She told Jane about her yearnings for a real friend on campus. "Oh G.o.d, Jane, I'm depressed," she wrote. "I need a close friend here, someone who knows what I'm doing and, more important, cares about what I'm doing. Every once in a while, I just feel b.u.mmed that n.o.body loves me here. I have a photo of you and me together above my desk. If not for you, Babe, I'd be an absolute basket case."

Her birthday went unacknowledged by her college friends and acquaintances. In another letter to Jane, she said the day was bearable because of the cards and phone calls she received. "I heard from Karla, Diana, Jenny, and of course, you remembered. I knew you'd remember."

In those years, as the Ames girls started spreading around the country for college and then jobs, Marilyn wasn't the only one articulating a sense of longing and disconnection. It was impossible to re-create the comfortable lifelong friendships they had with each other in Ames. They missed their friendships terribly, and often questioned themselves. Diana, working as an entry-level accountant in Chicago, shared an apartment with two roommates. "I've been really b.u.mmed out, just going through a down period," she wrote to Kelly. "My two roommates have been making dinner together almost every night. I know that when three people live together, two of them will naturally get along better. Still, I've cried over this. And I haven't made any friends at work, either. I wanted to call you and ask why you are my friend, and why you think other people don't want to be." Another letter from Diana to Kelly began: "I get so sentimental about us sometimes. . . ."

From the University of South Carolina, Jenny told the other girls how she decorated her half of her dorm room. "It's so 'me,' " she wrote. "You know, I've got all kinds of s.h.i.t Sisters pictures around. It's excellent!" In saying "me" she meant, by extension, "them."

Karen, at Iowa State, lamented in letters to the others that the phone company was no longer allowing long-distance calls from the sorority house where she lived. In those days before cell phones, making long-distance calls wasn't always easy for college students. The girls without regular access to phones often felt isolated, which is why letters became their lifelines.

Karen liked most of her sorority sisters, but she was struck by the phoniness and the prejudices of some of them. At one sorority meeting, the discussion turned to whether a certain girl should be invited to pledge. A few older sisters from back east announced that the girl was Jewish, insinuating that that could be a problem. Karen immediately thought of easygoing Jane-"Why in the world would being Jewish have anything to do with anything?" she said to herself-and she realized that what she loved about the Ames girls was how accepting they were.

In those first years apart, the girls would cling to the things that kept them connected. A simple birthday present would be appreciated as if it were a way to be in each other's presence.

One summer Jane went to Portugal and brought Marilyn back a sweater. Even though it wasn't yet cold, Marilyn started wearing the sweater in September, and she sent Jane a long letter with all the details: "I must have received at least 15 compliments today on the sweater you gave me. The sweater was perfect for walking from cla.s.s to cla.s.s, though it's not cold enough to wear inside. So many people said, 'You look warm' or 'Did someone make that for you?' I told them, 'My best buddy from home bought it for me in Portugal.' " Marilyn just kept going on and on about that sweater. "If it's chilly outside, I'll just put it over my outfit. If it's really cold outside, I'll wear it as my outfit." It's possible that no sweater ever has been described more exuberantly. Eventually, Marilyn sewed up her sweater commentary with a simple declaration: "I love you."

Marilyn could reveal to Jane her dorkiest efforts to fit in at college. She had gone off to school with her dog-eared copy of The Official Preppy Handbook, The Official Preppy Handbook, the 1980 bestseller, and was earnestly dressing and conducting herself based on what she'd read in the book. Jane sent back letters rea.s.suring Marilyn that she was wonderful just the way she was, even if she was carrying a few extra pounds or wasn't dressing up to the standards set by the preppies on her campus. the 1980 bestseller, and was earnestly dressing and conducting herself based on what she'd read in the book. Jane sent back letters rea.s.suring Marilyn that she was wonderful just the way she was, even if she was carrying a few extra pounds or wasn't dressing up to the standards set by the preppies on her campus.

