to get on the #210 bus to Leblon to head home, Jonathan Van Speir had to give me one last good buy hug. Well the bus driver didn't have time for that, the money taker at the back laughed out "o viados" and they took off.
I had too many Tom Collins in me at that time and stumbled around from the street side of the bar toward the beach so I could run home along the beach at the water's edge. Something I did everyday back then in training for track. Though not always at that late dark hour with a stumble in my step. It would be faster to just run on home rather than wait for the next bus. It would be no problem that night. I crossed the road stepping around the flickering Macumba candles and offerings along the curbs of the street toward the beach. I was across the black and white marble mosaic sidewalk and down the short jump of the seawall and on to the sand. It felt good to get my loafers off and feel the cool sand around my feet again. One more run home before catching that plane stateside in the rapidly approaching day.
It was not unusual for me to run before daybreak and watch the sun come up over the water at the rocks at Arpoador. That is a part of the beauty of Rio that stays fresh in my memory. A restless adolescent night would have me up in the early dark of morning. I would watch the slow graying of the night from the beach before it spread over the bluing of the night into morning on the horizon. It is the reminder of the flood of feelings of adolescence to be resolved. The joy and wonder of the solitude of the morning in the glowing rush of color, with a lonely longing to share this beauty with someone. The orange sparkle and reflection of the sun at water's edge. The sheer joy of running through the lapping waves feeling the soft warm water bubbling around my feet in the quiet morning. The steady rhythm of the rising passing waves at water's edge and my feet gently slapping the wet sand. The day and I advanced as the rocks at the point between Ipanema and Copacabana drew near. I would watch the sun rise sitting on the rocks at the end of the point. The sun would crack the horizon and the cool night breeze rising rounding red, to orange to hot white over the deep blue water. A giant manta would break out of the waves splashing down in the morning white glow. The city beginning to stir behind me in the advancing dawn.
This would be my last night in Rio and I could run home along the beach and watch the sunrise in Leblon before heading home. Before I made it to the water's edge, three dark shapes appeared around me. I recall something in my back, my grandfather's watch slipping from my wrist, and my near empty wallet with twenty cents worth of busfare and my track medal in it jerked from my pocket. The thugs had followed me down to the beach and had decided to liberate my possessions from me. Had they also spotted my class of '69 ring with the single red stone? My fist was clenched tight trying to hide it. One of them grabbed my hand as he attempted to open my fingers, the question was spoken. Do you want to die, sabe, and another jab in the back opened my hand. The ring was gone.
I was now down on the sand. Then came a kick toward the stomach. Well, in my young pride I showed them. I was tough and strong from the daily routine of miles of running, and countless sit-ups and calisthenics, I just tightened up my abs and no harm done. They were gone. If I hadn't been so stupid drunk, I could have easily run off into the night and they would have never gotten close. I ran on back toward Leblon barefoot in the dark at the water's edge. The adrenaline was pumping, frustrated and angry at the whole situation with a thousand what ifs, playing the scene over and over different ways in my mind.
I ended up in the small square in front of her door at about some late hour in the A.M. Karate kicking a tree, "that's what I should have done to them," and hurting my foot. I needed to vent my frustration and anger. I needed a friendly face. She was a good friend, and we shared the prom and some walks and a kiss at the Jardim Botanico back then. How to do this? My last night in Rio can't end like this. I couldn't be knocking on the door this late? I picked up a large leaf and began to write a note on it. Someone had noticed me and dad was at the doorway puzzled with this kid and not impressed. No I didn't know what time it was, they stole my watch. The details of our conversation are vague from there and I don't remember what we said to each other. The sun rose on Leblon beach without me. I walked home with the predawn light on the streets to explain the night to my parents. A long flight stateside later that day and a new adventure from there. Haven't heard from her since.
I still have the leaf. The words stop after "a leaf would you believe. If....." It is pressed in my yearbook and brown with thirty years. Good bye Olga, Ate logo Rio.
Letter from Ruthie Judd:
My last night in
Rio was my graduation night. To say I had mixed
emotions would be an understatement. I was leaving
my home of almost eight years - the longest I've lived
anywhere to this day. I was also graduating; I was
ready to move on as most seniors are, and I was
excited about college and returning to the USA.
