MY BOX OF LETTERS AND JERRY SIMLER'S STORY

Among the things that I have managed to haul on the 20 moves in my life, I have two huge boxes of letters I received 1968-2002. Most from 1968-1972 are from PHS friends. There’s a note from Carlee Clapper Adams, thanking me for the candy dish that Donna Cox and I sent her for a wedding present, a dish that Donna must have picked out because Donna was way more into weddings than I was… more into dishes, too, now that I think of it. Donna got me an asparagus dish for my wedding. Actually, I think they are called “asparagus PLATES,” but I am never sure about plates and dishes and silver. I am more about wine glasses. There are several letters from Donna at Kent State and some from Peggy Forrest at Wilson, and Colin Binns at Mount Union, all having a great time at college.



Yearbook photo '68

One big bunch of letters from 1968-9 is from Jerry Simler. As I’ve said elsewhere, since returning to Canton to live after 40 years away, I am meeting up with old classmates. I got together with Jerry to reminisce, and he told me a most interesting story from those days that never made it into his letters 50 years ago. Here it is.
First some backstory: Jerry and I both attended Watson Elementary, were in sixth grade with Mrs. Scheub, and then we barely saw each other during junior high and high school until senior year, when we were both in West Side Story. During rehearsals, we had a lot of time sitting around waiting for our scenes to be called—his as A-rab, a Jet, and mine as a Shark. Instead of getting homework done, Jerry and I spent the down time talking--about nothing, really—anything, so as not to be doing homework. He was often anxious, and I would try to cheer him up. Cheerful girl, he used to call me, I am sure at times through gritted teeth.

He filled two full pages of my year book that year with his big, beautiful loopy angled

handwriting, writing about the goofiness we all filled our yearbooks with at length.

In the our year following graduation, I went off to college two hours away from home, which had been my dream, and Jerry got drafted into the army. In March 1969, I received my first letter from him in basic training, a beautiful example of terrific letter-writing: written on beautiful pale turquoise stationary with two watermarks of soldiers hoisting weapons and backpacks and scanning the horizon. And so well-written! Funny and witty, despite the fact that in those days, basic training probably was not all that funny and wit-inspiring.

At the time I complained to friends that Jerry was the last person who should have been drafted. He had had terrible asthma all through grade school; I thought he just wasn’t that healthy or strong enough.  Meanwhile at my end, I was getting anxious with the repressive conservatism of my college. By the end of freshman year, Jerry’s letters were trying to cheer me up, asking me what the problem was. I could not have said why at the time.

In one letter, he mentioned that he was cooking in the army, that one morning he had broken hundreds of eggs open to scramble. Then he wrote that he had gotten in the entertainment corps, which relieved me greatly. His letters were now written on ripped-off steno paper, but still funny and lively.

I had a miserable final two years of college when I tried to transfer and couldn’t, had an emotional breakdown. And I had four worse years following college. I wanted to come home and couldn’t find a job, lost track with many high school friends, including Jerry.

But recently, now back home after 40 years away, when I found this trove of letters, I decided to look Jerry up. We got together for an hour with our yearbooks and his letters. (I had to laugh. I had filled two pages of his yearbook just as he had mine, writing on an angle.) And THEN, he opened a scrapbook, with black and white shots of himself onstage, and he told me the wondrous story of the rest of his life in the army:

Jerry was on a plane of soldiers bound for Vietnam, when a woman got on board and said there were too many on the flight. She called the names of several men, including him, and told them to deplane. Once off, they were told that they would be going to Vietnam with the next group in a month.

During that month, Jerry saw a flyer for try-outs for the entertainment corps: singing and dancing try-outs, things Jerry knew he could do. We all knew it. Recently, interviewing classmates about Jerry, Dave Motts said to me, “Oh my gosh, I was so envious of him on the dance floor. When we were all back in town, going out to the bars and clubs, Jerry was always dancing, and he was always so good. I would love to be able to dance like he can dance.”

The next day, Jerry went to try-outs and made the entertainment corps, to no one’s surprise, not even his own, but clearly to his relief. And he spent the next year and a half in entertainment. There, he starred in another production of West Side Story, this time as the lead, Tony. The black and white photos of that production are stunning. AND he was on the road with Bob Hope, an experience that was very exciting for Jerry. (See online accounts here) I told this story at my voting poll this spring, and one of the men said, "That is a great story!" It is.

Once Jerry returned to Ohio, he was as active in performance at home as he had been on the homefront. He performed and did choreography for the Canton Civic Opera for 25 years and was choreographer for the Kent State Stark show choir as well. In the 1990s, he put his talents to work for four musicals at the Canton Palace Theater. He was director, choreographer, and lead in Music Man and George M, and he also directed and choreographed Camelot and Showboat. In addition, he was a vocalist in the quartet "Strictly Four" which performed a lot locally, and were thrilled to be the opening act for The Captain and Tennille when the duo came to town.

Also in the 90s, Jerry met is lifetime partner, James Adams Carrington, at a party, and they've been together ever since, living in a sweet sweet house I visited in Perry Township, where James does the Italian cooking he is famous for.

Bob Hope, USO, Vietnam 1970s, and decades of contributing to performance arts in Stark County! I had no idea Jerry had been up to so much good. It’s what happens when you lose track of classmates. You can lose the best part of their stories. Jerry has had a long and rich life since then. After decades, he  retired but soon got bored and went into retail, thinking he would work a few hours selling men clothing at Jos. Banks, but they loved his work, and he’s working full-time now, performing better than ever on the sales floor, and with grrreat costuming!

How can this be such a small town, and yet I seldom if ever see my classmates, we who spent 12 years pent up in the same classrooms, the same cafeteria, the same hallways? It’s why I am such a sucker for reunions, a good chance to catch up on a lot of those people at the same time. Jerry is less sure of that or whether he is going to attend our 50th. I hope so because we’d all loved to see him dance again, but whether or not he does, I am glad for the hour I had to get the story I missed so many years ago. Glad to know he is looking so good, younger than ever, working hard.