The Night of the Ice-Blue
Gown
by Betty Finocchiaro
In 1947, I went to my high school prom in Manhattan,
New York wearing an ice-blue gown. A
long full skirt, formed by layer upon layer of
floating tulle, was swooped up in back with a bustle
held by two large American Beauty pink roses. I had designed and sewn the dress as my senior
project, choosing not to put in sleeves.
Much to my father’s distress, it was also strapless.
There was no way this American beauty was going to
leave the house in such a scandalous
manner, he said.
Enter my entrepreneur aunt to the rescue. Aunt Rose
lived on the floor below us and was
sharing in the evening’s excitement.
She also saw my father’s anxiety at the sight of my
gown. Taking two pieces of leftover tulle,
she fashioned sleeves, tacking them on, front and
back, so only the most discerning eye could
see that they could be removed at a moment’s notice.
Aunt Rose and I knew that my father did not have a
discerning eye.
My parents had friends whose son took me to the
prom. Joe was recently discharged from
the Navy and active duty in the Pacific. Since he
was the son of a family in my parents circle, a
decent fellow, and I didn’t have a boyfriend,
anyway, it turned out to be a wonderful choice.
The doorbell rang that night and there stood Joe,
white rose corsage in hand. His parents
stood beaming behind him.
Like a prize heifer, I was being looked over. Joe
and I left in a taxicab with both sets of
parents waving.
In 1947, Times Square was a magical place,
especially at night. In January of that year, and on
a cold and on a cold winter’s evening, the
Pennsylvania Hotel was beautifully lit. Jimmy Dorsey’s band was featured. In all my
adolescent dreams, never had I conceived of
the thrill of a renowned entertainer picking me out
of the crowd.
The moment was to be an indelible memory for the
rest of my life. I had leaned against the
stage while the band took a break and Mr. Dorsey
came toward me.
Squatting to reach my level, he smiled and quietly
asked where I had gotten the “pretty blue
gown.”
Then, in the early morning hours, the air crisp with
cold and u nder a clear sky, with our heels
flying together and holding hands with two other
couples, we ran laughing along the Great
White Way, under the Broadway lights.
I’ve often thought about that shy Navy boy, lucky
enough to have returned from World War
II ---a gentle soul who had left other gentle, young
souls on the battlefield.
Much later that evening, he spoke to me of it,
giving me an insight to a world I could not
fathom.
He had stepped all over my white dancing shoes and
didn’t kiss me goodnight. Instead, we
shook hands, and that was all right.
We went our separate ways, but in my heart the
sweetness of that night has always
remained.
The author and
her infamous gown without straps, in
1947.
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