I ran out of tuition money for my junior year at Loyola
University in New Orleans and took a job working as
an extern at the US Public Health Service Hospital on
State Street, which was walking distance from the
university. The hospital campus looked like a military
installation with its gate-guarded entrance and doctors’
quarters along the red-brick fence around the
installation. I had a room on the third floor of the threestory
building between the hospital and the doctor’s
quarters that housed nurses and externs.
As we crossed the street to our quarters behind the
hospital after our final overtime shift during Christmas
break, where we pulled medical records for the next
day’s appointments, Bob, my friend and part-time
coworker, stopped and faced me.
“You wanna go on a double date Friday evening?”
“Sure,” I said. Since I seldom had money for dating,
I didn’t have a girlfriend, so I needed to find a date.
#
On Friday afternoon, as I crossed the quad from the
library on my way to Marquette Hall, the main building

xiii

on campus, heading for my three o’clock history class,
Bob sidled up beside me.
“Meet me in the lobby at 6 p.m.,” he said.
I stared at Bob. Our date had slipped my mind. I
needed to get a date, and fast, or admit to Bob that I had
forgotten. My history class was my only chance. Since
mostly freshmen signed up for American History 101
and I was a senior, I didn’t expect to know any girls
taking this course. I had to try.
I took a seat in the middle desk of three in the last
row, where I could see anyone entering the classroom.
Strident laughter caught my attention as two girls
strolled through the doorway, each cuddling a large
history book. The one in the lead, Judy, I knew vaguely
from my French 201 class two years earlier; the
younger girl I didn’t recognize. Judy was wearing a
classic green dress that matched the color of her eyes
and accentuated a much thinner waist than I
remembered. Well-coiffed red hair framed her round
face, giving Judy an air of quiet elegance. Chic is the
way I saw her. She seemed more mature than the girl
who had sat next to me in French class.
I held my breath as she approached and stopped at
the desk to my right, then sat down; her friend chose
the one to my left. I caught a pleasing waft of Chanel
No. 5 as Judy’s green eyes flitted discreetly over me.
My heart raced. She looked like she would say

xiv

something, and then the girls continued their
conversation around me as if I didn’t exist. Judy’s soft,
lilting voice sounded like sweet music. Thoughts of
possibilities crowded out any ideas of taking notes
during that lecture.
Inserting myself between Judy and her friend as we
walked downstairs after class and exited Marquette
Hall, I faced Judy.
“Would y’all join me in the cafeteria for a Coke?”
I asked.
“Yes, thank you,” Judy said with a demure smile.
Stephany, Judy’s friend, followed as I escorted
them to a table near the door and went for Cokes.
Gauche to ask Judy for a date in front of Stephany, I
thought, but I will if I have to.
Two WWII Army buildings fused together formed
the spacious cafeteria, which had become the social
gathering place for students during free periods and the
source of meals provided for students with meal tickets.
The cafeteria line extended from the right side of the
building and across the front. The drink counter stood
behind me to my right. I studied in the cafeteria when
conversation in the library got too bothersome.
I returned with three Cokes and placed one in front
of Judy and another for Stephany. Her friend took one
swig from her glass, whispered a few words to Judy,
and stood up facing me.

xv

“Daddy’s sending the jet to pick me and my brother
up,” Stephany said. “He wants us home for the
weekend. Tim’s in Tulane medical school.” She
strutted for the door and out of the cafeteria.
I looked at Judy, facing me with an inquisitive
expression on her face. Now what? it seemed to say.
“Would you join me for a dinner date this
evening?” I asked. From the surprised look on her face,
I knew she’d say she had plans. Then, a sweet smile
spread across her lips.
“I’d love to,” she said.
I let out a breath. I had a date! I sat back in my chair.
“I planned to go home for the weekend,” she
explained, “but decided to stay and study. You know,
start the semester off on the right foot.”
“We’re doubling with my friends, Bob Gorski and
Aimee Everhart.”
“I know Aimee. A language major, right? French, I
believe.”
“Pick you up at six-thirty. How do I find you?”
“I’m in the dorm.” She gave me the address.
#
Bob chose the restaurant, Kolb’s, and made
reservations. Kolb’s was a famous restaurant in New

xvi

Orleans on the wrong side of Canal Street, across from
the French Quarter; it reflected nineteenth-century old
French design with black wrought-iron filigree across
the second- and third-story balconies, a New Orleans
trademark. Inside, dark wooden shelves held an
impressive array of brightly colored German beer
steins, adding a Teutonic ambiance to this Bavarian
tavern.
“This place is beautiful,” Judy said. “You come
here often?”
“My first time.”
On that first date, I didn’t question Judy about her
personal life in front of Bob and Aimee, so I didn’t
learn much about her that evening. As I escorted her to
her front door, I hesitated, finally mustering the nerve
to speak. “Can I see you again tomorrow?”
“Sure,” she said. “I’ll be here all weekend.”
#
The next evening, I climbed the shallow steps onto the
porch and glanced through the curtained window for
signs of life inside. Abruptly, the front door opened,
and Judy slipped outside, closing the door behind her.
“Hi,” she said.
I stepped off the porch. “The Saenger’s showing
Sweet Bird of Youth with Paul Newman,” I said. “Do