I was also leaving behind romance in my life, and going
to another. There was a guy I knew in the states
who I had a pretty big crush on. But, I was also
leaving behind a guy who cared deeply for me. To
say I had a relationship with this young man in Rio would
be misleading. Yet, there was something.
As most women will remember, the men on the streets were
fond of calling out phrases to us. My street,
Garcia D'Vila, that I walked everyday, was no exception.
At first I found this scary and alarming, but I soon
realized that the comments were harmless. Well, in
my senior year of high school it all stopped.
Walking down the street no longer elicited
comments. I was both pleased and curious.
I went to the source of all wisdom on the street - my
maid Edie. Apparently, one of the young men who
worked in one of the stores was in love with me. I
had spoken with him several times as a customer and had
taken note that he was always smiling so broadly (if not
beautifully) when I came in.
I recall only one incident where we spoke outside of the
usual patron - customer relationship. It was one of
those glorious tropical downpours - so refreshing and
drenching at the same time. I was skipping and
dancing (yes, I know it sounds corny) down the sidewalk,
when he came running out of the store brandishing an
umbrella. No amount of arguing could persuade him I
really didn't need the umbrella - he insisted. So,
I gave up, thanked him and asked if he would like to
accompany me home. He was horrified - no he
couldn't. So, I told him I would return the
umbrella later. He was again aghast - no he would
come and pick it up later, which he did. It dawned
on me that he knew where I lived. But he was
such a sweet and august person I wasn't worried.
Months after we left, my dad went back to give him a
dictionary he'd promised him. My father
learned he'd tried to kill himself.
This brings me to my last night. Graduation
night. The ceremony seemed insignificant in
comparison to my emotional state. Later, as was
tradition, I stayed up all night with friends after the
champagne ball at Gavea Golf Club. I recall hanging
out with Sherwood and my friends from Youth Group, Iona,
Bob, Sandy, and Joanie, until the breakfast buffet at
Juliet's. That was the last time I saw my
friends and classmates.
As I walked to the hotel that had been my home for
months, I meandered slowly down the beach. I must
of looked quite a sight in my long off-white dress,
carrying my heels and lifting my skirt to avoid the water
when it came too high. I enjoyed the sunrise and
the solitude. I wish I could tell you of grand and
lofty thoughts, but in truth I was numb, empty. Is
it possible to even describe leaving Rio? Poets
have their work cut out for them. There is no more
magical place, Brazil itself is one great "Green
Mansion."
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Letter from Tom Page:
We stayed at the old
Hotel Leblon at the
end of the beach for several weeks before
leaving Rio for New York, in December, 1953.
My father was on old friend of the hotel
owners, Jose, Chico, e João, and they were
my friends, too. Several days before
we left, the mother of my girlfriend Tinka called to invite me for dinner on my last
night in Rio.
On the appointed evening, I walked down the beachfront to
Tinka's house. Her parents and her two younger
brothers were away at the Gavea Golf Club for dinner, and
her mother had left us there alone for the evening.
Their maid prepared dinner for Tinka and me. I
stayed until around 22:30 hours, and left to walk back to
the Hotel Leblon just as Tinka's family arrived from
Gavea. Tinka's mom graciously coordinated my
"going away" evening with Tinka. My
obligação to her remains after all the years.
I remember my sadness and my awareness of
loss as I walked along the beach to the hotel. I was leaving some of
the best friends I ever had and leaving my
first girlfriend, and I didn't know when,
if ever, I'd return. I had to wait
ten years, but I returned to Rio as a young
man. I didn't really know it then,
but I had left as one in 1953, too.
Tom Page "maudx@yahoo.com
Letter from Anonymous:
We were leaving Rio on June 16 for the USA. To be honest, I wasn't thrilled. My family spent the 15th with coworkers of my dad, some kind of boring party. But the food was good, or so I thought: vatapa, caipirinhas, etc. Unfortunately, something in the good food was bad and I spent my last night throwing up, the whole night into the next morning. At the time, death would have been a preferred choice, but I'm glad I survived.
Letter from Bruce Stirling '70:
We left Rio in April, 1965. The Brazilian moving company, FINK, packed up all of our belongings in Leblon. We prepared for departure by checking back into the Miramar Hotel, where our Rio adventure began almost four years earlier in 1961. I was in the 7th Grade. As strange as it might seem, I looked forward to home leave in Tucson, AZ. A chance to see old friends again, and I looked forward to our new diplomatic post in Tegucigalpa, Honduras, where I was assured we'd have horses. Hey, what did I know? I was only 12!
