 Twisting and Turningby William R. BoyleIn the 1950s, there were many pressures to marry by the time you were 21 years old, especially if you had not attended college. We didn't know then that 21 is really too young to get married. There are too many things a young man has not seen, does not know, and has not done. But when you're in your early 20s, you don't know this. As a Catholic, I felt I had an obligation to save myself for my spouse. At the same time, voices from Catechism class insisted that I had an obligation to begin a large family, for the love of God and the love of the church. So I was trying to figure out what I wanted and needed in a spouse. I knew I wanted someone who was a Catholic. I wanted her to be pretty, to be smart, and all that standard stuff. But I had not gotten to the essence of what it would be like to be married to someone. To complicate matters, I was toying with the idea of entering the priesthood and was pondering a possibly celibate life. While I didn't know what the future would hold for me, I did know one thing as a young man: I liked to dance. During my late teens, I went to dances every Friday and Saturday night. Friday night, we danced at the local firehouse in Linwood, Pennsylvania. Bill Haley played there every now and then. This was before he was the "Big Thing." He lived in the Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania area. While building his reputation he sometimes performed with the Comets at the firehouse. On the nights he performed there, the price of admission would increase from 35 cents to $1.00, but he was worth it. We thought he might be really big some day. After graduating from high school, I'd go to Upper Darby, Pennsylvania, where big bands performed. I saw some really big-name musicians, like Maynard Ferguson. We were older then, 20 and up. Chubby Checker performed one Saturday night. This was a surprise to me, since I had had to lay off the dances for several weeks before that night and simply was not aware that he was coming. I can't remember what was going on. Maybe I was completing the application for the seminary and getting ready to lead a life of celibacy. Nothing was working in the marriage area, so the priesthood must be what God had planned for me. I never took anyone to these dances. They were kind of expensive and, after all, I had these ideas of priesthood, so why date? I could dance, however; that was not a sin. I wasn't a Baptist. I was a twister. It was a dance I practiced on Friday nights for a long time. Twisting required a lot of stamina, a lot of vigor, and a lot of wiggling. I had a lot of wiggle experience, since wiggling to complete my chores as a five-year old. I could wiggle. I could twist. My life had been full of twists. Chubby had a twist contest that special evening. I knew I could win, if only I had a partner to twist with me. Could I find this someone before the contest began? Probably not, I thought as God apparently had other things in store for me. The contest was to begin at 11 o'clock that evening and it was already 9 o'clock. How could I find a partner in so short a time? -- it would take a miracle. A miracle happened! There she was -- one of the most beautiful Irish-looking girls I had ever seen. I did not know her name or even if she could dance, but I asked her to slow dance. She was so beautiful, with an equally beautiful name -- Cathy Jo. I was dancing with a beautiful Irish-Catholic miracle. We danced slow and we danced fast. After awhile, Cathy Jo asked, "Are you going to dance in the Twist Contest?" "I hope so," I told her, and asked if she could twist. "Yes, it's my favorite dance," she answered, "but I don't think I can win. I just want to dance in a twist contest." God only confers these, his most special kind of miracle, on those he really likes. I was dancing with a beautiful Irish girl who wanted to dance the Twist in a contest with Chubby Checker. There was a God, and he loved me! I was living the good life. A multiple miracle was in the making. The contest rules were explained. Many sets of judges would be eliminating couples. Once you were tapped on the shoulder by a judge, you and your partner walked off into the audience. You were a watcher at that point, not a dancer. Eleven o'clock came. Chubby came out on stage. He was only performing this one number. The crowd roared. Chubby began his famous number and the twisting, gyrating couples began their frenzy. One-by-one they were eliminated. There were so many that the band supporting Chubby had to play the piece again and again, as the judges quickly taped the shoulders of those dancers who were not good enough. We had been told that Chubby would leave promptly at midnight. He had some commitment or another. Cathy Jo had not felt the dreaded tap; I had not felt the dreaded tap; and it was getting closer and closer to midnight. The remaining couples were down to just a few. We danced, as if in a 1930s marathon dance, while the audience cheered the non-stop twisters. The audience was huge that night, and it was getting bigger with each judge's tap. The really dedicated twisters, those who remained, were lost in their frantic gyrating activity. We knew the crowd was cheering and clapping, but something more important was going on. With each beat, we were closer to not getting the tap. We had danced for almost an hour and still there was no winner. Non-stop dancing for almost an hour required a lot of stamina. I may have looked thin, but that did not mean I did not have stick-to-itiveness. It was just a few minutes before midnight. Only two couples remained. Finally we saw a judge tap the other couple. Boy, they were good. They and several others were probably better twisters than I was, but they seemed more worn out. I think, with my 135-pound, 5-foot-9 1/2-inches-tall body, I had simply outlasted them. They also did not have my newly-found miracle, my Irish "wife-to-be." Cathy Jo and I did not meet Chubby that night. I can't even remember if we received a dancing prize but I had already received my real prize. Cathy Jo and I dated for a year. At my request, my dad took me to South Street in Philadelphia, Jeweler's Row, where I could get a good deal on a diamond ring. Cathy Jo had always wanted a marquise solitaire diamond, the bigger the better. Diamonds meant love and the bigger the diamond, the more the love. I never believed such silliness before meeting Cathy Jo, but her 20-year-old understanding of love had convinced me that our love would last forever. The glistening diamond was a mere shadow of our deepening love for each other. We became engaged. We shared many values. Her family was rich by my standards, and I valued that. She was all I had hoped for. Worth giving up a life of celibacy, even if we were both saving ourselves for each other until we were married. One Saturday evening, we were dreaming about what our life together would be like. What would we do when we were married? Cathy Jo told me, "When we awake every morning, I would prepare you fried eggs, so you can go off to your office." "You know I don't like fried eggs," I said. "You'll eat them or you won't get breakfast the next morning," Cathy Jo replied. My life changed at that moment, and celibacy seemed, once again, a possibility. After her reply, I knew I could not marry my once-marvelous miracle. I realized at that moment that I needed a less-demanding woman, someone less likely to punish her loved one. Our relationship ended the next day after Sunday Mass. I never saw her again, nor the flawed marquise diamond engagement ring. Even though Cathy Jo was not meant to be my wife, she did help me understand that marriage was the right path for me. I would find someone, someday, sometime, 
William R. Boyle is a Certified SLN Affiliate from Reston, Virginia.
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