Nervous Breakdown
I worked for Singer about a year and a half. By early 1940 I had over-extended myself by enrolling in evening courses three evenings per week at New York University. In addition to that, 1 was taking a course in shorthand on Saturdays at a hometown business college...all the while still working for Singer. I did my homework whenever I could find the time...even on the New Jersey-New York ferry boat and on the train to and from Jersey City.
Looking back, I guess I had to keep preoccupied as much as possible just to keep my mind off so many things. Between the melodies constantly rolling around in my brain, the thoughts about the consequences of being Jewish in view of the experiences I had undergone, my undeniable sexual orientation, keeping up with my studies, and trying to stay alert on my job, it's a wonder I was able to function at all.
Soon my mind began to wander. Not only that, but when someone would be talking to me, I found myself visualizing what they were saying in terms of Gregg shorthand. Their words would translate themselves into shorthand symbols.
One warm, sunny day, shortly after I turned nineteen, a young man in uniform, an army recruiter, visited our home (we had just moved to a new location about a mile or so from our former house). As a result of this visit, I ended up joining the army.
In the agitated state of mind I was in (no one seemed to really notice...or care), I walked away from home one Sunday morning on the way to the Armory where I was scheduled to sign up. I was bare-footed! As I was leaving the house, my father opened the upstairs window and tried to stop me, but I just kept on going. I remember buying the massive Sunday New York Times, looking quickly at the headlines and then tossing the paper into the gutter.
At the Armory, I was seated at a small table, being interviewed. I guess I must have answered all the questions satisfactorily, despite the frame of mind I was in, because I was accepted into the service... also in spite of the fact that I was not wearing any shoes or socks. Since the interviewer overlooked several things that were certainly off key, I suppose the army was desperate for more recruits!
It wasn't too long after that I found myself in Fort Dix, New Jersey. The first day we were setting up tents. Late that first night, perhaps it was very early in the morning, I lay awake in my cot, listening to the heavy snoring around me. I had to go to the bathroom. I got up and left the tent but I didn't have the slightest idea where the latrine was. There were rows and rows of tents in every direction as far as the eye could see in the faint moonlight. I did see a light a short distance away, however, and I walked into a tent where I had seen it. A man was seated at a small table, obviously involved in some paperwork.
I said, “Say Bud, can you direct me to the latrine?”
He rose immediately, obviously furious, hands on hips. “You say SIR when you address an officer! AND you SALUTE!”
“Yes, Sir. I'm sorry... Sir. I need to go to the latrine!”
He saw my predicament and seemed to relax his stance. He gave me the necessary instructions and finished by saying,
“In the future, young man, you SALUTE when you address a Major and you say SIR!”
“Yes, Sir! I'm sorry, Sir!” I saluted sloppily and left the tent.
On my way to the latrine, something very odd happened. It felt like someone had hit me real hard on my head!
I woke up in a strange place. I was in a hospital! For the next several weeks I was confined to a padded cell. I still remember the small, barred opening in the door. I also remember listening to the September crickets. Even today, whenever I hear crickets in the summertime, I think about that awful experience in the padded cell.
A doctor told me that I had just suffered a severe nervous breakdown, that my folks were on their way to pick me up and that I was to receive a medical discharge from the service.
Once home, my parents were told that there was little hope for a complete recovery and, luckily for me, my mother and father refused to accept that. That was the best decision they had ever made on my behalf. All this time, they were cold and indifferent towards me. I can never recall a kiss or a hug from my mother. She was cold and terribly domineering. It's a rotten thing to say, but I have always felt that she should never have been a mother! During the ensuing weeks, my brother, in particular, was very amused by my behavior. I suppose I can understand why! I thought barking dogs were talking to me. When I would hear a symphony on the radio, I was directing it in my deranged mind! And my brother would laugh!
The fact that they hired a nurse to take me on long walks and talk with me...the fact that they sought the advice of another doctor, made me change my mind about my attitude towards my parents...at least to a certain extent. This new doctor had this to say:
“Your son does not have to go to an institution, as previously recommended. Absolutely ridiculous! Do you know, Mr. And Mrs. Robb, that more often than not, a nervous breakdown is Nature's way of relaxing the brain? It is Nature's way of declaring a moratorium, so to speak...a complete rest. AND, folks, I can guarantee you that in time your son will be functioning better than ever. His mind will be sharper than it has even been and he will reach his ultimate potential in no time! Buy your son a musical instrument!”

Recuperation and on from There
In the Fall of 1940, my folks presented me with an accordion and I loved it! It wasn't too long after that I was composing a spiritual which I called “Oh Lord, Where's That Man?”. World current events inspired the theme: “The good Lord is looking for a man who can pray...a man who'll preach the gospel in a different way!” After several hours of jotting down notes and dreaming up lyrics, I was admiring my finished work and playing the melody on the accordion. Suddenly, my father rushed into the basement where I was sitting with my accordion.
“I TOLD YOU I NEEDED HELP WITH THE LAWN!” With that he grabbed the amateurish manuscript. “What's this?” Without waiting for an answer, he tore it into shreds! In view of what I had recently been through, amazing!
Shortly before the 1940 Christmas holidays, my brother and I boarded a bus for Miami. He had suggested that the change in scenery would do me good. We spent two weeks in the sunshine and it did prove to be great therapy. I returned home refreshed and I heartily thanked him for suggesting it!

General Motors
In February of 1941, I was hired by the General Motors, Buick-Olds-Pontiac Assembly Plant in Linden, New Jersey. The question of religion did not come up in my application. I played the role of a clerk-typist-secretary and my Gregg shorthand came in handy. While enjoying the job, I still had my eye on the future, hoping that college might be a possibility some time in the near future.
I remember like it happened yesterday: President Roosevelt, making his startling announcement on December 7, 1941: “A day that will live in infamy...!” I recall checking the dictionary for the meaning of the word “infamy”.

A Frozen Wave in the Lake
After two years in the material control department, I grew restless and I wanted something more challenging.
This is going to sound strange, but I owe a complete life change to...guess what? A wave in a lake that had frozen over, causing me to take a bad spill while ice skating. If it hadn't been for that flaw in the ice, this person would not have picked me up to see if I was okay. When he found out I wasn't hurt, we sat on a bench and chatted. It so happened that he was a student at General Motors Institute in Flint, Michigan. He mentioned that he couldn't afford to pay his own way and that he works two months at the GM plant (where I was employed) and then spends the next two months in engineering classes at the Institute in Flint. That way he not only gets paid while he is working at the plant, but he also has a chance to work in various departments throughout the four years, thus gaining a diversity of experience.
This sounded like just the ticket for me and I thought at that moment that it would behoove me to try out for what looked like a fantastic opportunity.
When I returned to work after that interesting weekend, I started the ball rolling. I went to the personnel department (without my boss knowing it) and set up an interview. The initial conversation went something like this:
“Do you have any family members in high positions with GM?”
“No, sir, I do not.”
“Well, let's be frank. Without that in your family background, I'm sorry.”
I could not and I would not accept that. I returned several times to the personnel department during the course of the weeks ahead. I hounded them. Finally they suggested that I take some kind of a test and that if I passed it, I might possibly be considered. And all this time my boss was actually aware of the reason for my frequent absences, but he never said anything or objected to my sneaking away. In fact, I found out later that he put in a good word for me.
Early one Saturday evening in June, while my parents were hosting a bridge party, the doorbell rang. It was a telegram addressed to me. I opened it hurriedly and wow! I couldn't believe it! I was accepted by the General Motors Institute and it gave basic instructions what to do next. I was to be in Flint on a certain day in September, 1943! I couldn’t believe it!
My mother saw the paper in my hand. “What's this?”
“It's a telegram, Mom. I've just been accepted as a student at the General Motors Institute in Flint, Michigan. Hallelujah!”
“What? What's that all about? Oh no! You're not going anywhere. Absolutely not!”
“What do you mean, I'm not going anywhere? This is a fantastic opportunity. I can get a college education at minimal cost and end up as a graduate engineer! Of course I’m going!”
“I said, you're not going and that's final!”
“I don't understand. This is a great opportunity for me, Mom. What's the matter with you? I should think you'd be delighted! What's your problem?"
She shook her head and re-joined the bridge crowd. I never did find out the reason for her objections. Could it be that they might have missed me when I'm gone? Not too likely. Or was it the percentage of my GM salary that they enjoyed?