xvii

you mind taking the streetcar? Parking can be such a
problem on Saturday evenings near Canal Street.”
“I like riding streetcars. I get to see parts of the city
I wouldn’t otherwise visit.”
We got off the streetcar at Canal and walked up the
street to the Saenger Theater. As I sat next to her and
the movie started, the warmth of Judy’s body gave life
to emotions I didn’t know I had. Halfway through the
movie, I took her hand in mine and felt a gentle squeeze
back. Or was that my imagination?
We walked back up Canal Street toward the French
Quarter. “Café du Monde for coffee and beignets?” I
asked. I spent a lot of time at the cafe during my college
days.
“Okay,” Judy said.
At the corner of Bourbon and Canal, the entrance
to the French Quarter, a small group stood around a
pushcart shaped like a hot dog bun with two wieners
sticking out each end and mustard dripping down its
side. The strong aroma of steaming wieners made my
mouth water.
“How about hot dogs instead of beignets?” Judy
asked. “I love hot dogs.” Her eyes met mine. “You’ve
got to be short on money after last night at Kolb’s. I can
pay for my own.”
“Oh?”

xviii

“Not to worry! I have a job now. Interviewed at the
Sears on Baronne Street last month. Big surprise!
Personnel called last week with a job offer.”
Her mentioning Sears on Baronne Street reminded
me of the two tires I’d bought for $2 each from the huge
stack of discards. I booted the blowout holes and
stuffed my old inner tubes inside to keep my jalopy on
the road.
“What you want on dem dogs?” the vendor asked.
Judy turned to me. “You having onions?”
“If you do.”
At the end of Canal Street, we sat on the steps to the
pier, munching our hot dogs and watching the Canal
Street ferry dock. Cars from Algiers across the river
rolled off, and others lined up for the return trip.
“Have you ever taken the ferry to Algiers?” I asked.
“No.” Her eyes washed over me.
“Let’s do it,” I said.
We bought tickets, boarded the ferry, and sat on the
wooden bench at the highest point allowed for
passengers. I reached my arm around Judy’s shoulders
as the boat churned into the main river current, then cut
diagonally across the brackish water toward the other
side. I snuggled closer to Judy as we watched the
turbulent wake in the murky water. The ferry docked,
offloaded, and an agent came and forced us off the ferry

xix

to get tickets for the return trip. I hardly noticed the
crossing for the trip back to New Orleans.
The last St. Charles streetcar from Canal Street let
us off in front of Marquette Hall, and we walked the
short distance to Judy’s dorm. Facing Judy on the
porch, I wondered about the protocol for stealing a kiss
on our second date. The Catholic seminary I attended
for high school hadn’t prepared me for moments like
this.
Judy faced me, her head tilted with an expression
that said, Well, whatcha gonna to do now?
I slipped my right arm around her waist and drew
her to me, half expecting her to jerk back. Instead, the
warmth of her body pressed into me, igniting new
feelings I had not met before. Her fingers held my head
close as the soft warmth of her lips touched mine.
My life had suddenly turned an unexpected corner
as I stood on the dorm porch, holding Judy in my arms.
I couldn’t think of any other place I’d rather be at that
blissful moment.
Judy stepped back. “Would you like to come
inside? Everyone’s gone for the weekend,” she said.
The impropriety of entering the house
unchaperoned with Judy didn’t enter my mind. She
didn’t want that evening to end any more than I did.

xx

In the lounge, I positioned a chair opposite the sofa
and sat facing Judy.
“I’m from Toledo,” she began. “We moved to
Hammond after my freshman year. I went to Chatawa,
near Jackson, as a boarder. I was home for the weekend
during the last semester in my senior year. At dinner
that night, I announced, ‘I’ve been accepted to Loyola.’
I’ll never forget the look on Daddy’s face.”
Judy was giving me her life story in a gush of
words. I wanted to hold her close as I listened to her
soft voice.
“‘We can’t afford to send you to Loyola,’ Daddy
said. I was crushed. When I called Loyola admissions
to tell them that my family couldn’t afford to send me
there and to give my slot to someone else, a recruiter
invited me in for an interview. I didn’t know why. The
administrator offered me a full-ride scholarship.”
“You must have an excellent high school record.”
“And lots of extracurriculars.”
“If you had been on campus for the past two years,
I’d have seen you.” I looked into her eyes. “Did you
drop out?”
Judy’s face flushed red.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
She looked at me. “I needed a 3.0 GPA to keep my
scholarship. I got a 2.9. Can you imagine? Losing a

xxi

scholarship to Loyola University by one-tenth of a
point! And over Theology, no less! I took a job editing
the Hammond newspaper to save money to come back
to Loyola. But enough about me. Tell me something
about you that I couldn’t find out by asking around
campus.”
I leaned back in my chair. “I have an identical twin
brother, Patrick—Pat. Born on St. Patrick’s Day. Looks
just like me. We’ve had lots of fun being twins. He’s at
Notre Dame Seminary on Carrollton Avenue studying
to be a priest.”
The look on Judy’s face framed her next words.
“I’ve got to meet this Pat.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Having a twin that’s going to be a priest says a lot
about him and about you.”
Judy and I spent every spare moment together
during that semester and married on June 9, her twentyfirst
birthday. After graduation, I joined the Air Force
to avoid the draft. Our strong love bond helped us
through some difficult times in those early years. We
reared three children as I pursued multiple careers.
Little did we know at the time how much this strong
bond that got stronger with each passing year would serve us in the final stage of Judy’s life.