Puppy Love

   

  

    The nineteen fifties—with its soda shoppes, bobby socks, poodle skirts, drive-in theaters, and rock’n’roll music—formed the backdrop for my parents' romance. It is a love story that overcame youth, inexperience, parental objections, financial struggles, six children, sickness, and death. My grandmother would scold, "It's only puppy love," and quietly, as only a teenager could, my mother would smile and add, "Puppy love is real to the puppy." Mama still tells the story with that sly smile and a twinkle in her eyes. 

They both attended Russel High School in East Point, Georgia. Bill, my future Daddy, was a high school junior, driving a black 1947 Ford Business Coupe and working part-time at Pope’s Grocery. Nancy, my future mama, was a sophomore, walking to and from school each day, and dealing with her parent’s divorce. They lived around the corner from each other, but had never met.  That changed one spring afternoon at Collins Drug Store, the neighborhood hangout.

On this particular day, Grandma’s friends were visiting from Ohio. Mama affectionately called them “Yankees,” referring only to where they were from, not the more notorious southern expression “Damn Yankees.” There is a difference. To avoid sitting proper, listening to boring adult conversation, and making small talk with out-of-towners, my mother, Nancy, wearing her cotton blouse, poodle skirt, bobby socks, and flats, along with her younger sister Pat, made a quick getaway by taking a walk to the Collins Drug Store.

It just so happened, Bill had finished his shift at Pope’s Grocery and was hanging out at Collins Drug Store, with his best friend Wayman, who had a reputation as a ladies’ man. Bill and Wayman were seated at a booth and Daddy had just ordered his favorite Vanilla Coke.

The soda shoppe was arranged with a food counter and booths. Nancy and Pat sat down in the booth adjoining Bill and Wayman. As fortune would have it, Bill and Nancy could look past Wyman and Pat, who were back-to-back.  From the corner jukebox, Fats Domino, Little Richard, and Chuck Berry took turns keeping the room rocking. Eleven-year-old Pat proudly marched her quarter to the jukebox to make her own music selection. Well, you know how little sisters can be. Maybe she thought the song was about a dog named Boxer? Whatever possessed her, she did not choose Elvis’ crooning out “Ain’t Nothing but a Hound Dog.” Instead, she chose the 1949 polka called, “When Charlie Was a Boxer” by Frankie Yankovic & His Yanks with The Marlin Sisters!

Just as Mama ordered her fountain Coke, the unexpected polka music filled the air, Nancy looked down, covered her face with her hand, and blushed beet red from the part in her ponytail to her rolled-down bobby socks. Just at that moment, her eyes met Bill’s. His eyes twinkled with merriment at her situation, and he winked. Daddy could say a lot with that wink. Nancy quickly assessed the tall, blond-haired, brown-eyed sweetie and decided she would need to thank Aunt Pat one day.

Mama knew Wayman because he was the boyfriend of her friend Peggy, so Wayman began making introductions. When Wyman introduced Bill as Billy, Daddy quickly changed the name to Bill. Mama always remembered, and even though the whole world, at that time, called him Billy, she always called him Bill and eventually—her Bill. After introductions, the conversation flowed until dark was falling. As Nancy and Pat got up to leave Wyman and Bill insisted on giving them a ride home in Daddy’s coupe, with its single bench seat. When Nancy feebly protested, Wayman insisted they were not strangers and it was only a short ride. Nancy squeezed into the seat, next to Bill, with Wyman on her right. In the age before seatbelts, Pat, ended up riding home, in Wyman’s lap!