Tiffany & Company: Part Three

Part One
Part Two

Not that summer but the following, Abe was given tickets to the LPGA tournament playing at the course where he was an assistant golf pro. We walked the course and stopped for his favorite players as he told me about them.

We were crossing from one hole to another when Abe saw a fellow assistant from another club. He said he wanted to introduce me, and Abe called out to his friend, who joined us with his date.

“Jim, I want you to meet my wife Birdie. Birdie, this is Jim Sawyer from Heron Creek.”

Jim extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Birdie. This is Tiffany.”

She stood there with her eyes as big as saucers. I gave her my Cheshire smile. “Hello, Tiffany.”

She mumbled a hello.

The guys exchanged a few pleasantries and we parted company. I spoke to Abe as we walked.

“How old would you guess Jim is?”

“I don’t know. Twenty-seven? Twenty-eight? Why?”

“Tell your friend his date is fourteen.”

Abe snorted. “Oh, please. Right.”

“Remember the story I told you of the girl who was caught shoplifting at Disney? That’s Tiffany.”

“I’ll be right back.” Abe took off at a trot.

He caught up with Jim in the distance and motioned him over to speak privately. I didn’t have to hear to know what transpired. I have no idea what happened after that. Abe and I went on to enjoy the tournament.

Tiffany was about ten years younger than I, and that was a long time ago. I wonder where she is now.

Tiffany & Company: Part Two

Part One

Sitting at one of the desks was Tiffany, holding a stuffed Dumbo and looking at me like a deer in the headlights.

The officer at the desk explained to me that Tiffany had been caught shoplifting jewelry from one of the shops. As he described what they had witnessed, Tiffany nodded at questions when asked if the details were accurate. He went on to explain to her that she was being released into my custody, and if she were ever caught stealing again, she would be permanently banned from entering Disney World. I think that got her attention. We left the security complex without speaking and emerged once again into the flower-filled alley.

I explained briefly to Lynn what had transpired and then turned to Tiffany.

“You’ve ruined your night, but you’re not ruining mine. You will follow us ten feet behind for the rest of the evening while we enjoy the rides and attractions. You will not speak to anyone else at all. Do you understand?”

Tiffany nodded, and Lynn and I headed out with her following apace at a distance. Word spread fast. Girls from the pep club kept appearing from behind pillars and kiosks, staring and whispering. I had to tell one that Tiffany was off-limits; after that no one else appeared for the rest of the evening. Lynn and I had a good time for the next hour or so while Tiffany stood silently at the entrance to each of the rides, holding Dumbo in her arms.

Around 9:30 Lynn and I decided we were done and headed for the bus. I told Tiffany to stand by the bus while we waited for all of the girls to arrive. They drifted in, already knowing that Tiffany was to be left alone. (Let me tell you: you want word to get around quickly? Tell a teenage girl. It’s faster than light.) As more girls arrived at the bus, they began to cluster and chatter about the Topic of the Evening. I strolled around, listening without being obvious. It was enlightening.

Apparently, all of those necklaces, bracelets and rings that Tiffany wore every day had been stolen from the mall behind the school. She was wearing a fortune in gold. I guess she just wanted a similar souvenir from Disney. I filed the information away and walked up to the bus door, announcing that it was time to board.

As the girls lined up to get on the bus, it struck me that the stuffed Dumbo that Tiffany was carrying was probably stolen too. I figured if I tried to take it, she would protest if she’d paid for it. She approached the door and took the first step.

“I’ll take that,” I said as I removed Dumbo from her grasp. She looked at me silently and then continued on to her seat. Great. Now I had a stolen stuffed animal. What was I going to do with the thing?

The long ride home was uneventful—thank you very much—but as we neared the school parking lot and the waiting cars, I told Tiffany she had to tell her parents what happened. I would be checking on her.

What a night. I gave a brief synopsis to Abe and went to bed.

The next day was Sunday. I slept in and waited until after lunch to make the call I did NOT want to make. Her mother answered the phone.

“This is Birdie Brown, the pep club’s sponsor. Did Tiffany tell you what happened at Disney World last night? Oh. Do you have time to see me? I’ll be right over.”

We all sat in the Florida room of Tiffany’s upper middle class home. As I ended the story, I told her parents what I’d overheard the girls say about her jewelry. Tiffany’s mother interjected, “Not my little girl!”

Stepdad had a different reaction. “Oh yeah. I believe it.”

They thanked me for my trouble and I left what was one of the lowest moments of my young professional career at the time. I gave Dumbo to Goodwill. I did not renew my sponsorship of the pep club the following year.

Part Three

Tiffany & Company: Part One

Every teacher has stories. This is one of mine.

In 1977 Tiffany was in eighth grade. She was slender, blond, tan and as gorgeous as a model—and she knew it. She looked much older than her thirteen years, and she cultivated the illusion. All the girls wanted her to be their friend. She gave out small doses of her attention to keep them yearning for more.

I was a teacher at the middle school in Florida, and a bevy of girls came to me at the start of the year to plead with me to sponsor their pep club. For those who don’t know—and I was one of you at the time—the pep club is comprised of all the cheerleader wannabes who didn’t make the squad. Apparently they attended each game and cheered for the team from the bleachers. My lack of understanding on this subject should tell you my level of interest in being their sponsor.

Every club has to have a teacher sponsor. The pep club’s previous sponsor had bowed out. They were begging me to please just sign the paper; I didn’t have to attend any of the games. They wore me down and I reluctantly agreed. I would live to regret that decision.

The girls met in my classroom and planned their fundraisers—bake sales, car washes, etc.—and organized rides to the games. I maintained order and kept the books, showing up at the fundraising events to oversee everything. Honestly, it wasn’t too bad, except for watching those sweet little girls fawning over Tiffany, who was elected president. She ruled with a cold, regal hand. I did not flatter, so Tiffany had little use for me.

At year’s end the club had enough money to give the school a substantial gift and still organize a trip to Disney World. We had enough money to rent the bus and driver and pay for each girl and chaperone’s entry to River Country and the Magic Kingdom and have a cash dinner allowance. I’ll give them credit: they worked hard for this trip.

After spending the day at River Country, we packed onto the bus and drove over to the Magic Kingdom. I reviewed the rules: each girl would have one buddy, and they were never to be alone. They would stay inside the park, have dinner on their own, and all would meet up at the bus at 10:00 p.m. to drive back home. Everyone offloaded and I joined my own friend and fellow chaperone, Lynn, to hit the rides.

We’d been there about two hours when, in the middle of a street in Adventureland, a man in a polyester suit with an oval nametag asked me if I was Birdie Brown. Uh-oh. I affirmed that I was.

“Would you follow me, please.”

With a brief explanation that I was "needed," he turned and Lynn and I followed. We crossed the bridge onto Main Street USA and passed the quaint shops and restaurants. We followed him into a flower-filled alley where we found a pleasant little door. The man asked Lynn to wait for me there. She and I exchanged glances and I turned to follow the man.

The door opened to a flight of stairs that led us to a large room that overlooked Main Street. The room was filled with monitors displaying the views from dozens of security cameras all over the Magic Kingdom. (Apparently, that’s how they found me.) This was the security department for the Magic Kingdom. Sitting at one of the desks was Tiffany, holding a stuffed Dumbo and looking at me like a deer in the headlights.

Part Two