I was ten and so was Mary Rose, a dark-haired girl in my fifth-grade class at Bush Elementary School. Mary always had a pleasant look on her face, as though she would grow up to be a very gracious and open person. I liked that.

I wasn't shy, but 10 years old and wanting to take a girl on a date? Who does that?

In fifth grade, all girls were like boys except with different clothes. I had lots of friends of both genders. We played foursquare on the asphalt area of the school yard and played tether ball after school at one friend's house or another, depending on who lived on my way home. The two after-school classmate houses that I frequented were the homes of female classmates, Patty Tiano being one.

So, it wasn't typical of a boy my age to have a great interest in girls. At least not as "girl" girls, but maybe as kind of a neutral gender.

Mary Rose seemed pretty smart. When she answered questions from the teacher she was forthright and generally accurate. To be honest, I think she might have been the teacher’s pet, an honor that I had held or was number 2 or 3, for the last five years. It seemed that Mary and I both liked the attention. Mary had a sweet, wholesome smile that made me smile. I kind of wanted to get to know her but I didn't have any idea of what you do as a ten year old kid.

What do you say? With boys it was easy. Be direct and be clear. With girls, who knew?

But with Mary it was easy. She was easy to talk to and smiled easily. I thought that was pretty cool and I decided to talk to my mother about the situation.

"There's a girl in my class that I like and I don't know what to do," I explained to mom, opening the conversation.

"Tell me about her," she replied. "What is she like?"

"Well, she's in my class and she's a girl," I answered, hoping that would satisfy her.

"Well, is she taller than you? Is she blond or dark haired? What kind of dresses does she wear," came back mom, probing for details.

"She's almost as tall as I am, and she has dark hair and she sometimes wears a plaid skirt with a white shirt," I responded, trying to be helpful.

"Oh. Is she nice?" still in the questioning mode.

"I think so. She is always nice around me," I offered, needing this to be the last question.

"How about taking her to the State Fair. Would you like to do that? You could ask her," this idea quickly showing the brilliance that only moms have.

"Okay. Thank you, mom. I'm nervous but I guess I could try to ask her," sensing the end of the conversation should be about now.

The next day at school I asked Mary Rose for her phone number. She told me and I wrote it down. It was something like "JUdson 36589," I think.

That night, after a nervous 20 minutes practicing what I would say, changing my words in practice almost every time and being satisfied with it none of the time, I called the number.

Her mom picked up the phone on the third ring and I drew a big breath and launched out with, "Hello, Mrs. Rose. This is Ronnie Wilbur from Mary’s class at school. Would it be okay if I talked to her?"

Her reply was quick, "I'll get her for you. MARY! You have a phone call!"

In what seemed like an hour, Mary came to the phone and we talked. Sort of. "Hello," she said.

"Hello, Mary. This is Ronnie Wilbur. How are you?" I responded with the practice of a skilled conversationalist, the result of a quick prep lesson from mom.

"Hi, Ronnie. Why are you calling me?" she asked, cutting my confidence to ribbons.

"I, I, uh, wanted to know if you would go with me to the State Fair on Saturday?" I blurted out.

"Let me ask my mom and dad. Can I let you know?" she said, as my heart skipped a beat in its rhythm because of the still open question - would she or wouldn't she?

"Okay," swallowing my pride and trying to maintain some form of decorum, "That sounds okay. Let me know," the last part tacked on because I didn't know what else to say.

Now, for just a second, let me put this period of my life in context. I had lots of friends, as I told you earlier. But I never called any of them. Several times a week I was playing at one friend or another's house after school. In third grade a friend of mine named Barry was going to go to a movie that I wanted to see. So, we decided to go together. No phone call. He and I walked 12 blocks to the Elsinore theatre to see, "Westward Ho, The Wagons" and walked back, me leaving him at his place and then continuing home. We arranged the whole thing at school after checking with parents.

But this, this felt like something very different. This was a girl and I was asking her to go to an event with me. Did I say she was a girl! And I was calling her on the phone like adults do. Holy cow! Life's different now. It wasn't one of those moments where you thought, "I may never be the same after this," but it did seem like the start of something.

The next day I saw Mary and she said that she could go and her parents just needed some information about what we were doing and who I was. They should want this information, after all. Even though 1959 was a somewhat innocent time when cars had fins as big as airplane wings, Mary's father was a minister in town and I guessed that would make her mother a saint. Or something. I wasn't sure exactly what a minister's wife was in the eyes of God but it seemed like a holier position than the rest of us.