Word spread we were leaving, all except April, who was allowed to remain behind to graduate. Our monkey (Bigorrilho), the parrot, and the dog were leaving, too. Approximately 18 cats were shipped downtown to the "cat park," where they were left to fend for themselves amongst the cat lovers. My mother still feels bad about the cats.
I remember a "despedida," where the class presented me with a small gaucho knife, a key chain address book with Maracanã stadium on it, and Neil Goldstein gave me a Jacarandá letter opener (he doesn't remember this anymore). Still have them all. At the "despedida," Raymond Simonpietri approached me and told me, "Ann wants to go steady with you tonight before you leave," or words to that effect. I remember seeing Ann over his shoulder looking on from a distance. I'd never gone steady with anyone. I was elated, yet I think I spent the rest of the night too shy to go anywhere near her. I don't remember what I told Raymond. I lived with that memory for a lot of years. I saw Ann again, 22 years later, at the 50th Anniversary in 1987 in Rio. I never mentioned it to her. Even though Ann was one of the many people I hoped would attend the reunion, I spent that night without really talking to her. I didn't want to know that Raymond made the whole thing up, or to discover that Ann had no memory of it.
I thought I could handle leaving Rio, but I was sad about leaving the new girls behind, Jeanette, Bronnie, and Iona, not to mention long time loves, Suzy and Cathy. I used to sing myself to sleep in 1964-65 and for some time thereafter to Trini Lopez's "Angelita" (from "The Latin Album") thinking about Suzy. We rode on the back of beer trucks up the "zigue zague" at the end of Leblon, and I used to walk her home from school. Cathy and I went to camp together at Acampamento Araras, and we exchanged mail up until 1968. I had a crush on half of the class. And this was just 7th grade!
Our last night began with a rush hour limo trip from the Miramar to the docks, where we boarded the Delta Line steamship, the Del Mar. To my amazement, Cathy showed up to see us off. We stood on the docks, and I remember her summoning me aside to express emotions that had previously gone unspoken. The Beatle songs, "I'll Follow The Sun" and "Things We Said Today," always take me back to dockside that night. The sun was going down and the city lights were starting to shimmer. Last call for those going ashore was announced, so we walked to the gangway. Hurried and awkward kisses were exchanged. I returned to my room already missing everyone. When I went back on deck, Rio's lights were just fading from view, and my three sisters (Penny, Robin, and Mercy) were all crying miserably on the deck railing. It would be 21 years before I returned. I always wondered what it would have been like to stay and graduate from EA. "Of all sad things of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, 'it might have been.'"
Letter from Dave McGuerty '72:
Goodbye
to Rio
This isn't a night experience - it's a day one (can't
recall that evening). I wandered down to Arpoador all by myself and layed
out on the sand staring at the sky. Not a cloud in
the sky and all I could see was blue. I could hear
the waves and a few people. I just marveled at that rare
point in life where there are no obligations. There
were no tests to study for, no homework. Only
uncertainty and mystery on the horizon. What would
college be like? It seemed such a grown-up
concept. Was I ready for that? I didn't
realize at the time just how well EA had prepared me for
later-life experiences. I just kept looking up at
the sky and running through lots of good memories of what I was about to
leave. That which would never be repeated.
Because I believe we were there in the golden years of
EA.
No
one could have had it better. I stared at the sky
and saw it as a clean slate, vanquishing myself of all
the past sins of my past childhood. I
promised myself that I would always remember that moment
- and I have. It's still very special. I want to return
to that same spot upon my return. My senior quote
was from a Jethro Tull song: "Each to his own way
and I'll go mine, best of luck with what you find, but
for your own sake remember times....we used to
know."
Tchau e abracos. Dave McGuerty '72
Letter from Jose I. Perez, Jr. '79:
Last Night in Rio
I
sat back and tried to remember exactly what I did my last
night in Rio. Unfortunately, too many years (among
other things) prevent me from remembering all the events
of my last night there. However, I do remember
going to graduation night (Class of '79) one or two days
before I left back for the States. After just
having read Ruth Judd's recollections of that same
evening brought the memories RUSHING back -- what a trip!
