EDITOR AT LARGE

She was so gorgeous, she could have been a Mouseketeer. She was that talented too. And, although she may not have known it at the time, she was my girl. Then -- somehow -- half a century slipped by before I found her photo, and the whole crazy affair came swirling back.

THE BELLE OF NORCROSS ELEMENTARY

Joanne knocked me out. Her wild-eyes burned through me. Her cartoon smile never faded. She was so cute I could barely color inside the lines.

To this day I recall only four things about second grade. First was the green pepper and tomato sandwich that I puked up all over the playground. There were the piano lessons at old Mrs. Pond’s house across from the brick school. There was the long walk home from Norcross Elementary to my house on the far side of the town common. And there was Joanne, with those eyes and that smile.

It’s not like I was new to love. Family legend says, while still in diapers, I carried a framed portrait of singer Rosemary Clooney calling out "Clooney! Clooney!" to anyone who would listen. In kindergarten I hooked up with a girl named Denise. She picked me, probably because our names were almost the same. Denise liked horses. She liked to come up behind her favorite boy, throw the middle of a jump rope around his neck, and shout "Giddy-up"! When I tired of being ridden around the schoolyard, Denise moved on.

But Joanne was the real deal. She had star power. Her last name was Barnard, which I remembered as "Barnyard" until I stumbled on an old class photo the other day. It’s been almost fifty years, but she still shines out. Eileen Schofield was smarter, but she had hair on her arms. Candy Harris was sweeter, but less complex. Joanne, by contrast, could be shy, boisterous, taunting, witty, earthy. I never knew where I stood or who she was, and when handsome Jimmy English walked home between us, the ground trembled. To win her back, I caught fireflies in a glass jar, although one died and started to stink.

Joanne came to my house. We swung on my swing, drew secret pictures in the dirt and had a snack on the picnic table under the apple tree. I went to her house once. She had a piano too. When we played a board game, her little brother jumped up on the card table without his pants. I was horrified. She barely blinked. Joanne was already a woman of the world and I, for one, was ready to settle down and go steady.

That was the year my father was transferred from Massachusetts to New Hampshire. I was going on nine when the world I knew disappeared. The transition was agony. That was also the year I had to get glasses. My ego broke wide open and I couldn’t find another girl until fifth grade.

It was only in search of an ending to this essay that I typed "Joanne Barnard" into Google today. The Internet shot back two possibilities. One woman with that name was born in Somerset, England in 1607. The other had been a rock star in Worcester, MA in the 1970s. (I was born in Worcester and grew up in a little town not far away.) This Joanne had recorded at the legendary Long View Studios, tucked into a 147-acre farm, once occupied for six weeks by the Rolling Stones. She had been in a dozen musical groups, the Web told me, and performed with Muddy Waters and the Count Basie Band. In photographs, this Joanne had the identical smile, the same eyes.

So I tossed an email into the digital abyss, and an email was returned. Joanne Barnard, she wrote back, now lives in Florida. She has been married for 29 years. One of her daughters has two daughters of her own. Joanne writes for a local newspaper and performs under her married name Jo List. She has a new CD of original songs called "Natural Girl." I listened to bits of the album online. Joanne has a powerful voice that reminds me of Carole King, Linda Ronstadt and Norah Jones.

It was the first time I’ve heard that voice in almost half a century. It was softer back in the 1950s, shot full of giggles as we played "Chopsticks" on her upright piano together. But my second grade instincts were sharp. I knew, even then, I was dating a superstar.

Copyright © 2007 by J. Dennis Robinson. All rights reserved. 

OUTSIDE LINK: MORE ABOUT Joanne Barnard