a.k.a "How I Met My Husband"
by Julie Driver Grau
original essay written September 2007
The year was 1986. As high school journalism students, we spent a lot of time reading Dallas periodicals. One weekly rag we read faithfully was the Dallas Observer with then-journalist Laura Miller’s thought provoking anti-Dallas articles, the latest listings of the Dallas music scene in the up-and-coming Deep Ellum, Joe Bob Briggs’ horror movie reviews, and my personal favorite, the mysterious Personal Ads. If someone was such a “great catch” as all the ads seemed to indicate, why would they need to advertise for love? With great interest, Shannon, Robbin, Sue, and I would read the ads and dare each other to answer. When a contest was held to win a gift certificate to a local restaurant by writing an ad, we took the bull by the horns and talked Shannon into composing something witty and charming with our input. As luck would have it, she won the contest, but I got to read and answer all the responses.
Now-a-days, Personals consist of computers and chat rooms; in 1986, it was all by handwritten letters and photographs with the anticipation of a response back by “snail mail.” A lot can be learned just by how much care someone takes in choosing stationary, printing vs. cursive, postmarks from out of area locations, and of course the tell-tale “Mail from Hunstville Prison” stamp that was on the outside of several responses. Young men 18-22 told tales of looking for love, promising days of wine and roses, and proving they had excellent physiques in shirtless photos. I was hooked.
I don’t recall the young men I met in the early days – more of the thrill of the chase. I was mostly correspondence romances with one or two meetings in public places and most were not interested in someone still in high school. Although I was young enough to date without ads, the ads provided an element of mystery and, perhaps, a little danger that was hard to resist. Being the person whose ad was answered put the control in your hands -- and what young woman doesn’t love a little coy control?
Fast forward to 1993. Out of college three years, I found meeting relationship worthy men in Dallas to be at best, challenging. Working as a social worker made my circle of friends mostly women and the church singles group consisted mostly of older divorcees. Working for Big Brothers and Sisters had me interviewing great guy after great guy, but Big Brothers were off-limits. So I began a quest to meet these big-hearted knights on white horses who obviously existed somewhere in Dallas; but how? It was after reading a Robert Wilonsky music review over a cup of coffee at Café Society, that I rediscovered the thrill of years prior… the Personal Ads!
As a brainstorm to write an ad, I quickly wrote out “The List” that would become the guide by which I would determine which bites to keep and which to throw back.
The List – August 1993
sociable, makes friends easily, likes parties, willing to dance, can play piano or guitar, can carry a tune, enjoys outdoors and camping, is not a hunter, enjoys traveling, appreciates antiques, has a sense of humor, smart and educated, independent but not hard-headed, loves kids, has a variety of interests/hobbies, appreciates all kinds of music, enjoys poetry/prose, enjoys theater/musicals, likes good coffee or tea, can be sentimental and romantic, cries, is a hard worker but makes time to play, has blue eyes, likes cats and other animals, is adventurous, parents are still married, playful and fun, keeps promises, enjoys cuddling, can iron and wash his own clothes, can cook, believes in the commitment of marriage (if divorced, she left him), moderate drinker, respectful of women, good communicator, good listener, Christian or has good morals, goal-oriented, honest, sensitive, accepting, laid back, older than me, financially secure, not into risky get rich quick things, knows how to tinker on cars, has a nice family, didn’t have it easy but didn’t have a disaster of childhood, thinks I have a pretty singing voice, likes me as I am, supportive of my interests and talents, likes movies, thoughtful, sends flowers, can compromise, can admit he’s wrong, loves me very much, and won’t be around me ALL the time.
So, how could I put all that in a 50-word ad?
Woman Seeking Man
Passionate Soul
Energetic, creative, voluptuous
auburn haired, blue-eyed, SWF age 26
Enjoys music, antiques, camping,
coffee, and a good laugh.
Seeking honest, sensitive, passionate,
educated SWM 24-34, over 5’10”.
The truth of the matter is if you cast a big enough net, you will catch some fish. You might even get one worth keeping. Evidently my net was enormous. I had 75 responses to my first ad the first week. 900 numbers started replacing letter writing, but I was fortunate to get a little of both. I recall thinking that someone needed to teach guys how to leave voice mails – drunk, gravelly, whiny, nasally, or lewd responses were immediately deleted. 40 down. 35 to go. Well, at least until week number two and 100 more responses.
My first date was with Stan. I learned from him that first meetings should not be for dinner dates. Especially not Dave & Busters. Restaurants leave too much time for conversation if you have nothing to say and Dave & Busters included extra time like a game of pool. Luckily, I had developed a “get away” plan with a friend who would call me at a specified time on my cell phone (one of the original enormous ones that looked more like a security officer’s walky-talky) allowing me to leave for an emergency if things weren’t going so well. Stan couldn’t look me in the eye or hold a conversation. The few things he said were some variation on how pretty I was which made think he was very weird. As it turned out, he was a nice guy. He was sincerely worried about my friend’s fake emergency and insisted on walking me out to my car since it was after dark After we said goodbye, he went towards his car only to return to mine with a small bouquet of flowers. Stan was the only guy I ever used that on because it made me feel so bad. The social worker in me decided that even weird guys deserved to be treated with kindness.
