Adventure in the Big City

Adventure in the Big City

Suzanne Marsh

Today was the big day; I was finally fulfilling my dream of attending the Eastman School of Music in Rochester, New York. I left home early, the traffic on the “can of worms” was horrendous, and I did not want to be late for my interview. I took Route 31 into Rochester, which was the first mistake of the day. I made a right-hand turn on Goodman Street, going toward Gibbs Street, where the school was located. Rochester is not a good place to get lost; I am living proof. All the streets surrounding the school are one-way streets. I knew I was lost, actually, I have never been so lost in my entire life. I had been living on a farm in Barre Center, New York, and driving in Rochester was way different than driving on the back roads.

I found myself turned around, going the wrong way on a one-way street! I found a driveway and turned around, going in what I perceived to be the correct direction. Not hardly, not only was I going further from the school, I had passed churches, a park, a huge store, a parking lot, just no school. I looked at my watch; I had twenty minutes before my interview. I found a phone booth and promptly called the school, explaining I was lost. I received a new set of directions and a different set of problems. I was still lost, but I got back into my car and drove in the general direction of Gibbs Street. Once again, I was going the wrong way on a one-way street, I was totally lost, and I now had fifteen minutes to find the school, do a few piano exercises to limber my fingers up. I thought about how I had dreamed of going to Eastman and becoming a pianist. Great dream, but this was becoming a nightmare.

I went by the phone booth again. I had ten minutes to find Eastman. I had no idea where I was, much less how I was going to get out of “Skinner’s Rat Box,” as I was beginning to think of Rochester. I called the school again, and the man gave me simple directions, or so he thought. I made a right-hand turn at the light, followed the street, and once again, I was going the wrong way on a one-way street. Frustration was taking hold. I dug into the glove compartment, hoping to find a map of Rochester. I found it, pulled over, and attempted to read the map. I had never learned to read a map, so this was by gee and by gosh. I drove down one street and up the next, hoping that one of these would be Gibbs Street. I could not be that lucky.

I hate being lost. I was beside myself at this point. I noticed a policeman on horseback, I thought; ‘gee, I wonder if he has been watching me go up and down the streets.’ I continued on my way, and I went down the next street. It was a one-way trip going the wrong way. I pulled over on the side of the street, once again, map in hand. I heard the horse clomping up to the car. The officer motioned for me to roll down the window. Panic took over, and I am not sure if I was laughing hysterically at that point or crying. The horse stuck his head in the window before the officer did. The officer backed the horse away from the window, then, holding the reins, asked me:

“Ma'am, you appear to be lost. Where are you trying to go?” That did it.

“You’re not going to give me a ticket, are you? I am trying to find the Eastman School of

Music. I am lost, do you hear me lost!. I have a ten o’clock appointment, I can’t be late,

it took me years to get to this point in my life.”

I am still not sure if the officer wanted to keep from laughing, but I was hysterical. He thought for several moments about how to turn me around. I was less than two blocks from the school. The officer told me to go down two blocks and turn left; the school was on the right. I tried, but once again I was lost. The officer again saw me, he must have thought about the wild, crazy-eyed woman in the Chevy station wagon, it couldn’t be. The officer followed me down the street, then motioned for me to pull over.

I have never really been a hysterical person, but I made an exception to my rule. I rolled down the window:

“I am still lost, I have no idea where I am. I followed your directions, but I missed the school

again somehow.” The officer asked for my license, my hands were trembling, and I dropped my wallet into his hands, good thing he caught it. Before I could get the words out of my mouth:

“Lady, I am not going to give you a ticket. Please just remain calm. I am going to escort you

to Eastman. I think it will be easier, and you may just get there safely. I know most of the instructors there, maybe I can help. He was being so nice. He must have dealt with hysterical women before. He had me turn around and follow him. He turned around periodically to be sure I was still following him.

He pulled on the reins, and the horse stopped right in front of the school. He helped me park the car. I was afraid I was going to hit something, the Chevy station wagon was full-size. He then escorted me into the school, as we walked, he asked me the name of the instructor I was to meet. It was 10:45, and I was forty-five minutes late. I told him the gentleman’s name, Charlie Popovich. He smiled:

“You’ll like Charlie, he is good.”

The officer took me to Mr. Popvich’s office and explained that I had been lost for over two hours. I have never forgotten that officer or his kindness. I don’t think he will ever forget the hysterical woman.