A split-second choice led to a long-term consequence.
November 22, 1963
It was an ordinary Friday afternoon in November, and I was in my McGill dorm brushing my teeth after lunch, about to head to class. A friend from our floor rushed into the room to announce, “President John Kennedy has been shot! In Dallas.”
The shock I felt was visceral. My roommate Randy and I turned on the radio, the most immediate source of information at the time. On every station, solemn commentators were explaining how the President and his wife Jackie had been travelling by motorcade, shots rang out…you know the rest. At that point, details were sparse.
The sickening news quickly spread from room to room, then we heard that all afternoon classes were cancelled. Life was moving at double-speed. President Kennedy had been shot at roughly 12:30 pm Central Time (1:30 pm in Montreal) and at 1 pm the President was declared dead.
“What should we do now?” asked Randy.
“Let’s head over to the Union,” I suggested. “There are TVs over there.”
Feeling shocked and apprehensive, we headed across Sherbrooke Street to the McGill Students’ Union, simply to be surrounded by other kids. Hundreds crowded into the building’s ballroom on the second floor to watch a couple of large TVs. (Screens in the 1960s were tiny compared to today’s jumbo monitors, but it was better than radio.)
Rumours flew among the crowd: “Vice President Johnson was killed too; the assassin was Russian; this is the beginning of World War III, etc.” Terrifying stuff.
Randy drifted away, and then I ran into my friend Bill Pierce*, President of the Union Board of Managers. We had dated for the first five months of 1963. Our romance had run its course but being in his company as this scary world event unfolded was truly comforting. We mingled with the crowd, trying to hear the TV announcers over the din.
Bill’s managerial role provided accommodation in the Union building (now the McCord Museum).
“Do you want to come up to my room for some tea?” he asked. The afternoon was unbelievably stressful and hanging out in a large crowd had grown tiresome.
“That would be wonderful. Thanks!” I followed him up the two flights of stairs. “I just don’t want to be alone today."
Tea turned into supper in the cafeteria, as we periodically checked for news updates on the Union’s TV.
December 8, 1962
Both studying second year Science, Bill Pierce and I had never met. Right after singing in a McGill Glee Club Christmas concert, other singers and I strolled home past his Delta Kappa Epsilon fraternity house, near the corner of Pine and University.
Hanging out on the front stoop, this good-looking, gregarious guy struck up a chat with me, invited me into the party, and later walked me back to residence. I found his dirty-blonde hair, blue eyes, and great sense of humour most attractive.
He was 21, I was 17, and we dated exclusively until May 1963. We had fun in each other’s company, but nothing serious. He was actually a bit loud for mousy little me. When classes concluded, I headed off to Europe with my parents and Bill went home to California to a summer job.
Neither of us pledged to remain faithful while apart. Over the summer months, we exchanged a couple of friendly letters, but there was no expectation that we would become a couple again in September.
Just before autumn classes started up, Bill invited me to become Secretary of the Union Board of Managers. There were ten attendees at monthly meetings and I was keen to develop secretarial skills.
Although it took ages for me to type up minutes on the decrepit manual typewriter in my basement office, I enjoyed the challenge of trying to objectively and accurately capture decisions made by attendees.
Discussing our respective summers during an October post-meeting chat, Bill said, “Recently I had to head home to California to support a girlfriend while she had an abortion.” Umm. I’m glad I didn’t expect us to start dating again this fall, I thought. Obviously,he didn’t plan for us to date again either.
During our months as an item, Bill introduced me to sexual pleasure, but sleeping with him was too risky for me. It might have jeopardized my McGill journey because early 1960s contraception was just too unreliable. (At Thanksgiving, a girl on my floor had to withdraw when she found herself pregnant and move back to New York.)
Clearly, if Bill used a contraceptive in California, it had failed.
December 12,1963
About three weeks after Kennedy’s assassination, Bill and I had coffee together before a Board meeting. Neither of us was in a romantic relationship; our friendship was platonic and
occasional.
“Would you like to meet up tomorrow night?” he said. “Just a casual drink before we each go home for Christmas.”
“Yeah sure, that would be fun. I’ll be busy packing, so wander over to RVC anytime.”
Any man arriving at Royal Victoria College had to meekly ask Reception to phone my room, whereupon I’d meet him in the lobby. This 1960s anachronism kept the sexes apart – in McGill residences,
anyway.
December 13,1963
By 7:45 pm I’d hauled out a suitcase to pack for my three-week holiday break in Beaconsfield. There was a knock at the door and there stood Becky, one of the coolest girls in the dorm.
“Hey Pat, do you want to go out on a blind date tonight?”
“Who with?” I was amazed to even be considered.
“Colin Graham. He’s a DU. There are three DUs downstairs now. Sue and I are going out with two of them, and you’d be with Colin. He’s nice.”
“Where are you all going?”
“To Mark Saunders’ house in Town of Mount Royal. Please come along. It’ll be fun!” I didn’t ask if she’d tried other more beautiful, sophisticated candidates first, but she likely had.
On the spot, with Becky standing in the hall smiling encouragement, I quickly weighed my options. Should I pick familiar Bill or mysterious Colin for this last McGill evening before Christmas? I didn’t use the rhyme “Eeeny, meeny, miney, mo” or do anything to randomize the choice.
Within mere seconds, I thought, I sort of have plans to see Bill for a drink, but that’s a dead end. I have no interest in ever dating him again. He probably won’t even show up. However, the brothers of Delta Upsilon are super cool.
I cavalierly dismissed the plan to see Bill – it felt tentative, after all.
“Okay, Becky,” I said, “I’ll be down right away.” I slipped into a sage green sweater with matching knitted skirt.
Mark Saunders’ parents were out of town, and this was my first house party with such freedom. After a while the other four participants slipped off into bedrooms. In the living room, Colin and I sat alone in deep conversation, becoming acquainted, and enthralled with each other.
Colin turned out to be smart, handsome, engaging, and well worth dating. The fact that we married just over four years later indicates I picked the right guy on that fateful evening of Friday the thirteenth.
*Names have been changed