That night I asked mom for some more advice since my dad was working and not home. Together we, well mostly mom, put together a plan. We would pick up Mary at 11 am on Saturday, both of us would get dropped at the entrance to the State Fair, and my mom would pick us up at 5 pm. I would pay for both Mary and I to get into the Fairgrounds, but Mary might have to pay for her own treats or rides if we ran too quickly through the $5 bill my mom was giving me.

So, that was it, was it? You just call someone up, make the invite, and the next thing you're married. Or at least you get to hold hands. Pretty heavy thoughts, even for a mature 10-year-old.

I called Mary that night and gave her the low down on what would transpire on Saturday. Then I put her mom on the phone with my mom. And finally, her dad wanted to talk to my dad, who was traveling, so he talked to my mom.

Two thumbs up. Mary's mom and dad were good with the plan. Now for the execution, uh, implementation of the plan.

Saturday finally came. I had put the looming event out of my mind during the days after my sharing the plan with Mary. That morning I checked my clothes and hair a couple hundred times, and my mom drove me to Mary's house, a charming small-ish house on High Street with a white picket fence around the front yard. Not kidding - white picket fence. Of course, you gotta remember, this was the late 1950s so there were more white picket fences back then.

Mom handed me the five-dollar bill and I stuffed it in my front jeans pocket for safekeeping and quick access.

While my mom waited in the car in the driveway, I walked to Mary's door and knocked. It was almost instantly answered by Mary, looking quite fetching with her bright dress and combed hair. Many years later I would marvel at how at age 11 Mary Rose had the decency of being ready when someone came to pick her up.

Mary and I walked to the car, waving at the Rev. and Mrs. Rose standing on the front porch. We got in the car, Mom having shown me how to open the door for a girl. I shut her door and went around to the door on the other side, sliding in smoothly and feeling like I was getting the hang of this.

Mom fired up the Plymouth and we headed for the State Fair. The Oregon State Fair was a family favorite for most families living in Salem, the capital city and home of the fair. Whole families would park a mile or two from the fairgrounds and walk to the fair, the benefit being that parking in neighborhoods was free and the fairground parking lots were almost always jammed full. For most Salem residents the fair was a wholesome outing with fair food, animals, maybe a demolition derby at the fairgrounds stadium, and exhibits of all kinds of crafts, flowers and other state fair oddities.

Sometime, somewhere from the stuffing of the $5 bill into my jeans to the entrance gate the $5 bill was liberated from my person. I had no idea how at the time, and after all these years I still don't know. But, what I did know is that we had been dropped off about 11:30 am, we wouldn't be picked up until 5 pm, and I had no money for our admission, or any entertainment like the wonderful state fair carnival rides.

I searched my pockets over and over. Mary was looking at me and finally she said, "What's the matter, Ronnie?"

I sheepishly explained that I no longer had the $5 bill or any money for that matter.

She asked, "What are we going to do?"

I explained the timing - we have 5½ hours to kill and no money.

She interjected, "I have some money. My dad gave it to me for me to get some candy or ride on a ride."

That didn't sound like a solution. We couldn't get in so what good would candy or ride money do.

We sat on the curb of the street leading to the ticket booths. I'm sure I had my head in my hands but perhaps that's just the way I felt and not what I did.

Then the very brilliant Mary Rose came up with the winning idea. "I have enough money to pay for both of our tickets to get into the fair. We can walk around and look at everything. We won't have enough money for candy or rides but we can see everything there is to see."

I was struck by the simplicity and beauty of her suggestion.

And, that's exactly what we did. Mary paid for us to get in and we walked the fairgrounds for hours, looking at pigs and sheep and goats and cattle, the biggest squash, giant ears of corn, beautiful hand-crafted quilts, oil paintings and photographs, and, of course, the concession stands and amazing rides.

No rides, no candy or treats, just me and Mary Rose and whatever we could think of to talk about. Which we did plenty of.

During the next school year, the Rev. Rose was posted to a different church in a distant place. I never saw Mary Rose again. It was if the universe decided to nip my friendship with Mary Rose in the bud, so to speak.

After all these years I think back fondly on that day at the State Fair and the many great lessons I learned that have helped all of these years since.

I also still marvel at this singular event in my life. It was my first date, and she paid!