The First Time Ever I Saw Her Face

I have a confession to make

Roberta Flack burst into my life many years ago, in a place far away. The recent news of her death, at age 88, stirred up distant memories of a pivotal time in my life.

The many well-deserved tributes that poured in after she died often featured one of her best-loved performances.

Here are just some of the tributes I saw:

Rolling Stone’s 18 Essential Roberta Flack Songs.

The Guardian: Roberta Flack’s performances softly burned with the fire of life itself

NBC News: Roberta Flack, Grammy-winning singer of 'Killing Me Softly With His Song' Flack recorded “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face,” which was written by Ewan MacColl.

The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face¹ by Roberta Flack

All of this evoked memories of both joy and sadness

On a memorable night long ago, in Kronberg, that song enveloped me. It became the emblem of a romance that changed the trajectory of my life.

I was visiting my friend Ralf. He and Mary had gone to bed, leaving me to finish my last glass of wine. I noticed a Roberta Flack CD near their stereo. I was in the mood for something soothing, so I set the volume low and inserted the disc. When that song began to play, it became my whole world. Everything else disappeared from view (as that other song² goes). I then began to realize how my life had changed. Little did I perceive, in those early days of my romance with Nadia, how drastically the course of my life would be altered.

I poured myself another glass of wine. I played the song over and over. When I retired to my room, I took the CD with me, and placed it in my bag so that I could listen to it on my Sony Discman on the flight home.

I had meant to make a copy of it and return the disc to Ralf, but somehow that never happened. Thirty years later, I still have it. Sorry, Ralf, please forgive me.

My first encounter with Nadia was not nearly as poetic as that, but it was dramatic. I was reluctant to meet her at all. At the time, I worked on Wall Street as a research analyst, and had made quite a name for myself. I was popular with the salesforce, and they were always drafting me to meet with their clients. I loved the creative side of my job. I tolerated client visits, which were sometimes fun, but more often annoying. Clients were the ones paying the bills, so I really had no choice.

One day, Shelia, my secretary, came into my office. “I received a call from the President’s office,” she told me. “I checked your calendar and you are free for lunch next Wednesday. One of our clients in Zürich has sent an intern to be with us for six weeks, to learn about our operation. Her name is Nadia, and she has specifically asked to meet with you, so I put her on your calendar for an eleven o’clock meeting. You can take her to lunch after that. I’ve made a reservation at your favorite restaurant.”

I never argued with Sheila. She was a critical member of my team. In those pre-internet days, she was a whiz at making travel arrangements and taking care of the endless administrative chores that went with my job.

However, I had hosted many such interns, and most of them were quite boring. My time was precious, and I did not cotton to the idea of wasting a lunch hour.

Once Sheila had returned to her desk, I left my office and ducked around the corner to talk with Becky, my assistant. I explained the situation to her, and told her she could do me a great favor by taking Nadia to lunch at noon that day. She readily agreed, and I was off the hook.

The fateful day arrived, and Nadia showed up precisely at eleven. She was not boring. She was obviously quite intelligent. She asked penetrating questions about my research, and in so doing revealed to me that she had read much of what I had written. She was young, and eager to learn her new job. I would later learn that she was born in the year I graduated high school.

She was beautiful. Long brown hair, and large round glistening eyes of the same color. Halfway through our appointed hour I interrupted our conversation. “Excuse me for one minute — I need to talk briefly to my assistant.” I left my office, closed the door, and went to Becky’s desk. “About that favor,” I said, “I’ve decided I will take Nadia to lunch. I’ll treat you to one another time.” She gave me a puzzled look, and said, “That’s okay — I’m busy with that project we discussed the other day, and I could use the time for that.”

At noon, I escorted Nadia to the nearby restaurant. We left our papers in my office. I don’t remember exactly what we talked about, though I do know it was wide-ranging and not all about business. When the waiter came, after our dessert, to inquire if we would like the check, I looked at Nadia and impulsively asked, “Would you like another glass of wine?” She smiled and said, “Yes, that would be nice.” Perhaps we had a third offering of wine. I do remember that by the time we left the restaurant we were the last lunchtime diners. When we returned to my office, she gathered her things, thanked me, and was on her way. Little did I know what was to follow.

