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scheduled meet with another nearby town which ' brought high school varsity boys and girls but did not bring the scheduled eighth grade teams.
To give the audience its 10-cents worth, it was decided that the boys would play the girls. Well, Jean Perkins and Vivian were forwards for the girls and Donal Bronson and I were the guards. The girls beat us 28 to 12.
I remember Fats Gentry leading a cheer in the balcony that ended with “whose afraid of the eighth grade girls?” Then the entire audience screamed the answer, “the eighth grade boys!” I recall Vivian looked at me as she dribbled off toward the showers, and she smiled.
I saw Vivian once since then. I had returned on a furlough from the Marines early in the war and ran into her on the street in front of the court house where she worked. She said “Hi.” And just kept on walking. I guess she must have thought that I still liked her.
I was in Seattle last year and found daPfhat George had retired there from United Airlines. I called him on the phone to talk about old times. I finally got around to ask about what happened to Vivian. He knew. She had married a wealthy entrepeneur.
She was now a widow with a chain of motels and worth in the neighborhood of $200 million dollars.
I did not call her — I was sure that she would just reject me again.
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