Sunday, February 11, 2007
When Barry met Sallie                            
                                                                
By THERESA WALKER
The Orange County Register
It's July 1958.
Sallie Nathanson and Barry Pearlman, two Jewish kids growing up in northwestern Pennsylvania, go out on their first date.                                       
It's their only date, it turns out, until Barry meets Sallie again more than 45 years later and asks her, on Valentine's Day, to marry him.
If it weren't for a black-and-white snapshot that Barry kept all those years in a shoe box, this romance probably never would have happened.
Sallie Nathanson is back in her hometown of New Castle the summer after her first year of college at Penn State University. She's 18, an attractive 5 feet 2 inches and likes to date.
Barry Pearlman, 17, lives about 15 miles away in Farrell, a blue-collar steel town like the others in the Shenango Valley. At 6 feet 3 inches, he's a star athlete – football, basketball, baseball.
Her father manages a shoe store. His dad is a millwright.
They live in a place where young people go on hayrides, sling ice skates across their shoulders and don't mind the 2-mile walk to the frozen pond on a farm, and attend dances where they play records.
Sallie and Barry both belong to B'nai B'rith youth organizations. Sallie is a member of BBG, or B'nai B'rith Girls, and Barry is a member of the boys group AZA, or Aleph Zadik Aleph.
Barry first sees Sallie at one of the dances the youth organizations hold so Jewish kids can meet. He is attracted to her at first sight. "Hot stuff," he recalls.
When he sees her again that July in 1958 during a dance at the temple in New Castle, he introduces himself. They dance to the Platters and Bill Haley and the Comets. They do "The Stroll."
"I thought she was wonderful," Barry says of Sallie's sense of humor and engaging personality. "She made me feel very comfortable being around her."
A lot of the girls back then struck Barry as ditsy. Not Sallie. She could carry on a conversation. He got her phone number and called later for a date.
"I wasn't doing anything," Sallie says, "so I said OK."
Barry borrowed his dad's '53 Chevy Bel Air with the vinyl interior and AM radio. He wore a suit and tie. Sallie's dad told him to be back by midnight.
Barry took Sallie dancing at Idora Park in Youngstown, a popular dating spot with amusement rides and a big dance floor illuminated by a shimmering mirror ball.
They danced to just about every song that Stan Kenton and his band played, ate pizza, drank sodas, posed for black-and-white snapshots in a photo booth. And they kissed goodnight.
"When I went home, I was all rubbery legged and gooey inside," Barry says.
He called Sallie for another date a few days later.
"She said, 'I can't go out this weekend, I'm moving.' "
**********
Sallie's family moved to New Jersey. She didn't go back to New Castle, didn't even go back to college. Her thoughts never drifted back to Barry.
She worked as a secretary for Prudential Insurance, making $82.50 a week. She handed it all to her mother, who gave her back $15 for spending money, enough to go out and have a good time.
Sallie got married in 1960 right after she turned 20. She met her husband at a dance.
She worked until she got pregnant with her first daughter, Robyn. She gave birth to her second daughter, Dori, more than two years later.
Her husband, an advertising artist, found success with a Chicken Delight franchise. Then he took a chance on a Weight Watchers franchise in the developing Orange County-San Diego area.
They settled in Tustin, where their third daughter, Allison, was born.
The Weight Watchers business was a success, too, but not the marriage. Sallie got divorced at 32. The trauma made her vow never to marry again.
While Sallie moved west, Barry stayed closer to home.
He attended Grove City College about 40 miles north of Pittsburgh, where he was more serious about sports than academics. He joined the Army and served three years in Special Services as an athlete.
After his discharge, he remained in the Washington area to work as a medical lab technician. Then he returned to Pennsylvania to attend school on the GI Bill.
Every now and then, Barry would think about Sallie. When he came back home, he found that photo taken at Idora Park, tucked away in a shoe box with other mementos. He asked around, but nobody could tell him what happened to Sallie.
Barry got married in the late 1960s, dropped out of school, and went into the automobile business, first as a salesman and then as a manager. He had two children: Gina Marie and Joshua.
He played tennis and handball, golfed and became an assistant high school baseball coach.
His first marriage ended in divorce after 13 years. His second marriage lasted five years.
THE SHOE BOX
Barry was cleaning out his mother's basement one day in December 2003 and discovered that old shoe box again. The photo was still there.
Not long after that, he attended a funeral and ran into someone who knew both him and Sallie in their youth. Whatever became of Sallie, he asked Harriett Guido.
"Well, you'll just never guess," Harriett answered. She had found Sallie on Classmates.com about three years earlier. "She and I are e-mailing."
Harriet e-mailed Sallie about Barry when she got home from the funeral.
"I didn't remember a doggone thing about him," Sallie says.
Still, she let Harriett pass along her e-mail address. Barry's first message arrived on Dec. 17, 2003. It began: "You probably don't remember me …"
"I don't remember you," Sallie answered, "but don't let that bother you."
Barry shot back, "P.S. You were a good kisser."
Sallie shot right back: "I still am."
She didn't truly recall Barry until he sent a copy of the photograph from Idora Park. Well, she remembered his face, but nothing about the date.
Their e-mails grew into phone conversations. It only took about a month before Sallie began to feel serious about Barry.
The thing that made Barry remember Sallie made Sallie fall in love with Barry.
"He had this great sense of humor. There was just something about him that it seemed like we'd always been together. He's such a nice person, just a really good guy."
She flew out to visit Barry in February 2004.
When Barry met Sallie at the airport in Pittsburgh, it was a little bit scary for both of them. Until he kissed her.
"She's still a great kisser," Barry says. "To this day."
He took her to his house, where he had Frank Sinatra on the stereo and a fire going. He had baked bread earlier in the day so the house smelled wonderful.
Barry didn't plan on asking Sallie to marry him just yet. But the day after Sallie arrived – Valentine's Day – he took a deep breath and proposed.
Sallie laughs, remembering how sick she was with the flu: "I said 'Yep,' and went to sleep."
They went to Las Vegas and got married at Chapel by the Courthouse.
It was March 28, 2004.
MOVING ACROSS COUNTRY
Barry sold his house, quit his job and drove across the country to join Sallie at her home in Orange. Sallie tracked his progress over the five-day trip on a map
tacked up by her desk, much to the delight of co-workers at the Orange County Department of Education.
They had a second marriage ceremony, this time before a rabbi with their children present.
Barry, 65, became a fitness trainer. Sallie, 66, retired from her job as senior departmental secretary to spend more time with him.
They laugh a lot, one secret to their happiness. And they dance.
They love to jitterbug, just like when Barry met Sallie all those years ago.