Strolling Down Memory Lane

I remember a day in late May, 1953, when several of my friends and I disappeared into the bathroom after the last bell rang. I borrowed a tube of lipstick from one of them and we plastered bright red across our lips, some of the less experienced among us running a bit outside the lip-line — including me of course, looking a lot more like Cruella de Vil than Terry Lynn Huntingdon. Then, attempting to escape down the hall and make a b-line for the two-block walk into town to share our favored banana splits — slices of ripe bananas on the sides, one scoop of vanilla ice cream, one scoop of strawberry ice cream, our always requested “bigger, please” scoop of chocolate ice cream, “in the middle, please,” smothered by a mountain of fresh whipped cream and thick chocolate sauce — I failed to make it out the back door, and our seventh grade teacher caught me by the nape of the neck.

”Come to my room,” he said. “Now,” he ordered, as I lingered.

As I sat in front of his desk looking down at my hands folded nervously in my lap, enduring a long protracted silence, he finally said, “You do know that one of my rules is that you are never to wear lipstick at school.”

After enduring my long protracted silence, “Answer me,” he demanded.

”Yes,” I demurred.

”All right. Your punishment for violating my rule is to present a ten minute speech to the class. You can speak on any subject you choose, but you are to deliver your speech no later than Monday of the last week of school. Do you understand me?”

”Yes,” I managed.

Fortunately, my Mother was Program Director at KWSD, our local radio station, and I was able to secure copies of any newsworthy articles that I wanted. Quickly I decided that I would talk about the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth II, to be held at Westminster Abbey on the second of June. I read reams of pre-coronation material, wrote for days, and then, the day following the Queen’s Coronation, added several pages to my voluminous notes.

After rehearsing for hours in front of the mirror in our tiny bathroom on Chestnut Street, I quickly crossed the railroad tracks, walked two blocks to school and presented my speech to Mr. Guenther and my seventh grade classmates. After placing many pages of notes on the lectern, I looked down not once — instead, simply began speaking. And as I began speaking, to my astonishment, I absolutely soared. After talking more than five minutes longer than my assignment of ten, I finally walked away from the lectern. And as I walked toward my seat, everyone stood up and cheered.

Six years later, I stood on a stage at The Starlight Bowl in Burbank in front of the audience and the Judges as a finalist in the Miss California Pageant. Certainly never imagining that I would be in the top five, and not expecting that I would have to deliver a speech, I had prepared nothing. But seeing my Mother and my Grandmother sitting in the audience, with what appeared to be halos surrounding them, I thought of how hard my Mother had worked all those years to support my Brother and me. I thought of how valiantly my Grandmother had toiled, when she began to build her own home with her 65 year old gnarly hands…finishing when we celebrated her birthday ten years later. They were all the inspiration I needed. And I began to speak.

“I am so honored to be standing here representing Mount Shasta, a village of 2,000 people, where my ancestors had been the first white settlers in what was, back in the 1850s, Wintun Indian territory. My Mother’s side of our family sailed across the Atlantic Ocean on the Mayflower in 1620, twelve generations before me. Centuries later, some of those relatives crossed the Isthmus of Panama during the ‘Gold Rush Era’, arrived in San Francisco, panned for gold and then moved to Strawberry Valley in Northern California, where my Great, Great Grandfather drove the first stagecoach from Strawberry Valley, now known as Mount Shasta, to the Oregon border, forging the trail that more than seven decades later would become U. S. Route 99.” And as I spoke, seeing my Grandmother Ruby, and my Mother Iola, sitting in the audience in front of me, I felt like I rose taller, lifted by the knowledge of the extraordinary trials that my ancestors had endured. I ended my speech by saying how proud I was to be a fifth generation Californian. “And as a fifth generation Californian,” I said slowly, “I would be very honored to represent California at the ‘Miss United States of America Pageant’. Once the other four finalists had given their speeches, we were taken backstage to wait for the Judges’ final vote. And as we waited, I thought of how blessed I was to have experienced what I had during those three days.