Traveling in Style
I tried to persuade my folks to buy me a decent set of luggage to make traveling from place to place a little easier. Instead, I had to lug a huge, battered-looking steamer trunk that my brother had used on his overseas trips. He was lucky, incidentally, to be given the opportunity by my father, who was in the export business, to travel on freighters to many exotic places throughout the world. In fact, my brother, in his mid-teens, made three summer trips in a row, while I begged for a chance to experience such a trip. I was given all kinds of feeble excuses, such as “You’re not mature enough”, etc.
Another student who was accepted by the Institute at the same time lived about eight blocks from our house. As I was ready to leave the house, my parents were listening to the radio at the time. I asked if they could at least give me a lift but they thought it “would be good exercise” if I were to walk the “short” distance. As a result, I had to lug this super-heavy monstrosity. It took several months’ salary before I could get rid of this piece of junk and buy myself a proper suitcase.
Incidentally, I came across this note, hidden inside of the trunk and I recognized my brother’s handwriting: “You were mistreated by an ignorant, frightened mother...a do-nothing father and myself (also jealous of you) and seeking favor from our parents at your expense. It wasn’t until later that I realized I had wronged you and then became your friend as well as brother.”

Life as an Engineering Student
I enjoyed being busy at the school and at the plant. I did well. In 1943 I joined a fraternity after living independently with a very friendly family a few blocks away from the Institute.
There was one particular fraternity pledge who was obviously infatuated with me. Poor, ultra-handsome, frustrated Lou. Although I was hopelessly attracted to him, I didn’t dare act on my feelings. Why? Because I knew only too well that if I did, my marks would be affected and I had a responsibility to the Linden Plant which sponsored me. One of the senior fraternity members, a heavy-set fellow named Tom...witnessed a short exchange of words between Lou and myself. Tom jokingly advised us to kiss and make up. Without hesitation, Lou, who was several inches taller than me, bent down and kissed me fully on the lips. This stunned both Tom and especially myself. I felt a tremendous electric shock run through my entire body. This was the very first time something like this had ever happened to me! Nothing “sexual” ever happened again at the fraternity.

Fraternity Hazing
I sometimes wondered at the time if it was actually worth it, going through these ridiculous antics dreamed up by a bunch of sadistic, moronic senior fraternity brothers! I went along with some of the hazing, but in some cases I totally refused to cooperate. Like the time at breakfast when we all sat together at this long, dining room table. I had my fill of eggs and pancakes. There was a platterful of fried eggs left over at the end of the meal. The fraternity president ordered me to “clean the plate”. I just sat there.
“Pledge Robb! I said, ‘YOU EAT THOSE EGGS!’.”
I remained motionless, as though I didn’t hear him. I knew that I would throw up if I touched any more food. Lou, seated next to me, elbowed me.
“Pledge Robb! DID YOU HEAR ME?”
“Yes, “SIR!”
“Well what do you plan to do about it? Are you going to EAT THOSE EGGS?
“No, SIR!”
He backed down sheepishly.
I did go along with the mud slinging in the back yard. I also went along with their blindfolding Lou and me, covering us with fowl smelling Alexis of Ammonia and dropping us off at some unknown, God-forsaken place several miles outside of Flint. One time I also refused to eat a raw onion, just as I did the eggs!

College and Fraternity - Life Goes On
I mentioned that I was doing well...academically, that is. When I received word that I was within ten percent of the engineering students throughout the country and I was accepted as a member of the National Engineering Robot Society, I was so excited that I made a long-distance call to home. You know what my father’s reaction was? “And for that you call long-distance?”
A special meeting was scheduled at the GMI auditorium to celebrate this honor. I sat there on the stage, surrounded by the Dean and several key members of the faculty. I had prepared a short speech. But there was only one problem!
Three days before the event, I underwent the first phase of fraternity hell week. Part of the initiation included my wearing three raw eggs, wrapped in a sock...between my legs! I had to be exceedingly careful about how I walked and particularly about how I sat down!
The Dean, seated next to me, leaned toward me before the proceedings began and whispered, “I hope your speech won’t be too long. I haven’t had any breakfast and I’m hungry.” I smiled and as I was about to reply, I completely forgot about the eggs as I crossed my legs. At this very moment there was a crackling sound as the Dean rose and introduced me to the audience. As I acknowledged each one seated on the stage individually, they each bowed their head and held their fist to their nose...while goo trickled down my legs!
Another one of those crazy little mixed-up affairs!

A Geographical Change
It was about this time that I received word from the Linden Plant, along with three other students from the same plant, that I was to be transferred to the Buick-Olds-Pontiac Assembly Plant in Kansas City, Kansas. I was delighted with the news. This meant that I could sever my ties with home once and for all!
I found temporary lodging at the Kansas City Kansas YMCA on Minnesota Avenue and even though my room was like a closet, I enjoyed my independence. In fact, I met a tenant there who heard that I had written some music. I showed him my amateurish lead sheet of “Oh Lord, Where’s That Man?” and he insisted on arranging it (T.T.B.B.) for a male chorus. I appreciated that, but it wasn’t until years later that I got to hear his arrangement (more about that later!)
It was at this time, in the second half of the 1940's, that I wrote the bulk of my music. I did a lot of recording at the Vic Damon Recording Studios in downtown Kansas City. There I met Dorothy, a charming woman who lived at Hotel Estill, across the street from the famous old Coates House (where I understand Abraham Lincoln and many other dignitaries were said to have lodged).
Dorothy was not only Vic Damon’s secretary-receptionist. She was also a fine singer and entertainer with a friendly and gracious personality. We would often meet at her apartment whenever I had the time. There were two women friends of hers, highschool teachers who would often join us and they arranged for piano a great deal of my music. In fact, Dorothy and I and a few other friends would perform my music at several night clubs throughout the city, particularly one club called the Town Royal. I can still see the organist named Zola and as soon as I would enter the night club, she would insist that I get up before the crowd and sing one of my numbers. (Incidentally, this club no longer exists, but Hotel Estill, though empty, and the Coates House, are still in tact).

