K
KeilCoppes
Guest
A significant quote from a gentleman on Christian Mingle:
--------
John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform,
and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central
Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he
didn't, the girl with the rose.
His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida
library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not
with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin.
The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In
the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss
Hollis Maynell. With time and effort he located her address. She lived
in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting
her to correspond.
The next day he was shipped overseas for service in World War II. During
the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the
mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was
budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt
that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like.
When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled
their first meeting - 7:00 PM at the Grand Central Station in NewYork.
"You'll recognize me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my
lapel." So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart
he loved, but whose face he'd never seen. I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell
you what happened: A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long
and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her
eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and
in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started
toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a
rose. As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. "Going my
way, sailor?" she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer
to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell.
She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman well past 40,
she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat.. She was more than plump,
her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The girl in the
green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in
two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing
for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own.
And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her
gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers
gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to
identify me to her.
This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something
perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and
must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out
the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the
bitterness of my disappointment. "I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you
must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to
dinner?"
The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what
this is about, son," she answered, "but the young lady in the green suit
who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she
said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that
she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said
it was some kind of test!" It's not difficult to understand and admire
Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its
response to the unattractive. "Tell me whom you love," Houssaye wrote,
"And I will tell you who you are."
--------
John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform,
and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central
Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he
didn't, the girl with the rose.
His interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida
library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued, not
with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the margin.
The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In
the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, Miss
Hollis Maynell. With time and effort he located her address. She lived
in New York City. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting
her to correspond.
The next day he was shipped overseas for service in World War II. During
the next year and one month the two grew to know each other through the
mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart. A romance was
budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. She felt
that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like.
When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled
their first meeting - 7:00 PM at the Grand Central Station in NewYork.
"You'll recognize me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my
lapel." So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart
he loved, but whose face he'd never seen. I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell
you what happened: A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long
and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her
eyes were blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and
in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started
toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a
rose. As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips. "Going my
way, sailor?" she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer
to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell.
She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman well past 40,
she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat.. She was more than plump,
her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The girl in the
green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was split in
two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my longing
for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own.
And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her
gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers
gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to
identify me to her.
This would not be love, but it would be something precious, something
perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and
must ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out
the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the
bitterness of my disappointment. "I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you
must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to
dinner?"
The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what
this is about, son," she answered, "but the young lady in the green suit
who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my coat. And she
said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that
she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said
it was some kind of test!" It's not difficult to understand and admire
Miss Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its
response to the unattractive. "Tell me whom you love," Houssaye wrote,
"And I will tell you who you are."
Interesting story. I noticed that the woman in the green suit (who was actually miss maynell) called the Lt. "sailor"...this imposes several implications...he is not a sailor, but in the Army as evidenced by the first paragraph of the story and also calling an Army Lt. a sailor is probably a no no 
