Christmas Past

Last night, I was saying to Michele that I needed to start preserving stories from my parents and grandparents for our children and grandchildren.  Then, when I woke up this morning, it hit me that there are some pretty good stories of my growing up that they might enjoy some day.  That is when I remembered about the trips to downtown Fort Wayne at Christmas time.

As was probably the case with almost anyone who grew up in Fort Wayne in the 50's and 60's, we would go downtown to see the Christmas decorations in the Wolf and Dessaur windows.

 

I remmber going down and looking through those windows at the animated story that was being told.  I remember seeing Santa and his reindeer on the side of the building.  What really resonates with me however was the shopping at GC Murphy's!

This is my first memory of shopping.  I was probably 8 or 9 years old.  Mom loaded all four of us into the car and headed downtown.  We parked in the parking garage that was a block away from both stores.  As we made it to the sidewalk, we saw the wonder of Santa, the sleigh, and the reindeer.  It was a powerful beginning to the wonder of all that downtown had to offer.

I remember that I thought this had to be the most wonderous place in the whole world!  We gazed through the window at trains, elves, snowmen, and all the other aspects of the story of Christmas.  What could possibly top this!

That was when Mom told us we were going to Murphy's to shop.  I was excited to buy gifts for my sister, brothers, Mom, and Dad.  I wasn't sure that I wanted to leave all this Christmas joy, but my mind was changed as we came upon Murphy's.  Looking back, it was so simple, but such an overwhelming sight.  Donuts!  They were being made in the window, on a machine that seemed to have endless donuts passing through it.  Then I remembered how my Dad had told Mom that she needed to bring home a dozen donuts.

I immediately reminded Mom that we had to get donuts.  She smiled at me and said, "We will get them, but when we are leaving.  Your father likes to get them while they are still warm."  My recollection of those donuts verifies my father's preference.

We then toured the store.  I don't remember anything that I purchased for anyone or how much my Mom gave me to buy anything.  In fact, I don't remember anything about the shopping.  What I do remember is an area to the back of the store.  There was music playing and a lot of young people around looking at what I later found out were records.  This was my formal introduction to what would be my fascination for the rest of my life - music!

There was a guy there who was taking requests to listen to songs.  He would then place the record on a record player for all to hear.  There was always another request when one record was finished.  Until Murphy's discontinued that feature, I would request song after song when I went downtown.

We did get the donuts when we left, and I got to hold them all the way home.  They were so fresh that I could safely tell my Dad that they were warm.  As they kept me warm, I traveled home with the glow of downtown Fort Wayne on my mind and the music of Murphy's in my heart.

Giving Thanks

I have always loved Thanksgiving.  I admit that one of the reasons is that I love turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, pumpkin pie, and cranberry sauce.  The fact that the day is filled with football doesn't hurt either.  Yet, when I look back at 68 years of Thanksgiving, what I really remember is family getting together and the warm feeling of being together.

The first memory of Thanksgiving was the drive we made from Fort Wayne to Fishers.  Grandpa Finch was the minister of a small church in what was the very small town of Fishers.  The parsonage was right next door to the church.  Across from the church and parsonage there is still an elementary school, but the church is no longer a Methodist church.  It is non-denominational.  The parsonage is in disrepair, and Fishers has been gobbled up by Indianapolis as part of its sprawling suburbs.

In those days, there was no I 69, so it was two lane roads that we traveled.  That was when I first noticed that my father never really minded finding "alternative" routes.  That is why I remember seeing Pendleton Correctional Facility on one of his routes.  I also remember the stories of family whom I had never met as we went through Marion, Fairmount, Elwood, Kokomo, and Noblesville.  Little did I realized then that I should have been paying more attention as I now continue the family tree research that my grandfathers started.

We celebrated Thanksgiving on Thanksgiving day with Grandma and Grandpa Finch.  My memories of that gathering started in Fishers and they moved to Fort Wayne. In my first memory,  I was probably 8, Annie was 6, Doug would have been 4, and Jack probably has no memories of this since he was just 2.  The memories that come back to me include the trip down singing all the songs that became a part of our repertoire on all trips with the exception of the seasonal "Over the River and Through the Woods" for obvious reasons.  Because we were the only grandchildren at the time, there were no toys at grandma and grandpa's. That year that I remember, our Aunt Marjorie fixed that by going to Indianapolis and buying a toy oven and shotgun.  That was it, but it didn't seem to matter to us, being with grandma and grandpa was enough.