As Marilyn yearned for love, a girl living on her floor-a senior-was having s.e.x five to eight times a day. "It's a problem," Marilyn wrote to Jane. "She's quite a moaner! But at least she's graduating early. I'm glad about that." Rather than knock on her door asking her to quiet down, Marilyn found it easier to endure the moaning and just spill everything to Jane.

While Marilyn was at Hamilton, her older sister, Sara, was working on her master's degree in psychology back at Iowa State. For her thesis, Sara had mounted a research project tracking loneliness. As the data acc.u.mulated, Sara was able to accurately predict where study partic.i.p.ants would be on a scientifically calibrated loneliness scale. Not surprisingly, both males and females with close female friends were far less likely to be lonely. (Even when females spent time with male close friends, but little or no time with female close friends, their loneliness scores were high. Women need other women.) As Marilyn's sister explained to her: Men who've confided only in a spouse or girlfriend can feel lost after a breakup or divorce, because they've lost their only confidant. But for women with close female friends, the end of a romantic relationship is more bearable because they haven't lost their entire support system. That's also why retirement is easier for women. Men too often define themselves by their job, while women have a social network that provides a gauge for their self-esteem in their retirement years.

Marilyn found Sara's findings rea.s.suring. Even if she was at times struggling socially on campus, even if her romantic life wasn't what she wanted, because of her bonds with the other Ames girls, she'd be OK.

When she was in high school, Marilyn was always making lists. That's why the other Ames girls had once given her The Book of Lists The Book of Lists as a birthday present. Now, in college, she compiled a long list of attributes she sought in a man and mailed it to Jane. She told Jane that she wanted to find a guy like her father. Her perfect-man laundry list included: as a birthday present. Now, in college, she compiled a long list of attributes she sought in a man and mailed it to Jane. She told Jane that she wanted to find a guy like her father. Her perfect-man laundry list included: He'll love his own family, and eventually, he'll love mine too. He'll be educated. He'll love the outdoors. He'll appreciate the arts. He'll have a good heart. He'll want to cuddle with me. He won't feel the need to belittle me. He won't be afraid to plan for a future with me. He'll have a great sense of humor. And he won't chew with his mouth open.

"I'm too picky, aren't I?" she asked Jane.

"Well, if you're looking for someone like your father, that could be an impossible standard," Jane told her.

Marilyn's reply: "I know. I'll probably never get married because my expectations are so high."

At one point during college, Marilyn fell in love. He wasn't necessarily the man of her dreams, but she appreciated that he helped her feel good about herself. He was so attentive and chivalrous that she felt loved. As she told Jane: "He carries my tray to the trash cans at dinner. He opens doors for me. He writes notes and puts them in my mailbox, saying that 'a beautiful woman should always have mail in her box.' "

Later, there was another guy who didn't smile much, which bothered Marilyn, but he had a way of giving advice that reminded Marilyn of her dad. She was intrigued by him, even if she didn't feel anything for him romantically. She confided in him that she wasn't fitting in socially with certain girls at Hamilton. He told her she shouldn't expect to re-create the lifelong, close friendships she already had back in Ames.

"He says there are some people in your life that you will learn from, and then they will go their own way and you won't need them in your life anymore," Marilyn explained in a letter to Jane.

Back in Ames, Marilyn and Jane had always loved cooking and eating together. Marilyn's high-school diaries were filled with descriptions of meals shared and enjoyed. There were also plenty of descriptions of pounds added-of looking in the mirror and not being pleased with the image there. Knowing Marilyn so well, Jane filled her letters to Marilyn with encouragement and rea.s.surances.

"I might be happier if I didn't put myself down all the time," Marilyn said to Jane in one phone call.

"You're great just the way you are," Jane replied. "You really are."

In the letters between them, Jane and Marilyn traded detailed plans for what they'd do together once they were home from college for the summer. They vowed to play the Hall and Oates song "Kiss on My List" again and again (because that's what they did when it was first released in the spring of 1981, their senior year of high school). They also planned to sit in front of the fireplace at Marilyn's house, sipping hot chocolate mixed with peppermint schnapps. Then they wanted to go over to Jane's house and, as Marilyn put it, "boogie to the Carpenters!"

