My family left western New York when I was 12 years old.  After a brief stay in Merriam, we settled in Albion Indiana the following year.  With a population of about 1500, it was similar in size and rural make-up to the home we left in New York.

This is a recollection of a few anecdotes and memories of my family’s intersections with the Bowman family.

Judy

When I was a sophomore in high school, I dated Judy Bowman, who was a senior. That kind of age gap, with the girl being older, was the stuff of small-town scandal.  It was a short-lived relationship as she left home for college that summer and reconnected with a previous boyfriend.

Our dates were interesting in that we usually left Albion for either Kendallville or Fort Wayne; one, you had to leave Albion to see a movie or eat at a restaurant, and two, Judy was less self-conscious about being seen with a 15 year-old when it was unlikely we would run into anyone we knew.  Looking older than my true age was a benefit 50+ years ago.  Not so much now.  Judy would drive us to the Albion village limit where we would change places and I would drive the rest of the way, reversing the process when we neared home.  In part, Judy was being nice as she had a new 1965 Mustang that I was happy to drive (even though I had no driver’s license as yet), but it had more to do with her discomfort with dating someone younger.  I convinced myself that her willingness to date me in spite of my age handicap meant that she really liked me.  One movie we saw was “Alfie” starring Michael Caine.  It very much upset Judy with its portrayal of a man so thoroughly selfish and uncaring.  I think it confirmed her suspicion that many men are pigs. Probably not the best movie to see in the same year her father was remarrying soon after divorcing her Mom.

Ghosts

I don’t believe in ghosts, but the spookiest moment of my life happened with Judy at her house.  The house had once been the town’s funeral home.  The basement still had artifacts from that era that were a topic of discussion,  rumor, and let’s-scare-each-other stories among us friends and classmates.  One night, Judy and I were sitting side-by-side on the lower steps of the big open staircase that led from the entry hall to the second floor.  We were actively chatting when we both simultaneously slid apart to let someone who was coming down stairs step between us.  There was no one.  We looked at each other wide-eyed with that ‘did you just feel that?’ look on our faces.  No creaking stairs, no sound of footsteps, but just a distinct shared feeling that someone was coming downstairs who needed us to move.  Unfortunately, our ghost never visited again.

Judy’s favorite place for a picnic was the Rose Hill Cemetery.   Nothing creepy, she just liked the solitude.  And back then, Albion had only one small park which was across the street from the schools.  We were always respectful and never picnicked on a grave. And as Judy preferred not to think her house was haunted due to its funeral-home past, we speculated that we may have brought a Rose Hill resident home with us.

Mrs. Bowman

Judy was one of four Bowman daughters.  Nancy, the oldest was in college the year Judy and I dated.  Judy was second oldest.  Rita and Cheri were the younger sisters in that order. All three girls at home were teenagers at the time.  A typical afterschool afternoon would have friends (myself included) of the three daughters all showing up at the Bowman house.  Judy’s mother had been partially blinded as the result of a pre-seatbelt automobile accident.  One day she shared with me that she was bothered by not being able to recognize the kids knocking at the door, and having to ask “Who’s there?” each day, even though she knew us, and knew we were regulars.  The next day when I knocked on the door at 3 in the afternoon and Mrs. Bowman asked “Who is it?”, I answered “Good Morning! It’s Paul.”   I endured some lighthearted corrective coaching about time-of-day.  Every day after that,  I greeted her with “Good Morning” and she always smiled and said, “Hello Paul” knowing this was me, without asking.

The only down-side was that it took me decades to stop saying ‘Good Morning’ to just about everyone regardless of the time.  Not knowing why my greeting put a smile in my voice, some people must have thought me daft.

A Few Postscripts

I left home and Albion when I was 16,  and did not see Judy again. Tragically, she died quite young.

My Mother, and Mrs. Bowman, became and remained close friends as a result of Judy’s and my relationship.

Judy’s father, Dr. Bowman signed my father’s death certificate.

And now that my parents and sister are buried in Albion’s Rose Hill Cemetery, my wife Carrie and I own a plot there as well.  Perhaps it will be my ghost descending the stairs at the Bowman house.