The Sunday after Christmas was always with Grandma and Grandpa Morris.  Those were in mulitiple towns: Kokomo, Warsaw, Muncie, and Fort Wayne, depending on where the church sent Grandpa.  The Morris Thanksgiving was also sometimes the Morris Christmas depending on the schedules of may uncle, aunts, and our family.  No matter where grandpa was sent, the gatherings were a blast because my siblings and I had our cousins to play with as well, and because my aunt Becky was only a year older than me, she was a part of the fun.

I especially remember the house on West Drive in Fort Wayne.  In my memory it was a huge two story house with one of the best amenities ever - a playhouse attached to the garage!  It was a great place for all of us.  I don't remember really ever spending much time in the actual house except to eat.  A side note, one Thanksgiving we had a small problem when Jack decided to run-a-way in a neighborhood that he had no knowledge of.  No one really noticed until we saw him coming back.

As all of us got older, everything changed as it does in all families.  Our grandparents passed away, part of the family moved to the East Coast, more families were created as I and my cousins were married and had families.  That is when the Thanksgiving traditions changed and created even more family memories. 






When I think back to all of the Thanksgivings, at first I smile and even laugh.  The storytelling, playing canasta, Monopoly, and other games with the cousins, and seeing my own family grow and have families of there own - how in the world could I not be thankful.  Melancholy does set in as well.  I wish to have more time with those who have passed on - my grandparents, mom and dad,  and Michele's grandparents.  Yet, in sharing this, I hear them all over again.



So, thank you to the family members who are no longer with us, my brothers and sister, my aunts and uncles, Michele's family, and especially Michele, Kristin, Stephen, Tiffany, Spencer, Coen, Cali, Bailey, and Olivia.  (And JP in advance).  You have truly made my life blessed with wonderful memories.  Happy Thanksgiving to all of you!

Now is the Time

All of you who know me, know that I am not impulsive. Even though, as a teacher, I loved trying new ideas and encouraged my students to learn in whatever way they made sense to them, I also chose my words and actions after making sure that my response was one of which I could be proud and wouldn't bring hardship to those whom I love.

A few years ago I encountered an issue that I honestly didn't see coming.  I had just become a principal.  In the summer before school started, a member of the PTA came to me and wanted to paint a new Patriot in place of the stick figure that had been in the hallway since the school was opened.  Her choice was a Marine who was carrying a flag.  The stick figure had a rifle.

School started and no one cared.  Two weeks later in 2001, the world changed when our country was attacked on our east coast.  Out of the blue, a local "journalist" called to ask me if I had taken the gun out of the Patiot's hand in our hallway.  I explained the process of what we had done, but I left out that the idea that it had been brought to me by a PTA member.  His tone let me believe that he was going after whoever had this idea, and it wouldn't do me or her any good to bring her into it.

What happened then was beyond anything that I could have ever imagined.  On the first page of his newspaper, he vilified me for being unpatriotic and a traitor to our country at a time when we should all be standing behind our country.  He called for me to be fired.  It felt bad, but I thought that would be the end of it.

I want to remind you that he never came to see the new Patriot, but because the superintendent at the time was inundated with calls and emails, the only person to come to see the Patriot was that superintendent.  He looked at it  and simply said, "It looks good."  And he left.

From that point and for the rest of that year, I had death threats, became a regular target of Fox News, and had to counsel my secretary on not answering long distance calls anymore.  A militia group from Michigan came to our school property to find me.  To this day, one source of pride for me was that most of my staff had no idea that this was going on.  We were able to continue on with the task at hand - educating the children in our charge.

It eventually went away.  It never went away inside me.  What I found out from that experience was that no matter how hard you try to do the right thing, say the right thing; there is always someone who has a different view of what is right.  And no matter how right you are, they will push against you relentlessly.

To this day, I still ask the question that I can't shake - Why did they think that a gun was a more important symbol in that hallway than the flag?  What is interesting now is that those same people seem to think that there are specific ways to honor a flag that they didn't think was the right symbol in that hallway in 2001.

I realize that at this point I am beginning to head in a different direction, but not really.  Since that year, I have chosen my words carefully.  I never wanted to feel that gnawing at my gut again.  I express my opinion, but tempered with moderation.

That can't work in this case.  For too long, we have heard that guns kill and that there need to be more regulations.  We have also heard that people kill.  We need to find those who are troubled and find ways to keep them away from violence.  What have they done so far?  Nothing.

