I got my first public job while in my junior year. I worked at the I.G.A., a grocery store in South Clinton with Gary, a really good friend of mine.
Gary had a 48 Ford like mine, but his was a whole lot nicer. Gary had a coupe. We made a dollar an hour, and that was enough money to keep the old Fords running. Seem there was always plenty of cash for my dating life as well.
Pete, Wendell, and I on Friday nights, would go to Oak Ridge, and circle Shoney’s, then back to the South Pole which was a drive-in restaurant in South Clinton. Then we’d go back to Shoney’s again to complete the circle. This would go on and on ‘til we got too sleepy to do it anymore.
Remembering back: We could buy a large order of onion rings for 65 cents. Boy-o boy, there was no way even a hungry kid could eat that much. We could go to the Krystal’s in Clinton, and buy 12 of those little hamburgers for a dollar or ten cents apiece. Back then gas was selling for 19 cent a gallon, but every once in a while someone would have a gas war and gas could be bought for 14 cent a gallon.
Said all that to say this; having a car even if it was a 48 Ford, the 60’s was a neat place to be. Dating or trying to pick up a date was what us boys did, at least when we were between girl-friends. For $2.00, a person could have a good date. Maybe head to the drive-in or go to McDonalds and we’d have a good time. For $3.00, who knows what would happen?
Growing up back then was a wonderful life. We were innocent, or at least, we were innocent compared to what we know now. All of us except me talked, or should I say lied about our dates and what we did on em. Funny though cause most all of us were still virgins at graduation. You know how boys, I mean men, are. We’d talk about stuff as if we knew what we were talking about, but this was the time of life that you’d see if one had enough feathers on your wings to fly.
Trying to make good decisions was just about impossible. I reckon it was in that respect, hard growing up. Always thinking we were men, I guess because of peer pressure, but not having a clue as to what we were to be, or caring what was expected of us. Back then we didn’t listen to our parents.
We worked our problems out amongst ourselves. At least we thought we were, but nothing, I mean very little, ever worked out. Oh well……..we were kids.
Having fun or at least occupying our time was what we were good at. We always had something in the works. Whether it was building a hut out in the woods, riding our skate boards, chasing girls, playing horse shoes, or just hanging out around the apple trees. We all had fun and got along with each other well.
And, I have to admit that I had very few responsibilities. Except every once in a while my dad would ask me to help out around the house or in the garden. And since I wasn’t asked to do much, well, when he asked (or told me is a better way of puttin’ it), well you did what he said. At least if ya knew what was good for ya.
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One night my Dad came in my room and asked me to roto-tiller the garden the next morning. “OK”, somehow through the course of the night, I forgot. Now partly I forgot he asked me, and partly I forgot that the next day was Prom. Either way, man was I in trouble.
So the next day being the Prom, that meant it was preparation day. I had to get the corsage, tux, shine the ole shoes, take a bath, get the car clean, and buy the beer. Yes, I drank beer, didn’t really like it, but felt like I had to do it.
The prom was starting at 7:00, it was now 5:00, and I was clean, shiny, and had my tux on. I was ready and looking sharp if I do say so myself.
Dad came in and asks how it went in the garden. “In the garden?” I said,” O yeah, I’ll get that the first thing in the morning”. Did he not notice my tux? Could he not see how important this night was gonna be?
Let’s just say that It was a sad sight. Dad wasn’t going to fall for that. I begged, pleaded and even mustarded up more than a few tears. It wasn’t working. “Dad! This is prom night, and you’re supposed to love me!” Nothing worked.
So, what else could I do but take off the tux, and head out towards the garden, roto-tiller in hand. I went to digging long rows of weed free vegetables.
It was a sight; I’m sure, watching me dodging every clump of dirt, to make sure not one blemish was on me. Then……, I started sweating. In a few more minutes I was soaking wet. Forty five minutes later, face muddy, and barely standing up, I was finally finished.
Oh, NO! It was almost 6:00. But I still have time. I’ve got say, I don’t know how, or don’t know what I did to pull it off, but I did.
Ok ………took out of there in case Dad figured that I had given the abbreviated version of running a tiller. I was not taking any chances at this point.
I went to pick up my date, who happened to be wearing a very pretty creamy white formal dress and she sure did look good. She was none the wiser that I had been roto-tilling only minutes before. I got her into my Ford and we headed off to the prom. There was a live band playing and we danced, acted a fool, but had a good time.
Now it was almost 11:00, and we were out of there. I took her and we headed to Shoney’s, ate our French fries, wasn’t going to chance the onion rings, and met up with some of our friends. We had a good time, but I had other things on my mind. We were headed toward this dirt, back road that I knew about.
My 48 Ford was a 4 door, and it had those suicide back doors that opened backwards. You’d know that when I parked on that dirt road cause I had the front end pointed downhill. The Back door wouldn’t stay open and we were working up some steam. So, looking around for something to prop it open, I found a spray can of the touch up paint. The paint was dark blue- same color as my car, and I used it to cover any scratch that occasionally show up on my prized car.
The rest of this story breaks my heart to confess and write it down. I’m sure you can already imagine how it’s going to go……
With the can holding the door open, and a breeze blowing through, we were ready for some heavy necking. Probably even smoking a cigarette and definitely having a good time.
Enjoying the night and my girl, the car shook, and we heard this hissing’ sound. Looked over, we saw the paint can had ruptured and paint was going everywhere. Well, since I was a quick thinker, I thought it was an easy fix. I grabbed the can, and getting my back motion going; I slung the culprit as far I as my mighty strength could sling it. Problem solved.
But….When I turned around my date was covered in blue paint from her hair to her shoes. Hey, I’m tellin’ you there was very little of her beige dress still showing. In addition to the sad condiditon my date was in you couldn’t see out the windows. All we had was blue, lots and lots of blue.
Being the man and hero, I took my shirt off and started wiping everything off including my date. THAT WAS A MISTAKE!
I believe there was enough blue paint in that car that one could paint a barn. The more I smeared, the more paint there was. I managed to even paint the few remaining beige spots she still had left on her dress. I’m telling you, it was a sight. I did get the windows clean though….., well sorta’.
That wasn’t even the worst part; I still had to take her home to her Mom, who I was sure was waiting on her.
Not A Pretty Sight. Folks it was bad. It was real bad. So we went to the Amoco service station in South Clinton, and took some of that Go-Jo, which would clean anything, to try to get the rest off. Not a Good Idea. I managed to smear the already dried paint, and brought it to life again. We did manage to take that dark blue to a pretty medium bluish color. It was not looking good for me at this point, and I’m ashamed to say I don’t even know what my date was saying or thinking.
I’m not going to tell you what her Mom said and did. Nobody needs to hear such things. I can tell you that I made it through it. What’s ironic is the Prom was titled “A Night To Remember”. It sure was.