“We could call it Aunt Martha, Inc.”, John suggested.

“Great idea!” I agreed.

It was the seventies and I was enjoying the company of a quirky assortment of creative, imaginative people. One of the things we excelled at was our parties. Not satisfied to merely send out basic invitations to boring mixers, we threw theatrical extravaganzas.

It wasn’t just a Christmas party, it was an authentic Medieval winter fest. The invitations weren’t store-bought packs of eight or ten that came with matching little envelopes, but were weathered pages in Olde English script torn from an ancient history book telling the tale of the event. Ugly sweaters and Christmas cookies were supplanted by authentic period costumes, and turkey legs were flung.

It wasn’t just a Halloween party where an eyepatch and a fake plastic hook passed for a pirate, or a witch costume was a pointy hat and a hooked nose, and where everyone bobbed for apples. It was a treaty signing ceremony of the rebel alliance to be held on a distant, neutral planet, and everyone came dressed as delegates of their own planet, complete with backstory and native dishes. Instead of crepe paper streamers, there was a rear projection drop screen showing archival footage of the interstellar battles precipitating the treaty, before the entire “house” took off in a thunderous roar amid flashing lights to the rendezvous planet for the treaty signing. Guests were treated to a viewport of space and a special experience of the hull being rendered translucent, affording a floating view of the cosmos. After the formal signing ceremony and brief speeches, everyone withdrew to a reception in the cloud room. Fog crept across the floor and under the table at the end of the room which featured exotic dishes from across the galaxy, including green meat, black eggs, strangely colored gelatinous side dishes, and bizarre fruits, with glowing drinks dispensed from flexible spigots. The whole spectacle was enlivened by John Williams’ “Cantina” music.

Then there were the Gorn parties in the dark that involved finding and assembling hidden phaser components while being pursued by the Gorn on two decks connected by a transporter pad.

Given the complexity of our approach to parties and the cleverness of our friends, throwing a surprise party was a challenge. My friend John and I masterminded a few that were so successful that we considered starting a party service for the quirky rich and famous.

 

Aunt Martha, Inc

The name Aunt Martha, Inc. was inspired by one of our more elaborate surprise parties which involved weeks of advance preparation and an elaborate cover story to lure the unsuspecting birthday girl to an unlikely party location.

High school bonds seem fast and forever, but then after graduation, everyone scatters off to their various, sometimes remote, jobs and colleges and the opportunities for reunions become fewer and fewer. Betsie and Patti are an example. Activities such as theater had them together almost daily, but then Betsie went east to Cal State Fullerton, and Patti went west to U C Santa Barbara, placing them more than a hundred miles away from each other. Needless to say, they didn’t see much of each other after that. Though some of us went to school closer to home, our tight group was scattered and get-togethers were increasingly rare.

Betsie had a birthday coming up and we decided to throw a surprise party for her. But how to lure her home from Fullerton without arousing suspicion?

We had heard that Betsie had a new boyfriend, Jim, from college whom we had never met, and somehow someone had his number. (Maybe it was Patti?) We called him and set up an elaborate scenario.

I had someone write a letter in old lady scrawl to Jim, purportedly from his Aunt Martha who lived out of state, telling him of her anticipated arrival for a visit in a few weeks by train at Union Station in downtown LA, and would he please pick her up. Then we sent the letter to an out-of-state friend to re-mail to him so it would have an out-of-state postmark. (Success is in the details. We’re nothing if not thorough.) Then Jim showed Betsie the letter and asked if she would go with him to pick her up, to which she happily assented. Weeks later, they dutifully made the long drive to the train station to pick up Aunt Martha.

Now here’s the thing. There WAS no Aunt Martha. We made her up.

Then Patti secretly came in from Santa Barbara and on the “arrival” day, I went over to her house to transform her into Aunt Martha.

