I’ve been pushing back tears since reading the memorial for David Morgan Firestone ’53 (July 15). Funny that I can remember 1945 better than where I put my reading glasses. Morgan was my first kiss, and I believe I was his. We both lived in Akron (rubber’s hometown). Several times Morgan and a liveried chauffeur picked me up after school. This happened often enough that my class “willed” me to “whoever could afford her.” Morgan wrote me letters from his home in Florida — I wish I had kept them.
One day Morgan and the chauffeur picked me up after school to go horseback riding. Morgan had asked me if I could ride. I said, “Yes.” I had ridden a horse, but certainly not the likes of the horseflesh in the Firestone stables. I don’t believe that in 1945 anyone in Akron except the Firestones had a stable like that. I was so delighted to be there (my mother was ecstatic). Morgan led me to the stall of his grandfather’s favorite horse and helped me up onto this gorgeous white stallion. The horse with me astride walked about three steps outside of the barn, then took the bit in his teeth and took off at a dead run with me holding on for dear life. Eventually Morgan caught up with us and led the horse and me back to the stables. I really don’t remember seeing Morgan much after that. Small wonder!
Years later, as I was standing in some airport waiting for someone, hands went around my eyes and a male voice said, “Who was the first boy you ever kissed?” I turned around, and there was Morgan.
I’m so glad I knew Morgan and so sorry he is gone; 77 is really not that old.