With apologies to Jimmy Durante for hijacking the closing line from his 1955 TV program, every July 20th I revisit a marker in my life.  A marker that takes me back to a more confusing but simpler time for young men; get through your Senior year in high school, get a car, find a girlfriend, then desperately begin applying to colleges in hopes that a stranger in the admissions office would save you from the black hole gravitational pull of the Vietnam War by issuing you a university acceptance letter.  

By 1969 I had already lost that struggle but instead of being drafted into the Army, I “volunteered” for duty with the US Air Force (my choice: get drafted for a 2 year Army stint with a year in Vietnam practically guaranteed or volunteer to spend 4 years in another armed services branch).  I was happily stationed at Langley AFB just outside Virginia Beach, VA.   Not surprisingly, I routinely traveled to my home area of Washington DC where many of my friends still lived and attended nearby universities.

On one trip, I looked up one of the most attractive Class of 67 high school girls I remembered and asked her out.  Her name was Karen Mihoch and in the two years since graduation, she had gone from attractive to, frankly, a babe.  More importantly, she was a babe that would (1) actually speak to me and (2) agree to go out with me.  So we headed to the then (and now) very hip-chic Georgetown area for the afternoon-evening.

She was the perfect stereotype of the late 60s blonde; great body, willowy but not anorexic, big bangs, long hair, and that 1960s pink-ish lipstick that emphasized the a pseudo-Twiggy fashion style complete with short skirt, white boots…...Whoa…. 

We ended up at the Tombs – a popular Georgetown University pub bar/restaurant.  We had a great meal and even better conversation.   I was hopeful this was going somewhere.  As we talked, the bartender placed a small television on the bar.  He fidgeted with the antenna (Not familiar with the term? These were two metal prongs that stuck out of most all televisions in those days) as the set "warmed up" (Not familiar with the term?  In those days, you turned on the set and waited for the set to warm up and begin working).  Anyway, suddenly on the small screen, there was a grainy, black and white shot from the moon -- from the moon! Being a huge fan of space stuff, I recall being desperately torn between watching her or the television; talking about her studies and academic goals or marveling at the greatest technological event ever – a man was looking into the heavens and seeing the planet earth.

But, looking at her was like looking at the heavens as well.  What kind of cosmic force had her sitting at my table? I was speechless looking at her.  Walter Cronkite was speechless, too -- Neal Armstrong walked about the moon's surface leaving footprints all over the lunar surface while I was hoping to leave fingerprints all over her....

Sadly, she had to be back rather early that evening (I still think it was because of the family’s reluctance for her to be dating a military guy – it was the late 60s after all…) but we both watched the event and although we saw each other from time to time she would eventually fade from my life as I did from hers.  I hope her life has been as wonderful as mine.  But I revisit “our” moment in time every July 20 or whenever I see a replay of Armstrong’s walk on the moon. Has it really been 41 years?  

I bet she is still a babe....

Good night Karen Mihoch, Wherever You May Be.