“I remember you coming to my house to do the make-up job.” Patti recalls, “I had dressed in what I thought at the time was an “old lady” outfit, a knit suit borrowed from my mom.  (Poor Mom, who was at that time still quite young and stylish, but old in our eyes!)”

John, Patti, Gail and I then all drove down to the train station. Union Station is a grand old building with spacious waiting rooms furnished with rows of deep, padded chairs with heavy wooden arms. The three of us all had newspapers with obvious eyeholes cut out of them (for fun) and sank down, obscured in the row of seats. The birthday cake with lit candles occupied one of the seats with its own newspaper propped up, sans eyeholes. (We waited for them to pass by before hastily lighting them).

There was one factor that made the whole set-up a challenge. None of us had met Jim yet, nor did he have any clue what Patti would look like.

It all hinged on Betsie.

“At the station, I spent my time hiding behind a post as Jim and Betsie strolled by, waiting for my train to ‘arrive’. When I emerged and met them and we stood conversing, though I know it was really only a minute before I was recognized, it seemed an eternity!”, Patti remembers, “The weirdest part of all was to be talking face to face with my best friend and have her treat me as a total stranger, acting as she would when just getting to know someone.”

She walked up to whatever guy was walking with Betsie and hugged him.

“Jimmy! Good to see you!”

“Aunt Martha!” He replied to this total stranger.

Then they both paused and looked at Betsie to see if there was any recognition.

Nothing.

“This is Betsie.” he introduced.

“Nice to meet you, dear.” Aunt Martha said.

“Nice to meet you, too.” Betsie replied, squinting a little as she had forgotten her glasses.

There was a slight awkward pause as the two looked at her to see if she had caught on yet.

Nothing.

“Here, let me get your suitcase.” Jim offered

“Thank you dear.”

“How was your trip?

“Fine, Just fine.”

Nothing.

“Um, so how is your mom?” Patti improvised.

“Fine. Fine. How have you been?” he replied awkwardly, stalling.

Again, the two stopped to look at Betsie.

Still nothing.

“Sooo…um.”

“PATTI?!” Betsie suddenly shrieked in recognition!

“She told me afterwards that even then she wasn’t certain and had a fleeting instant of panic that she was screaming another name at Jim’s “Aunt Martha”, Patti said, “But then came relief and laughter, and those watching behind the newspapers came out.”

Then we three stood up, discarded our newspapers, and brought out the cake, singing “Happy Birthday”.

“I then recall being in the women’s bathroom trying to wash off all that make up and latex wrinkles, and strangers who saw the reveal moment coming up to me to say how funny they thought it was.” Patti remembers.

Later Betsie told me, “I thought there was something strange, but all I could think is,’Gee, this woman wears a lot of makeup.’” My makeup experience was theatrical, normally seen from far away in harsh light. I guess I was a little heavy handed. Still worked for a second, though.

Afterwards we went for hot dogs at world famous Tommy’s in LA off of Rampart. The little place is a local landmark and is open 24/7. It is built open. They couldn’t close if they wanted to. Then, fortified, we went to The Gypsy Camp, a popular folk dance establishment, to celebrate the evening.

My Cousin’s Restaurant

It was Gail’s birthday and the cover story was that John had a cousin who was famous and had a fancy restaurant somewhere far from home. He wanted to surprise them so Gail and the other couple going had to wear blindfolds and promise not to peek. Once in the car, however, the couple removed their blindfolds, leaving the Gail the only one wearing one. Then they drove around and around to make it seem like the place was a long way off.

Meanwhile, a short distance away at her best friend’s house, everyone was gathering for the surprise. John and I had taken a research trip to a nice restaurant to observe just what a blindfolded person might experience. Armed with that knowledge, we proceeded to transform someones nice little house in a quiet neighborhood into a fancy restaurant for the comically blindfolded.