YMCA Experience
Three other GMI students also stayed at the Y and they talked me into attending a dance sponsored by the Y one Saturday night in March of 1947. Reluctantly, I did attend and I happened to meet a girl ...got to talking and we danced. She said she loved tennis and I told her that I did too. So we made a date for the next weekend for lunch and tennis. It so happened that she lived way down in south Kansas City and it required three bus transfers for me to get there. We had several dates after that, but nothing...nothing ever happened sexually. I’m sure she must have wondered what was wrong.
On May 30th of the same year, Memorial Day, we had a tennis date. It was early afternoon and I gathered my towel and my little carrying case with shaving supplies, toothbrush and so forth, and walked to the Y restroom and shower room which seemed like a mile away from my “cell”. After my shower, wearing just my shorts, I stood in front of the mirror, getting out my shaving gear. A good looking boy about my age sauntered into the bathroom and asked me if I happened to have a match. Actually, a silly question! What in the world would I be doing with a match under these circumstances? I told him, “No. Sorry.” Still, my heart began to beat wildly. I was thinking of my tennis date and besides, there was a certain amount of fear and apprehension based on uncertainty. I didn’t know him and who knows what he might have really been up to? So...I finished shaving, gathered my gear and returned to my room.
But then I got to thinking. Why not? Who would know? There’s nobody else around. This is a holiday and the place is deserted. I returned to the restroom secretly hoping that he would still be there. I decided that I needed to use the urinal. And there he was, standing on a toilet in a nearby stall, leaning over the partition. I looked up and said, with a shaky voice, “I think I might have that match!” I couldn’t believe I said that. But golly! Here I was...twenty-six years old and still no sexual experience of any kind!
He followed me to my room. I locked the door, turned on the little radio on my dresser and stretched out on the bed. He sat beside me and began stroking me softly, getting closer and closer to the sensitive areas. There was no conversation. After the “act”, he left quietly. Wow! I couldn’t believe it! The sensation was phenomenal!
Then my conscience caught up with me! My God! I am actually a homosexual! I got dressed quickly and took a long walk along Minnesota Avenue. I felt dirty. What would everybody think, if they knew? I surely didn’t feel like going ahead with this stupid and meaningless tennis date but I felt I had to go. I had made a commitment. I did go but I told her that I didn’t feel too well...“Let’s just play one set of tennis and then I’ll have to get back”. I never saw her again.
When I returned to my room at the Y, I went to bed and I found myself tossing and turning. I thought about all those good looking young guys with whom I shared the tent there at Fort Dix. I thought about my nervous breakdown...the crickets I heard while I was confined to that awful room in the hospital. I thought about Lou at the fraternity. What would have happened if I had surrendered to his advances? Would that have affected my studies at GMI!
I also recalled when my mother took me aside at the hotel room when we went to the Chicago Worlds Fair. She said, “George, I just wanted to tell you that there are some men out there who happen to like other men. Do you know what I mean? I just wanted to warn you. You are a handsome young boy and you could easily be a victim of such possibilities. Especially since you’ll be a man soon. When we get back home, you’ll be starting your bar mitzvah studies. Just remember what I told you!”
I fluffed up my pillow and tried to dispense with all these thoughts. My mind insisted on wandering, nevertheless. That intimate experience this afternoon here at the Y. I should never have done that! God! Why did I? Why was I so tempted?
Maybe some day, the time will come when we will live in an enlightened age. I am sure that the characteristics that define homosexuality are inborn by Nature, not nurture! And that puts it beyond the realm of human volition. I know this is true: a homosexual can no more stop being what he or she is than you can stop being a male or a female. With that thought, I finally fell asleep.

College Graduation Prom
I invited a date (arranged by a fraternity member) for the 1947 graduation prom. Since I was asked to be chairman of the entertainment committee and had the responsibility of hiring a band for the occasion, I thought I’d try something unique.
Several weeks prior to the prom, my friend, Dorothy, and her two teacher friends had just completed a piano arrangement of “No Use Complaining”, a brand new number I had just composed. Again, this “Why Not?” Using a bit of detective work, I managed to get hold of the manager of the nationally renowned RAY ANTHONY band. There was hesitancy at first on the part of his agent, due to several solid commitments and heavy schedules. The agent, however, called me a day later and advised that the band will be in Detroit that week and they might just be able to swing it.
Then I gave the agent a bombshell! I told him that we would hire Ray Anthony and his band on one condition: that they perform an original song of mine entitled, “No Use Complaining”. I was told to send him the music and he would take it from there. On that basis, I gave the go-ahead and hired Ray Anthony and his band.
I handed my date, Julie, some apple cider. Everyone was excited and looked handsome and beautiful. Ray Anthony and his band were accepted with great excitement and a degree of awe. People were dancing as the band played Gershwin’s “I Got Rhythm”. The next number was Cole Porter’s “Night and Day” and that was when I said, “Julie, why don’t you set your drink down and let’s do this one!” While we were dancing, I whispered, “I think Ray Anthony might play a song I wrote.”
She said, “Oh yes, and one of my original operas is going to be performed at the Metropolitan Opera House next week!”
“Oh really? Congratulations! I didn’t know you were a composer!”
Soon the song ended. There was a loud drum doll. The spotlight landed on Ray Anthony’s face. He smiled and clapped his hands. “Ladies and Gentlemen! Congratulations on your graduation at the General Motors Institute of Technology here in Flint, Michigan. I am sure that all of you engineers have worked your ‘you know what off’ (there was laughter and applause)...and on behalf of myself, our charming singer, Dee Keating, and the entire band, we wish you a happy, successful and prosperous future! (Enthusiastic applause). And now, fellow students and dates, we have an unusual no...a unique surprise for you. One of the graduating students among you has written a song called “No Use Complaining”. We all thought it was a lovely ballad and I know you’re going to love it too. I’m sure you all know who the composer is but in case you don’t, it’s GEORGE ROBB!” The spotlight turned to me. I waved and smiled broadly. Julie almost fainted. The applause was loud and enthusiastic!
When the prom was over and everyone started to leave, Ray Anthony called me over and gave me an autographed photo of himself signed, “To a most promising composer. Regards, Ray Anthony”.
(Today that autographed photo is on my mantel).
Quite a memorable evening, to be sure.

My College Graduation
The GMI graduation ceremony in June of 1948 was beautifully and tastefully done. The reception was held outdoors and the weather was perfect for it. As far as I myself was concerned, there was only one problem! There was no one there from my family. My mother and father never even congratulated me by phone. They had never even asked about what subjects I was taking...or about my fraternity. I doubt if they even knew or cared one way or the other. Nothing! I never received any kind of a graduation gift, such as a watch or a ring, the latter of which I purchased for myself.
Imagine how I felt, watching all the parents, brothers and sisters, laughing, shaking hands and hugging the graduate. And here I was, in cap and gown, with nobody to say, “Congratulations, George!” except perhaps a few of my fellow fraternity members. There were after-graduation parties all over the city. Instead, I went back to the fraternity to pack for my return to Kansas City.
Although I was angry at my parents and harbored a great deal of resentment, I still felt that I owed them a debt of gratitude for making sure that I was okay after my nervous breakdown.
I feel that graduation is an important event in one’s life. It represents years of study and sacrifice in time, effort and money. It’s like a wedding, a bar mitzvah, a confirmation or a christening. Not to share this special occasion with someone close and special is sad and tragic.
So there! I got that off my chest! After all, these little things that happen over the years? Well, that’s me. That is what has shaped my attitude and my outlook towards life. And all of these events and experiences have influenced my music and enabled me to experience a wide variety of moods.

