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Dear Ann Landers: Forty-seven years ago, I met a brainy 34-year-old bachelor during Memorial Day weekend at a resort in the Adirondack Mountains in upstate New York. We were seated at the same dining room table, and danced together every night. It was a glorious three-day weekend.

When we were saying our goodbyes, he asked for my telephone number. He did not, however, write it down, and I wondered if he was just being polite. I thought I would never hear from him, especially since he lived in Schenectady and I lived in Manhattan. Little did I know about his ability to commit information to memory. Sure enough, he phoned a week later. For the next year, he drove 170 miles into Manhattan, more than four hours, every other weekend.

We just celebrated our 46th wedding anniversary. His memory is still remarkable. As I was writing this letter to you, Ann, he recited my old phone number, which I haven't used for 46 years.

-- Still Dancing in Ohio
Dear Ohio: Not many of us can say our memories are as good today as they were 46 years ago, although I can remember some of those days with more clarity than what I did yesterday afternoon. By the way, our phone number in Sioux City 65 years ago was 86286. I faxed my sister, Dear Abby, and asked if she remembered the number. She did.

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