Just before leaving college for the summer, Marilyn was in the computer center at Hamilton. Computers back then were these giant machines and were still being operated with thin rectangular cardboard keypunch cards. Marilyn was in the lab waiting for a fellow student. She had nothing to do, so she decided to play around and put together a computerized message for Jane. When she was finished, she stacked up all the keypunch cards and mailed them in a long manila envelope to Jane.

Days later, when Jane fed the cards into the computer at her school-with all those punched-out numbers-the message that came up was: "Isn't this groovy? I am so excited to see you in two weeks!!!! We will have a wonderful time!!!!! I . . . . . . LOVE . . . . . . . YOU!!!!!!!"

Their friendship had entered the computer age.

After graduating from Hamilton, Marilyn knew she wouldn't fully enter adulthood if she settled back in Ames. She had spent her childhood b.u.mping into people all over town who told her how great a doctor her dad was or how they had always admired her mom. Once, home from college on break, Marilyn went to a photo store to get film developed. When it came time to pay, she was $3 short. The woman behind the counter saw her name on the order blank, asked if she was Dr. McCormack's daughter, and then said, "Don't you worry about the bill, honey. If you're Dr. McCormack's daughter, the three dollars are on me."

A large part of Marilyn loved such Ames encounters. It made her feel special and lucky to be a product of her family. But, just as in college, she needed to establish her own ident.i.ty. Besides, Ames was a college town and a family town. It was no place for a single woman in her twenties.

She ended up in St. Paul, mostly because her older sisters were already there and it wasn't a long drive back to Ames. It was a decision that felt safe to her. She landed a job teaching a ballroom dancing cla.s.s for beginners at Arthur Murray Dance Studios, a natural fit for her outgoing warmth and ability to connect with people.

At times, she felt inferior to some of the other Ames girls, who were taking more academic and professional paths. Jane was studying for her Ph.D. in psychology. Diana was working as an accountant. Jenny had gotten involved in politics. Sally and Karen were teaching. Angela was building a public relations career.

Marilyn later got a job selling Mary Kay cosmetics.

When she was deciding whether to take the Mary Kay job, she worried about what her friends would think. The company's director said, "Do you generally rely on your friends' opinions to make a decision?"

"Yes, I guess I do," Marilyn admitted.

"Is that how you want to make decisions in the future?"

"No, I really don't," Marilyn said.

"Then, now would be a good time to start believing in your own strengths."

The director's words tapped a source of confidence in Marilyn that gave her direction in jobs and relationships. Her energy, thoughtfulness and ability to read people eventually led to jobs in insurance, ophthalmology and the publishing business.

For a while, Marilyn struggled romantically. She tried a couple of dating services. "Everyone I like doesn't like me. They don't call me back," she confided in Jane. She dated one guy a few times and then casually asked him, "What are you doing for Thanksgiving?" He actually took a step backward. "Whoa!" he said. "Back off."

Some men did show an interest in her. "But so far," she told Jane, "the guys who like me, well, they're not for me."

She and Jane-and the other Ames girls, too-would sometimes talk about how it was hard to find men who possessed the qualities they were looking for. "Why is it that I can find those attributes in plenty of women?" Jane would ask. "Why do so few men seem to have them?" She had decided that there seemed to be more interesting women in the world than interesting men. "There are definitely great guys out there," she'd say, "but not a lot of them. So a lot of really neat women who'd be great wives are not going to end up meeting someone special."

The inability to find impressive men who'd also make them swoon could be disheartening for all the girls. Marilyn briefly dated a man in Minnesota. He was obese, without social graces, and without much personality, but he was confident. He said to her, "I'm everything you're looking for!" As soon as the words left his mouth, Marilyn thought to herself: "You're not what I'm looking for at all." But she smiled and said nothing.

