STEALING HER HEART AWAY

STEALING HER HEART AWAY

It was the end of a hot summer in Birmingham, 1957. After spending three months of doing manual labor at summer camp, I was tan as mud and lean as a reed.

Harboring little hope, I decided one last time to try for a date with a gorgeous young girl who had been snubbing me for the past two years.

Head over heels in love since I first saw her in 5th period study hall at Woodlawn High School, I’d tried everything to make her notice me but with no luck. I suspect it had something to do with my reputation as a renegade.

So, the first thing I did after putting my camp duffle bag in the closet was to call her up and ask her out. I about dropped the phone when she said “Yes.”

Our first date was a minor catastrophe. My two mistakes were neglecting to get my flattop cut and not choosing to wear a coat and tie. The hair of a flattop should be very square and very short, so that a spectator is able to see the crown of your head shining through the top.

As it turned out, I either didn't have time to get a haircut or was so cocky I didn't think it mattered. My hair was way too long on top but, with the help of a handful of gook, I brushed it up until it resembled a very tall cube.

So, at 7:00 sharp on a Saturday night I knocked at her door with the sure certainty that I was going to dazzle her and her parents with my charm. It didn't happen.

Her dad was taking a nap and it was just she, her mother and little brother sitting in the living room waiting for me. Her mom gave me a cool hello and then proceeded to look me over from stem to stern.

Her eyes lingered on the head part longest. Then, the wrinkled shirt I had pulled out of my camp duffle bag. By this time, I was feeling mule ugly. The little brother liked me though.

After a display of peerless manners and a hundred "Yes Mam's" and "No Mam's,” I finally made it out of the house with my date. I took her to the Alabama Theater in
downtown Birmingham where you took your girlfriend if you really wanted to impress her.

As we entered the lobby, I hoped she wouldn’t notice that all the other guys had fresh haircuts and were wearing sport coats. My three-inch flattop was standing at attention like a forest of redwoods.

After the movie, we drove around some, not around my old Woodlawn neighborhood (a blue-collar place), but over in Mountain Brook, a fancy suburb of Birmingham where the rich folks lived. I was pulling out all the stops to impress this girl.

Needing some gas for the old Pontiac, I pulled into a service station, "Two dollars Regular please." While getting out of the car to stretch my legs, I accidentally stepped on the bell cord used to alert the attendant… RRRingggg! It was the loudest thing you ever heard. Disregarding the Code of Coolness, my legs went sideways, arms went skyward, and my head dunked back and forth.

I checked her reaction out of the corner of my eye. She was still sitting passively in the passenger seat. Maybe she hadn’t noticed.

For something to do and to get my heart rate down, I sauntered into the station to pay for the gas and buy some breath mints. Coming back to the car, I stepped on the darn thing again. There was no doubt this time, she saw it. To mask my embarrassment, I pretended I'd done it to be funny. But she and I both knew that funny was the last thing in the world I wanted to be that night.

Our second date was for evening church services at Woodlawn Methodist Church. This time, I prepared myself with a little more particularity. Instead of sticking straight up, the hair was slicked down with slickum and parted on the side. It gave me sort of a greasy look, like Reggie in the "Archie" comic books. I wore light-colored linen trousers with white bucks and, to complete the ensemble, one of my dad's sport jackets.

Scrubbed and greasy, I set off to meet her dad. I had heard from reliable sources that her dad was one to be feared. He was a big, good-looking man who could pass for John Wayne’s double. My sources even referred to him as "The Duke." "Beware of the Duke," I was told. Undeterred, I again marched up the steps to her house. This time, I was determined to make a good impression.

They were waiting for me in the living room: father, mother, little brother and my date. Except for smiling little brother, they all looked somber and suspicious.

Flashing a brilliant gap-toothed smile, I walked confidently over to her father, extended my hand in preparation for the firm, but not too firm, handshake I'd been taught by my dad. He took it and my skinny hand was enveloped in his like the pickle inside a roulade.

We talked about fishing and he liked me, I could tell. But it was Mom I was worried about. It was apparent that Mom was still deferring judgment. Even so, I was breathing a little easier, my date was looking a little more relaxed and little brother was still smiling.

After promising to have her home by ten o'clock, I courteously led her to the car, being particularly careful not to stumble over the curb.

With my friends staring in disbelief, all eyes were on my beautiful date as we walked into Church. The sense of envy was almost palpable.

Brother Newton, our associate pastor, was the first to come over and greet my guest. He was old, and had an unfortunate problem with his salivary glands which was made worse by the pinch of Garrett snuff he had tucked somewhere deep within his mouth.

Mumbling a greeting, Brother Newton reached across me to shake hands with Charlotte. I saw what was coming and there was nothing I could do about it. In a stream, it involuntarily snaked out of his mouth and onto my light-colored linen pants and white bucks. He never realized what had happened. He had cataracts too, so he couldn't see the spreading brown stain.

After Church, I took her to the 800-foot Vulcan statue on Red Mountain (a Birmingham landmark) to see the night lights from high above the town. As we were climbing the steps to the top, my mind was sorting through things I could say to impress her. Whatever it was, it shouldn’t sound too corny or contrived.

So, looking pensive and leaning out over the railing with a mouthful of breath mints and snuff spots covering my trousers, I began crooning one of the popular doo-wop ballads of the day, “There’s a moon out tonight, uh, uh, uh, oh; there’s a girl at my side, uh, uh, uh, oh, that I adore...” And I stole her heart away.

My date later became my wife. After 47 years, she still is.