Notice they talk.  And they talk.  And they argue.  And they posture.  In the end nothing has ever happened, except killing.  Killing in shopping centers.  Killing at elementary schools.  Killings at college campuses.  Killing in Las Vegas.

It encourages me when there are so many people who ask for prayers, and I am sure that there are many of us praying.  But, I grew up with two grandfathers who were ministers.  They both knew that prayers needed to followed by action.  God's best answer to prayers come when those who pray actively work for the solution.

Rather than talk this to death again, it is time for action.  Rather than argue about what the right answer is, come to some answer.  The people of this country have faced many challenges, and we eventually get things right.  Now is the time.

The Ghost in the Car

To this day, I have the creeps when I think about this car.  I really shouldn't.  After all, my father bought it from our minister.  From what I remember, the minister came to dad and said that he was going to retire and that he wanted a smaller car.  Dad found one for him and took the 61 Ford Fairlane on trade.  The car you see above is almost exactly what it looked like.  Since dad had taken care of this car for the minister for years, he figured that it would be perfect for me to drive back and forth to college.  He was right, kinda.

In the early days of driving this car, it did indeed get me back and forth to Manchester College.  It was dependable and useful.  I was able to make a little money on weekends by bringing fellow Spartans home, and they would give me gas money.  Well, if you read my earlier blogs, you already know that I worked for my gas, so the money was an extra!  And this car could carry five students as well as me, so it worked out pretty well.

I was one of the few freshman who actually had a car on campus.  Manchester didn't rule against freshman having cars like other colleges did, so I was popular for all the wrong reasons.  Friends wanted to borrow it.  I was usually able to invoke the "my father told me I can't loan the car out" excuse.  So, upperclassmen would have me drive them places like a chauffeur.  Friends would set me up on double dates so that they could go places.  Yes, I was popular.  That is until that night we were driving to Warsaw.

Now, I am sure that if you know anything about Manchester, you think of it as a good Christian college and all of the students are fine upstanding young men and women.  Most of the time it was and still is.  But, I lived in Calvin Ulrey Hall.  If John Landis and Ivan Reitman needed a template for Animal House, Calvin Ulrey would have been perfect.  I am pretty sure that the school was constantly wanting to shut it down.  In fact, years later they did shut it down as a dorm and made it into the business building.

Anyway, somehow I became one of the major focuses of the initiation week at Calvin Ulrey.  If you want some of the details you can purchase my book Along the Way from Amazon.  It comes in both paperback and ebook.  Self-promotion is not above me.

But I digress.  After initiation was over, an upperclassmen whom we knew as "Sea Turtle" took me under his wing.  He was a senior and about to graduate which would make you think that his tutelage would be a good thing.  I guess if you call driving him to buy beer, playing cards with him until 3 in the morning, and covering for him when the dorm mother was trying to catch him doing something wrong a good role model, then Sea Turtle was fantastic at it!

How is he connected to the Ford Fairlane?  Well, he is the one who wanted to load up my car with everyone who was staying at Calvin Ulrey that weekend and go to a movie in Warsaw.  In itself, that didn't seem like a big problem.  So we got all seven of us in the car.  And it probably wouldn't have been as big an issue, if Sea Turtle hadn't insisted on going back roads.  He was from Warsaw and, of course, he knew all the short cuts.

As we wound through county roads from North Manchester to Warsaw, I realized that I hadn't really had the car out at night during the whole time that I had been in possession of it.   It started with a flicker.  At the time I figured that something was loose and didn't really pay any attention to it.  Then, when we were deep in the middle of nowhere, my headlights stopped working.  My passengers were busy making jokes at first, then Sea Turtle yelled at me, "This isn't funny!  Turn the lights back on!"

What he didn't realize was that I had been trying to turn on the lights, but they wouldn't come on.  At this point everyone in the car was either yelling or laughing hysterically (some had been drinking).  I was panicked.  I pulled over.  I turned the lights on and off.  Nothing.  I tried the brights.  Nothing.  I tried turning the car off and then on.  Nothing.

Then when I was just sitting there with the car running and the lights on, they came back on.  There was a lot of cheering, and I was told we still had time to make the movie.  Eventually, we made it to the movie without another occurrence.  To this day, I have no recollection of the movie.  I don't even remember the name, because I was worried about going home.