Eventually, most of the other Ames girls started meeting their future husbands, and Marilyn felt stuck in place. Diana was set to marry a strikingly handsome businessman; her equal in the looks department, the other girls decided. When Marilyn met him she was happy for Diana, but envious, too. Here was this guy who looked like a prince and had a complete romantic streak. He once gave Diana a Louis Vuitton purse, and when she opened it, there was a string of pearls inside. That was an incident the Ames girls couldn't stop talking about for months. Marilyn felt like the perennial bridesmaid, wondering if her time would ever come.

Jane, meanwhile, after being Marilyn's confidant in the "it's so hard to find a good guy" conversations, finally met a very special man. Problem was, he wasn't Jewish. So she put him out of her head as a prospect.

At the time, September 1985, Jane was in graduate school at Ohio University in Athens, Ohio, majoring in experimental psychology. The guy-his name was Justin-was a Ph.D. candidate in clinical psychology, and she first saw him while standing in line at orientation to get her ID card. He was wearing a blue-striped shirt and khaki pants, and Jane immediately thought, "Wow, this is a nice-looking guy."

"The thing is, he's Catholic," she later told Marilyn. "That's fine. We can just be friends."

Jane and Justin got close pretty fast, having long talks over regular lunches and evening phone conversations. Jane was impressed by what a great listener Justin could be. He was so emotionally intuitive. At least to her, it felt platonic.

But early in October, in a surprise four-hour conversation over the phone, Justin confessed to Jane that he felt far more than a friendship with her. It took Jane a few more weeks to admit to Justin that yes, perhaps she had feelings for him, too. But even at that point, the two of them had never had a romantic moment. They had never touched each other. They'd never kissed.

Jane went back to Ames for Christmas break and told the whole story to Karen and her mom. "I think this could be it," she told them. "He's the greatest guy I've ever met, but I'm scared. I don't know if I can marry a guy who isn't Jewish."

Karen's mom listened to all she had to say and then responded simply: "Honey, you have to go with your heart. If you do that, and your heart says this is the man, then you can work out the religious issues."

When Jane talked to Marilyn by phone, Marilyn offered the same advice. "You've got to go for it. Period."

After New Year's, Jane flew into Columbus, Ohio, on the same day Justin flew in from his home in Rhode Island. He was standing waiting for her at her gate when her plane arrived. It was a seventy-mile drive to Athens in a rental car, and as Jane later explained to Marilyn, they both felt a heightened sense of things. "We were talking and talking. The whole conversation was just, 'Oh my G.o.d, will this even work?' "

Justin drove Jane to her apartment and parked the car, and she invited him in. It didn't take long before they shared their first kiss.

By the time Jane got married in 1989, with Marilyn by her side, the other Ames girls had decided that Justin reminded them of a Kennedy. He was this bright guy with a New England accent and this terrific smile. "I feel like I'm talking to JFK when I'm with him," Karla liked to say. "He just has this East Coast charisma."Jane and Marilyn at Jane's wedding Justin and Jane would eventually settle in New England as academics-Justin at Brown and Miriam Hospital, Jane at Stonehill-and the girls were unanimous in deciding: There might not be enough quality guys out there, but Jane had found one.

A year later, in the fall of 1990, Marilyn's time finally came. She had joined the Jaycees board as a way to do volunteer work and to meet new people. At a Jaycees social event, she met an attractive fellow board member named Chris Johnson. He was on his way to a career as a business consultant, and he just seemed at ease with himself. The conversation had an effortless feel about it. year later, in the fall of 1990, Marilyn's time finally came. She had joined the Jaycees board as a way to do volunteer work and to meet new people. At a Jaycees social event, she met an attractive fellow board member named Chris Johnson. He was on his way to a career as a business consultant, and he just seemed at ease with himself. The conversation had an effortless feel about it.

Marilyn threw the bait in the water first, casually saying, "I don't have anything going on this weekend."

Chris got the message. "Me, either."

