Continued from August 22

I received an email asking me if this stuff is true or just another of my wild tales. The person went on to say it is hard to believe that I could remember it all this well after more than 40 years.
This was a real and important part of my life, and the only thing that may be incorrect are some minor details.

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A week of school for three hours in the mornings and then eight hours of work from 4:00 pm until midnight. I hated second shift, but they were paying me an additional nickel on the hour for working it, which came to an extra four bucks each payday, and would buy well over a half tank of gasoline. I figured to stick with it until I graduated and then find more suitable employment.

Saturday night again. I picked up Larry a little earlier this time, and we hit the streets of bright lights and cruisers listening to rock-and roll. The weather started out fine, but within an hour it was doing a steady drizzle against squeaking wipers. We cruised from the Dutch Maid Drive-In and the Biff Burger on the west side of town to McKee's Barbecue King and The Dairy King Drive-In on the north side. On Saturday nights, a local AM station was spinning platters and taking requests from McKee's "tower in the sky," which was nothing more than a wooden structure looking much like a fire tower, and reaching a dizzying height of about 20 feet. Later on that summer, some of my Jonesboro High classmates became quite intoxicated, and overturned the tower, injuring and scaring hell out of the DJ.

At that time and particularly in that place, girls with cars was quite rare. About all we could hope for was some guy having a car load of chicks and maybe borrowing a couple of them for a while. The guys and gals did the best they could under the circumstances.

Finally, Larry said he knew where a couple of girls might be located, if they weren't on dates that night, and the best way to find out was go knock on their doors. They were first cousins and lived across an alley from each other. In the meantime, the rain stopped, but it was getting very cold.

We drove to a part of the east side of town known as the Carnegie Section, an area I was familiar with due to working with my dad there several years before, selling bagged coal. It was about nine o'clock, and the girls were just coming home from a downtown restaurant accompanied by one's parents.

We got out and Larry did the intros, and asked if they wanted to go for a ride. One of them sized me up, then sized up my late-model ride, finally announcing that I was kinda cute. Words I came to detest. Damn it, little pigs are kind of cute. There I was, sacred to death because I had to suck up my courage and meet a girl, with her exclaiming I looked like a pig. I was ready to pack it in and go home.

Fortunately, their parents wouldn't allow them to go out so late and I was never so relieved in my life. Larry did make a date with the pig hater for the next Saturday night, though.

As we drove away, Larry started on me to take him to the bootlegger, and without much argument, I complied. He bought a pint of vodka, saying that no one could smell it on the breath. I didn't believe him, but I had no intention of partaking for myself anyway. Other than a small bit of very bad homemade wine, I had never touched alcohol. My family had thrown the fear of eternal retribution into my life.

We went back to the cruising routine, with Larry getting quite the buzz going, which in turn led to some clumsiness. He dropped the opened bottle of spirits onto the floorboard, and it all leaked out before he could get it under control. I wasn't a Catholic, and didn't know anything about saying Hail Marys, but some choice words did come off my tongue. One breath I was cursing my friend, and the next I was praying to God. It wouldn't make any difference to my mom; I would be found guilty of being a sot in the first degree and the sentence would be quickly handed down. "Son, you will walk until you can buy your own car, and if you keep up the ungodly ways, you'll have to find another place to live." Throughout all this, Larry was apologizing his drunken head off, but I wasn't buying it.

We did have a paltry few things in our favor. We didn't have to be home for another two hours; alcohol evaporates fairly quickly under the influence of a car heater; Larry sacrificed his tee shirt as a sponge to help sop up the evidence.

Thankfully, it didn't rain anymore and we were able to drive around with the windows down. Stares we got plenty of, but it did help save our souls from eternal damnation and excommunication by our parents.

Larry was right about one thing, Vodka left no smell. As it evaporated, so did its scent. Just in case, I left the windows partially open, and got up early the next morning and checked the car before my mom drove to church. There was no unusual smell of any kind present, and I was clear. Almost. When my mom got back from church, she berated me royally. She found a tiny bit of cigarette ash under the edge of the seat. I wasn't to take off in the car the next Saturday, and not until she decided I had learned my lesson. A small price to pay for what could have been a disaster. I may have been eighteen years of age, but under her roof, I was as subservient as a ten year old.

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I forgot to ask; is everyone well and happy?