It went down at 1636 E. 56th Street in Brooklyn. I have no pictures of the blue couches covered in plastic.
If you don’t have time for the full 2 minutes and 40 seconds, jump to the 1:30 mark.
(Editor note: Still feeling my way in WordPress and iMovie, so if anyone has any pointers or suggestions, please please please let me know.)
While some of the letters are detailed accounts of Mickey’s daily life, there are many letters that are just like the one below.
“Botch” shows up a lot in these letters. “Botch” is short for “bacio,” which means “kiss” in Italian. Yes, I realize my last name is Kiss and this coincidence is not lost on me.
Living through these last four stressful/chaotic/anxiety-inducing years, I was eager to learn what my mom and Mickey experienced back then in the 60s. There was a war. JFK was assassinated. People were protesting and fighting for every kind of equality.
It was a maelstrom of historical activity. As young people, surely my mom or Mickey participated in some way.
When I asked, this was her answer:
“No, we didn’t do anything. We were in love with each other, in our own bubble.”
-Arlene
I can understand this – especially now, knowing more about what it means to be privileged. Being lucky enough to not have to fight for your rights (even though women were far from being treated as equal back then). It would be easy for me to throw my hands up in exasperation, frustrated or disappointed by this information. But I know that feeling of being in love, being completely consumed with someone and existing only in that world. Spending every moment you can in his or her orbit. Feeling like you don’t even want to come up for air. Forsaking time with anyone else because they are not “Your Person.”
Now I’m grateful that they had the chance to make their own bubble, before it burst.
In addition to being madly in love with Arlene, Mickey is so supportive of her career aspirations. He encourages her to choose a nursing specialty that is based on what will make her happy, not based on earning potential.
The part that really struck me is when he talks about money. And how it doesn’t automatically make you happy; happiness has to come from within. I’ve learned that Mickey was never this career-driven, “go-gettery” type of guy. Yes, he always wanted to be gainfully employed but surging up the corporate ladder was never one of his goals. I think not having this kind of aspiration could be misconstrued as being lazy or lacking ambition. But when you know who you love and how much that person means to you, there is no tangible value that can be assigned.
Life is to be measured in smiles and laughter, embraces and comfort.
Read this all the way through to the end and see if you don’t feel like an intruder too.
Having read these letters, it’s so unfair that he was taken from her, from our family, so soon. So much love in life, and then that life is cut short.
Mickey is still in basic training. Many of these letters consist of him recounting his day, commenting on Arlene’s activities, and unabashed declarations of love. He mentions his mom, my Nana Sylvia. (Not to be confused with Grandma Sylvia, who was Arlene’s mother. Yes I had two grandmothers named Sylvia.)
My Nana was so sweet. Her nickname was The Duchess, which is what my Poppa called her. They were good people and we saw them for many many years even after Mickey passed away.
Reading letters like this one made me blush.
After a couple of months of writing letters, Mickey and Arlene’s courtship is blossoming. He’s cordial, but at the same time very forward with his feelings about her.
The US entered the Vietnam War in March of 1965, and Mickey decided to be drafted instead of enlisting. (Being drafted meant only serving two years, not three.) He wasn’t motivated to serve his country out of a sense of patriotic duty. He just wanted to get his service over with so he could come back to his life.
In July, 1965 Mickey went off to boot camp at Fort Dix, NJ. This is the first letter I have from him:
At this point, Arlene and Mickey are still just friends. She agrees to write to him while he’s away. It’s all just chill. UNTIL…
He comes home on a 24-hour leave. The gang’s all together, goofing around while they are driving around the neighborhood. Somehow, Arlene winds up sitting on Mickey’s lap. At this point, the chemistry between them is undeniable. Later on that night, Mickey comes over to the house to see Arlene. Sitting together on the blue couch with the plastic slipcovers, he leans over and kisses Arlene for the first time. And that was it.
From then on, it was as if no one else in the universe existed. They were Mickey and Arlene.
It was 1961 in the middle class Jewish neighborhood of Mill Basin in Brooklyn. Arlene was thirteen years old, and a constant presence when her fourteen-year-old older sister Roz, was hanging with her gang of friends. Roz was going out with Mike. Mickey and Mike were best friends, so wherever Mike was, so was Mickey.
One day, Arlene decided to go up to Mickey and talk to him. He took one look at her and said “Flake off!” But that didn’t deter Arlene, and over the next couple of years, she still thought he was cute. She wasn’t going to give up that easily! Now, Mickey was a nice, good boy – a mensch people would say – but he was also painfully shy. Once, when Arlene tried to hold Mickey’s hand during a walk on the beach, he jumped away from her “like he was on fire.” Nevertheless, they remained friends.
Cut to 1963 and Aunt Roz’s Sweet Sixteen party. That was the night when something more began to develop. The party had long ended, and Mickey was lingering around, helping to clean up. Everyone was convinced it was because he wanted to be near Arlene.
By this time, Mickey had graduated and was attending Brooklyn College, studying to be a teacher. At sixteen, Arlene was graduating high school early and going off to Hunter College.
FUN FACT: Arlene wanted to join the Navy because she liked the Naval Nurse uniforms.
But she was convinced to go to Nursing School first, and the rest is gynecological history.
Inspired. Grateful. Thanks for reading.
