Graduation Day
Happy laughter and chatter,
an occasional squeal as someone tripped and fell, loud organ music and the constant
whirr and click-clack of the skaters wheels on the wooden floor... that's what I
remember about the Coliseum skating rink where my girlfriend Joy and I regularly
spent every Friday and Saturday night when I was sixteen. Three hours each night
going around and around... hearing "All skate" or "Reverse direction"
or "Ladies only" or "Gentlemen only" or "Couples only"
being called out by the announcer... Whistles trilling... Lights out and the twirling,
sparkling, glowing ball hanging from the ceiling sending soft rainbow colors dancing
about the room...that's what I remember about the Coliseum skating rink in Orlando,
Florida. Slow, romantic tunes and the feel of a young man's right hand on my waist
as my left arm crossed in front of his chest to hold his left hand while we both
glided smoothly - or not so smoothly - to the rhythm of the music and the beat of
our hearts...that's what I remember about the Coliseum skating rink where I met every
boy I ever dated as a teenager... all three of them.
The third one skated
up to me on October 3, 1958 and asked for the last dance of the evening. I accepted,
and although he wasn't the best skater I'd danced with that evening, he wasn't the
worst. We talked as we rolled, crossing our right feet over our left going around
the curves, trying not to get tangled up in each others wheels. Neither one of us
were professionals, just average. Unlike my girlfriend, I had never learned to turn
and skate backwards and do all those fancy dance steps. Somehow, my sense of balance,
or lack of it, would not allow me to do the thing which I saw as the most graceful
art form on earth. So, we skated in the old style, side by side.
His name
was Doug. He had finished school the previous year and had just enlisted in the
Air Force. As soon as the dance was over, his younger brother Fred darted up to
his side to begin teasing him about his "new girl." After returning their
skates to the check-out counter, both of them hovered around as Joy and I removed
our skates and packed our skate cases. Then Doug offered to help us carry them to
Joy's car. Much to his chagrin, as we were nudging our way through the crowd heading
out the door, his mother arrived to take him and his brother home. As he handed
our skate cases back to us, a pink glow of embarrassment flushed his cheeks, then
he turned and followed his family in the other direction.
The night we had
our first date he arrived at my door in a green Nash Rambler, his mother driving,
his sister Linda in the front passenger seat, his brother Fred in the back seat.
I squeezed into the back seat between Fred and Doug and, on the way to Morrison's
Cafeteria for supper, we all became better acquainted. I don't guess I'll ever forget
that evening. I wanted so much to make a good impression. The only dining etiquette
I knew had been learned in Home Economics class...if I could remember what I'd learned.
I selected a porkchop, mashed potatoes and peas. As I tried to daintily slice into
the porkchop, my knife slipped and peas went flying across the table. I'm sure the
color of my cheeks was as red as the beets on the serving line as I hastily apologized
to everyone. The heat I felt warming my cheeks, forehead and neck did not seem to
abate for the entire evening.
Once we began dating on our own, just the two
of us, we quickly grew close. We visited Cypress Gardens one Sunday, and Silver
Springs the next. Saturday nights we went to the drive- in movies,
taking his brother
or sister with us. I would later learn that he paid them to go sit down front where
there was a playground for the kids so that we could be alone. Friday nights were
still reserved for skating, but now he took me home afterwards instead of my friend
Joy.
My mother's rule was that I had to be home by 11 p.m. Each night promptly
at 10:50 p.m. we pulled up in front of my house and he took me in his arms. Tenderly
his lips brushed mine and then claimed them for his own, kissing me deeply and passionately.
Buddy Holley was usually singing "Peggy, Oh Peggy Su-u-ue" as we turned
off the radio and headed into the house just in time to hear Broderick Crawford call
out his last "10-4" and see the last few minutes of "Highway Patrol"
which ended at 11 p.m.
All too soon the time came for Doug to leave for basic
training in the Air Force. Within a month of our meeting, I was tearfully seeing
him off. The days seemed to drag by between his letters. When I received the first
picture of him in his uniform, I almost looked for an autograph. This couldn't be
the boy I'd dated! This spiffy looking young man in the uniform looked for all the
world like Elvis Presley...to me anyway! And I idolized my Doug just as though he
were Elvis.
The months slogged on, one season into another. I saw his family
often, going to church with them and coming to love his sister as though she were
my own. Of course I liked his pesky little brother Fred too, but he was something
else to deal with. Fred was almost fourteen and his hormones were raging!
In
early May Doug was able to take leave and come home for the Junior/Senior Prom.
My mother wasn't able to go shopping with me since someone had to stay with my invalid
grandmother. I was, however, able to cajole her friend Kate into helping me select
a dress for the dance. After hours of searching through rack after rack of teenage
dreams, we found mine in a lovely strapless calf length dress of billowing blue chiffon.
