At the Hop

At the Hop

The Grosse Pointe Yacht Club is located on Lakeshore Drive, home of the Fords and their ilk. By way of minimizing, mother liked to point out that nobody much wanted to pay the taxes or the upkeep on these absurdly large mansions. They look like institutions more than family houses. My only contact with the Ford daughters was in dancing class. Charlotte looked rather ungainly and either painfully shy or terminally snooty. It can’t have been easy for her. Boys asked her to dance, surely egged on by mothers who envisioned being asked to tea.
Nobody ever said anything good about her mother, but the younger sister was well liked.

At least 300 of us ate and drank and danced. Skip does not dance and was happy taking pictures all night. I danced with “girls” and with the air, too shy to ask the guys. The twist, the chicken, general rock and roll to a D.J. and his 50s music. Doing some wild maneuver with Judy, she fell flat on her back, managing to look graceful while doing so. She claimed to be fine, but is still suffering major bruises. Skip captured it all on film. I will include only a photo of her dancing upright with Steve. I’d informed him I’d thought of him as one of the
“hot” but still nice guys. Friends informed me he felt the same.
I continued to harass the very grouchy woman who was horrified on Friday when
I asked her for her “birth” rather than “maiden” name in order to give her nametag and booklet. She gave me too much lip, so I chanted “birth name” whenever our paths
crossed. So childish, so high school. It was all fun.