Leslie Wilmot and I had already broken up but I was still very much in love with her and I asked her to come to the dance with me. She agreed but things were not the same as they once were. I think we got into a fight and I do not recall spending too much time with her... I am truly sorry to say.
It was a crazy night of drinking and talking and just trying to see everyone one last time. I had spent most of my year in Rio with Leslie, for which I have no regrets, however, I had not spent as much time with some of the other really wonderful people whom I had the pleasure of making friends with during that magical year.
I probably drank too much, which is why I have the lapses in total recollection that I am experiencing. Fortunately, though, I still remember that feeling of joy and excitement of having graduated from high school and getting ready for college but also that quiet desperation borne from the fact that I would be leaving something behind that I had never known...and never would again.
I grew up in Rio and now I was leaving something that felt so right and something that I didn't quite have the time, in one short year, to fully experience. I was leaving behind my first love -- someone, unbeknownst to me, I would not stop thinking about for my first two years in college. I was leaving a beautiful place with beautiful people and a rhythm of life I would never quite sense again (although Miami came close!).
I was also at Juliet's breakfast buffet and remember walking the two blocks back to my house at 6:30 or 7:00 AM. It was weird. I wish I could have stayed another year at least. I have since led a very productive and happy life and I have no regrets at all. However, that time in Rio was special and none of us will ever again know that combination of youth, exuberance, curiosity, encounters, and just the beautiful place we were in again.
If I knew then what I know now, my last night in Rio would not have been my last night in Rio.
Jose
Perez
Class of '79
jiperez@bellsouth.com
Letter from David Martin '69
A Rio Story
Good Bye Olga and Rio
Since 1969 I've wondered whatever happened to Olga
Peters. It seems hers was the last face of a
classmate at the Escola Americana I saw before leaving
Rio. My last night in Rio turned into quite an
adventure.
Seems we all ended up at that bar we hung out at down near Arpoador Beach for a good bye party. I was 16 and believed I was cool drinking Tom Collins. With the hour getting late and Saco 69's, the "tchaus," "keep in touch," and "good lucks" about over, I went to get on the #210 bus to Leblon to head home, Jonathan Van Speir had to give me one last good buy hug. Well the bus driver didn't have time for that, the money taker at the back laughed out "o viados" and they took off.
I had too many Tom Collins in me at that time and stumbled around from the street side of the bar toward the beach so I could run home along the beach at the water's edge. Something I did everyday back then in training for track. Though not always at that late dark hour with a stumble in my step. It would be faster to just run on home rather than wait for the next bus. It would be no problem that night. I crossed the road stepping around the flickering Macumba candles and offerings along the curbs of the street toward the beach. I was across the black and white marble mosaic sidewalk and down the short jump of the seawall and on to the sand. It felt good to get my loafers off and feel the cool sand around my feet again. One more run home before catching that plane stateside in the rapidly approaching day.
It was not unusual for me to run before daybreak and watch the sun come up over the water at the rocks at Arpoador. That is a part of the beauty of Rio that stays fresh in my memory. A restless adolescent night would have me up in the early dark of morning. I would watch the slow graying of the night from the beach before it spread over the bluing of the night into morning on the horizon. It is the reminder of the flood of feelings of adolescence to be resolved. The joy and wonder of the solitude of the morning in the glowing rush of color, with a lonely longing to share this beauty with someone. The orange sparkle and reflection of the sun at water's edge. The sheer joy of running through the lapping waves feeling the soft warm water bubbling around my feet in the quiet morning. The steady rhythm of the rising passing waves at water's edge and my feet gently slapping the wet sand. The day and I advanced as the rocks at the point between Ipanema and Copacabana drew near. I would watch the sun rise sitting on the rocks at the end of the point. The sun would crack the horizon and the cool night breeze rising rounding red, to orange to hot white over the deep blue water. A giant manta would break out of the waves splashing down in the morning white glow. The city beginning to stir behind me in the advancing dawn.
This would be my last night in Rio and I could run home along the beach and watch the sunrise in Leblon before heading home. Before I made it to the water's edge, three dark shapes appeared around me. I recall something in my back, my grandfather's watch slipping from my wrist, and my near empty wallet with twenty cents worth of busfare and my track medal in it jerked from my pocket. The thugs had followed me down to the beach and had decided to liberate my possessions from me. Had they also spotted my class of '69 ring with the single red stone? My fist was clenched tight trying to hide it. One of them grabbed my hand as he attempted to open my fingers, the question was spoken. Do you want to die, sabe, and another jab in the back opened my hand. The ring was gone.