The day before the dance Doug drove me on a shopping trip to pick up a few
groceries for my mother. When we parked the car in front of Winn Dixie, he pulled
something from his jacket pocket and turned toward me. "I didn't know how I
was going to do this," he began, "but I can't wait any longer."
Opening
the tiny box, he removed a diamond ring and continued. "I'm sorry I'm not down
on my knees for this, but...will you marry me?"
The tiny diamond sparkled
in the afternoon sunlight and tears sparkled in my eyes, overflowed, and ran down
my cheeks. He slipped the ring on my finger and pulled me into his arms. With my
lips still quivering, I breathed in the intoxicating fragrance of his Old Spice cologne
and whispered "Yes!" Grocery shopping had never been so much fun! If
the checkout clerk looked strangely at us as we approached the register, it must
have been because I was floating two feet off the floor!
The next evening,
as we waltzed around the ballroom floor, I felt like a fairy princess. Surely, I
must be Cinderella and he my Prince Charming! That night was magical!
When
he had to return to his base in Biloxi, Mississippi the following afternoon, I was
once again lost and lonely, but even more in love. His letters suggested that I
come to visit him during the summer, but my mother put a damper on that idea. There
would be too much temptation that far away from home!
It soon became apparent
that, although she could keep us apart by not letting me travel, she would not realize
her dream of seeing her daughter graduate from high school and "make something
of herself." Doug and I began making plans to be married when he could come
home in the fall. No one else in my mother's family had ever graduated from high
school and my older brother had also quit school to join the Navy. All her hopes
had been on me after that. My mother did finally come around and give her permission
for us to marry, but I could see her disappointment etched in the furrows of her
brow and the sadness in her eyes. Her shoulders drooped and she seemed to walk aimlessly
around like her whole purpose for living had just been whisked away by the sweeping
hand of fate.
Again, our friend Kate went with me to shop for my wedding dress
at J. C. Penney's. It cost only about $60, all I could afford, but was the most
beautiful creation on earth in my eyes. I ordered invitations, flowers, and a wedding
cake with what little money I had in my savings account. I made arrangements for
the ceremony at the Fairvilla Baptist Church, where I had attended for years.
At
17, six weeks into my senior year at Edgewater High School in Orlando, Florida, I
was quitting school to get married. Hardly more than a year earlier I had had my
first date. Hardly six months earlier I had been looking forward to a long walk down
the aisle in cap and gown. Now I was looking toward a long walk down another sort
of aisle... in a wedding gown.
Having to tell my teachers and the guidance
counselor that I was quitting school was almost as hard as telling my mother. In
the fifties, when a girl got pregnant or got married, they were required to quit
school. I suppose that was to separate us from the other girls so they wouldn't
catch whatever foul virus had rendered us temporarily insane and caused us to commit
such senseless acts which would undoubtedly ruin our lives.
After a long,
obligatory but less than enthusiastic, discussion, the girl's guidance counselor
shuffled a few papers around on her desk, picked up her pencil, tapped it impatiently
on the wooden desk and looked me straight in the eye. "Are you sure this is
what you want?"
"Yes Ma'am," I almost whispered, "it is.".
Leaning
forward, she repeated what I had already heard several times. "You have a great
deal of potential you know. Your grades are excellent. You could get a scholarship,
go on to college."
"Maybe so, but this is what I want," I repeated
as I nervously ran my thumb back and forth over the jagged edges of the car keys
I held in my hand.
"All right. I'll take care of it. Come back on Monday,
empty out your locker and turn in your books." She exhaled a heavy sigh and
turned away from me, staring out the window. She had given up. As far as she was
concerned, I had sold myself short, given way to sensuality over common sense, and
was no longer her responsibility.
She had made a few good points, even though
I hadn't wanted to hear them. As I walked from the room, gently closing the door
behind me, I was starting to doubt my own judgement - even though I wouldn't have
wanted her to know that. The decision had been made and I felt I couldn't back out
of it now.
At 3:05 p.m. on October 18, 1959 I took my step-father's arm
and began that walk, in my $60 dress, headed toward my "Elvis" who stood,
weak-kneed but smiling broadly, beside his father at the alter. My gown was white,
not green and gold. My headpiece was a veil of white and not a cap and tassel.
But at the end of that day I had graduated - into womanhood - and the future stood
open and unknown before me.
I did go on, later that year, to complete the
remaining two credits I needed to obtain my diploma in "adult school."
But had I sold myself short? Could I have gone on to college and "made something
of myself?" I'll never know. I do know that, thirty-nine years, four children,
one divorce, and two husbands later, with that diploma and a little determination,
the life I made for myself wasn't a total disaster; and the family that came from
that youthful union is wonderful and loving. What more could any woman want?
