Summer Sounds

I love being in the swimming pool in the back yard, especially floating on a raft on a hot, lazy summer day. Today, as I floated I thought about the many things that have changed in my life. Some changes were good and others I desperately long to go back to the way things were.

Yes, I have learned over the years that most things in our lives change. We change the foods we like. We change the fashions we like (thank goodness). Most of us will change our addresses and change jobs. Even our friends will change and sometimes we even change whom we are married to.

But today I realized that for me, there is one thing that has not changed much in my life – summer sounds.

Quietly I floated across the pool with my eyes shut as the sun poured upon my shoulders. Bathing there I heard the peaceful sound of the water moving through the filter. Next I could more clearly hear the sound of the nearby ball field. Kids pinging the balls with aluminum bats. The roar of parents cheering and the lull of coaches instructions. I heard the ice cream truck getting closer and closer up the hill. The hum of a neighbor’s lawnmower.  A plane’s engines buzz slowly across the sky. The occasional barking dog. Kids laughing and slamming screen doors. A bird singing his song to a lover in the distance. These are the sounds that have traveled with me across time.

As I opened my eyes the intensity of the sounds that filled my head lessened. They slowly faded and were tucked back safely away. At least until I need to come back to visit those familar sounds of summer.

Remembering Beverly Hills

When I was just a teenage girl I worked for the Schilling family, Dick, Rick, Ron and Scotty, the owners of the Beverly Hills Supper Club. I was a waitress at Beverly Hills. It was hard work but I loved working there. Each night at 4PM I would arrive to prepare for some type of fun gathering; corporate parties, award banquets, weddings, Bar Mitzvahs, families, friends, always some type of celebration. A place where everyone wore a smile, including me.

I remember the smell of flowers always placed on the tables. Elegant stemware, proper place settings of dishes and flatware. Beautiful chandeliers. Black and white uniform on my small 100 pound frame. Black waitress shoes. My long black hair tied in a pony tail, waving down my back. Water goblets never empty.

I remember my friend, Walter Bailey, the busboy.   He was scheduled that night, too. We worked  at Beverly Hills and often spent time together after work. Later, we would go to Northern Kentucky University to earn our degrees. I miss him from time to time. I often wonder where he might be living with his family. I wonder how much he remembers, how much he doesn’t want to remember…

On that night in May of 1977, celebration turned into disaster when a fast-moving fire broke out in the club. It was an inferno that would leave deep scars still visible three decades later.

I clearly remember that night. I was dressed in my uniform and was ready for work.  I was scheduled in the Cabaret Room, which meant I would get to see much of the show.  It also meant bigger tips.    I  had a change of clothes with me tonight, like many nights, since I would inevitably smell like heavy cigarette smoke from the guests in the club at the end of my shift.

I had been dating a Chase law school student and was quite infatuated with him. He insisted that he drive me to work that night. So, I left my parents house in my uniform, waved and told them I would see them after work. However, as we got on US 27, my friend begged me not to go in to work. I had never missed before. I needed the money but I wanted to be with my friend more. Next, it was fate that took me by the hand. As he asked the third time, I didn't answer him as he drove past the entrance. I just looked up the hill, wondering what I would be missing that night.  I remember a strong feeling that something was different tonight.  He drove toward Cincinnati that night, with no real plans in mind.

Later, that evening we crossed the bridge back into Newport. All we could hear were sirens. We saw several emergency vehicles racing past us. The radio repeatedly announced Beverly Hills Supper Club was on fire and there were reported casualties. I was sure my parents had heard the news and must be worried sick.  There were no cells phones to call and tell my mom and dad I was not there, that I was okay... alive. As we turned the corner on the little street where I lived in Newport, there were many of my family members standing in the street talking, pacing, visibly worried.  I will never forget the complexity of emotions (worry, relief, happiness, sadness) I saw in my parent's eyes that night.   The last thing I remember seeing was the orange glow of the fire above the trees in our yard.  The air felt  heavy with sadness.

It was May 28, 1977 when the Beverly Hills Supper Club in Southgate, KY packed in nearly 1,300 people in the Cabaret room to hear singer John Davidson. A fire broke out, causing panic and overwhelming people, fighting to escape. In the end, 165+ people lost their lives and more than 200 were injured.

For whatever reason, I was not there. Luck? Or divine intervention?