Moon-walk anniversary hoopla!

Where were YOU 40 years ago today, July 20?

I was living in San Francisco in the Haight-Ashbury district with my black boyfriend, Curtis Branch. He was a Chivas-Regal drinking construction worker originally from Clarksdale, Mississippi. My life was enriched immeasurably by knowing Curtis. I've always been incredibly naive and trusting - and am still pretty much today - so when he betrayed me by sleeping with the woman across the hall whose last name was Kessler, I was absolutely shocked.

I picked up my belongings and left immediately, moving home to Philadelphia. On my way home from the Philadelphia airport were huge billboards reading SMOOTH AS SILK, KESSLER (it was a vodka or something).

Ah, the things we remember. Curtis and his friends were not at all interested in the moon landing. As marginalized Americans, some of them were ex-cons (read the excellent book Tally's Corner), they lived in another America, the fringes, a sick subculture, aspiring to become the rich Americans they despised, but their lack of training and education prevented them from doing so.

Curtis was always kind to me and my friends. He was upbeat with a great personality. We'd visit my Aunt Hy in Redwood City and she loved him too. Curtis cooked dinner for us. Notably I remember his shrimp and spaghetti sauce. My friend Iris Arenson-Abbot from Goddard College lived in our same building. When she's finished with her research paper, I'll ask about her memories of those days.

When Curtis's dad died and he needed money to go to the funeral, he asked me to lend him the money. I knew I'd never get it back but I wrote him a check for $2,000. When I got home to Pennsylvania, my dad said to me, "You got more than your moneys' worth by living with Curtis. Nothing can compare with your experience."

I reluctantly agreed with him.

What I learned from Curtis was indeed priceless. The best part of our relationship was our terrific sex life. His skin was soft and beautiful. He took good care of it. He smelled delicious. He was a good, decent person who used to tease me: "Look, what I brought home," he'd say. "A wedding ring!" We'd laugh and laugh. I would never have married him. The chasm between our cultures and lifestyles was too deep.

We wrote each other for a year or two after our break-up. I'd watch out the window for the mailtruck to see if the mail was on its way. Love comes in many ways into our lives, and is not to be taken lightly.