August 3: The Ring

 It's strange to think about how much the world has changed in one lifetime.

August 3, 1972, fifty years ago.  I was living in the dorm, in the women's tower (Bob was living in the men's tower, with a common area in between).

In these days of instant, world-wide communication, it's weird to remember that I wrote letters home.  There were no phones in our rooms; there were pay phones in the hallway.  And if you were going to phone long-distance, you waited until 9:00 p.m. when the rates went down.

Bob had decided quite early on in our relationship that I was the one he was going to marry.  We met in January and in about three weeks he was proposing.  I suggested that he was rushing things a little.  He said he wouldn't pester me about it as long as I said that I would eventually marry him, so I did.

Which mean that eventually we were looking at rings.  I laugh now when the Diamond Cartel suggests that a man should pay about three month's salary for an engagement ring (I have no idea how they came up with that as a way of guilting a guy into spending way too much money).  It's funny, because my ring cost $150 - which was likely about three month's salary for a poor college student in the 1970's.

I wasn't interested in big, or fancy.  What I did want was a marquis cut - a diamond-shaped diamond.  And one day, at Zales in the mall, we spotted it.  A wee chip of a diamond (I think it's 1/5 caret), marquis cut, $150.  We put a down payment on it.

Back then, we both had part-time jobs, making around $2 an hour.  Our respective parents (and Bob's scholarship) paid for our dorms and tuition and books, but that's how we made our spending money.  We pooled resources and every couple of weeks we'd go make a payment on that ring.

On weekends we'd wander the streets together, picking up glass bottles that people had thrown from their cars and taking them to stores to refund for 5 cents each.

One day in July, we were in the mall (we'd go hang out in the mall because there was air conditioning there) and the salesman from Zales spotted us - he was nice enough to come out of the store and trot down the hall.  He told us that Zales was having a 10% off sale and that we could take advantage if we paid the ring off that week.  10% was $15 - that's an awful lot of glass bottles at 5 cents each.  Once again, we pooled resources and the ring was ours.

Except that I wouldn't put it on.  I was old fashioned enough that I wanted my parent's blessing.  So I wrote them a letter and told them I would call them for a response in a week (the post was slower in those days).  Bob kept the ring in a drawer in his room and I would peek at it from time to time.

August 3 finally came around, and we paced and jittered all day until 9:00 p.m. came and I made the call and got the blessing (of course - who didn't love Bob).  Then I slammed the phone down and went charging off at full speed to head over to Bob's room.  He let me get to the stairwell before he whistled and started waving the ring box at me.  I slammed on the brakes, did a fast 180, and came pelting down the hall back to him.  Of course he had to hold the ring way over his head while I jumped and tried to climb on him.

And there, in the hallway of the dorm, we got engaged. August 3, 1972.

I've known a lot of couples who "made do" with a less-expensive ring until later in their marriage when they could afford a "nice" ring.   Not us.  I would never give up the memories of skipping an ice cream or taking those long walks hand-in-hand while keeping an eye out for bottles.  Or my excitement at spotting this little marquis cut diamond.  Jumping in the air grabbing for it, finally putting it on.  Engaged to marry Bob.