When I was a boy, Valentine’s Day was a popular time of year. Around the 10th of February, we would start to think about buying valentines. They cost all of a penny. They were printed on heavy card stock, and usually had fold marks so they could be stood up on a bureau, dresser, desk, or wherever. Most of the kids in our neighborhood got our valentines at Lownie’s or Tracy’s “five and dime.”
As I write this, a sense of confusion and uncertainty is upon me. I seem to remember “going out” on Valentine’s night and leaving Valentines on neighborhood doorsteps. As I recall, we not only sent these things to our favorite girlfriend(s), we also sent comic-type cards and slipped them under the door of our buddy’s house. But the big event was Valentine’s Day in the school classroom. As late January moved toward February, we began pasting and taping valentines all over the place: in hallways, on the windows, over the blackboard, and on the classroom door. But the big deal was the “Valentine Mail Box.”
We took a big cardboard carton, closed it up, and cut a big slot in the top. Then, the carton was wrapped with red or white paper, and hearts of contrasting red or white were cut out and pasted on the sides. It was truly a work of art; and for many of us, our first experience at “puppy love.”
The box was put on a table or desk a few days before Feb. 14. Each day we dropped our messages of love into the big box, carefully watching the progress of what would ultimately be a huge pile of Valentines. I think I had a different girlfriend for each of my grammar school years, except for eighth grade, when I had two different. I can recall one year back there in Miss Ruth Margerum’s third grade when one of Cupid’s arrows broke right off, right in the center of my heart.
I had been chosen to sing a duet with my then favorite girlfriend, Shirley Whitebread. The Friday before Valentine’s Day, we stood on the stage at Kuser School, in front of the student body of the school and sang “Tying Apples on a Lilac Tree.”
Shirley was a sweetheart. We sang so well together. This had to be that thing they call love. Shirley’s voice was just about the prettiest thing you ever heard, and she was just about the prettiest you ever did see. For young third grader Tommy Glover, it was a true case of “puppy love;” little did he know that it was to turn out to be a case of unrequited puppy love. Can you imagine the bruises on the heart of that little boy on that Valentine’s Day of 1941, as he sat in class waiting for that one Valentine from that one special girl? Can you even begin to imagine the expectation and anticipation experienced by that little boy whose heart was pierced clean through by Cupid’s arrows? It was blissful but painful agony.
As Miss Margerum reached way down into the bottom of that big red and white box with the dwindling supply of Valentines, she pulled out the one card I yearned for. It read, “To Tommy G. from Shirley W.” My little hands shook as I unsealed the pristine white envelope. Inside, was a plain, common, ordinary Valentine… no hearts, no cupids, no mush …none! All it said was “Be My Valentine,” and it was signed, “Shirley W.” And to think the Valentine I sent her had all kinds of gushy-mushy junk on it. I even paid a nickel for it, and the message even called her “darling,” and they only called each other “darling” in those Bette Davis, Joan Crawford or Merle Oberon movies. Needless to say, it would take a very long time for that very broken heart to heal.
But it really didn’t take that long. Three or four days later, the healing process set in. You see, this really pretty blonde girl named Madelyn Lear sat right next to me in the second row. She had these beautiful snow-white teeth and the cutest smile you ever did see…and the bluest eyes, well, she was just incredible! And do you know what? After Miss Margerum introduced her to us and told us she was transferring from another school to our school, she told her to take a seat and that seat was right next to me! As this vision of loveliness walked down the aisle, stopped at her desk, and got ready to sit in her seat, she looked at me and kind of fluttered her eyes at me, and then there was that smile, and that beautiful blonde hair.
“Wow,” I thought, “I can’t wait until next Valentine’s Day.”
Shirley Whitebread, Ruth Margerum and Tom Glover in June 1942. The students were dubbed “the two best Glee Club singers” in third grade.,