Whenever I hear the opening line of The first time ever I saw your face, I think back to that first meeting. It was not love at first sight, though on that later night in Kronberg I realized the first verse of the song exactly captured how I felt about her. [… the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave …]

Our first kiss would be a long time coming. After our parting, I put Nadia out of my mind, and returned to my busy professional and social life.

I had long been a fan and patron of dance. I lived on the Yupper West Side, only a few blocks from Lincoln Center. One evening, walking home from a City Ballet cast party, my wife turned to me with a smile and said, “You collected another ballerina tonight, didn’t you?”

I laughed. “Yes!” My wife was amused, and not at all threatened, by my female friends. Nadia checked that box; an attractive female I enjoyed being with. All my life, I have “collected” female friends. Friendship did not equate with intimacy, though of course one would sometimes lead to the other.³

I may have put Nadia out of my mind, but she had not forgotten me. A few weeks after our first encounter, she called. She told me she was back at work at her bank in Zürich, and was interested in knowing my outlook for the US markets. I didn’t have a lot to add to my weekly write-up. It was nice to hear from her, and we had a friendly chat.

But that was not the end of it. A couple of weeks later, she called again. And then it became a weekly occurrence. For the most part, I did not take phone calls from clients. Sheila knew to shunt them off to Becky, who loved telling people about my work. Nadia’s calls got through to me.

Then, one time in mid-summer, she called and told me she was at a pay phone, and would I mind calling her back? In those days, trans-Atlantic calls cost $1.00 per minute, and she didn’t have many coins. She gave me the number, and I called back. Where are you? I asked.

Nadia told me that she was on holiday, at a campground high up in the Alps. I asked her if she was there alone. No, she said, she was with her fiancé. She wanted to know about my market outlook. I hadn’t known she had a fiancé.

At that moment, I knew I was in trouble. I loved getting her calls, and it was pretty clear that there was a mutual attraction that had nothing to do with the stock market. I went along with the pretense, and gave her an update on my latest analysis.

Not too long after my realization, Jack Tracy called me from our London office. He wanted me to spend a day in Frankfort and a day in Zürich. I agreed, and Sheila made the travel plans. When I got the itinerary, I was relieved to see that I would not be visiting Nadia’s bank. Then I began to feel guilty about not telling her that I’d be in Zürich. If she found out, she would probably be hurt, and I didn’t want that. So I called her and told her I’d be in town, and could stop and say hello. “Oh, I’ll be out of the office that day, attending an all-day seminar,” she told me. Before I could relax, she added, “But I could meet you for a drink after five o’clock.”

I did have a couple of hours then between meetings, so I said yes. She told me where to meet her — a hotel that had an outdoor terrace where we could get service. I arrived there a little after five, and claimed a table. A few minutes later, Nadia appeared. On her bicycle. How very Swiss! I thought. She leaned her bike against a brick wall and came to sit with me.

As we began to sip our wine, I knew it was all over. I was not going to let her go. Jack had arranged a dinner with a married couple he had befriended. One of them was a client, but he said he just wanted me to meet them, and we did not have to talk about business. He had told me to be at a restaurant, where he had a reservation, at seven o’clock. I explained this to Nadia. She knew of the restaurant — “I’ve heard it’s very nice,” she said.

“Would you like to join us?” I asked. In those days before cell phones, I could not check with Jack if that would be okay, but I was pretty sure it would be. We arrived at our dinner place to find a brick and fern decor, with lots of potted plants. The menu was perfect for my vegetarian diet, and the five of us settled in for an evening of conversation. I probably didn’t say more than two words to Jack’s friends — I spent the whole of our time there being enraptured by Nadia.

My worst fears had been realized. I asked her, many months later, when it was that she had first fallen in love with me. “In that restaurant,” she admitted.

Jack paid the dinner tab, and we all began to scatter. On the sidewalk, Nadia turned to me and asked if I liked jazz. She knew a place within walking distance that had live music. We found a booth against a far wall, and spent several more hours nursing our after-dinner drinks. I found out that she lived with her fiancé. Won’t he be worried? I asked her. No, she reassured me. It was well after midnight before we forced ourselves to part. I could walk to my hotel, and she told me she would take a taxi home. I asked about her bike (she had not locked it), and she told me it would be fine — it would be there in the morning. So not like New York.