Sea Turtle suggested going 30 to 13, and I was more than happy because we would be on a highway.  It was a good thing, because as we passed Pierceton and the lights of the small town were in the rear view mirror,  and the headlights went out again.  The tumult in the car began again, and I tried everything again.  This time, nothing worked.  Now common sense among young men is sometimes blurred in tense situations, but in this case by now all but me had been drinking.  It was decided to go forward without the lights after we found a car to follow.  So we did.  And it worked until that car turned on a side road.  It worked again when we tailed another car, at least until the state trooper saw us.

Thankfully, he only talked to me and verified my story by testing the lights and popping the hood to see if he could find a way to fix the problem.  Because he couldn't find the answer, he said that he would escort us to Manchester.  I promised to him that I would go, during the daytime, to have my father check out the problem. My friends were like little children seeing the troopers lights flashing the whole way to Manchester.  When the trooper left us, I was finally able to laugh at the whole thing with the rest of them, but really I was so relieved to have made it back safely.

Dad never found anything.  He even had Automotive Electric check it all out.  They had it for two nights and couldn't recreate the problem.  Because I didn't want to recreate the "no lights" problem again, I seldom drove it at night.  But there were times that I did drive at night, and invariably it happened again.

There was still no answer when dad replaced the Ford Fairlane with my new car in my sophomore year.  Was it divine intervention left over from the minister?  Was it a ghost haunting the lights?  All I know is that it was the only car that I have owned that I was happy to say goodbye to!

The Transition Car

Near the end of my senior year of high school, my dad had become very frustrated trying to find out what was wrong with the electrical system in the 56 Olds.  He had taken it to Hires Auto Parts and asked their opinion, but they were befuddled by the fact that it just stopped after 20 minutes.  That is why he decided to sell it and get me a more reliable vehicle.  It probably didn't hurt that a teenager from New Haven gave him more than he paid for the Olds to begin with.

What he found for me was a 57 Plymouth.  In form, it looked like the picture attached, but I couldn't recreate the intense metallic blue color.  The car as dad bought it was a dull tan color, but dad thought that I needed something that would equal the car that he sold, and a guy who painted cars owed dad money, so that is how I ended up with a metallic blue Plymouth.

It had few idiosyncrasies.  In fact, other than the color, it was probably the only car that I have driven that  was kind of blah.  But it did have push buttons instead of a gear shift.  That took a little getting used to.

So, what can you really expect in this story.  Well, I did drive the Plymouth to my graduation at the Coliseum.  It took me to the interview for my summer job with Penn Central.  I got the job and the Plymouth was my transportation to the three clean-up tracks that I had to inspect as my only responsibility to Penn Central.

I guess that was what made that car interesting - the job.  You see, I was given a clipboard that would be called a spreadsheet.  On it I was to write the number and name from every box car that was on the clean-up track.  I was then to judge whether the company that rented the car had cleaned it sufficiently.  If it was still pretty messy, I was to go to the headquarters and look up who had rented the car and send them a bill.

I was to be at the first clean-up track near GE on Anthony by 8:00 in the morning and then I went to the other two tracks after I finished there.  When I completed the inspections, I went to the block house near International Harvester to do the research.  This process was supposed to take me all day.

It never took me more than three hours.  In fact, most days I would go to all three sites and find no box cars at all.  I felt bad, so I went to my immediate supervisor to find out if I should go out again in the afternoon.  I was shocked to find out that there was another person doing this same job later in the day.  He was always busy.

That meant that I almost always had over half a day that I was being paid, but didn't have to be at work.  And that is why the Plymouth was important.  It was dependable and gave me an independence that I had never felt before.  And the fact that a couple of my friends worked second shift allowed us to head to the lake or Pokagon on a regular basis.

It was such a great car that my Dad found a buyer for it just before I headed to college.  It was a memorable transaction.  He told me that he had a better car for me (it was previously owned by our minister); one that would be dependable.  It wasn't.  But that is the next story, and by the way,  Penn Central did not continue the inspectors position the next year.

56 Olds Convertible - Nuff Said!

In retrospect, that first car of mine might have been the all-around best.  But that is not the way I felt when dad came home with my next car.  I remember that he was really excited.  I was sitting in the living room watching television with my brothers.  After he put down the case of Pepsi (we had a constant supply because both mom and dad were addicted, and the rest of us were collateral damage), he turned and smiled at me.

I didn't notice at first, but he just stared at me.  It was obvious that he wanted me to ask him what was going on, so I did.  "What do you want dad?"