My Father's Illness
It was a warm Spring evening in 1949. I was thrilled! I just purchased my first car! I had been saving up for it ever since I arrived in Kansas City. It was a white over light green Chevrolet convertible with dark green leather seats and white sidewalls. In fact, the first night I had it, I drove it downtown and parked it directly in front of the Italian Gardens. As I sat near the window of the restaurant eating my spaghetti, I kept staring at my new car and wasn’t the only one. People stopped to look at it and admire it.
The next evening the weather was still perfect. I called my “musical” friend at the Hotel Estill.
“Hello, Dorothy? Hi! You’re home. Say, I’ve got a couple of things to show you. Are you busy this evening?”
“Hello, George! No...I’ve nothing planned. You’ve written a new song!”
“That too!”
“Oh wonderful. Tell me about it.”
“Well, it’s called ‘A Crazy Little Mixed-up Affair’. A ballad.
“Oh, I can’t wait to hear it. You said you have a couple of things to show me?”
“Yes. I’ll be over in a little while. And Dorothy, have you eaten yet?”
“Why no. What did you have in mind?”
“Well, I thought maybe we’d grab a hamburger at Winstead’s on the Plaza.”
“Oh George...I’m not sure if I’m in a bus mood tonight. I had a busy day at the studio.
“Well okay. I’ll still see you in a little while and we’ll decide.” She laughed and said, “Fine!”
Dorothy was beside herself when she saw my new car. After Winstead’s we decided to go back to her apartment and check out the new music. The moment we arrived at her apartment, the phone rang. Dorothy answered it.
“Hello?”
“Hello. Is George Robb there?”
“Why yes. Just a minute please.”
Surprised, I grabbed the phone. “Hello. This is George Robb.”
“Good evening, Mr. Robb. This is the YMCA calling. It’s lucky that you told us where you were going to be this evening. There’s a gentleman here who says he’s your father. Just a moment. He wants to speak with you.”
“Hello, George?”
“Dad! What a surprise! When did you get in town? Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?”
“I was in St. Louis unexpectedly on business and I just thought I’d take a train to Kansas City and pay you a surprise visit! I’m glad I found you. I can’t stay long.”
“Where are you staying, Dad?”
“At the Hotel Continental.”
“Tell you what. Why don’t you just stay there at the Y and I’ll be there as fast as I can, okay?”
“Fine. I’ll wait for you.”
I put the phone down and turned to Dorothy. “Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle! My Dad’s in town, as you gathered from the conversation. Tell you what. Maybe you’d like to come with me and meet him?”
“I’d really enjoy that, George, but I don’t want your father to get the wrong idea. After all, I am twice your age!”
“Oh don’t be silly, Dorothy. We can check out my new song another time. Come on...let’s go!”
When we arrived at the YMCA, my father was standing at the front entrance. After the introductions, we went into the lobby and chatted a while. It was getting rather late and he said that he was tired and that it had been a long day. As he shook hands with Dorothy and hugged me, I noticed that he had a strange look in his eyes. A sort of glazed, far-away look, hard to describe. I said, “Dad, are you okay?” He said he was fine and we left him off at the downtown Hotel Continental. During the ride to the hotel, he turned to me and asked, “Why in the world did you spend money on a new car? What’s wrong with the bus service here in Kansas City?” Typical of my father. I was sure he was curious about my friend, Dorothy, but he didn’t ask any questions, nor did he engage in any conversation with her. After I left him off, Dorothy and I returned to the Hotel Estill and had fun with “A Crazy Little Mixed-up Affair”. My dad and I shared dinner the next day and he left that evening.
A few months later, in early September,1949, there was a message for me at the Y desk when I returned from work. It was my folk’s number at home in Elizabeth. I called the number immediately and my brother answered.
“George. Hi!”
“What’s up?”
“It’s Dad. He’s in the hospital in New York. They say he has cancer. A brain tumor!”
“Oh no!”
“Can you come out here right away? We don’t think he has long to live, George.”
“Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll make arrangements right away. Oh boy! That’s awful news. Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Bye.”
When I arrived at Grand Central Station, I had no idea which hospital my father was in. I never thought to ask. I called home but there was no answer. So I got hold of the telephone directory and started calling the hospitals, starting with the A’s, asking if there was a ‘Charles Robb’ registered there. After about an hour and a whole bunch of dimes, I finally got the word, “Yes, we have a Charles Robb registered here.” They gave me his room number and I hailed a cab as soon as I could.
My dad was lying there alone when I entered his room. He had a huge bandage around his head. He extended his hand slowly and in a weak voice, he greeted me. “Georgie. Thank you for coming.”
“Oh Dad, I’m so sorry.” I didn’t know what to say, really.
The next few weeks I was in constant touch with my mother and brother. Dad was getting worse. It was just a matter of time. Between General Motors, writing new music, seeing Dorothy and her friends a few evenings per week, I drove around in my new car, looking for a new place to stay. Coincidentally, the very day I found a cozy apartment in mid-town Kansas City, I got the news that my father had passed away.

The Ceremony
The funeral was something else. It was raining and my brother and I were seated up front, close to where the Rabbi was standing. My mother stood next to him with a black veil over her face. There was a surprisingly large crowd behind us and most of us had an umbrella, as did my brother and I.
The Rabbi began the ceremony. Her turned to my mother and said, “Please repeat after me.” Big mistake!
A strange thing happened. What the Rabbi said in Jewish, or whatever, had nothing, absolutely no similarity whatsoever, to do with the way my mother tried to repeat the strange words. He would say something in that odd, sing-song language and my mother would mumble something completely different. There was a slight sound from my brother, similar to a hiccup. I echoed the same sound. Suddenly, as the exchange between the Rabbi and my mother continued, we both began to laugh... uncontrollably...almost to the point of hysteria. Behind us, the people obviously thought that we were both sobbing out of grief, as they noticed our shoulders shaking and our heads bobbing up and down. Someone behind me patted me on the shoulder, trying to console me. The situation got worse every time the Rabbi would utter a few more foreign words and they would be repeated with the same crazy gibberish! My mother glanced at us and smiled...sort of. I think she understood why we were so amused and she raised her shoulders slightly, shaking her head, as though saying, “No! This is not funny! This is no time for laughter! Your father is dead! This is supposed to be a solemn ceremony.”
Still another one of those crazy little mixed-up affairs!

Mary's Place
Things got busy when I returned to Kansas City. I settled into my new mid-town apartment and enjoyed my work at the plant. I spent many of my evening at the public library, studying chord progressions, arrangements of popular songs, analyzing the keys of the various instruments, etc. Finally, on the basis of what I had learned, I tried my own hand at arranging...an original number called “Take It from Me”. As a footnote: I was offered $400 for this song by a local Kansas City publisher when I first wrote it. The sale was predicated upon two things: (1) my name would not be included as the composer, and (2) there would be some changes in the lyrics. Although $400 was a lot of money, especially at that time, I refused the deal. My friends thought I was nuts!
I arranged “Take it from Me” for an eight-piece band. Then one evening I happened to notice in the local newspaper that there was an eight-piece band playing at “Mary’s Place”. I called and asked to speak to the band leader and, luckily, he happened to be there at the time. I told him what I had in mind, that I had arranged an original number for a group of musicians identical to his. He told me to bring it out that coming Saturday and that he would look at it. I was excited! I had worked on this for weeks and now I was so anxious to hear what I had done.
When I arrived at Mary’s Place, after getting lost several times, I surveyed the place and it seemed very nice. The customers had not yet arrived and the place was quiet.
“Hi! Are you the band leader?”
“Yes I am. What can I do for you?”
“I talked to you on the phone about an arrangement I just completed and you said you would take a look at it. Any chance of the band trying it out tonight?”
“Nah. I don’t wanna take a chance with their sight reading right off the bat. Besides, we’re just setting up. Sorry. Can’t do that!”
This heavy-set woman overheard our conversation while she was lighting a candle on one of the nearby tables. She climbed the stairs to the stage and approached the band leader. “Look! This kid came all the way out here and just wants to hear what he’s composed and arranged. So what’s the big deal? I should think you’d welcome some new music. What’s the matter with you?"
“Okay, Okay, Mary.” He turned to me. “Tell you what...George, is it? Leave the manuscript with me. We rehearse every Thursday night and go over new material so we’ll take a look at yours. Get in touch with me next Saturday evening about this time...early...before we set up. I’ll let you know. Okay?”
“Great! I appreciate that.” I turned to her. “Thanks, Mary.” Satisfied, I drove back home.
The following Saturday evening I telephoned Mary’s Place.
A husky woman’s voice answered. “Hello?”
“Hi. May I speak to the band leader, please.”
“You all means de band dat’s been heah de past two weeks?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Ma’am.”
“Sorry. Is he available?
“No, sah. He ain’t heah. Dey all left after da show las Saday. Wanna speak to de boss?”
“Please.”
“Well she ain’t heah.”
“You say the band left? Do you happen to know where they are or where they went?”
“Oh no, Sah. I ain’t got no idea where dey done gone.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
All that work for nothing! I learned a lesson: I should have made a copy of the manuscript.