After that date, Dallas hangouts such as Chumley’s, Rick’s, Whole Foods Café, The Balcony Club, Café Society, Lakewood Bar and Grill, Café Brazil, and Club Dada served as backdrops to my pursuit. I drank a lot of coffee and martinis meeting accountants, musicians, ranchers, electricians, bankers, photographers, teachers, and others in a pre-cursor to the now popular speed dating. Over a 30-minute drink, it seemed frighteningly easy to determine who was too old, too creepy, too clingy, too hairy, too controlling, and too shallow. Somehow, I managed to narrow them all down to two.
Rex was the “older man” at 35. He had an 11-year-old son, a home in Highland Park, money to burn, dark Italian looks, and a body reminiscence of Adonis. The chemistry in Momo’s was undeniable. Our kiss that night in the parking lot was combustible and I had to fight all urges to turn the date into a scene out of “About Last Night”. Several dates followed and just days after Rex and I flamed our sparks, I met Sam.
Sam was the last guy I would meet from my ad because he traveled for work, although our coffee date had been set up for two weeks. My intent was to meet at Café Society for a quick hello and return to Rex’s lair for the evening. Sam was Rex’s complete opposite: tall, skinny, pale blonde, with bright blue eyes and barely two nickels to rub together. He was an archaeologist working on a dig in East Texas. Sam and I also clicked immediately, but the fact that I did have a few morals left to prevent me from seriously dating two guys at once, our romance moved a bit more slowly.
In the midst of all this romance, I was on a job hunt. The Dallas Observer was seeking a “Romance Director” so I typed up an introduction letter that read like a personal ad and attached my resume. Two weeks later, I was working in downtown Dallas helping single Dallasites write their own ads and handing out advice on how to make people fall in love via the personals. As Romance Director, I not only entered and edited ads, I became the “Dear Abby” of the Personals world. People called me for advice on how to handle responding to ads, where to meet people for coffee, and how to turn their uglier truths into prettier versions so the reader might fall in love with them sight unseen. Every week, I kept at least 4 ads of my own in the paper to “test the market” with different wording. Not surprisingly, ads for the 20-30 set faired better than those for older women and ads with themes and highly descriptive adjectives pulled more calls than “just the facts”. I became quite adept at using descriptive adjectives such as passionate, energetic, active and writing ads along themes like sports, Shakespeare, or jungle animals. Words such as curvaceous, entrepreneur, just-looking and other euphemisms hid sins such as fat, jobless, and desperate.
I held weekly events at area bars and restaurants that were in need of extra promotion. These events served as places for singles to mingle, but their entry to the event consisted of placing an ad. In an unfair play, women could place free ads while men paid for their ads. With the stigma of 900 numbers in these days, men were more likely to call the 900-number to answer ads so the paper needed a lot of women-seeking-men ads to make a profit. In fact, our most profitable ads were Men-seeking-Men so I held many events at gay bars. Interestingly enough, my ads were a big hit in the women seeking women column and I actually entertained meeting a few of the women who responded to my test ads, but some stones are best left unturned.
I didn’t meet any of the guys that called my test ads because I was now seriously dating Sam. Our slow-and-steady friendship turned into a serious romance which was peppered by his trips out of town. Rex and I developed a friendship that was always smoldering with possibilities, but I was truly in love with Sam and avoided being alone with Rex in private places. Only after Sam had moved to Minnesota and left me in Dallas pondering my 6-month relationship to a poor, traveling archaeologist did Rex and I revisit our chemistry. And alas, that was the end of Sam. It was also the end of my life as a Romance Director at the Dallas Observer. 75 hours a week of other people’s relationship searches had exhausted me. I had done all the work, met all the numbers, and held all the parties, but as several Romance Directors before me, I was let go right before I was eligible for a bonus.
A new rag was getting started called The Met and they were taking on the Dallas Observer with full force. With some animosity towards their rival paper, I jumped on board as a consultant to their newly formed Personals Ads. This led to a job at the paper handling marketing events for the Personals and eventually to the title of “Luv Doctor.” Luv Doctor. What a joke. By the time I held that title I was pretty much soured on love. Rex had moved away and I had a few other Personals dating experiences that had left me both frustrated and heartbroken. Too many jerks and liars. Too many frogs kissed. The prince was not coming. I was fishing in a pond of scum. Besides, “the list” was ridiculous. I would have told my personal ad writers that no one out there would be able to match up to a list of 58 characteristics. Get real. So I decided I might as well throw out all my ideals and just have fun while I was young – well, at least while I was 29.
Woman Seeking Fun
About to turn 30 and tired of the
Dallas dating scene. Looking
for someone to run around town
just for fun and friendship.
One night or many. 25 – 35,
over 5’8”, goatee a plus.
My anonymous voice mail was equally vague: “Tell me why I should make the effort to call you back.” On October 16, 1997 I got an intriguing response: “Hi, my name is Jeff. I have a goatee and you should call me back because I’m the one.” On October 17th we met at The Balcony Club, a throwback to a few other first dates, meeting there was my way of putting some old memories behind me. Funny enough, from that day forward it would be the place I first met my husband.
By November of 1997, computer personals started to compete with 900 numbers. The Met personals had a good run, but with my encouragement, that was the end of the personals and my job. And somehow it seemed a fitting end. I met a man who had everything I had been looking for just as I quit looking for him. I had found in the personals what every other ad placer wanted from the personals adventure: the relationship of my dreams.
Even an old fisherman will admit sometimes it isn’t the bait you use, but the fact that you actually put a pole in the water.
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