His reply was probably crafted on the way home, "It isn't what I want.  It is what I hope you want."

Cryptic, but I fell for it.  "Okay, what do I want?"

He was disappointed.  I wasn't playing the game so he tried again.  "If the car you are driving had one thing different what would it be?"

Convertible!  My answer was what any teenager of the time period would answer.  Maybe any time period.  And dad knew it.  I don't remember ever saying it out loud, but I recall that he had said that when he was young he wanted a convertible.  I think that I agreed with him.

He beamed and lead me to the door, and pointed to the car that was behind the Ford that was my first car.  I was stunned.  It was cherry red.  It was a convertible, and it was a 1956 Olds convertible!  I couldn't move.  Just seeing it paralyzed me!

But not for long!  Dad had opened the door, and I quickly followed him to the car.  I was a little disappointed when he went to the driver's side and got in.  He pointed to the passenger door and said,"Before you drive this car, you are going to have to learn all the features that it has that you have never seen before."

So I learned about the power lift for the convertible top, how to zip and unzip the rear window, how to make sure that the latch on the front of the convertible needed to be engaged, and how to make sure that the windows are aligned properly to get a seal.  That was all cool, but the  item that was on the dashboard to the left of the steering wheel really was intriguing.  It kinda looked like a ray gun.

I could tell that dad loved this feature.  It was a sensor!  You see, when I drove this car at night, I never had to turn on the bright lights, or for that matter turn them off!  The sensor did it for me.  In fact, it sensed bright lights coming at me so well at night that it also picked up street lights and lights at businesses.  So, if you can, picture what this was like for me driving around in town.  I was creating a light show as I went down every street!

The light show aside, this was the perfect car for a teenage boy, and the timing was perfect.  The summer before my senior year.  Whenever I wasn't working to put gas in the car, I was hauling my friends to the lake or cruising either Azar's or Hall's.  I have no idea whether I impressed anyone let alone the opposite sex because I was so taken by the car itself.  As a matter of fact, I was so busy my senior year working, playing football, playing music in the band and orchestra at school, and cruising with my friends, I never even had a date!

Even though I only had two cars by this time, there was no doubt in my mind that I would never have a car more cool than this one.  And even though I know the downside of the car now, I still would love to have it back.

Oh yeah, there was a downside.  No matter how much my dad worked on it, we could never find a way for the car to run more than 20 minutes before it would just stop.  Nothing would make it run until it had at least a 15 minute rest.  When we couldn't fix it, I decided to plan around the idiosyncrasy.   All trips to wherever could only last 20 minutes.  That meant that the lake was out, it takes 45 minutes to get there.  Guess when I learned about the needing rest thing!  Yep, US 30 on the way to Lake Webster.

Because it was such a beautiful car, I suffered its only issue.  Cruising worked because we could stop at Azar's or Hall's and go from car to car for at least 15 minutes.  However, when you go across town for the semi-state basketball championship at the Coliseum and your team wins, you and your friends want to go all over town screaming and yelling.  You forget about the issue.

In downtown Fort Wayne, in the middle of traffic on Clinton and Wayne, the Olds decided to rest after we frolicked for over 20 minutes.  Five of my friends were in the car with me, but one voice rang out above the rest.  Dave Howard.  Dave was five years older than us, but he was graduating with us because he had missed years of schooling because he had polio as a small child.  The polio had mangled his body.  When he walked, people were sure that he was drunk, of course he wasn't.

Before I knew what was going on, he crawled over the trunk and started to push the car.  His idea was to get sympathy because of his ailment.  The other guys got out and blocked traffic as I steered the car.  Eventually, we got close to a parking lot and more people had parked their cars to help us.  I think Dave was pretty proud that he could help.

We sat in that parking lot until the Olds decided to wake up and get us to Azar's.  That was in March and is the last memory that I have of that car.  Dad got rid of it because I needed to have a car that would get me to Manchester College, which was 50 minutes away.  I had it until after graduation, but then it was gone.

My First Car

For some reason lately, I was daydreaming about cars that have been a part of my life and the stories that are attached to them.  That lead me to try to find a representative picture of those cars.   To my surprise, I found a pretty good facsimile to the original, in some cases exactly the same.  So, I downloaded a copy of each.  That seemed a little reasonable at the time.  The pictures don't really take up that much room.

