I was driving my Volkswagen Beetle west on Hollywood Boulevard on the evening of Friday, May 12, 1961 when Katie first noticed the fire. I had been trying to get a date with Katie for weeks. She was the only female in the Sunset Boulevard branch of United California Bank where we both worked who was worth a second look, and I was beginning to think that perhaps she considered me to not be worth a second look.
But today she had cornered me in the bank lunchroom. By cornered I mean exactly that. I had just purchased a coke from the machine to drink with my brown-bag lunch. The dispenser was against the wall in the far corner of the room, and after I extracted my coke and turned around she was standing nose to nose with me. She was so close I had trouble focusing on her blond hair, blue eyes, and that nose with the interesting little point on it. But I could see the serious expression on her face.
My first feeling was panic. Was I in trouble? Had I offended her in some way? All I had done was to ask her out on several occasions. She had always brushed me off. Had I overstepped propriety? I glanced to the right and left without moving my head, looking for an escape route.
“What are you doing tonight?”
The tone in her voice demanded an answer. It didn’t assuage my unease.
“Tonight?” Why was she asking? “I—uh—I don’t—”
“Gone with the Wind is playing at Grauman’s. Do you want to see it?”
Gone with the Wind. The classic Civil War story. I had read the book as a child after finding it in my parents’ library. The movie version had come out in 1939. Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” The movie had been re-issued in 1961. This was 1961.
“Well?”
Katie was impatiently waiting for an answer.
“Uh, I’ve never seen it.”
“Neither have I. That’s why I’m asking.”
***
“The hills are on fire!”
Katie’s voice was urgent. I lowered my head so I could see the Hollywood Hills that towered over the city of dreams, through my windshield. Sure enough, the sky was a vivid red color. A fire was raging above us. However, down here on the boulevard it was business as usual. Cars inched their way along through the Friday night traffic.
“Do you think the fire will come down here?” Katie sounded worried.
Although it looked ferocious, I suspected the fire was at least a mile away and well above us. I tried to sound calm.
“Fires usually burn uphill. And the wind isn’t blowing in our direction. I think we’ll be safe.”
I didn’t add that I pitied the poor homeowners who lived in the hills above us. I had done some exploring up there. Many of the homes were on narrow streets and cantilevered over steep hillsides full of dry brush. Los Angeles was suffering from a prolonged drought.
Katie kept a wary eye on the fire as we approached the famous theater. I was poor in those days and didn’t like to pay for parking. Fortunately, I found an empty spot on the street, around the corner from the theater. Taking that as a good omen, I tried to hold Katie’s hand as we walked toward the courtyard where movie stars had their hand and footprints captured in concrete.
We encountered a horde of tourists who were more interested in the prints than the fire, gawking at them and taking pictures using the flash attachments on their cameras. Katie avoided my grasp at first, and then gave in, saying something about that being the best way to keep us from getting separated in the crowd.
***
Gone with the Wind is well over three hours long, and there was an intermission in the middle. It’s a good movie and Katie seemed to be enjoying herself until the frightening scene showing the burning of Atlanta with people trying to escape the flames and buildings collapsing. Perhaps it was too real, given what was happening outside. Katie buried her head in my shoulder and appeared to be shaking. I tried to comfort her; I held her hand and put my other arm around her. My fingers tingled with the feel of her soft sweater.
It was the kind of moment one dreams about, but when the scene changed it was gone with the wind. Katie separated herself from me and went back to watching the movie.
***
It was late when the movie finally ended with Clark uttering his historic phrase, and the tourists had deserted the courtyard of the theater for their hotels or better vantage points to watch the fire. I heard later that there had been a traffic jam in Hollywood as people flocked to gaze at the flames, but that was gone now. Some of the flames could still be seen, however, and the acrid odor of smoke hung in the air. Katie and I walked to my car and I opened the door for her. Once inside I asked her for the address of her apartment.
She didn’t answer for a few seconds. When she spoke it was in a low voice.
“My family home was on the shore of Lake Huron in Harbor Beach, Michigan. One morning when I was quite young I was awakened by somebody yelling ‘Fire!’ The house was on fire. We all grabbed some clothes and whatever else we could hold and raced outside. My grandmother, my parents and my brothers and sister lived in the house. After a while my parents realized that my baby brother was still in the house. Everybody assumed someone else had brought him out. My father went back in and got him just in time.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. “That must have been a terrifying experience.”
“I don’t want to go back to my apartment tonight. It’s too close to the hills.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem. The fire seems to be farther away, and the firemen probably have it under control by now.”
“It might flare up.”
“What do you want to do?”
Katie didn’t answer. She was undoubtedly even poorer than I was. She didn’t own a car. She couldn’t afford to stay in a motel. I didn’t like the idea of sharing my small apartment, even with a pretty girl. It would not show my standard of living in the kindest light. However, we couldn’t sit here all night.
“You can sleep at my place. My apartment’s close to downtown LA, nowhere near the fire.”
***
To say my apartment was small was being generous. It was one room plus a tiny bathroom.
When we walked inside, Katie said, “Where’s the bed?”
I operated the mechanism on the wall that pulled out a hidden double bed.
It took an effort to say my next words. “I can sleep on the floor.” I hadn’t willingly made sacrifices like that with my brothers back home in Buffalo.
“No, that’s okay. Can you lend me a T-shirt?”
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. I opened a drawer in the dresser that came with the apartment and, thankfully, found a clean T-shirt. Katie told me to use the bathroom first. I still wore pajamas I’d brought from home when I’d moved out to LA. I was embarrassed to be seen in them, but they were better than any alternative. I quickly changed in the bathroom and brushed my teeth.
When I came out Katie asked me to turn off the light. Then she went into the bathroom and closed the door. I got into the bed and wondered which side I should sleep on. How did married couples decide such things? I finally opted for the side farthest from the bathroom door. When Katie came out of the bathroom I was facing away from it. I felt the bed move as she climbed in and pulled up the blanket. She said good night and then was silent.
***
I awoke during the night and felt Katie’s warm body against my back. We were spooning. From her soft purring in my ear I knew she was asleep. I didn’t dare move. I lay awake for a while, wondering about the peculiarities of life and love and how I fit into them. Finally, I fell asleep again.
***
When I woke the next time the sun was streaming through the window. After some exploratory movement I realized that Katie was on the far edge of the bed, still asleep. I quietly got up, grabbed some clothes, and went into the bathroom. A pair of panties hung from a towel rack. Katie had evidently washed them out last night.
Katie was awake and looking at me when I came out of the bathroom. I asked her if she wanted some breakfast. I was quite good at making scrambled eggs. She nodded sleepily. During breakfast our conversation was strained and it became apparent that we weren’t suited to each other. After we ate I drove her to her apartment and wondered how much of our incompatibility had been caused by the fire.
***
Amazingly few houses were destroyed by the fire, which had burned over 800 acres. At the bank on Monday Katie seemed distant, not just with me but with everybody. We spoke occasionally, but it wasn’t personal. Her mind was somewhere else. I no longer had an urge to go out with her.
A month later Katie moved back to Harbor Beach. Apparently she would rather face the fires in Michigan than in California. I never saw her again.
