A Jamaican Experience: Meeting the One

By: Baron Stewart

At the height of my career at IBM, I requested to join the IBM Faculty Loan Program. The Faculty Loan program was one of the ways IBM contributed to the community. IBM would pay their employees' total salaries and lend them to universities around the United States, where they would work on projects that made a difference to the world. I was sent to New York City to work at Columbia University for two years on the Comprehensive Math and Science Program (CMSP) project. This experience changed my life forever but almost destroyed my career. I will discuss the career portion of this story later. I will discuss one significant aspect of the following life-changing events and flesh out the full story later.

IBM's policy required that IBM provide me with an apartment in New York City because my commute from Rockland County to Columbia University would be much longer than my usual commute to IBM near Suffern, New York. This apartment was my first bonanza. I would keep my apartment in Rockland County, get an all-expenses-paid apartment on Park Ave next to Grand Central Station in New York City, my entire salary, and additional money to cover the higher New York costs. You would say, "Wow! Baron, you lucked out." I would answer, "Yes. You are correct, but this is nothing compared to the other riches which came into my life." I met the ONE. You know the One. Yes. That One. The One who makes your heart skip a beat when she walks into the room. The One who you can't take your eyes off. The One who you will drive miles to see for a few minutes.

Now you get it. The biggest reward of this move was a thirty-year marriage and three beautiful kids.

I was with a real estate agent on an elevator in the West Village when I saw her for the first time. I was standing on one side of the elevator with the agent in front of me. He was trying to sell me the apartment we had just seen in the building. Behind him was this gorgeous, long-legged, natural blonde in jeans and cowboy boots. My eyes left the agent to enjoy this extraordinary sample of feminine beauty behind him. To my surprise, I noticed she was trying to tell me something. She could hear what the realtor was saying and would give me a thumbs up or thumbs down based on her perception of the actual value of his comments. She did this two or three times as the elevator descended two floors. My mouth opened independently, and "Are you European?" rolled out. "No," she answered. "I am from Arkansas." The elevator arrived at the ground floor without further comment, and we walked purposefully out of the building.

We turned left to return to the Central Village, and she turned left, too. As we walked the long city block, I looked back several times, and she received my glance with a smile. I read that smile as a signal—I was welcomed. Running back to ask for her number was utterly intuitive. We were clearly from different worlds: I was in my IBM blue suit, and she was in her cowboy boots and blue jeans. But I had to know.

We reached the end of the block and were about to turn right when I got the bright idea to get her telephone number. I looked at the agent and said, "Wait a minute, I want to get this girl's phone number." He protested. "I don't have time for you to pick up girls on the street!" I ignored him and ran to her. When I reached her, I realized just how different we looked together. This relationship would never work. But I asked for her number just the same, and she gave it to me. Wow! My success impressed the agent. He was no longer in a rush. He now wanted my coaching on how to pick up beautiful women on the street.

I was ecstatic, but my euphoria did not last long because she did not answer the phone the first three times I called. Maybe this was not her number, and she gave it to me to avoid an embarrassing situation. However, I called one more time. She answered the phone. I was jumping for joy in my skin, but I spoke as calmly as possible. "Hello. I am the guy who asked for your number on the street last week." We exchanged names, so I was still the man on the street. She hardly remembered me and said she was busy and had no time to date. Now, my following words were pure genius. I said, "You work at night and must have dinner in the evenings when you work." She agreed. I continued, "Tell me when and where you typically go to eat, and I will show up and sit next to you." She giggled and told me when and where we could meet.

She would have dinner early in the evening near the same building where we met. To seize this opportunity, I had to leave work early and drive around 40 miles from Suffern, New York, in peak traffic to the West Village, find a parking spot, and be dressed immaculately. When I entered the bar, she was sitting there with that now familiar smile. I don't know how I would have felt without her presence. But the thought did not cross my mind. She was happy to see me but not overwhelmed. We drank and talked, then left the bar to eat some catfish at a nearby restaurant. The conversation continued, but still no breakthrough.

The magic happened when we left the restaurant and sat on the curb facing the West Side Highway. I casually asked her about her birthday, and she answered August 6th. I responded, "Wow! That's my birthday, too." We looked at each other in disbelief.

My body reacted instantly. My heart pounded. It seemed like everything—my long drive from Sterling Forest, my persistence through unanswered calls—had paid off. That moment felt destined. I knew then that she was someone I could marry. And since I was so close to deciding to move to Europe to be with Veronika, I had to find out.

I don’t know what Berkeley saw in me—perhaps the stability of my IBM job, or maybe she was drawn in by curiosity and the confidence it took to approach her that day. But something clicked. And I had to follow it. She agreed to our first date.