Of course, I forgot that I had saved these pictures until today.  That lead me to open the picture of the first car, a 1954 Ford Fairlane.  I stared at it and smiled.  Just seeing the two-tone beauty, it took me back to 1965 and the memories that were attached to that car.  The picture below is exactly the same colors and trim.  The only difference was that mine was a two door.  I know that because I remember my friends struggling to get into the back seat.

What happened before I got this car is the first good story about it.  For years, actually since I was 12 years old, I had worked at my dad's gas station.  I am not sure that he knew, but the guys that worked for him had taught me how to drive before I was a teenager.  When I was old enough to get my license, my dad enrolled me in driver's education.   The classes were held at the old Central High School in the basement.  There were these huge machines that had the steering wheel, accelerator and brake peddles as well as all the accouterments of a car at that time.  In each was a video program that simulated driving a car. 

The instructor for our class was the basketball coach for Snider High School.  He was adamant in his instruction that we were to be attentive to what we see on the screen, and he made a point that we should not play around with any of the instruments.  Of course that was a challenge to some of the teenagers in the room, especially Tony C who was right next to me.  

When the video started on the first day, Tony floored his simulator and attempted to hit everything that was in his way.  Mr. Kline was checking out other simulators when Tony's machine started to smoke.  Seeing this as extremely funny, Tony tried to blow it up.  Needless to say, that was the last that we saw of Tony, at least in driver's education.

Well, I passed driver's ed and got my license.  During the time that I had my temporary permit, I tried not to ride with my dad.  He was far more nervous with me driving that my mother was.  So, it was quite a surprise when dad came home with this car.  I remember distinctly that he came in the door and asked me if I would drive him back to the gas station.  I asked him, "Why?'

He smiled at me and pointed out the front door.  "I drove your car home, so I need a ride back to get my car."

I don't remember the drive to the station.  I don't know if dad was nervous.  In fact, I don't remember much else from that day.  What I do remember was that it was early spring.  I remember that the next day I went to Jim Ferguson's house to tell him that I didn't need a ride to school any more.  And I remember that for the first time in my life I felt a freedom that I hadn't even imagined.

That car was the first in a series of cars that my dad arranged for me.  Actually, by the time that I had graduated from high school, I had three different cars.  You see, my dad not only managed a gas station, he also sold cars on the side.  There were always four to five cars at the station that he was selling.  He went to the auto auction every week to get "a great deal."  When he found one that he thought was better than the one that I or my siblings had, he sold the one that we were driving and gave us the new one.  Now because I was the oldest, I probably was the recipient of this more than they were.

So the 54 Ford was the first.  I was the first of my friends to have my own car.  At the time it gave me a new identity.  My family was in no way rich, but I felt that we were because I had a car!  On the other hand there was responsibility.  I could now work more at the station, and later.  That was when I started to close the station at 11:00.  I didn't get a regular pay check for my work, but I could pull up to the pump and fill up any time.  In retrospect, I probably made a pretty good wage.

That Ford not only took me to work.  It took me to school.  At South Side High School at the time, there was no parking lot for students.  You had to find a spot somewhere in the neighborhood.  Some parked on the street near the stadium.  Not me, I found a permanent spot on the street between Azars and Sears. It was where my friends would meet me before and after school.

A year after dad brought me this car, I had my first accident.  It was totally my fault.  I had just dropped off at her home the girl that I was going to take to the junior prom.  I was so enthralled by the fact that she was going to the prom with me and that she had recently asked me to take her home from school that I wasn't really looking when I backed out of her driveway.

To this day, I think that Corvair jumped behind my car.  More likely, I backed straight out of the driveway staring at Debbie.  Anyway, I felt the crunch behind me, and I froze.  What made it more intense, when I got out of my car to see the damage, I saw the owner of the car standing on the other side of his car.  There was no expression on his face.  Slowly, he walked around the car and looked at the damage.  I walked around to see what I had done.

He only looked at it briefly.  Then he smiled at me, "Were you watching her walk away? "  I just nodded.  "Look, son, there isn't any damage to either of our cars, so learn from this, okay?'  He laughed and walked back to his house.

I never figured out what the crunch was, but he was right.  There was no damage, except to my ego, because as I maneuvered the Ford around to get myself out of the situation, I looked once more to Debbie's house.  Her father was glaring at me.

I took her to prom in that car, but when I picked her up, I could barely make eye contact with her father.  Nothing was said, but I kinda knew that I wasn't going to go back again.  And I didn't.

Soon after prom, dad had my second car ready, but that is a different story.