The pulpwood truck and prom night

Early April, 1959. I had a date for the prom. I had a beautiful gown, all lavender, strapless, full skirted netting, ballerina length. BORROWED from Mary Kate Mantel. I had new white pumps, an early graduation gift from my sister. I had a new pair of thigh high hose with seams. I yet had to figure out how those things were suppose to stay up on my skinny legs. I would do one of two things. I could use Mama's garters and roll the suckers down to just above my knees, or I could sneak my sisters new garter belt and temp the hounds of hell if I got caught wearing it. I planned to temp the hounds because Mama's garters would let the whole mess sag and look like I had wrinkles on my ankles.

My best friend Dot needed a gown. I owned a cousin in Atmore who owned several gowns.

Brilliant!

Dot's daddy owned a pulpwood truck. We conned our way into using that trap for a trip to do some borrowing. We told her dad that we were going by my house for a few hours. That wasn't a lie, we did go by my house on the way to Atmore.The lie was that we didn't tell her dad and mom just when and where we were going.

We skipped school without our parents permission.

The pulpwood truck sat on a rise so as to be cranked easier as it rolled down hill. The gear shift was located in the floor. Dot took it out of gear, I pushed it off the rise to get it rolling, she turned the key, the motor caught, I jumped in, and we were OFF.

As we passed my house I laid down so as not to be seen by Mama in case she was out front. I wonder to this day why I bothered. Mama had no thought of her girl pulling such a prank. Besides, why would Mama stand out front to watch for her school skipping, lie teling, pulpwood truck riding daughter to pass by.

Mercy!

So we laughed and shifted that old gear stick all down through Sardine and Sizemore hills and hollows and across two bridges.

The wind blew our hair as we had to keep the windows rolled down to keep from choking on gas and oil and grease and pine tar smells. We were going to Atmore to borrow a beautiful gown, prom was on our minds and the world was our oyster........................

We clanked and rattled and scraped up to my cousins house to stop and unload. Only problem was there wasn't a rise on 4th avenue to park so we could roll it off for ease of cranking.

Huh?

Like Scarlet O'Hara, we would think about that later.

We stated our mission, got a gown and rushed out to do a fast getaway. My Aunt Barbie, my Daddy's sister just happened to ask if my folks knew I was skipping school. I froze. She smiled and told me to go right home.

"Yes, 'um"!

Luck was on our side, the motor turned over first thing, we stripped the gears to drive around several blocks to head back toward home since Dot didn't know which gear was reverse.

Forward Ho!

All the gauges in that antique were broken. We weren't sure how much gas we had, how fast we were driving or if the radiator may be about to boil over.

Going down hill Dot would clutch it, I would shift into low so as to keep the thing from going too fast as the brakes were questionable. She fought the steering wheel and pressed the clutch and brakes. I worked that gear stick. I believe we did to those gears what is known as stripping.

We laughed and sang and gasped and laughed some more that day.

We passed back by my house as I pressed my face against the truck door and peer out the window in what must have looked like the WWll cartoon picture of "Kilroy Was Here", to see if Mama was still watching from the front porch.

We made it back to Dot's house with the pulpwook truck still in one piece. It also kept the smell of gas, tar, oil, grease and the odor of one shared Kool.

We chinked the tires with a block of wood to keep it from rolling away.

We went to prom all gussied up in our borrowed gowns. I kept my stockings up and the seams snaking with my sisters sneaked garter belt.

My coursage was a beautiful orchid. My date had taken orders for a Brewton florist for coursages and boutonniers so as to get his free choice of my adornment.

Cost was important to us.

I was happy to ride to Prom in his sister's old gray wood paneled station wagon.

That night was magical. Everybody danced to the Rock-n-Roll tunes.

Mrs. Shirley Vickery came to tell me and Bob how well we danced.

I probably looked like a bad case of St. Vitus on the gym floor that night, but I was having the Prom of my life in my borowed gown.

If Mary Kate Mantel reads this article, THANK YOU!

I was grateful that my ballerina length gown didn't allow others to see how my stocking seams had gone crunk and the mess sagged around my ankles despite my sister's garter belt.

Life was good in those waning days of our youth and the fear of something that hadn't surfaced yet, like algebra finals, to delay our graduation.

***Lately I have been seeing all the young girls in their beautiful prom gowns and the hair styles done up professionally to wonder if they will ever have the sweet memories we did back from 1959 in borowed gowns and curls done up with Bobbie pins.

 
 
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