Falling In Love With Olivia Newton-John

Sep 08, 2023

Olivia Newton-John nearly landed me in a Dickensian boys’ reform school.

I was obsessed with Little League baseball, Star Wars, and Land of the Lost, so I was hardly enthusiastic when a friend’s mother took us to see a musical about puberty and high school romance.

If we don’t have to play its baseball team, then what does Rydell High mean to me?

And a musical to boot. Musicals don’t feature laser blasters or home runs. This was foolhardy.

But then there was Olivia on the large screen. When I saw her for the first time, I knew she would be mine. There were two Olivias in Grease, if you recall. The first pinned her hair back and carried books with arms crossed against her delicate school-girl dress; the second wore black tights, a revealing top, and her hair in large curls. The second won high school dance contests. The first won my heart.

One Fall afternoon, Martha, my babysitter, decided to take me to the local convenience store. She was under my mom’s strict instructions not to buy me candy, so she suggested I pick a pack of baseball cards to add to my collection. What’s better than baseball cards?

Once inside the store, Martha went her own way.

The farther the better, I thought. Teenagers.

I strolled quietly past the main counter and turned left down the middle aisle. I rejoiced at the thought of a brand new pack and the chance to find the treasured Yankees’ team card, which, my friends and I were certain, baseball card maker Topps had made as rare as possible.

The Yankees would have to wait yet another day.

As I surveyed the card offerings, there she was in her simple dress.

Fair Olivia!

I was in shock! No one had told me! Was I the last young boy to discover that a genius had captured Grease on trading cards?

Fair Olivia, rendered perfectly on glossy prints.

Collectible.

Delectable.

As I stood in the aisle, I was overcome with anxiety. Martha would soon discover that I preferred Olivia Newton-John to American League All-Stars, and who knew how quickly the word would spread.

Still, I had no choice – first love leads boys to irrational means.

My plan formed in an instant. It was perfect. In full view of the store clerk, I placed the cards halfway into my front pocket as I made my way toward Martha at the counter. I would flash them quickly at the clerk, who, no doubt sympathetic to my cause, would wink and ring up the pack with some passing comment like “I hope that pack has Reggie Jackson in it. He’s quite a slugger.”

Not so. As I reached the counter at the same time as Martha, a hairy hand reached out and grabbed my arm, sending my secret tumbling onto the counter.

“Thief!” the clerk cried at the top of his lungs, his fat chest heaving over the thick black leather belt that kept his belly perched next to the register.

“Thief!” he bellowed. “I saw you the moment you touched that pack of cards! Do you know what this means? Why I oughta call the police or your parents. What’s your phone number? Why I oughta….”

Martha and I stood speechless. Olivia Newton-John stared at us from the counter. She bore no resemblance whatsoever to the Yankees’ mustached first baseman, Chris Chambliss. I had been exposed.

“Don’t ever let me see you in my store again, do you hear me?” the clerk exclaimed. “Don’t let there be a next time, young man.”

His voice droned as tears streamed down my face. Fear and confusion replaced embarrassment.

I didn’t need to explain to Martha what had just happened. My brush with juvenile delinquency would remain our secret, for she knew that I never would have taken a pack of cards.

She shook her head and smiled.

She knew that I knew that she knew about Olivia, and that was just fine.

Hefty Matters

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