First we blasted the AC so entering would be a noticeable change. Then we rummaged around in the fridge and found some hamburger and onions, which we sautéed to add the intrigue of mysterious, cooking food. Dishes, flatware, and glasses were passed around to the twenty or so guests and we had a rehearsal to discover just the right amount of scraping and clinking you would hear in a large, upholstered restaurant. People spoke in hushed tones and subtly scraped forks on their plates, clinking glasses occasionally. It was an interesting exercise as everyone closed their eyes and imagined their roles, experimenting with sounds and how they worked with everyone else’s. The tendency was to be too loud and distinct, more like a diner, but eventually they got it. Quiet music was piped in to complete the effect.

Outside, we had volunteers man several cars to drive up and down the quiet street to give the impression of a business neighborhood and when they pulled in to the driveway, one pulled in behind their car and stood idling as the “valet” opened the ladies doors and helped them out.
Then they went up the walk and entered the house, the “patrons” from the car that pulled in behind them walking in behind them. The woman made audible whispered comments to her date that the blindfolded kids must be part of some fraternity initiation or something, lending credence to the ruse. People quietly scraped and clinked while they waited for the host to show them to their table. At some point, John instructed them (her) to remove their (her) blindfold(s).

The look on Gail’s face shifted from blinking at the light and trying to focus her eyes, to shock as several flashbulbs went off in the large crowd of smiling, familiar faces in a familiar living room, to greater shock and disorientation as her eyes didn’t match her mental picture, all punctuated with a mighty, “SURPRISE!”.

U-Haul

John was going to be a hard one, being a mastermind for so many surprise parties, he would spot a set up a mile away. So rather than leave the day blank, his girlfriend, Suzanne, set up a date for the day, with the intention of scuttling it at the right moment to re-direct the day.

“We went to Japanese Village and Deer Park in Buena Park. We were playing Pachinko when I had my “asthma attack”. John was terribly disappointed but took me home like a trouper. (I had, of course, been ducking into the ladies room to take puffs of my inhaler as needed.) We went home, I “found” my inhaler, and told him I felt well enough to go to dinner at the Shrimp Boat on Rosemead Blvd. for our planned birthday dinner.”

Meanwhile, I had rented a large U-Haul moving van and we decorated inside the back with streamers and balloons and a sign. Then we met all of the party guests at Temple City park, not far from the Shrimp Boat, so their cars wouldn’t be parked at Suzanne’s, and so the drive would be short.

We loaded everyone into the back, and headed to the restaurant. On the way, I left the dome lights on in the windowless back of the van, partly so one of the guests, a deaf man, could see to communicate. Leaving the light on in the back also left the dome light on in the cab. Everyone was chattering in the back when we came to a red light. Naturally, a police car pulled up next to us at that moment, waiting at the light. I suspect there is some kind of rule about having the cab light on and definitely about hauling passengers like cattle in the back of a moving van so I panicked and flashed the dome lights and then off, hoping that everyone would get the signal and be still. I kept my eyes forward so I don’t know if the cop heard the deaf guy say in a loud voice, “Hey! What happened to the lights?! I can’t see! What? WHAT?” I was mortified, but the light changed and the cops drove on. We parked in a way that blocked John’s car and then waited. And waited.

“John and I had a lovely dinner. When we came out, the U-Haul was parked next to John’s car. He saw somebody sneaking around the truck and he immediately went into “don’t mess with me” mode, told me to stay back, and went to investigate, tough guy that he was…IS!”

It was me, watching for them to come back. When he approached the van, annoyed that it was blocking him in and instantly suspicious, I signaled the party in the back and the doors flew open and everyone yelled “SURPRISE!”

John was seriously startled, fearing he had stumbled on a “coyote” transporting illegals. Afterward we went to Suzanne’s house to have a proper party. (I think)

 

These and many other parties and gatherings were such creative and satisfying times and they serve as time capsule for me, connecting me to a rare moment in time and group of friends that I miss. The freedom and unbridled creativity of your twenties coupled with the solid framework and security of a tribe of likeminded friends is what made it nonpareil.