Until we were about sixteen, there was hardly any contact with boys, except for neighbors. That was the time a teenager was supposed to have ballroom dancing lessons and learn the social graces. In our best dresses and best behavior we were paired up with boys who were still more awkward than we. Counting aloud, we learned waltzes, fox-trots, tangos, slow waltzes and polkas. At the end of the season a formal ball in the best hotel was the big event. A long ball-gown was a must and became the subject of much discussion and worry. I was fortunate in having a girlfriend whose aunt owned a dress shop, and so I escaped the danger of having a gown made by our faithful but not fashion-conscious seamstress. The silk dress, sea-green with flowing lines, even had exposed bare shoulders! Did I ever feel grown-up, especially with the silver sandals with my first high heels!

The ball was in the dead of winter, and I was just recovering from influenza. My sister Gretl, then a medical student, was the authority for me, so I tried hard to suppress my coughs and succeeded in convincing her that I was fit enough to go. But she insisted on my wearing my warmest but ugliest coat and that I come home early. She even gave me money for taxi fare. Parents usually chaperoned this affair, so my older sister, who had taken the place of my parents, showed up with a friend. After one hour she felt out of place and left. My escort, blond and shy, was not really a boyfriend, since the dancing lessons had our concentration more focused on the steps and beat than on conversation. He had come with his newly widowed mother. Still slightly dizzy, all the dancing was strenuous, but I kept up. Suddenly my escort whispered to me, "I am sorry, but my mother is not feeling well and I have to take her home." I felt abandoned. I had never ordered a taxi before and was not sure what it would cost and how much to tip. I lingered on, considering what to do. There were some university students in the hall, and feeling rather honored, I had danced with one of them before. Now he came over and asked for another dance.

"Come to my table and meet my friends," he suggested. These students were perhaps four years older and that much wiser. It was getting close to midnight and I knew that soon everybody would leave.

"Let's all go for a nightcap," one of the students suggested. If I go with them, my new dancing partner will have to take me home, I told myself.

We all walked out into the crystal clear but cold night. With my high-heeled silver slippers I was not very steady on the cobblestones. My escort took my arm and followed the small group, which headed north, while my home was south. At that point my bed would have been preferable to any nightcap, and nightlife did not seem very enjoyable.

It was almost one o'clock when everyone started for home. There were no more streetcars or buses, so my new friend had to walk me home for 45 minutes. Poor students have no money for taxis, and mine would not be enough for this distance on a night rate. Main Street was deserted, and our heels clip-clopped on the pavement. As we approached the town center, the fountain was alive with drunks who splashed each other yelling, singing and laughing. My escort pulled me close to the houses and we hurried on. I considered him a true gentleman.

It was after one-thirty when we arrived at my home, and I hastily said good night, avoiding a kiss. My sister still had light in her room and greeted me with a good scolding. I realized that she must have worried and even felt guilty at having stayed so long at the ball.

The cold night had not done me any harm. I did not hear anything from the student, but, nevertheless I did not feel quite ready to enter the student circle. Then next time I would make sure I picked a boyfriend who would take me home when I wanted to go.