He'd later say it was love at first sight. He was taken with Marilyn's eyes and with her straightforward personality. He'd been in relationships that felt tedious, because there was such game-playing. But Marilyn just seemed so natural and honest, with a gee-whiz sense of life.

For their first date, they went on a picnic together at Lake of the Isles in Minneapolis. Marilyn packed a lunch for both of them, and they walked around the lake together. Eventually, they stopped to buy ice cream, and later, they went to Chris's condo to listen to the Broadway original cast alb.u.m of Phantom of the Opera Phantom of the Opera.

On the second date, Marilyn got bold. She asked Chris, "So how many children do you want to have?"

He answered: "As many as I can put through college."

Marilyn smiled at that. She thought it was a perfectly reasonable answer. Maybe he'd end up a billionaire and they'd have 750 kids.

Chris was a practicing Lutheran, and he told her that his faith guided his life. As he and Marilyn got more seriously involved, he encouraged her to find her way closer to her own faith. Her dad had been a questioning Christian, and that had influenced Marilyn over the years. As Chris got to know Dr. McCormack, he suspected that the 1960 auto accident had been a turning point for him. "Having lost a child in a tragedy like that, he couldn't help but curse G.o.d," Chris told Marilyn. "And your dad was a doctor, unable to find a way to save his son. That had to add to the pain. Anyway, that's my hypothesis on his feelings about G.o.d." Chris helped Marilyn better understand her father, and at the same time, he held her hand as she came to embrace a life more centered around faith.

Within a year, Marilyn was on the phone with Jane. "I've got a question," she said. "Would you be my matron of honor?"

Jane thought of the thousands of hours she and Marilyn had spent talking about love, wondering about the possibility of marriage, doubting whether they (or any of the girls) would find their ultimate soul mate.

"Would I be your matron of honor?" Jane asked, and paused before answering.

If you've spent your entire life knowing you were the most qualified person in the world for a certain job, and then the offer finally comes, well, it's beyond meaningful.

"You know what?" Jane said. "I just happen to be free that day. I'll be there."

11.The Bonds of Pop Culture

The girls have piled into two cars, and they're headed to a restaurant in downtown Raleigh for the reunion's only night out. In Angela's car, Cathy is answering questions and the mood is giddy.

As is often the case when they get together, the girls have been pumping Cathy for the latest trends from California. Over the years, Cathy has told them about enema-loving Hollywood stars who, while in her makeup chair, would gush to her about the therapeutic value of colonics. At other times, Cathy has told the girls about the good karma and positive energy to be found in crystals. And once, when Karla, Kelly and Diana visited Cathy in L.A., Cathy was in a soy phase. (Karla kept saying, "Look, I'm from the Midwest. I want dairy. I want cheese and a gla.s.s of milk. All you have in this refrigerator is soy!") Now, here in Angela's car, no one can stop laughing as Cathy reports on yet another trend she's been hearing about on the West Coast: "the Aussie makeover." Cathy has no personal interest in this, so-called down under cosmetic procedure. But she has learned the details about v.a.g.i.n.al procedures that allegedly improve a woman's self-image by correcting what Aussie makeover specialists call "asymmetrical" issues brought on by age and childbirth.

From there, the discussion turns to a.n.a.l bleaching, a new cosmetic procedure to bleach the pigmentation of the most private circle of skin on a person's body.

As the girls laugh and cringe about this, Angela comes up with a marketing plan. "A company could offer a service where they bleach a gerbil," she says, "and then they send the gerbil right up there. They could call it 'The Herbal Gerbil.' " Everyone roars at that.

Eventually, the conversation morphs into a discussion about body image, dieting and the new horizons of healthful eating. "Mark my words," Cathy says. "In two years, you'll all be cooking with coconut oil."

"Or bleaching with it!" Angela says.

The girls always have been each other's pop-culture monitor and barometer. They've spent their lives trading stories of fads worth emulating, singers worth appreciating and their own celebrity sightings.

