Gee, I wish I knew who's out there reading the thoughts that I sprinkle onto this little acre of cyber-real estate!

A few of you have come forward and made yourself known. And one person even called me on a telephone! -- yes, some people still do communicate by voice -- making the venture all the more joyful.

I told her this blog entry would be for her....

And so I venture down memory lane to a past trip-- well, an adventure any way, in one of the greatest conglomerations of humanity in the world -- New York City.

This story takes place in the 1970s and I am still in college in Wilkes Barre, Pa., and still finding small ways to break outside of my little world. My roommate, the aforementioned Deborah (I called her Debs, and she was the owner of that original pink suitcase), and I were always conspiring to meet people from other countries and experience something beyond the walls of our dormitory. Sometimes that meant a three block walk to the Sterling Hotel to see if anyone interesting was in the lobby. Then we would hightail it all the way to Scranton --- wow, how exotic! -- by bus. Ah yes, the wonderful and expansive world of Martz busses opened up before our young eyes.

So... it wasn't too long before two impressionable art students realized that if we skipped a few meals and saved a few dollars, we could hop a Martz bus and ride all the way to Mecca itself --- The Big Apple.

Debs and I thought that a trip to New York City could result in two possibilities: a) we would be "discovered" by producers for an upcoming Broadway show or, at very least, a movie..... or b) we would meet someone interesting to propel us into some new life venture.

So, on a St. Patty's Day weekend, Debs and I rode the bus through the tunnels and right into New York's Port Authority. No matter that we had NO MONEY to spend -- we had our return tickets in Debs' purse, and that was all we really thought we needed.

Of course, everyone and his brother was in the city for parades and the wearin' of the green. But Debs and I, tying to look "sophisticated," arrived that day in our Sunday best. Debs had on her little pink jumper and I wore a pink floral print dress, -- with ruffles!!! Oh, I remember it precisely! What were we thinking?? We looked like two country bumpkins who had just fallen off the cabbage wagon!

But in our minds, we were quite glamorous and ready for any possibility.

First we made our way down to the pier where an Italian cruise ship was preparing to sail. Since we had no food budget, we decided we would board the ship (there were almost no security checks in those days) and partake of what we supposed would be mountains of bon voyage canapes sitting here and there. Then we would simply take our leave before the ship sailed.

Actually, it wasn't a bad plan because not only were we entreated to join sailing passengers in their revelry (and their hors d'oeuvres), but we were discovered by Italian lounge stewards who were only too happy to slip us a glass of champagne or two --- or three or four -- on the sly.
"Why you don't-a stay on-a board..." said one accented staff member. He said we could sail with the ship, then simply alert the crew and they would allow us to ride the pilot boat back to New York harbor.......Hmmmmmmm......... it sounded like an adventure ......... but.....

We weren't quite that risky and so we left the ship amidst veils of confettii and the strains of "Anchors Away" playing on deck. The ship slipped away from its berth and we wandered back into the city for our next enticing moment.

We didn't have long to wait because the St. Patrick's Day parade was underway and there were revelers in the streets --- some of whom were young men from Manhattan College.
"Party tonight!" was echoing here, there and everywhere... and so Debs and I followed the incantation and ended up in the Hotel Edison where multiple floors were given over to St. Patty's celebrants.

We took off our coats to show off our lovely, glamorous dresses --- (Yes! you can LAUGH here!) -- and we left our belongings in the first room as we checked out the activities in adjacent areas. It seemed to us that there was nothing but semi-drunken college boys in blue jeans in this place, and that was certainly of no interest to two such "sophisticated women" in pink dresses.
Time to leave, we determined.

But when we went to get our belongings, only our coats remained. Deb's purse was gone (we never ever considered the idea of thievery in New York City!) and so were our return tickets to Wilkes-Barre. We started crying on the spot!

One young man saw these two damsels in distress and upon hearing our sad story he extracted $7 in crumpled one-dollar bills from his jeans pocket and told us maybe this would help. It wouldn't get us back to Wilkes Barre, but it would be enough for cab fare to the bus station. So we took the cash , along with his name and address and the promise that we would pay back every penny. and headed to Port Authority.

Once we got to the bus station we could only do one thing: Beg. NOT for money! But we begged the kindly ticket seller to give us "leftover" bus tickets... "Surely there must be some..."

It didn't work quite like that, he said. If we wanted tickets, we would have to earn them.
So there we sat, in our sophisticated, pink ruffles, selling tickets at Port Authority on that blustery March night. Of course, we considered it quite an adventure, even though Jerry-the- ticket-guy was hardly the sort of exotic person we had expected to meet.

But before the last bus rolled out of NYC for Pennsylvania, two young women had "earned" their fares and were both nestled into big cushy seats on a midnight Martz express.
And if you are wondering, YES, we did repay every penny of that young man's kindness. We sent him $10! A nice profit for a boy in jeans from two such "worldly women."

Mary, this was for you! :-)