Thanks to a writer friend posting his story about dancing at " Fanger", I decided to write my story about dancing in a "juke".
Circa 1962, both my parents were gone. My Mama's sister took the responsibility to caution me to, "stay outta them roadhouses". Aunt Cora was firm in her belief that dancing in a roadhouse would be my ruination and her shame to bear.
Oh Brer Rabbit !
Aunt Cora's son Doug, same age as me, loved a roadhouse like a possum loves persimmons. Doug ask me and my coworker Shirley if perhaps we wanted to go dance to Chubby Checkers TWIST at the Peppermint Lounge in Pensacola.
" Ain't that the newest roadhouse in town?"
"Yep and it's hopping".
My first foray into the world of roadhouse dancing and "drinks on me" cousin, we went.
Neon lights all twisted like sticks of Christmas candy canes, music spilling out onto Garden Street, sailors in bell bottoms shoving to get inside, I was dizzy.
Suave cousin Doug pays the cover charge and escorts me and Shirley to a table against the wall. He informs us that he always keeps his back to the wall in a roadhouse.
I wondered about that.
The band was good as far as I could tell because this was the second live band I had ever listened to. The other being one from Montgomery that played at my senior prom in 1959.
I was giddy to dance. Doug ordered drinks as he pulled out bills from his wallet. This being Friday night and Friday being payday he was flush.
My cousin was the cat's meow. Handsome and dressed in Orden's finest.
Girl heads turned.
Doug seemed to know everybody there. He introduced us to his friends.
I smile and flirted and danced the Twist.
I was drinking coke, Shirley was having whatever Doug was having cause she was as sophisticated as any old girl that ever came out of Vernon, Florida. It didn't take long to realize that Doug was here to drink, and if Shirley and I wanted to dance we better accept all the invitations from Doug's friends and the bell bottomed Navy.
I did.
Shirley did.
Doug drank. His face took on a red glow, then slacked.
What fun. The band played the Twist about every third song, and when they took a break the jukebox played the Twist.
Over and over and over.
Then the band played on....................the Twist.
I said a silent prayer to ask Jesus not to come back tonight because I didn't want to face judgment here in the Peppermint Lounge dancing the Twist.
Aunt Cora had more of a problem than me being in a roadhouse this night.
Long after midnight as the Twist was making me tired I returned to the table to find cousin Doug puddled underneath.
He was smiling and mumbling.
Shirley and I helped him into his chair. I put his billfold into his back pocket, fished out his car keys and helped to drag his drunken behind out to pour him into the backseat.
I drove by Shirley's apartment for her to get her car and follow us to Doug and Aunt Cora's house in Warrington.
I parked the car, put the keys in Doug's pocket, locked the doors and went home.
Until the day she died, Aunt Cora always cautioned me to, "stay outta them roadhouses".
I have always loved dancing. Fast, slow, Country, Rock -n-Roll, just let me on the dance floor. For many years I was the designated driver for our friends as I never drank, but if I got to a juke, a fancy ballroom or a backyard BBQ and the music was playing, I danced.
If dancing is a sin, then me and Jesus gonna have to work it out.
***Cousin Doug died a few years ago. His funeral was attended by all four ex wives (one a Dolly look alike) and his dog. His ashes was scattered in Blackwater Bay from the dock behind his beautiful home.
RIP Aunt Cora and cousin Doug.
