It was the summer of 1971, I had just graduated high school. Back in those days, there were many venues that featured live bands. The Park on the Hill in Neffsville, St Anthony’s Catholic Church, The YWCA Hangout and various others. Practically every community had a swimming pool, many sponsoring “splash parties”, combining swimming, music and dancing. Millersville Community Pool was no exception.
Three friend and I found ourselves at one of the Millersville Pool “splash parties” in that summer of 71. The evening progressed normally until the dance ended. my friends and I were heading to our cars. Cars were parked on both sides of the single driveway that provided entrance to the pool. On the right side, our two cars were in the single row perpendicular to the driveway. The opposite side was a more traditional parking lot style, cars parked in double rows extending from the driveway. There was a continuous line of traffic exiting on this single driveway. Next to one of our cars, lay a passed out African American in a dashiki. As we attempted to revive this man, my attention turned to watching the traffic inching by. Directly opposite from my position, an extremely attractive blonde was unsuccessfully attempting to enter the exiting flow. Being the take charge, knight in shining armor type, I stepped up and stopped traffic. Motioning for the cute blonde in her white VW Bug to pull out. I saw at this moment that she had an equally attractive passenger. Entering the line of traffic, the driver turned to thank me. At that moment, the car in front of her stopped, the VW rear ending that car, causing the passenger to hit the windshield with her forehead. The passenger escaped harm, other than a bit of a bump on her forehead, but the windshield spidered.
Hurriedly pulling out of traffic, both girls were visibly upset. and crying. The VW was her father’s car, her friend had a lump on her head, it was looking pretty disastrous from where she sat. Linda was the driver, her friend was Beth, both going into their senior year at Penn Manor, (younger women). My friend and I sought to provide any comfort we could, finally offering to take them to the House of Pizza to decompress.
Meanwhile our other two friends had revived the comatose man and found his name to be Skip. They agreed to take him home, while we escorted the ladies to get pizza. No doubt the more desirable of those two tasks, but both providing unanticipated benefits.
In 1971, racial tensions were running high in Lancaster, many altercations on racial lines occurred at dances. Skip was very grateful for the assistance that we all rendered that evening, this gratitude was reciprocated by him and his brother Bubba. Bubba was a man that no one, black or white, dared to upset. There were a few times over the subsequent years, when Skip and Bubba, together or individually, stepped in to help us avoid an unpleasant situation from escalating
Arriving at the House of Pizza, I could not shake the feeling that I recognized both of these young ladies. While in high school, I was in the marching band, participating in many parades. At each parade, my male bandmates and I were always on the lookout for Job’s Daughters. Job’s Daughters was an all female drill team, dressed in white boots, blue tartan skirts and white blouses. Most of the girls, as in the style of 1970, had long straight hair, many in pigtails. Pigtails, catholic school girl-like uniforms and attractive girls. We didn’t know who this Job was, but he sure had some real good looking daughters. My feeling of recognition was justified, they confirmed that they both belong to the drill team, it was like meeting two Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders!
Linda and I hit it off, as did my friend and Beth. Linda and I dated through that summer and kind of drifted apart as I started college in the fall. Fast forward to 1983, where I ran into her on her 30th birthday at The Village, (More Village stories included in another post, Misspent Nights at the Village). We dated, rather erratically for a year or so, both seeing other people. Then one fateful night at the Dispensing Company, where I was with, informally, another blonde, Linda came up to me and told me I needed to go home with her. She was very convincing. We finally decided to live together in 1985.
After a long engagement, we tied the knot in 1991. Never doing things normally, we separated and subsequently divorced in 2001.
Evidently the bond was too strong and the love we had for each other never waned, reconciling in 2008 and remarrying in 2010. As Robert Hunter, writer of “Truckin”, said, “what a long, strange trip it has been.” Though rather unconventional, I don’t believe I would change a thing, life together remains interesting and fun filled.
Chuck's Stories 