Twinkies
And
The 8th Grade Prom
A True Story
By
Robert A. Chapin
Copyright 2011
Smashwords Edition
In 1960, the average price of a new house was $20,500 and in today’s current economy is $151,500. A new car back then was $2,600 and in this economy would cost about $19,200. The average wage was $4,000 and today that equates to almost $30,000.
Gas was $.25/gallon, Milk, $1.00/gallon, Bread $.20/loaf. My Three Sons, Andy Griffith, and Route 66 were popular TV shows. The Ford Falcon was just introduced. Elvis, Neil Sedaka, Paul Anka, Brenda Lee, and Connie Francis were burning up the charts. Alley Oop was a popular song - and in that year, Tom Monaghan started Domino’s Pizza with a $500 loan.
It was the last week of school in the spring of 1960, I was 14 years old and confident of graduating into the 8th grade. Ike was President and I was in love with Beverly Jones. She was going to be the mother of my children.
We lived in a small town where everyone knows your business. A time when you could rake a pile of leaves and there were no environmental agency rules to prevent you from burning. The aroma it produced was one that if you ever had the opportunity to burn autumn leaves, it is recorded into that part of your brain which now, 53 years later brings back that special place and moment in time.
Dr. Roy still made house calls - black medical bag and all, the butcher wrapped your meat order in white paper, the postman would leave a letter which required extra postage and you could always pay him later. Gas station attendants washed your windshield, checked your oil and tires, banks offered toasters or flatware for opening up an account and you did not have to lock your doors. A time when the local policeman ancient in age would take you by the ear and a render a swift smack if he found you the least bit out of line, and the worse thing we did was to smoke corn silk..
Better you be scolded to by the cop than to have him tell your father. .The school was having their gala ball - and every kid was excited about the DJ from the local radio station. The chance to actually put a voice with a face from the radio was reason enough to attend the dance.
My parents owned a farm. Although a non producing farm the barn was converted into an antique shop and the three car garage equipped with a security system and steel bars held my dad’s antique weapon inventory. He specialized in Colt Civil War weapons, guns of the old west, and Revolutionary War muskets. We had a firing range behind the building where I spent hours target practicing with one of the Colt six shooters.
Beverly Jones lived less than a half mile up the road . She was also 14 and the most beautiful girl in our school. She was petite with sandy blonde hair and a squeak in her voice when she spoke. Her dad was a chemist for The Fleishman Yeast company in our town.
Surprisingly, there was a group of boys who at 14 who were geeks just waiting to cause trouble. The type who always wore that plastic pocket protector where the flap hung out advertising some kid‘s dad‘s plumbing service and filled with pencils and ballpoint pens. To further identify these misfits, they slicked up their crew cut hair with a waxy tube and were usually the audio visual guys. There was a group of 5 of us who hung together and whenever one showed an interest in a particular girl, the knuckleheads persisted in their antics to discourage you from approaching “your chosen girl”
The end of the season prom was to be held on a Friday night and heavily chaperoned. The cafeteria was decked out in crepe paper of the school colors, and Mrs. Perron and her workers spent most of the day preparing the dinner for the attendees. The snacks were stored in the kitchen and Miss Doyle an unclaimed treasure and our music teacher wore those pointed glasses of the era. With most of us in our early teens, Miss Doyle was most likely only in her late twenties or early thirties, but as far as we were concerned she was considered an old lady. She volunteered to chaperone for the evening closely observing no none was dancing to close or pulling their date cheek to cheek.
It was Tuesday and I still did not muster the courage to ask Beverly to the dance. My dad offered to drive but I really felt uncomfortable with him as I was going to be in the back seat with Beverly and it was just so uncomfortable to sneak a hand with him in control of the rear view mirror. However, I had no choice and if all worked as planned I would be sitting in the back of dad’s 1955 Ford Sunliner black convertible with Beverly.
Several days before the dance, the group of nerds - and I was a member were going to steal a pair of one of some kid’s dad’s underwear and run them up the flagpole once the dance got started. I gave the idea my blessing and was also chosen to swipe a pair of my dad’s drawers. I had given my word that I would honor the code of conduct we chartered somewhere in “geeksville” where we all locked our hands together then with a shout broke apart.
The reason we thought up the hair brained idea was that not a single guy in the group had the least bit interest in girls. I was the only exception, drifting from the antics of the group and teetering on a fine line between Beverly Jones and a pair of underwear. Believe me, at 14 years old Beverly was all that mattered to me!
Then my entire life changed when she approached on Tuesday afternoon asking if I would like to be her date for the dance. Suddenly I didn’t want to be associated the pompous group any longer. She was wearing her mom’s perfume Chanel No. 5 and it permeated not only my clothes but seeped into my brain.
It was not easy inform the members of the group that I was not going to be involved in the flagpole incident. That is when they turned on me and decided to act like a bunch adolescent jerks.
“You PROMISED!” Moosie balked.
“Double Crosser!” from Kenny Parker.
“Well, we still have your old man’s skivvies, and we’re going to run them up the flagpole!” some other nerd remarked.
* * *
I spent an hour bathing, combing my hair, brushing my teeth and must have disrupted dad at least half a dozen times to have him knot another - then another necktie. I slapped my face with a handful of his Old Spice shaving lotion and from the top of the stairs to his office one floor below, he shouted. “
Bobby! Use a washcloth, soap and water to remove some of that high octane lotion. Whew!”