A Frightening Shopping Experience
By early 1950 I was settling into my new apartment like a mother hen. The main thing I was anxious to buy was a piano. On a pleasant, blue sky day, I parked my Chevy downtown and went to one of the most well-known Kansas City music stores, Jenkins Music Company. After much talking, price negotiating and questioning, I finally settled on a very nice upright piano and I arranged to have it shipped to my apartment ASAP.
I was very pleased with myself and had a satisfying lunch at the Forum Cafeteria. After lunch I thought I'd look for a few items at Macy's, such as a couple of small lamps for the piano. On my way to Macy's, fighting the crowd of shoppers on the sidewalks, I had to go the bathroom. I knew there was a very nice restroom in the lower level of the Hotel Muehlebach, so I hurried down there.
When I arrived at the restroom, I stood at one end of the long line of urinals. The room was deserted. Suddenly, while I was doing my thing, this scroungy looking guy comes in and chooses the urinal next to mine. I immediately became suspicious and a bit scared. Then suddenly, without warning, he pulls out a switchblade. Without zipping up, I ran out of there and up the stairs as fast as my legs would take me. I looked back over my shoulder and sure enough...he was following me!
I bumped into people. I dodged a man in a wheel chair. I pushed people aside. He was not too far behind me! I ran north to Petticoat Lane, rushed into a store and saw that the door of the crowded elevator was just about to close. The passengers must have thought I was out of my mind...as though I couldn't wait for the next elevator! I got off at the sixth floor. So now what? Suppose he's looking for me. He knows I'm in the building. I found a mens' restroom and sat down on a toilet in one of the stalls with my feet up. My heart was still beating a mile a minute! After what seemed like an eternity, someone came in and I heard mumbling and cursing. Now my heart was really in my throat! Then all was quiet. I waited about five more minutes and then tiptoed gingerly into the hallway towards the elevator, pushed the down button and waited. The coast was clear when I entered the elevator. I noticed that my fly was wide open! I thanked my lucky stars that I had lost him and to be safe I found an exit at the rear of the building, just in case he might have been waiting for me at the main entrance.
Another crazy little mixed up affair!

A Silly Embarrassment
One day in early 1950 my boss at GM must have thought that I needed some lessons in public speaking so he arranged for me to attend a series of Dale Carnegie classes (their slogan: "How to win friends and influence people"). Could the company be grooming me for a higher management job or what?
The classes were held at the Bellerive Hotel in mid-town (across the street from my apartment) where I heard that Liberace and many other well-known personalities got their start.
The room was located on the second floor of the hotel. There were about twenty students and four instructors. After about the third session, each student had to get up before the group and think of something that really made him angry, banging a wadded up newspaper on a table. After I did my thing, my shirt was outside of my trousers and I was a mess. I was to meet Dorothy and some others right after class. So I quietly slipped out and looked for a restroom where I could "adjust". (Seems like I'm always having restroom problems). Not being able to find one, I did spot a quiet alcove with a huge mirror. Standing in front of this mirror, I began my thing.
Essentially, there are three ways a man can stuff his shirt into his pants: (1) he can open up and get full, all around 360 degree coverage; (2) he can do it the conservative way and simply place his hand, one at a time, first in the right pocket and then the left, pushing the shirt tails downward with his thumb and index fingers; (3) he can zip down, thrust his arm into his pants as far as it could go and grab the shirt tail, first right...then left.
I chose method number three! While I had my right arm inside my pants, I got a sudden, huge surprise. The mirror slid open.
It was the elevator!
Crowded!
I didn't know whether to say, "Going up, going down or good evening!”
The people gawked at me in amazement. I stood there for a second or two and then managed to hobble away like a monkey! '
Still another crazy, little mixed-up affair!

The 1950's
A lot of things happened in my life in the 1950's. In January I changed cars and bought a brand new black and white Pontiac convertible with red leather seats and white sidewalls. I fell in love with it as soon as I saw it on the showroom floor and I enjoyed an excellent trade-in involving my '49 Chevy convertible.
I was enjoying my upright piano and became even more prolific in my composing. I abandoned the idea of doing any more arranging since I was burned so badly at Mary's Place with my "Take It from Me". My circle of friends was increasing gradually through my friend, Dorothy, and I was involved in a lot of recording where she worked at Vic Damon's Recording Studio. It was fun working with a group of giggling highschool girls (a quartet) as well as a small country band performing a number called "Telephone". Mildred and Roberta, the two highschool teachers, were very much into arranging for piano one number after another and were always hungry for more!
In July of 1951, Kansas City experienced just about the worst flood in its history. After helping with the sandbagging throughout several critical areas in the city, I decided to pack up and drive to California, since I had a two-week vacation. I had never been there before and I thought I'd take my music and several 33-1/3 records, along with my portable phonograph. I visited as many publishing houses and recording companies as I could in the LA area, but of course to no avail. I couldn't even get anybody to listen! Incidentally, what I hadn't mentioned before is that I had spent a lot of time in New York City's Tin Pan Alley when I visited my folks during my every two-month break from studies at GMI. One of the most popular songs at the time was "Cement Mixer Putty Putty". I thought that if this is what the public wants, then I don't stand a chance! Nevertheless I made up my mind that I will never give up, even if it takes an entire lifetime! Someday I will share my music with the world, just like George Gershwin, Leonard Bernstein, Cole Porter, Irving Berlin and a host of others who worked their tails off and experienced years of rejections. Anyhow, it doesn't hurt to dream!

Meeting the Mother of a Celebrity
The mid-town apartment where I was living had several interesting tenants. One of them, an elderly woman with whom I frequently chatted when sharing the elevator, was the mother of Leonard Bernstein. She was so proud of her son and kept me informed of his progress every time we would meet. As a result, I almost felt as though I had known Leonard Bernstein personally. In fact, I went to New York especially to see his "West Side Story" and also attended a performance in Kansas City.

down to the Bare Facts
Early the next year the apartment manager where I was staying had been offered a new managerial position at an apartment complex called, "Quality Hill Towers". She talked me into looking at one of the vacant apartments, and when I saw the facilities (so much more modern than where I was staying) I had no trouble in making a decision to move and in no time I was settled in my new "digs".
I immediately arranged to have the Kansas City Star delivered to my door. The first Sunday after delivery had begun, I had just stepped out of the shower when I heard the thump of the newspaper as it was thrown on the floor a few feet from my door. Stark naked, I opened the front door and saw that it was just a stepping stone away and as I bent down to pick it up, my door slammed shut! Here I was, stark naked, out in the hallway! What do I do now? The door locked immediately and I was stranded, naked!
An elderly couple had just emerged from the elevator at the other end of the hall and spotted me. I held the newspaper in front of me and ran to the stairway. Fortunately, these folks, stunned and amused as they were, made a phone call and after a few long minutes, one of the janitors came to my rescue and opened my door with his skeleton key, shaking his head and laughing.

The Chef
A few doors down there was an interesting character in his late thirties, I would say... personnel director at the GM plant were I was working. Boy, what a cook he was! One evening we both enjoyed dinner at a mid-town restaurant called "Sidney's" and ordered a strawberry cheesecake for dessert. It was ooh-la-la! Magnificent!. Believe it or not, the next afternoon, after work, he reproduced an exact replica, recognizing every single ingredient in the recipe. We made pigs of ourselves and couldn't believe we ate the whole thing!

My Mother’s Visit
In September of 1952 my mother paid me a surprise visit. Ever since my father died she had become even more difficuit to get along with. She was cranky and sensitive and, as always, I could never do anything right. About the third day of her planned one-week visit, I happened to be down in the parking lot cleaning my car, when she decided to bake an apple pie, having gone shopping with me the day before. When she placed the finished pie in the oven, she thought that she had turned on the oven. Apparently, from what I had learned later, about a half hour or so had passed and she didn't smell the pie. So she checked the oven and noticed to her surprise that she had never turned it on. There was a huge amount of accumulated gas and when she turned the oven on, there was a loud explosion!
A neighbor heard the explosion. He knew that I was the occupant of that apartment and having seen me washing my car a while back when he entered the building, he rushed down to where I was and yelled, “Are you George Robb?”
“Yes.”
“Your mother just blew up!
My God! I didn't know what to imagine! What a thing to say! I grabbed an elevator to the ninth floor as quickly as I could and found out that she was okay. Her eyebrows were singed a bit and we applied lotion to her face and that was about it. But blown up?

