Arch’s Night was the highlight of the summer for the youth of the Shandaken Valley, and even the owners of the resorts honored it by serving light dinners and permitting kitchen work to go undone until the following morning.

On Arch’s Night, 1955, I had my first official date with Amy. It was the first time that anyone saw us touching in public, a touching that was a continuous dance to many songs from Arch’s jukebox. Later, by the swimming pool, Carter lectured that Amy and I were the most talked-about couple of the night. “I swear to God, it was embarrassing,” he groused. “If you two don’t have a baby out of all that rubbing up against one another, it’ll be because one of you is sterile. I mean, I can appreciate a man being horny, and I think you know that. Talking to me about being horny is like talking to Noah about rain, but, my God, Bobo, the two of you turned on everybody in there, including Arch. I promise you, there’re more backseats being used in Chevrolets tonight than at any time in the history of the Catskill Mountains. And there’s another thing: I know you’re a Georgia hick and you can’t help it, but, Jesus, up here couples turn loose of one another occasionally. They don’t dance to the sound of a quarter falling into a jukebox; they dance to music.” Then he smiled. “I’m proud of you, boy,” he added.

I had not intended to ask Amy for a date for Arch’s Night, though I wanted to. I knew it would create gossip and I knew her mother was already watching me closely. Amy initiated it at lunch by saying to her mother as I was serving the entree, “Bobo wants to take me to the dance at Arch’s tonight. Is that okay?”

I could feel a blush covering me.

Evelyn Lourie looked at me in surprise.

“Ah—” I said.

“Amy, are you saying that to embarrass Bobo?” her mother asked.

Amy giggled. “No. I’m just tired of waiting to be asked. I want to go and nobody will ask me, and you have to be asked unless you work in one of the resorts.”

“Well, I think it’s fine,” Joel Lourie said. He looked at me. “Bobo?”

I stammered. “Uh, I—I’d be happy for Amy to go with me.” I glanced at Carter. A gleeful grin was on his face. “With us,” I amended.

“No, it has to be a real date,” Amy corrected. “I’ve been coming here for years. I know the rules.”

“I don’t think you should pressure the young man like this,” Evelyn Lourie said evenly.

“Then I think he should ask me,” Amy insisted.