In elementary school and junior high, Sally and Cathy shared crushes on teen idol David Ca.s.sidy. Sally was also partial to Bobby Sherman. Diana, meanwhile, had a "Donny Osmond Kissing Poster," which was very useful when the other girls visited and had an urge to kiss Donny Osmond.

The girls watched The Partridge Family, The Cosby Show, M*A*S*H, The Partridge Family, The Cosby Show, M*A*S*H, and, in reruns, and, in reruns, Gilligan's Island Gilligan's Island. In their preteen years, they thrilled to the PG s.e.xuality of Love American Style Love American Style. Each week, the show offered a few unrelated episodes about love, romance and s.e.xual urges, and it seemed so risque at the time. The girls didn't really notice that parts of the show were politically incorrect-the leering men, the women as playthings. It just seemed like a cool vision of adulthood, with the same large bra.s.s bed playing a role in so many of the episodes.

In those days of just a handful of channels, the girls often would watch programming with their parents. Cathy liked to come home from school in the afternoon and sit on the couch with her mom to watch Merv Griffin. Her friends also watched talk shows with their parents: Dinah Sh.o.r.e's Dinah's Place Dinah's Place or or The Mike Douglas Show The Mike Douglas Show. It was so unlike TV viewing today. The Ames girls' children are more apt to be on the computer in the afternoon, or they have all sorts of youth-focused channels to choose from-the Disney Channel, MTV, Nickelodeon, the Cartoon Network-with programming designed specifically for them. As kids, many of the Ames girls liked watching stars from their parents' and grandparents' eras; it was kind of cool when Jimmy Stewart or Fred Astaire showed up on Merv or Dinah or Mike, offering a window into this older world. These shows helped young and old get to know each other's icons.

For those living in Iowa, the forces of pop culture emanating from the East and West Coasts could seem very far away. But sometimes there would be reminders that Iowa, too, was on the map. On Star Trek Star Trek, the character of Captain James T. Kirk proudly hailed from Iowa. There was even a line in the 1986 movie Star Trek IV Star Trek IV in which a woman from twentieth-century Earth comes upon Kirk and asks him if he's from outer s.p.a.ce. "No, I'm from Iowa," he tells her. "I only work in outer s.p.a.ce." in which a woman from twentieth-century Earth comes upon Kirk and asks him if he's from outer s.p.a.ce. "No, I'm from Iowa," he tells her. "I only work in outer s.p.a.ce."

Nice line. For Iowans, it offered a reminder that even the sky wasn't the limit.

Though TV and movie stars rarely or never made it to Ames, musicians did. They pa.s.sed through on concert tours or, at the least, came as close as Des Moines. And whether they came to town or not, the Ames girls' connections to their favorite singers and groups were often as close as their bedside tables. Cathy considered it a big deal that Sally had a record player in her room. They'd sit in her room in the afternoons, playing records by the Osmond Brothers and the Jackson 5. Then, as they got older, their tastes ran to groups such as Styx and Journey. Over at Jane's house, she and Marilyn were often listening to Fleetwood Mac: "Don't stop thinking about tomorrow . . ." Diana and Kelly obsessed over a certain Andy Gibb video.

Sheila, Cathy and Sally attended their first concert, a performance by Bread, with Sheila's dad as chaperone. Later, when the girls started driving, they'd head south to Des Moines for shows by Foreigner, Little River Band and, at the Iowa Jam outdoor rock concert, Ted Nugent.

Several of the girls stood in long lines to get Bruce Springsteen tickets when he came to Ames in 1981. (Bruce's posters and back-stage pa.s.ses actually featured an ill.u.s.tration of a large ear of corn; he knew where he was performing.) At one point toward the end of the concert, Bruce pulled the young daughter of one of the Ames High teachers, Mr. Daddow, out of the audience to join him onstage! As Mr. Daddow's daughter danced along with Bruce, and some of the Ames girls danced in the audience, it was an absolute vicarious thrill, as if Bruce had invited all of them on stage.

