Patricia Reyes Franklin

Gettin' Hitched

I met Patty when I accidentally stepped on her foot. We were line dancing at a place called Saddles Saloon, in Fairfield, California.

I apologized, then asked her to waltz. By the time we circled the floor a few times, I knew I liked her. Love at first sight? I can only say I would not argue with those who believe in such things.

She told me her name was Patty and she was a teacher in Fairfield. I said I was Logan, a painter, of canvases, not buildings, and lived in San Rafael. We both liked country music. I said I would be back the same time next week, and she agreed to another dance if I returned.

When I came back a week later, the parking lot was empty. Saddles Saloon had gone out of business. All I really knew about her was her first name and that she was a teacher in Fairfield, a city of 78,000.

I kept thinking about her on the 45 minute drive home. The next day I drove to Fairfield again. I went to the library to find information about the schools. I thought she said she taught 6th Grade. I looked up the school district's phone number and dialed.

"If I describe a teacher, maybe you can use your computer to find her," I told the woman who answered the phone. She must have thought I was nuts. "Do you have any idea how many schools and teachers there are in the district?" she asked, rhetorically. "Even if I could find that information, and I can't, it would be against district policy to give it out."

I went back to the telephone directory and began writing down the names of every elementary and middle-school and the corresponding phone numbers. I started calling them.

"I’m trying to locate a teacher named Patty," I would tell them. "I think 6th Grade. She has dark hair, a little gray in it, and brown eyes; she’s probably Latin." They were polite but handled me like I might be a stalker. With each call I tried to sound less suspicious.

At the eighth school on the list, I overheard a receptionist ask a colleague, "Isn't there a Patty over at Oakbrook School?" I quickly found Oakbrook's number and dialed.

A woman named Penny answered. "I am trying to locate a teacher," I said. "Patty is her first name; sorry I don't have her last name; probably teaches 6th Grade at Oakbrook, dark hair and eyes." The familiar "I-couldn't-give-out-that-information" followed. I kept on talking. "Well, I met her dancing," I said, "and we were to meet again, but when I got there the place was boarded-up." Penny said nothing.

I went on. "I'm not asking for her address or anything like that. But if my description does happen to fit someone at your school, would you leave that teacher a message?"

Finally, Penny said, "I am not confirming that we have a teacher like you described. However, if you were to leave a message for a teacher named Patty, and if we have a Patty on staff, I will be required to deliver it." Bingo!

Two hours later, Patty answered my message. I could hear Penny and the school principal laughing in the background. After all my fine detective work, they said I at least rated a phone call. Five-and-a-half years later, on April 2, 1999, Patty married the very persuasive silver-tongued Lothario.

[At the right, this is part of our family.]



< Back | Next >

Logan's Home Page | Profile | Guest Book (comments) | Links