Cigarette Lighter
About mid-1953 I happened to spot an ad in the Kansas City Star about special evening courses in German and Spanish at UMKC (University of Missouri Kansas City). I set up an appointment for an interview with the registrar and he suggested that I sign up for Spanish rather than German only because he thought I might like the teacher! So I signed up for the Spanish course and classes were scheduled to start in September, directly after Labor Day. The registrar was right! I did like the teacher. She was extremely charming, intelligent, cosmopolitan, very pretty with blue eyes, dimples and gorgeous teeth. AND she had an extraordinary sense of humor!
I was one of about twenty-five students and I knew from the beginning that I was going to have a great time every Thursday evening from 7 to 9. I had no idea why, but 1 felt obliged to give her a bad time in class. I only knew that her first name was Gabriela and that she was born in England and also lived in Germany and in Lima, Peru.
About the fourth session she was talking about certain English expressions and how they translated into similar Spanish expressions. There was one particular example she was trying to find in our textbook but she seemed to be having a problem locating it. I raised my hand.
"Yes, Mr. Robb?
"I think you'll find what you're looking for on page 147."
"Well thank you."
Everyone turned to page 147. It was a map of South America! The class laughed but she smiled and gave me a mischievous, "dirty" look!
To make up for this, I went up to her desk after class had dismissed and I asked her if she'd ever heard of Winstead's on the Plaza and would she like to go after class next week for a hamburger. She said she had been there several times and she thought that they had about the best in town. She hesitated a moment and then said, "Well thank you. I think that would be very nice. I'll look forward to it!" I was delighted. It goes without saying that I liked her very much...but from an intellectual standpoint only...not in the physical sense.
It was a cloudy, drizzly evening when we got in my car after class. As I headed for the Plaza, I offered her a cigarette but she waved it off, saying she didn't smoke. As I popped one in my mouth, I pushed in the cigarette lighter while we were talking and I didn't notice that she had taken it out with the intention of lighting my cigarette.
What happened next was startling! She accidentally dropped the red-hot lighter in my lap and was groping for it furiously, trying to retrieve it! I had no idea what was going on and I thought to myself, “Wow! This gal must be desperate!” When she divulged what had just happened in a panicky voice, I pulled into a private driveway, got out of the car and retrieved the lighter from the floor. 1 was lucky that nothing happened...just a small hole in my pants!
After we were seated at Winstead's, Gaby looked at me and laughed.
"I hope you didn't think 1 was too aggressive!"
My laughter joined hers. "Well...to tell you the truth, I didn't know what to think. It did occur to me though: 'Golly we've only known each other for such a short time! You know?"
"Anyway, please don't tell anybody that I was groping you! Promise?"
"I'll just mention it to the students in your class. Nobody else!"
We sat there for a few minutes and looked at the menus.
I said, "It says here that Winstead's started up in 1940. This happened to be one of the first places I went to when I first came here to Kansas City. 1 took a street car from Kansas City, Kansas. The guys at the "Y" where I was staying recommended this place...told me they had about the best hamburgers in town.
"I have to agree with them. They're a real treat!"
"I might mention that I got to know Mr. Winstead himself. He noticed that 1 had come in to eat rather often and one day he just sat down at my table and we started to chat. After a while we got to know each other pretty well and once in while he'd say, ‘This one's on the house!’ I haven't seen him for quite some time though. I just wonder if he's okay."
Gaby still had the cigarette lighter incident on her mind. "All I can say is, you mention what happened tonight in your car and I'll triple your homework!"
"Scout's honor!"

Romance?
Over the next few months we became very good friends, it seemed that we clicked together and we were obviously on the same intellectual level. We liked the same things. She came several times to my apartment and shared a lot of my music. We ate dinner together quite often and she was happy that I was doing so well in Spanish. As a matter of fact, 1 studied extra hard in order to please her and 1 aced every one of her tests.
As far as Dorothy was concerned, I couldn't help but feel a little guilty. I hadn't seen her for quite some time and she called me one evening to see if I was all right. I told her that I was fine but busy with my Spanish lessons and homework. I didn't want to tell her about my teacher.
Gabriela (I called her Gaby) told me that in 1947 an admiral from the US Navy was stationed in Lima, Peru, (where her family had moved from Germany several years back) and that he was on some kind of a special assignment there. While in Lima, he joined a chorus. Gaby's parents were part of that singing group and over the course of time the three of them became very close friends. When his term in the navy had expired, this man had apparently accepted a job in Kansas City as a professor specializing in philosophy and social studies. He took a liking to Gabriela and thought she might like to continue her education in the States. Her parents were reluctant at first but their daughter felt that this would be a tremendous challenge and a wonderful, unique opportunity. In due time they agreed with her and it was decided that when she reached her twenty-first birthday, she would come to the States and stay with the professor and his family (wife and teenage daughter).
And so it came to pass! Gaby specialized in English and Spanish literature at UMKC and several years later her "benefactor" and sponsor arranged for her to teach an evening course in Spanish. And that is the how, when and where we met!

Is It Possible
One chilly Sunday afternoon in October, 1953, while on my way to a corner grocery store, I noticed a young man, his wife, two little boys and a baby in a stroller. They seemed so happy and well adjusted...so in tune with the world! I was thinking at the time, "This is something I may never be part of. Just not meant to be.” It saddened me. I'll never be a father! Never know what it's like to be part of a loving family. My own family certainly wasn't loving. Not by any means.
I was restless that night. I was thinking that maybe, just maybe...I might be able to change. Perhaps in time I could develop some kind of a physical, sexual relationship with a member of the opposite sex. Would this be possible? Could I ever be straight? Heterosexual? Would I be able to consummate a marriage? And just as important...would this be fair to her? Is that something I'd be able to hide over the years?
I knew by now that I loved Gaby, but I also asked myself...could I ever be in love with her?

Engagement and Marriage
It was the last Saturday in October, 1953. Gaby and I had just placed our order for "family style" chicken at the Wishbone. She looked radiant! I felt so comfortable and relaxed in her presence. I lit a cigarette, leaned toward her and whispered, “You sure do look nice tonight, you know that?”
"Well thank you, kind sir. You look nice, too. And I do like that tie. Is it new?"
"Yes. I was in Emery-Bird-Thayer the other day just before class and I thought I might wear it tonight."
She smiled as the waiter placed a bowl of chicken noodle soup before her. "I just hope it wasn't too expensive."
I mashed out my cigarette as a bowl was placed before me. "Not too. Say...how's the secretarial business going? Do you like that sort of work?"
"Oh..I can't really say I like it. But let's face it. It does pay my rent. Anyhow, it's not just being a secretary. I also have to bring the boss his coffee in the morning."
"Ouch! I just can't see you doing that. They make what...chemicals of some kind?"
"Insecticides. Bug killers. That sort of thing. In fact, the boss got mad at me the other day."
"Why?"
"Because he saw me using a fty swatter and he looked at me as though I was turning my back on the products they make. Like it was sabotage!"
I laughed. "That's cute."
We looked at each other and then started eating our soup.
"You know, Gaby, we've known each other for what...nearly two months now? Time sure flies. How'm I doing with my Spanish?"
"I'd say without hesitation, George, that you're my very best student." She smiled. "You've aced every one of my tests. Congratulations! Oh...incidentally I got a call from my folks in Lima last night. They want me to come home for Hanukkah."
I was quite surprised. "Oh? I didn't know you were Jewish."
"Yes. My mother's Jewish. My father isn't. My mother, my younger brother and I...we're Jewish but we really don't observe the holidays...maybe just Hanukkah."
"Have you decided? I mean...are you going to Lima?"
“Oh I don't think so. Actually, I haven't given Mother an answer yet. And really, 1 don't have that kind of money for a big trip right now."
"You know, I'm Jewish too."
"I didn't know that! You're Jewish? You certainly don't look it."
I laughed. "Well now how is a Jew supposed to look?
She laughed too. "I don't really know. The nose. The hair. I don't know. I'm sorry I said that."
The platter of fried chicken arrived just as we finished our soup. Suddenly, without thinking, I blurted it out. "When you get used to the idea, we'll announce our engagement!"
She looked stunned.
I continued. "You know, I realize we haven't known each other very long. But don't you agree? We seem to click. We seem so compatible. We have so much in common. Besides, you said you liked my tie!"
She smiled and turned her head to one side. "Well I must admit this is pretty sudden, George. Don’t you think we should wait? Maybe another year or so?"
"Why? What for? I'm 32 and you're 25. The old clock's ticking!"
"We're not that old and it's not ticking that fast. Oh...my mother asked me about you. I told her several weeks ago that I had this student in class and that I thought he was cute. She seemed to like what I was telling her about you.”
"Really? And what did you tell her?"
“That you were smart. That you were my favorite student. That you were good looking. That I enjoyed your company! That I liked your sense of humor. That you have a beautiful car. Was that enough?
"Well, thank you. Really now. I'm serious. I'm not just asking you from the top of my head. I've given this some thought. Actually during the past five minutes. No, seriously. I'll repeat what I said before. When you get used to the idea, we'll announce our engagement!"
She hesitated and smiled. "Give me time to think about it. I'll let you know after dessert!"