The girls sometimes rewrote lyrics to their favorite songs. As senior prom approached, Marilyn wrote in her diary about how she and her friends had recast the words to the Carpenters' song "Close to You": "Why do tears suddenly appear / Every time, prom is near? / Just like me, girls long to be, at the prom . . ."Diana, Jane and Rod Stewart, then and now By high school, most of the girls agreed that though Rick Spring-field was cute, Rod Stewart was just about the s.e.xiest thing going. There was something about the gravel in his voice, his unb.u.t.toned shirts and that sly smile of his. As the girls got older, and so did he, they still felt that Mod Rod had a certain magnetism. As Cathy puts it one night at the reunion: "Now he's ugly s.e.xy." Her words make perfect sense to everyone else. There's just something about an ugly s.e.xy guy that's even more viscerally tantalizing than a handsome s.e.xy guy.

On countless other pop-culture fronts, the girls have spent decades keeping each other informed-and amused. They taught each other the dance moves to accompany the soundtrack to Sat.u.r.day Night Fever Sat.u.r.day Night Fever. Later in the seventies, Karen was the first one to get baggy jeans, pleated in the front, and then they all wore them. In 1981, Diana turned everyone on to the mushy soundtrack for the movie Endless Love, Endless Love, which she played again and again each night as she tried to fall asleep in her freshman dorm room. which she played again and again each night as she tried to fall asleep in her freshman dorm room.

The girls helped each other catalogue the various stunts a.s.sociated with watching The Rocky Horror Picture Show The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Many years later, at an adult reunion, they went as a group to see the new s.e.x and the City s.e.x and the City movie; the girls who were fans of the TV show helpfully explained all the idiosyncrasies of the characters to the girls who didn't watch it much. movie; the girls who were fans of the TV show helpfully explained all the idiosyncrasies of the characters to the girls who didn't watch it much.

When Jane went to Spain for a semester in 1984, the girls mailed her letters with helpful news reports from the States. It was very selective reporting. For instance, Diana prepared what she t.i.tled "An Update on America." Her reporting for Jane focused solely on the quirkiest news: an out-of-control Pepsi commercial, a disconcerting m.u.f.fin recall, and the details of an attractive but unknown "fox."

First, the Pepsi debacle: This was a pyrotechnic accident that occurred during the filming of a TV commercial for the soft drink. The victim? Michael Jackson, then twenty-five years old. "His hair caught on fire!" Diana wrote. "I really thought he was gone!" She then rea.s.sured Jane by saying that the singed singer went on to win eight Grammy awards. (Diana's point: They put out the flame on his head, but Michael Jackson was still red hot.) She also decided Jane needed to know the lyrics to "Eat It," the new "Weird Al" Yankovic parody of "Beat It," and so she typed them out for her: "Don't you know that other kids are starving in j.a.pan / So eat it, just eat it . . ."

Regarding the m.u.f.fin recall: "There's this big government scam on this chemical called EDB [ethylene dibromide]," Diana wrote. "It gets rid of bugs or something, but it causes cancer. Anyway, it's in stuff like Duncan Hines blueberry m.u.f.fin mix, so it has been pulled off grocery shelves. We were all quite interested in this development considering we have consumed ma.s.sive quant.i.ties of m.u.f.fins this year." ( Jane was left with the impression that if the other Ames girls didn't die from the EDB, they'd explode from overdosing on m.u.f.fins.) As for the unknown fox: "There's a new movie out called Foot-loose Foot-loose ," Diana wrote. "It's like ," Diana wrote. "It's like Flashdance Flashdance, but with a guy. The guy dancer is some unknown fox who does gymnastics, too." (For the record, the unknown fox in question was Kevin Bacon.) The girls also loved sharing reports of their own celebrity encounters.

Marilyn worked one summer in food service at Snow Mountain Ranch in Winter Park, Colorado. One night, a guest at the hotel looked very familiar and everyone in the kitchen started buzzing. It was Ann B. Davis, who played Alice the housekeeper on The Brady Bunch The Brady Bunch.