Veronika and the Twist of Fate

Veronika was a prolific letter writer. She wrote me a letter every day since I left her in Vienna, and she came to New York to visit me for a couple of weeks around Christmas of 1983. Our relationship was building toward marriage. Veronika wanted me to go to Vienna that summer to get engaged. I was in total agreement and looked forward to a new life in Europe. I even explored how to get a transfer to IBM Europe. Everything was moving smoothly toward marrying—until that elevator ride that day in the Village.

I had my airline tickets and was set to fly to Vienna when a terrible rainstorm in New York canceled all flights to Europe. I had to call Veronika and let her know what had happened and that I would be delayed indefinitely. Veronika was distraught and didn’t believe my story. She thought I had met a new woman and was reneging on my promise. She was partially correct and confused, but I was determined to keep my promise.

I called the airlines to reschedule my flights, and they told me that the storm was an act of God. All reservations were canceled, and the earliest rebooking available was in September. This was July. That was not acceptable. I needed to get to Europe quickly. I went to JFK, sent my bags to Vienna, and planned to stay at the airport until I got on a flight.

Around 3 p.m. the following day, after trying every possible option to get a seat on a plane heading to Europe during the peak summer season, I heard an unbelievable announcement: “Anyone going to Europe, go to Gate 7.” I ran. I boarded a flight to Munich and, from there, caught a connection to Vienna.

I tried to reach Veronika but couldn’t get through. I contacted her father, who picked me up at the airport and dropped me off at her apartment. Veronika wasn’t home, but he left me there to wait.

I was calm, even proud. I felt I had moved mountains to keep my word. Around 2 a.m., the front do2 a.m.ng opens. Veronika walked in. Without saying hello, she screamed, “Have you found another woman?”

Usually, I would’ve said no. But Berkeley had made a big impression on me.

“Yes,” I said, “but—”

That was all she needed. She exploded—yelling in German, too angry to speak in English. I stood frozen, unsure what to do.

Then Veronika collected herself. “We will solve this in the morning,” she said. “We will go to my shrink and tell him what happened, and I will do whatever he instructs me to do.”

The next day, I sat in her psychologist’s office, listening to Veronika speak in rapid German. After about 30 minutes, it was my turn. I told him my side of the story. I never found out what he recommended, but Veronika decided we would spend the month’s vacation together—and then end the relationship.

I was of two minds. I could calm her down, and we could proceed with our plans. But if that didn’t work, my new relationship with Berkeley was still waiting.

Once the decision was made, we continued as if nothing had happened. We traveled across Austria, drove to Budapest and Salzburg, and spent time with her parents and Hon. Our engagement party was The highlight of the month. Veronika didn’t want her friends to know we might be breaking up, so she told them we were getting engaged. I went along with it. I bought her a ring. We celebrated—knowing it was pretend, hoping it might become real.

She did not relent. At the end of the month, she took me to the airport, hugged me, and said goodbye.

I felt a strange mix of relief and sorrow. The decision had been made for me. I had been torn. Now, I look forward to returning to Berkeley.

That feeling was short-lived.

She came over when I returned to New York, eager to see Berkeley. The first words out of her mouth were, “Who did you go to see in Europe?”

“Ahh… Ahh…” I stammered.

A mutual friend had told her I went to Europe to visit my girlfriend. She dumped me.

Reflection on a Twist of Fate

I had strong romantic love for Veronika. She was an educated and cultured woman, full of beauty and sexual energy—driven, sophisticated, and hard to resist. I was in love with her and could see a life with her. She matched my analytical, left-brain life at IBM. But she was intense, always moving with purpose and precision.

Conversely, Berkeley was much more relaxed, grounded in a creative, intuitive rhythm. She matched the side of me that was beginning to emerge—my right-brain self, who would later become a teacher, speaker, and storyteller.

In many ways, these two women mirrored my inner transformation. Veronika represented the life I had known—structured, logical, full of ambition. Berkeley described a life that had not yet fully revealed itself but was pulling me toward something more open, expressive, and human.

Yes, I felt very divided. And yes, I told Veronika the truth because I couldn’t deny my growing interest in Berkeley. When she asked if I had found someone else, I said, “Yes, but…” because that “but” held all the confusion, conflict, and hope I felt.

The months in Vienna and Budapest were beautiful but based on false premises. We both hoped it would work, but we knew it would fail. The storm—the literal act of God that delayed my flight—gave me time to pause. If that storm hadn’t happened, I would likely be married to Veronika today. I might be more financially stable. But I wouldn’t be as happy.

She already had a 15-year-old son, and I wasn’t sure she wanted more children. If I had gone through with our engagement, there would have been no three children from my marriage to Berkeley, no thirty-year journey of love, growth, and discovery.

The storm didn’t ruin my plans. It revealed my path forward.