Our first kiss was still some time in the future. Our phone calls became more frequent, and longer. We talked about all kinds of things. She pierced through my business persona and began to awaken parts of my psyche that I had neglected for many years.

My next trip to Europe involved attending a conference in Brighton. Nadia told me that she had a friend in England that she had been meaning to visit. One thing led to another, and on my way from Heathrow to Brighton, I was to meet her at a bus stop somewhere along the way. Again, in those days before cell phones or GPS, I was worried that I might not connect with her. On a wing and a prayer, using a paper map and an intense desire to see her, I turned the last corner and saw her, standing, alone, beside her suitcase at the bus stop.

My heart was all aflutter [“Like the trembling heart of a captive bird“] as I jumped out of the car. That was our first kiss.

We were on our way to Brighton, infamous for being the seaside resort where wealthy London gentlemen brought their mistresses. Neither Nadia nor I had discussed what would happen when we got there. Since we were both staying in the same hotel room, the conclusion was fairly obvious.

My conference began the next morning. I did not join my colleagues for breakfast, but instead ordered a room service breakfast. It was all I could do to tear myself away from Nadia. By the time I arrived at the meeting room, the first session was already underway. I tried to sit unobtrusively near the back, but all eyes were on me.

At the first break in the program, a friend sitting near me leaned over and said, “We were wondering if you might have a woman in your room!” I parried with, “Well, I thought that’s what one did in Brighton!” Then another British friend looked me over and said, “Where do you think you are, in Pebble Beach?” I looked around the room. Almost all of the attendees were male, and every last one of those was wearing a jacket and tie. I had on only a sweater over a dress shirt. I slinked away and returned to my room to become properly attired. For the second time that morning, I had to resist the urge to stay with Nadia.

Now that you know how our affair began, perhaps you’d like to hear more. Or not. In either case, I will enjoy writing about our time together. Its sudden end was tragic (for me, if not for her). Despite the heartbreak and depression I experienced at the end of our many years of being so closely connected, I have no regrets.

Although we separated long ago, our joy did fill the earth, and those memories will last 'til the end of time.

Because of what I learned about myself, from Nadia, and with her help, I was able to find the peacefulness and joy I now experience. Because of her, I came to accept my rightful inheritance and to be proud of being on the road less traveled.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

All my life I have traveled a different road. Sometimes, that was my choice; it was my preference, it was my comfort and my joy. But other times, it was not a choice at all. I was born different, and I had to travel as best I could, through a world that expected me to be somewhere else, to go the way that others did. But I did not know how.

[From an account of my life I wrote ten years ago/]

Between the beginning and the end of our affair, there was a long pause, during which I struggled to decide which way to go.

Along the way, there were so very many wonderful experiences. As one example, it was because of Nadia that I learned to ride. And that led to many years of enjoyable outings and a long-lasting equine friendship that brought me great joy.

Here is a note I wrote to myself a few years ago:

I loved her with the passion of a thousand suns. Was it love? or was it something else? These are the questions I ask myself as I sit amongst the ashes of my dreams, their passion extinguished by my tears. My dreams evaporated like the morning dew, leaving me bereft, but in possession of memories enough to fill the largest hope chest. Memories of the glow and beauty of that chimera — a desire for something that could never have existed.

We both went on to have separate and wonderful lives. What more could I have wished for?

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1. The first time ever I saw your face
I thought the sun rose in your eyes

And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave
To the dark and the endless skies, my love
To the dark and the endless skies

And the first time ever I kissed your mouth
I felt the earth move in my hand
Like the trembling heart of a captive bird
That was there at my command, my love
That was there at my command, my love

And the first time ever I lay with you
I felt your heart so close to mine
And I knew our joy would fill the earth
And last 'til the end of time my love
And it would last 'til the end of time

The first time ever I saw your face
Your face, your face, your face

Songwriter: Ewan Maccoll

2. Maybe millions of people go by
But they all disappear from view
And I only have eyes for you

From a 1959 song by The Flamingos I Only Have Eyes for You

3. During my long life, I’ve enjoyed many romantic entanglements. Each one holds a special place in my heart. Each one, in its heyday, was the center of my attention and affection. None of them resulted in a lasting companionship, although some have produced lasting friendships. As an economist, I learned that it is impossible to compare the subjective experience of one person with that of another. As I think back on my amorous involvements, I try not to rank or compare them. Each one was special in its own way.