We lived in north Minneapolis, on the first block of Victory Memorial drive, the second house in from Humboldt Avenue. My folks bought the house new back in 1929, 18 years before my birth. Like my house, the first one on the block had two bedrooms with a bath in between on the left side as you come in the front door. To the immediate left a small sun porch blended with the living room that joined the dining room further back from the front door. Behind the dining room, of course, sat the small kitchen and a back door.

     For no reason I can now recall, one day I went next door to visit the girl who lived there. I waved at her parents, exiting the back door and departing for parts unknown in their car. I can't say I had a crush on Judy, although she must have been maybe 14 to my 8 or 9. I think she may have been at least a babysitter for me if not a surrogate older sister. When I went to ring the bell, the inside door was ajar, with only a screen between me and the dining room buffet. OOPS!

     Thinking perhaps her parents had forgotten something, at the sound of the doorbell Judy came running from the bathroom toward the kitchen, a towel wrapped around her. In her haste, she dropped her towel halfway to the kitchen door. As she stooped to pick it up, she turned and saw me standing at the door. With a blood curdling shriek, she darted back to the bathroom, towel flying behind her.

     The damndest thing is, try as I might, I have never been able to remember what happened the next day or any day thereafter between Judy and I. I do know that they sold the house and moved further out of the city, possibly not long after. I will probably never know whether her embarrassment had anything to do with the move. It sure shocked me for a time, but left no lasting trauma--I think.