Both the sunshine and my excitement awakened me, and I climbed out of bed. It was eight o’clock. Searching in my suitcase, I found my shampoo and toothbrush. The YMCA didn’t have in-room bathrooms. Therefore, I walked down the long hallway to a community shower room.
The expansive floor in the men’s shower room resembled the flooring in a barbershop with its black and white tiles. Mocking the need for privacy, each shower was open. I’d hoped at least for showers with surrounding stalls. The sinks were lined up in a row under a huge mirror, as if awaiting inspection. The one set of fixtures enclosed within the entire room were the toilets. I was glad no one arrived to share in that tiled and porcelain bounty while I was there. The emptiness of the vast room was its one true salvation.
Being rather shy, I didn’t want to take a full shower fearing that someone would come in and see me. Instead, I did my best to take a sponge bath, wash and dry my hair, and don my robe. I was soon ready to go back to my room and get dressed. I put on my light blue dress slacks, best shirt, a navy blue vest, and matching suit coat. Nothing but the best will do for today’s meeting.
When I was finished with my careful grooming, I packed up my suitcase along with another trunk-like suitcase, checked the contents of my briefcase, and sat back on the bed. I looked over the audiocassette recorder stored securely in my briefcase. I wanted it in perfect working order because I had plans to do a brief interview sometime during our visit. I also carefully inspected the four old ten-inch records and one seven-inch record I’d brought with me to be autographed. The fragile 78s suffered no damage from my long trip. I was worried about them surviving the journey, even though I’d carefully toted them in my briefcase. My briefcase hadn’t left my hands during the entire bus trip.
It was important that I obtain good photographs. I felt a little concerned as I looked over the Fujica thirty-five-millimeter camera that my brother had loaned me for the trip. I wasn’t sure how to use the sensitive manual camera, but I knew as long as everything was in focus through the viewfinder, the camera would function for me.
Everything was ready. Now, I needed to make my morning phone call.
At almost nine o’clock, I did a final search of my tiny room, grabbed my suitcases and briefcase, and, looking like Jerry Lewis in an old comedy movie, scurried with my luggage to the elevator. When I arrived at the main floor, I asked the man behind the counter where I might find a pay telephone.
“How did you sleep?” I heard the voice at the other end of the line ask.
“Great,” I answered.
“Good. At twelve-thirty, wait for me at the bottom of the steps in front of the hotel. I’ll be arriving in my car to pick you up, and you’ll accompany me on my rounds this afternoon,” he informed me. What am I going to do for the next three and a half hours?
I guess that in my naïve twenty-nine-year-old brain, I’d thought my call was supposed to be the type of call you make when you’re ready to go. I gathered up my luggage and walked back to the elevator and, once again, back to my little room to wait.
I’ll go crazy sitting in my room for so many hours. My belly was full of butterflies. I decided to try to nap. I was a bit dubious because I wore carefully sprayed, collar-length hair, and the last thing I needed was to have a flat-looking head all day. I set my alarm for noon. Carefully, I became horizontal enough to fall into a sound sleep while still wearing my suit.
The alarm rang seemingly minutes after I’d closed my eyes. Hurriedly, I reworked myself into a semblance of respectability. Luckily, my hairdo had survived my three hours of respite. Once again, I carried my luggage to the elevator and rode down to the main floor.