As I thought of how grateful I was to have placed in the top fifteen, not to mention the top five, I suddenly realized that the fourth Runner-Up was announced and escorted onto the stage, then the third Runner-Up, followed by the second, and then the first. And there I stood alone, as Mr. Schwerin pulled the curtain aside, pinned the Miss California banner across my bodice and escorted me onto the stage. I could hear Bob Oliver, Master of Ceremonies, say, “Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Miss California 1959, Terry Lynn Huntingdon.” As I heard my name and was given a bouquet of flowers, I began to hear the strains of California Here I Come, Right Back Where I Started From leading me down the runway. And as I walked, I realized that the lipstick applying punishment had in fact prepared me well for that moment. Strange, I thought, that what wounds us so deeply at one time in our lives, returns to embolden us as we continue our long journey. Within minutes of being crowned Miss California, I was escorted to a reception area down the path from The Starlight Bowl. There, I was presented to a large room full of people, was introduced as Miss California 1959, given trophies, jewelry, silver trays and plaques, most of which I would eventually have engraved. And of course with each gift or award, I was expected to speak. “Thank you,” I said. “Oh thank you,” I said again and again.

“How do you feel, now that you are Miss California?” someone in the back of the packed room called out

“Wonderful.”

“What does it feel like to have been chosen to represent the state of California in the Miss U.S.A. Pageant and receive all these awards,” I heard after I was presented with a certificate that represented a plot of land in newly developed California City, some place far out in the Mojave Desert, where Padre Francisco Carces, a Franciscan Missionary — so I was told — had camped in 1776 during the Juan Bautista de Anza expedition of California.

“It’s really wonderful,” I answered.

Oh my God. This is a lot more difficult than giving a fifteen minute speech about the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth — I thought —

and it’s even more difficult than standing alone on the stage in front of the Judges and hundreds of strangers. Standing alone on the stage at The Starlight Bowl, I at least had the luxury of talking about my family and my remarkable ancestors, rather than about myself, my feelings and emotions, which I cherished as my own private property. As I stood in front of what must have been a hundred or more strange faces, faces that were obviously looking for more cogent answers from the nineteen-year-old who would represent them in Long Beach nineteen days later, I became paralyzed with anxiety when asked how I felt.

I feel many things, I thought, as I stood paralyzed before the sea of unfamiliar faces. I feel exhausted, and I’d really just like to put my arms around my Mother and my Grandmother and leave now. I’m worried about how the other contestants feel, I thought, as I surveyed the room and saw not one of my fellow contestants, semi-finalists, or finalists.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of “wonderfuls,” I was escorted to the gymnasium where my precious cot lay, and where I was longing to lie. Several of the other contestants rushed over to me. Marsha Day, a sophomore at San Jose State, wrapped her arms around me and said, “Congratulations, Terry. I wish I’d been one of your Runner-Ups. But it’s okay…I think I’ll run again next year.”

“Absolutely, Marsha, you should.” And then I thought of her Father, John Day, the high school band leader for whom I’d carried the big base drum up and down the football field at Berkeley Band Day, just three years earlier.

Runners-Ups Charlotte Stewart, Miss Yuba City, and Gloria Neil, Miss Palm Springs joined us, and as those beautiful, gracious, friendly women surrounded me, I felt humbled to have been chosen to represent them

Late the next morning I returned to my dorm at UCLA, placed the handsome trophy and other awards upstairs in my bedroom, unpacked a few of my clothes and, exhausted, went to bed.

A few weeks after that, I represented California in the Miss U.S.A.

Pageant in Long Beach. At the end of the second night of judging, I was crowned Miss United States of America. Byron Palmer, draping a floor-length Ermine cape over my shoulders, placed a scepter in my hands, and I was sent packing down the runway. Oh, did they make the runway longer just now? I thought, as I precariously made my way along in the wooden backless high heels and suddenly heard “Basta Flicka!!!” Holding the scepter firmly in front of the cape for balance, I searched the audience and found beautiful Marie Louise Ekstrom standing and clapping loudly. “Basta Flicka, Terry!!” I heard again, and then I watched as she turned to all sides of the audience and yelled louder, “She’s my roommate, Miss United States of America is my roommate!”

At the end of the endless runway I managed to turn without tripping over the lush Ermine cape, then carefully made my way back to the stage. While guests in the auditorium slowly dispersed, I was escorted up a flight of stairs, was seated on a throne and Dr. Boutross, President of the Empress Pearl Syndicate of Los Angeles, who had designed the Miss U.S.A. and Miss Universe crown, stood behind me.

“How do you like your crown?” he asked, placing his hands on either side of it as flash bulbs blinded us.

“Well, I can’t really see it. How many stones are there? It feels really heavy.”

“There are about 1,000 oriental cultured and black pearls on your crown,” he said. “And, somewhat like the Miss Universe Pageant itself, many countries in the world are represented up there on your head. Some of the pearls are from the Persian Gulf, some from off the waters of Ceylon, India and Australia. Others are from the Gulf of Mexico, the Caribbean Sea, and the South Pacific Islands.” He then paused, as more flash bulbs blinded us.