In letters to the other Ames girls, Marilyn described how she approached the actress: "After dinner, I went up to her and said, 'Miss Davis, I decided that I would regret it if I didn't come up to see you, so I've decided to introduce myself.' She said, 'Well, what's your name?' And I said, 'Marilyn,' and she gave me a hug saying, 'Glad to meet you, Marilyn!' "

Marilyn wanted proof of the encounter to show the other girls, so she got her camera and Ann B. Davis posed with her for a picture. 'She's a great woman," Marilyn wrote to Jane three days later. "Unfortunately, the picture was #24 on a roll of 24." The photo didn't come out, which was very disappointing. Would everyone really believe her? (Of course, Marilyn was always so earnest and honest that none of the Ames girls doubted her Ann B. Davis interaction. Who'd make that up anyway?) Karen had an "almost" celebrity encounter that was intriguing to the other girls, even though she never actually saw the celebrity in question. In her early twenties, Karen worked as a dental a.s.sistant in Ames. One Sunday afternoon, the dentist she worked for, Donald Good, got an unexpected call. Billy Joel, in town for a concert, had chipped a tooth. A crowd of 14,800 was slated to gather within hours at the Hilton Coliseum in Ames to see the show, and Dr. Good was asked to meet Joel at his office to try to repair the damaged tooth before show time.

Though the dentist thought about calling in Karen and other office staffers for help, once he looked at the tooth, he decided he could treat the singer without a.s.sistance. Karen wasn't happy about that, of course. But she did have a story to tell the other girls, because Billy Joel ended up giving Dr. Good choice seats to the show and then thanking him from the stage. The singer told the audience about his chipped tooth and the dentist who made it possible for him to perform that night. Just before singing "Only the Good Die Young," Joel dedicated the song to Dr. Good.

Some of the Ames girls thought the dedication was a bit ghoulish, given that Dr. Good, at age forty-three, was still young enough to actually die young. Even so, Karen found it all terrific. She enjoyed contemplating the idea that Billy Joel had been sitting in the very chair in the very office where she worked, and that the dental instruments she sterilized had actually been in his mouth. It was a pretty close brush with a major celebrity, all things considered.

For her part, Angela had cool stories to share, too. One day in 1991 she went to see the movie Thelma and Louise Thelma and Louise. There was an actor in the movie who looked exactly like this pleasant-but-not-especially attractive journalism major she knew from her days at the University of Missouri. She had been the social chair of her sorority, Chi Omega, and this guy had been social chair of his fraternity, Sigma Chi. They had planned joint parties together. He was nice enough, Angela always thought, though as she later told the girls, "he was kind of smallish, and not the sort of guy who stood out in any way."

Because she thought this actor in Thelma and Louise Thelma and Louise looked like him, Angela stuck around to watch the credits at the end, just to see if she was right. Sure enough, the actor was Brad from Sigma Chi. "Wow," Angela thought to herself. "Brad has gotten better looking since college." looked like him, Angela stuck around to watch the credits at the end, just to see if she was right. Sure enough, the actor was Brad from Sigma Chi. "Wow," Angela thought to herself. "Brad has gotten better looking since college."

When she first told this story to the other girls, it didn't make a great impression on them. OK, Angela knew some guy who got some minor role in a movie. But soon enough, as Brad Pitt's career took off, Angela's connections to him seemed pretty impressive. She even had an old calendar with his phone number scribbled on it; she had it so she could call him with questions about who'd buy the beer kegs or what time a party should start. (Angela also crossed paths during college with Sheryl Crow, who belonged to Kappa Alpha Theta. Sheryl was in a local Top 40 band Cashmere that played a lot of fraternity parties. Angela always thought Sheryl was very talented, but, as she later told the other Ames girls, "very plain-looking. She got better looking after college, too. Just like Brad.") Brad. Sheryl. Among the Ames girls, Angela probably comes in second in the ability-to-name-drop sweepstakes. But no one, of course, can top Cathy.