I was now down on the sand. Then came a kick toward the stomach. Well, in my young pride I showed them. I was tough and strong from the daily routine of miles of running, and countless sit-ups and calisthenics, I just tightened up my abs and no harm done. They were gone. If I hadn't been so stupid drunk, I could have easily run off into the night and they would have never gotten close. I ran on back toward Leblon barefoot in the dark at the water's edge. The adrenaline was pumping, frustrated and angry at the whole situation with a thousand what ifs, playing the scene over and over different ways in my mind.
I ended up in the small square in front of her door at about some late hour in the A.M. Karate kicking a tree, "that's what I should have done to them," and hurting my foot. I needed to vent my frustration and anger. I needed a friendly face. She was a good friend, and we shared the prom and some walks and a kiss at the Jardim Botanico back then. How to do this? My last night in Rio can't end like this. I couldn't be knocking on the door this late? I picked up a large leaf and began to write a note on it. Someone had noticed me and dad was at the doorway puzzled with this kid and not impressed. No I didn't know what time it was, they stole my watch. The details of our conversation are vague from there and I don't remember what we said to each other. The sun rose on Leblon beach without me. I walked home with the predawn light on the streets to explain the night to my parents. A long flight stateside later that day and a new adventure from there. Haven't heard from her since.
I still have the leaf. The words stop after "a leaf would you believe. If....." It is pressed in my yearbook and brown with thirty years. Good bye Olga, Ate logo Rio.
Letter from Ruthie Judd:
My last night in
Rio was my graduation night. To say I had mixed
emotions would be an understatement. I was leaving
my home of almost eight years - the longest I've lived
anywhere to this day. I was also graduating; I was
ready to move on as most seniors are, and I was
excited about college and returning to the USA.
I was also leaving behind romance in my life, and going
to another. There was a guy I knew in the states
who I had a pretty big crush on. But, I was also
leaving behind a guy who cared deeply for me. To
say I had a relationship with this young man in Rio would
be misleading. Yet, there was something.
As most women will remember, the men on the streets were
fond of calling out phrases to us. My street,
Garcia D'Vila, that I walked everyday, was no exception.
At first I found this scary and alarming, but I soon
realized that the comments were harmless. Well, in
my senior year of high school it all stopped.
Walking down the street no longer elicited
comments. I was both pleased and curious.
I went to the source of all wisdom on the street - my
maid Edie. Apparently, one of the young men who
worked in one of the stores was in love with me. I
had spoken with him several times as a customer and had
taken note that he was always smiling so broadly (if not
beautifully) when I came in.
I recall only one incident where we spoke outside of the
usual patron - customer relationship. It was one of
those glorious tropical downpours - so refreshing and
drenching at the same time. I was skipping and
dancing (yes, I know it sounds corny) down the sidewalk,
when he came running out of the store brandishing an
umbrella. No amount of arguing could persuade him I
really didn't need the umbrella - he insisted. So,
I gave up, thanked him and asked if he would like to
accompany me home. He was horrified - no he
couldn't. So, I told him I would return the
umbrella later. He was again aghast - no he would
come and pick it up later, which he did. It dawned
on me that he knew where I lived. But he was
such a sweet and august person I wasn't worried.
Months after we left, my dad went back to give him a
dictionary he'd promised him. My father
learned he'd tried to kill himself.
This brings me to my last night. Graduation
night. The ceremony seemed insignificant in
comparison to my emotional state. Later, as was
tradition, I stayed up all night with friends after the
champagne ball at Gavea Golf Club. I recall hanging
out with Sherwood and my friends from Youth Group, Iona,
Bob, Sandy, and Joanie, until the breakfast buffet at
Juliet's. That was the last time I saw my
friends and classmates.
As I walked to the hotel that had been my home for
months, I meandered slowly down the beach. I must
of looked quite a sight in my long off-white dress,
carrying my heels and lifting my skirt to avoid the water
when it came too high. I enjoyed the sunrise and
the solitude. I wish I could tell you of grand and
lofty thoughts, but in truth I was numb, empty. Is
it possible to even describe leaving Rio? Poets
have their work cut out for them. There is no more
magical place, Brazil itself is one great "Green
Mansion."
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