“Thank you for spending time having photographs taken with me,” he said. “You are so lovely. It’s wonderful to finally have a California girl win the Miss U.S.A. title.”

“Thank you, Dr. Boutross. I enjoyed meeting and talking with you.”

Following what seemed an eternity of press interviews and more photographs, I finally removed the heavily jeweled crown and the Ermine cape, changed into my evening gown, and was driven back to The Lafayette hotel. And as I entered, there stood my Father, whom I had not seen in more than six years.

“Dad,” I exclaimed, putting my arms around his towering body. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming down?”

“I wasn’t sure I would be able to get off work…we arrived at the auditorium just as the pageant began.”

“Were you able to get seats?” I asked, knowing full well that he couldn’t afford to purchase them. Only a few years earlier, he had been confined to a sanatorium with tuberculosis for more than six months, then returned home to find his wife in bed with cirrhosis of the liver. So I knew that their family of four had survived on welfare for at least a year, probably longer.

“They allowed us to stand in the back, and the children were ecstatic,” he said. “Can you have breakfast with us in the morning? The kids are really excited to see you.”

“Unfortunately, Dad, we have breakfast scheduled at seven, and then need to leave for rehearsals. So unless you want to meet at six-thirty, I don’t think I can. I’m really sorry.”

“Well, let’s see how things go tomorrow night. Perhaps we can get together then.”

“That would be great. And listen Dad, I’ll pick up tickets for you first thing in the morning. Where are you staying?”

After a long pause, he slowly said, “We’re in a motel about twenty-five miles north of here.” And then I knew that they were sleeping in their car.

“Okay Dad, I’ll put your tickets in an envelope and leave them for you here at the front desk. Please give Pam and Mike, and of course Phyllis, my love,” I added, reaching up and kissing his Adonis-like cheek that I remember so warmly beside mine when he returned from the war in 1945, having survived the explosion at Rumagen Bridge. With two Purple Hearts fastened proudly to his Army uniform, he held my chubby, excited, little five-year body against his chest and, to the magical strains of Stardust, waltzed me in circles around our living room.

After breakfast the following morning, we were bused to the auditorium to rehearse for the evening presentation. Several hours later were given lunch, and then the thirty-five of us who would participate in the judging for Miss Universe rehearsed again.

Oh how lucky my fellow U.S.A. contestants are, I thought, as I swayed sleepily from side to side down the runway, envisioning them in their cozy rooms napping, or better yet, resting somewhere in the warm California sunshine beside the swimming pool, where I longed to swim laps.

That evening we returned to the auditorium and following Manny Harmon’s overture, “The Throne of Miss Universe” began. First the Parade of the States, when the Miss U.S.A. contestants walked along the runway, then the Parade of the Nations when the contestants from around the world walked the runway.

After we participated in individual and group evening gown judging, we disappeared back stage to change into our Catalina Swim Suits. And then, after a ten minute intermission, were back on stage for “A Grecian Garden”, where we were presented individually and in groups. After that, Luz Marina Zuluaga, the 1958 Miss Universe, spoke glowingly of her reign, and the fifteen semi-finalists were announced. Both Marie Louise and I were among them. And then, just as I had warned her, we were sequestered on stage as countless newspaper reporters and photographers — this time from around the world — descended on us.

“You were so right,” Marie Louise said as we sat beside one another on the bus to the hotel. “That was exhausting.” Finally arriving at The Lafayette at about one in the morning, our arms draped around each other, we took the elevator to our room and undressed. I went into the bathroom to wash my face and found several eyelashes on my cheeks. Moving closer to the mirror and running my hand softly across my eyes, more lashes dropped off and, to my horror, my own eyelashes accompanied them. As quietly as I could, I went into our bedroom, searched through my make-up case, finally finding the tiny plastic box with a supply of lashes and a tube of glue that I had requested two weeks earlier, when the Miss California sponsor insisted that I be seen by a stylist who could make me appear more glamorous. Back in the bathroom, I spread a towel across the cold marble floor, sat down picked up my mirror and one-by-one tried to glue lashes back onto the lids of my eyes. Finally, after two hours of trial and exasperating error, I gave up, turned off the light and climbed into bed, glancing at the clock —4:00 a.m. The following night, I became second Runner-Up to Miss Universe.

Of the three trophies I received — the three and a half foot tall Miss USA trophy, the second Runner-Up to Miss Universe trophy —the one that I value most, is the trophy that I received for delivering the best speech at the Pageant — a result of the punishment I had endured back in 1953.