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Day One: Monthly Letter
Dear Readers, I love Prom season. I love the idea of being Cinderella for a night without the overhead of the Wicked Stepsisters. I love the fact that no matter how swiftly the world changes around us, for a few weeks in late May and early nothing matters but the search for the perfect dress . . . the perfect shoes . . . the perfect date. I grew up in Queens, New York City, where we had certain unbreakable traditions surrounding The Prom. I'm not sure how it's done these days but back in June of 1967, the rules of Prom Going were written in stone. First of all, you rented a limousine with a few other couples so you didn't have to schlep to the dance on the subway. (Can you imagine dragging your long gown through the turnstile??) Most proms were held either at a local wedding "factory" (my old high school, Mater Christi, always held theirs at Astoria Manor) or a hotel. I bypassed by alma mater's prom in favor of my boyfriend's. (Yes, he went on to become my husband.) How on earth could Astoria Manor hold a candle to the Plaza Hotel on Fifth Avenue, right there at the entrance to Central Park? The dress code never varied: boys rented tuxes complete with cummerbunds and boutonnieres. Girls bought long dresses and had white peau de soie shoes dyed to match the gown. We borrowed long gloves (preferably gloves that ended above the elbow) and dangling earrings and spent endless hours experimenting with elaborate upswept hairdos guaranteed to transform our everyday teenage selves into movie stars. The favorite hairdo by far in 1967 was Grecian Curls, a high and oh-so-sophisticated arrangement of enormous curls anchored in place with at least two cans of extra-hold Aqua Net hairspray.
We really did feel like movie stars when we pulled up in front of the Plaza Hotel and entered the glittering ballroom. For sheer romance and glamour, there are few places that can compare. I was a few days short of my seventeenth birthday and Roy was just a couple of months past his eighteenth but we felt like worldly jetsetters as we glided across the shiny marble floor and pretended we actually belonged there! True to Queens tradition, those of us who were underage had managed to snag fake IDs so we could move onto the next phase of Prom Night: the nightclub. Now this was back in the days when Manhattan still boasted the Copacabana and Basin Street East and the Persian Room and at least a dozen more famous gathering spots. I had wanted to see Paul Anka at the Copa but our friends campaigned for Basin Street and Trini Lopez and since we were sharing a limo, they won out. I still haven't forgiven them! Trini was terrific but even they had to admit there is nothing very romantic about Lemon Tree or If I Had A Hammer! Ah, but the next phase of Prom Night more than made up for it: the traditional trek down to lower Manhattan where we waved goodbye to the limo and rode the Staten Island ferry back and forth while watching the sun rise over the city.
Prom Night was the one night when my strict midnight curfew didn't exist. Believe it or not, we were all allowed to stay out all night. (Knowing how strict my parents were, I still can't believe it!) We grabbed breakfast at a 24-hour coffee shop downtown then boarded the subway for the trip back to Queens where we changed from our prom finery into bathing suits and took the bus to Rockaway Beach where we slept away the day. If you have any prom traditions to share I'd love to read them. I've always wondered how it's done in different parts of the country -- and the world, for that matter. If anyone out there can tell me if there's a counterpart for our Senior Prom in your country, I'd be thrilled to hear from you. Here's a list of what's new for June:
As always, thanks so much for stopping by. I love your notes and letters and value your suggestions. I wish you a grand and glorious start to summer!
With affection,
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May 2002
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June 2002