The Engagement Party
The engagement party was held on December 20, 1953, at my Quality Hill Apartment. It was a smash! SRO and elbow to elbow! Mostly Gaby's friends and colleagues, several of her Spanish students and many of my GM friends. Her sponsor, the professor, his wife and daughter, were beaming! Even her boss, the "Insecticide Man", was there and he drank himself to a stupor (we had to call for a taxi to take him home!) And a huge surprise about a week before: Gaby's parents flew in unexpectedly from Lima and Gaby was beside herself. Her mother, whom we called "Omi", was a very charming and stately woman and we clicked immediately. She whispered to me that she couldn't think of a better way to spend Hanukkah! Omi had her daughter's same sense of humor. Her father, Opi, however, was more reserved and somewhat aloof.
A few days before the party I received a phone call from Mildred, one of Dorothy's highschool teacher friends. She told me that Dorothy had just moved to California to live with her ailing mother. I felt badly and a little bit guilty, not having invited her to the party, in view of the fact that she was so much a part of my life before I had met Gaby. Oh well! C' est la vie! It might have been a bit awkward if she had been there. I sensed for a long time, despite our age difference, that Dorothy had a crush on me and I wouldn't be surprised if she were devastated when she heard the news that I was getting married.
So! The party lasted until the wee hours of the morning. One delightful Jewish couple whom Gaby had met through the professor (they came in with a huge platter of chopped liver!) extended an invitation to Gaby and me to hold our wedding reception at their home in their backyard, weather permitting. Gaby and I had made the announcement a few minutes before that we were planning to be married on May 28, 1954.
Every once in a while, when I would look at my future wife, I could sense a black cloud in the horizon. What will our nights be like? Sharing our bed. Will I be able to perform? Am I doing the right thing or should I back out while there's still time? With all the excitement and festivities going on, I tried to dismiss these thoughts from my mind. I had been caught up with a whirlwind of activity all these weeks but every once in a while sex would cross my mind! It also bothered me that my music had taken a back seat for months!

The Wedding
Christmas and New Years passed by like a blur and soon things settled down to normal. My neighbor friend knocked on my door one snowy evening in late January carrying his "famous" strawberry cheesecake. I was in my bathrobe.
"Hey! Come on in! My God! Look at that cheesecake! How'd you know my sweet tooth's been bothering me? Don't mind me. I just came out of the shower. Where in the blazes have you been? I wanted to invite you last month to my engagement party but it seemed like you just vanished from the face of the earth!"
"Can I get a word in edgewise? Yeah, I'm sorry I missed that. I've been on special assignment in Chicago. Just got back." He plopped down on the sofa. "I'm pooped!"
I went into the kitchenette to dish out the cake. "So it's back to work at the plant now, hah?"
"Yeah. 'Fraid so. Anyhow, my friend, congratulations! I just got the news. Gonna be a husband, hah? Sure you’re ready for it?”
"What do you mean?"
"Thanks. Where's the fork?"
"Oh. Sorry." I went back to get the silverware.
"You know what I mean. That conversation you and I had before I left? Remember? When I admitted that I was gay too? Come on now, George. How do you really feel about all this?"
I sat down on the chair opposite him and dabbled my fork in the cheesecake. "How do I feel? Nervous. Apprehensive. Scared. Sometimes I go to bed and wonder if I'm really doing the right thing...that maybe it's still not too late if I backed out now. But Golly Moses! What would I tell her? What would people think? Honestly, I don't know what the hell to do!"
"Well, my friend, I know what I'd do. I'd back out before it's too late. The HELL with what anybody else thinks! Gaby's a wonderful gal, I'll say that. It's just not fair to her! I mean, why do people get married in the first place? Sex!"
"Oh I dunno. Sometimes I think it's money. You know...the security? For some it's just the companionship, not wanting to be alone. I don't think sex is THE most important thing!"
"Listen, ol' buddy. Gaby's a healthy woman. She has normal, feminine desires. She's going into this marriage thing expecting you to be loving and passionate! And if you can't perform, I tell you, Buddy. I see trouble ahead!"
"Boy, this cake's something else. Honestly, I don't know what the hell to do. One side of me says, 'George, go ahead with the wedding and take your chances! Arrange for both of us to take a six weeks leave of absence for our honeymoon, board the Queen Mary and go to England, France, Spain, Germany and Italy and all those wonderful places like we both discussed’. All that traveling excitement might sort of take away any thoughts of sex!”
"Yeah, right! Don't count on it! After the Eiffel Tower, you both still have to share a hotel bed! Then what? Tell her you're too pooped to pop?"
I heaved a deep sigh. “And then the other side of me says, ‘Gaby...Honey. 1 love you very much. But I have something I've got to tell you. I hate to tell you this as much as you're gonna hate to hear it. I have a corn on the sole of my left foot!’”
He laughed. "Yeah. That'll end any thoughts of marriage for sure. Listen. I'm no Doctor of Psychiatry but let me offer you a suggestion, George. You talked about this guy Lou? This tall, handsome guy who was a fraternity brother of yours? The guy you said kissed you once full on the lips and sent an electric shock throughout your entire body? Okay. When you hop into bed with your wife and you're trying desperately to put on that condom... and I suggest you stock up on 'em...think about this guy. Psyche yourself into imagining that you're having sex with this guy, Lou. Even this guy at the YMCA you told me about. Anything that might truly turn you on. 1 can almost guarantee that this will get you through. I honestly think that sex is strictly a psychological thing. How about another slice of my cheesecake?"
I cut another slice for both of us. "Go on. What you're suggesting? You think that'll work? Really?"
"I honestly think it will. As I said, one's attitude towards sex is simply a matter of psychology. Why is a guy attracted to one woman and not necessarily to another? Why do so many guys cheat on their wives? Why are there so many divorces? And as far as this gay thing's concerned? Don't let anybody fool you. You don't make that choice yourself, believe me. You're born that way. It's in your genes. It's inevitable! Did you or I choose the gay life? Hell no! Didn't you realize you were gay at a real early age, George?"
I nodded. "Yeah. You're right on target. I remember when I was just a little tyke and I was dancing with this girl? 1 see this real good looking boy with blond, curly hair. Real handsome. And you know what? I was wishing at the time that I was dancing with him! But you know? I think you've got a point there. Psyche yourself into thinking you're having sex with someone who really turns you on. Maybe this kind of thinking will carry me through. Thanks! I think that just might be the answer to my dilemma.”
"The only problem is that this kind of thinking eventually sort of fades away. You can't fantasize forever because it gets old after a while and repetition eventually makes this whole psyche thing grow stale and ineffective. Oh never mind! Why I am telling you all this? Hell, I’m no psychiatrist! Besides, I read the other day that a good percentage of psychiatrists are gay themselves and their main goal in life is to enhance their own self-understanding and all that's expected of them is that they have to be good listeners and charge an arm and a leg!"
"Well I don't know about that, but I do think what you're telling me makes sense. I have no other alternative. I'll try it...what you're suggesting. It might just work! Really though. I know exactly what's going to happen. I'm gonna go ahead with the wedding. We'll have dinner at Putsch's on the Plaza...my future father-in-law mentioned this before he and Gaby's mother returned to Lima... and then top it off with the big reception at these folks' back yard. Then I'll just have to take my chances when we're whisked off to the honeymoon suite at the Muehlebach Hotel and Lou and I will have sex!"
And that's exactly the way it happened.
“Anyhow, you’re not the only one who liked my cheese cake. Yeah, I’ll take one more slice. Every once in a while I’d bake one just for the office crew. Lemme tell you a little story. There was this guy who worked for me for a couple of years? Name was Bob. I’d say he was pushing forty. He was a real devoted fan of my cheese cake, that’s for sure! Oh thanks! In fact, one time while he was eating a slice of my cake, he said, ‘Man! This is so tasty I hate to inhale’. I asked, him, ‘What d’ya mean, you hate to inhale?’ He told me something I never realized. He said, ‘When you inhale, you cancel out your taste buds. You didn’t know that?’”
I tested this out for myself and sure enough. When I inhaled, I couldn’t taste a thing!
“Well! On with it! I didn’t mean to sidetrack. Bob happened to be almost completely bald, except for the sides and some at the lower back of his head. A real good looking guy, even with his baldness.”
“Just out of curiosity, was this Bob gay?”
“Yes but you’d never know it. Not even a hint. Oops! Excuse me! You know what they say! ‘A burp is a gust of air that comes up directly from the heart...and when it takes a downward trend, it’s generally called a....’” He stopped and winked.
I laughed.
“Well, to continue. Bob left his job in the Personnel Department around, oh I’d say about a year or so ago, maybe a little longer. Took a job with McDonald’s. A real interesting assignment, to say the least. His assignment was to establish new McDonald restaurants overseas, particularly in the Asiatic countries, like Japan, China, Taiwan...you name it.”
I was beginning to wonder where he was going with this.
“Since his job required meeting a lot of different people, he was particularly sensitive about his baldness. In fact, I knew that before he left. What little hair he had left was black, tinged with gray here and there.
‘I would get letters every once in a while from Bob...from real exotic places...some I never even heard of. Then, not long ago, I get this letter announcing that he’s coming back here for a short vacation and lo and behold! We met at a local restaurant and he had his Vietnamese wife with him. I might add that she was a lesbian, and a gorgeous specimen of female pulchritude at that.
‘But that in itself didn’t surprise me. What took my breath away was the fact that Bob was sporting a full head of hair! And what’s more, you couldn’t even tell whether it was a wig or whatever. He looked great! And the hair looked so natural, blending in with his own hair! His wife, Sang, told me about it.
‘She said that, per her suggestion, every time he would get a haircut, he would save his hair and not leave it for the barber shop to gather and throw out. He did this and over a period of time they had accumulated a huge mass of hair in a large bowl. Then, finally, Sang did her job. She took the strongest, double-edged, transparent tape she could lay her hands on. Amazing! She carefully adhered pieces of hair to small lengths of tape and stuck it in strategic places, fusing it and combing it in with Bob’s real hair. There was no color or texture difference whatsoever! It changed Bob’s looks completely! There was no way you could tell! No way!”
“So what happened when he’d have to wash his hair? After all, like anything else, it eventually gets dirty.”
“No problem. The replacement hair and tape withstood several washes and when some of it would get a bit weak as far as adhering was concerned, she would replace it. Again, no problem! So anyway, I thought I’d just throw that in. One for the books, right?”
“Posilutely and absotively amazing! So? Have you heard from them since?”
“Yep! They’re living in Atlanta now. Bob’s in charge of the East Coast McDonald’s restaurants and Sang is working as an ER nurse in a local hospital there.”
“Wow! Quite a story. Anyhow, let’s get back to MY problem, okay?”
“Sure thing. Sorry.”
Evening classes at UMKC ended the second week in May. The Rabbi handled the wedding ceremony expertly and I was glad I didn't have to repeat any words in Jewish or Yiddish or whatever! My mother hardly said a word the whole time she was here, staying with me at my apartment. Gaby looked lovely in her wedding gown. Her parents were dressed beautifully and appeared proud and dignified. My cheesecake friend was best man and the matron of honor was one of Gaby's best friends from college. The professor took me aside right after the wedding and placed his hand on my shoulder.
"George, you're marrying a wonderful girl! She has everything a man can ever want. I knew that when I first met her in Lima! You're a lucky man! Take good care of her, Son. Be good to her. Make your marriage a happy, worthwhile blessing! A marriage made in heaven! And have lots of happy, healthy babies!"
I smiled and nodded. God help me!