Finally, with not a minute to spare dad and I headed up the road to pick up Beverly. When we arrived Mrs. Jones was at the door waiting to see her future son in law. My dad prompted me to hand the corsage to Beverly’s mother who admired it and said how impressed she was that I remembered to buy one. She placed it in the proper location and we were off to the prom.
Once we arrived, the girls were all dolled up and I was wearing a new sports coat (Hopsack Gray) dad bought me just for the occasion from Nat Falk’s Store for Men and Boys. The person from the radio station appeared and we asked the middle aged, chain smoking, portly person when the DJ was to arrive.
“I’m Johnny Wonder kids! If you want an autographed photo I’ll see that you get one after the dance.”
We were horror struck that when we finally had the opportunity to put a face with a name we were listening to for years. His appearance dampened our night, but in the candle lit room with the spotlight shining on the revolving glitter ball - and mostly with our eyes closed during a dance it was as though we were listening to him on the radio.
When we arrived there were kids who seemed just that - kids! Several hours ago I was one of them - but now, I almost had a wife to support. How was I going to distance myself from the party crashers who only attended to make fun of those of us who had girl friends .
Outside, they began the process of running the underwear up the flagpole. Lucky for me Mr. Brady the town police officer caught four of them in the act and marched them back into the building in front of Miss Doyle. My eyes were frozen in their direction and praying - Please, PLEASE Dear God don’t get our parents involved. All they had to do was finger me and my dad would have come down on me with more than just a scolding.
Principle Durkin sent the boys on their way banning them from the prom. As for the underwear, it’s a good thing my dad never knew how many pair he had, but following that incident I quickly lost favor with the group and my direction in life changed.
Mr. Durkin and the school janitor dropped the tables while the kitchen staff set them with table clothes and candles. The dinner consisted of chicken on a bed of rice and they thought they were getting one over on us when they added a scoop of boiled carrots. For dessert the kitchen staff prepared the message (1960 Graduates) made from Twinkies lightly frosted with pink for the girls and blue for the boys. When people began to take their dessert, Miss Petrovsky who was the brainchild of the creation cautioned everyone to take them from the bottom up.
“Now graduates, let’s not have this beautiful creation look as though it was put together by the Kindergarten students!
Beverly and I enjoyed our dinner by candlelight and when it came time for the last dance I was inclined to pull her closer, but with all the rules set out by Miss Doyle, I felt Beverly’s hand squeeze mine and she even managed to plant a quick smooch on my cheek. That is when I knew Beverly was going to be the mother of my children. Nothing could change my mind. The ambience was just right, the lighting, music and glitter ball all contributing to our wonderful evening. Finally, 10:00 PM and dad arrived. I didn’t want the evening to come to an end. I was hoping the DJ would play at least a dozen more songs before it came time to close up.
* * *
We sat in the back seat and actually held hands. When we arrived at her home, I walked her to the door without the benefit of my dad tagging along. I wanted to kiss her, but we both knew it was not appropriate with my dad watching from the car and her mother no doubt perched somewhere behind a curtain in the living room. All I could do is send her a silent message with the hope that she would respond. As I took her hand and declared I had a wonderful time, I lightly squeezed her hand three times to signify (I-L-Y = I Love You) and to my astonishment she responded in returning the message.
When I went to bed that night I did so with my hand pressed against my nostrils and with each breath got a whiff of the alluring Chanel No. 5.! In the morning the scent was but a faint memory.
Beverly and I graduated from high school in 1965 her plans were to attend nursing school. I took a job at a local hospital with plans of entering medical school at Union College in Utica, N.Y. My plans however never did come to fruition as I was drafted in that year and Beverly and I did keep in touch but eventually lost contact.
* * *
That was in 1960, and now we have to take this scenario to 1988 some 28 years later. I was married living in Western Massachusetts and had started a family. I was working on my roof when I missed a step on the rung of the ladder and fell on my right shoulder. I drove to the local medical center and following check in was asked to enter a room and wait for the doctor.
I was reading the certificates on the wall when one name in particular caught my eye: Beverly Kathryn Jones, MD. I didn’t give much thought to the name after all, Jones is a common name. I just recollected the girl I had taken to the 8th grade prom had the same name. The door opened and standing before me was Beverly - who at one time was going to be the future mother of my children. She attended Georgetown University School of Medicine graduating in 1973. My heart thumped against my chest.
We talked for a few minutes and she told me she married Bob Trombley, captain of the football team who graduated from pharmacy college and had two children. Her daughter was within weeks of giving Beverly her first grandchild and seemed there was so much to catch up on. During the examination, she leaned into my shoulder feeling for discomfort and pain and I instinctively picked up an imaginary scent of Channel No. 5 from the night of our first date in 1960. When it came time to depart we hugged but when we entered the reception area, to my surprise she took my hand and I felt three distinctive short squeezes I-L-Y the meaning: (I Love You)! I was overjoyed and returned the compliment.
She was still as beautiful as ever, and I most likely did not eat or sleep for several days. The physical pain I endured was masked by my desire to fall in love all over again. Over the years we have had occasion to bump into each other and each time I see Beverly, I can smell the aroma of the Chanel No. 5 I can only say what if…?