The Honeymoon
Five days on the high seas was a delightful and memorable experience. 1 suppose not too many folks have had the opportunity to see the Queen Mary, much less to share the fun, the fantastic food, the on-board entertainment that this floating city had to offer!
We sailed on August 11, 1954, both of us having saved a good part of our respective incomes starting immediately after our wedding.
One particular evening, Gaby and I were leaning against the railing on the top deck high above the water. There was a full moon and its reflection appeared like a golden pathway from the ship all the way to the horizon. We just stood there for a long time, both with our own thoughts. A couple walked by slowly, then stopped briefly in the shadows to kiss and embrace.
We could hear their whispering and heavy breathing. At that moment I wondered what my wife was thinking. I hugged and kissed her many times before, during and after our wedding but when my arms were around her...when my lips met hers...I never felt any sensation whatsoever. I often thought, "I might just as well be hugging a tree!" And of course that was no reflection on her! The only bright spot, the only positive thing, was the fact that using homosexual fantasies during sex, as my friend had suggested, actually did work and everything seemed to be going rather smoothly ever since we first slept together at the Muehlebach Hotel.
As I stared at the moon, I was thinking to myself, "George, weren't you happier...didn't you have more peace of mind when you were with Dorothy? How much fun we had sharing my music, eating Thanksgiving turkey at her apartment and laughing...always laughing!" There was no feeling of pressure or obligation of any kind. Now it seems as though I had never even written any music and original melodies no longer danced around in my brain.

Doing Europe
After five days on the high seas, we docked at Southampton, then proceeded by train to London, where one of Gaby's cousins, Peter, met us at the station. We stayed with him and Gaby's uncles in Golders Green (a London suburb where Gaby was born) for slightly over a week. We toured London and saw all the sights that tourists should see. I bought a fine wool sweater and Gaby bought a lovely plaid scarf. Towards the end of our stay we borrowed their car and drove north to Stratford-on-Avon to see a play.
In late August I got seasick when crossing the English Channel but felt better after we docked in Cherbourg. Then on to Paris!
Rather than take any formal bus tours throughout Paris, I had suggested that we take a walking tour. Actually what I really had in mind (I felt guilty in thinking this) was that if we were to go on a walking tour, we would end the day feeling very tired...too tired, as a matter of fact, for sex! Sure enough! One evening as were finishing our dinner at the third stage (troisieme etage) of the Eiffel tower, I couldn't help but be reminded of the statement my friend had made: "After the Eiffel Tower, you both still have to share a hotel bed. Then what? Tell her you're too pooped to pop?"
We spent one whole day at the Louvre Museum and returned the next morning...there was so much to see. I was quite disappointed in the deteriorated condition of the Mona Lisa but all in all, the exhibits were fascinating because many of them were so familiar. Another reason we spent so much time there was that it was cool inside. The weather was humid and over 100 degrees. When we left late that morning we enjoyed a light lunch in one of the sidewalk cafes, even though we were both perspiring profusely. It was entertaining just sitting there people-watching. There were people of all races and nationalities and I was particularly amused when I saw many male couples (and female) walking hand-in-hand and arm-in-arm. I glanced at Gaby and noticed that she shook her head several times but said nothing.
A tall, exceptionally handsome guy sat down at a table not far from us. I hate to use the term “gorgeous" when it applies to a male, but in this case that's exactly what he was! He was tan and his jet black, curly hair accentuated the color of his skin. I noticed a small tattoo that looked like an anchor on his muscular forearm. He wore a white, sleeveless sport shirt and dark, blue denim pants. I didn't want Gaby to notice that I kept looking in his direction and luckily her attention was on the passersby. She finished her cafe au lait and leaned across the table. "Honey, it's too hot and I'm about to melt. Do you mind?" I hated to leave but I had no choice.
We walked a few blocks when we noticed a swimming pool across the street.
Gaby said, "Oh Honey, wouldn't that refreshing? Why don't we take a cab back to the hotel a