Courtship, A Twisted Twist and Another Dean of Women

COURTSHIP,A TWISTED TWIST, ANOTHER DEAN OF WOMEN. ( A Legacy Story)

Well shut my mouth and feed me corn pone. This would not be the last time I would find out I should always rely on my own instincts, especially where fashion is concerned. Here I stood at the doorway of what was to be my grand introduction to my sweetheart's community and probably ex girlfriend, and I was totally over yet beautifully dressed. I do not say that with false modesty. It was a blatent misjudgement of the event and how to present myself. Oh lord, this was going to be one long night.

The dilemma started when my relationship started,about the month before. Since I had met "him" and began to date him it was like a production of Luci and Desi only he had a southern accent. He was always trying to be himself and I was ultimately trying to “fix everything” or “make everything come out a certain way” and invariably it was something that would come out all wrong.

Take the current situation. I had intended to be with my parents for Thanksgiving but my now “boyfriend” Jim had wanted me to stay and go to his hometown reunion and Alumni Dance. It would mean meeting his parents and family and meeting most of the community. He had not had a trusting view of my arrangements to ride home to my parents with my exChemistry teacher who I formerly “didn't date” but saw on a personal basis for a while.

I happily stayed at college for the holiday and I was very excited at being “taken to meet his mom and dad”. It would be a little nerve racking as I had no idea how he'd presented me. This is because he didn't really like me when we met and had prejudged who I was. He had dubbed me “Miss Rich Bitch” because he said that was the impression he got of me. I had no way of knowing if he'd shared this with any of his family. He had an older brother who had graduated already from the University we attended, and a younger brother in high school.

In truth my family members were very common displaced Okies living up north. My mom and stepdad had changed careers and geographic areas to start their new life together. My new stepdad had just become a Chiropractor and destined to be a very successful doctor, but at the point we were at, he too had just gotten his practice started requiring all extra monies be invested there. While we did live in a large city by the standards of my boyfriend's area (where he came from (about 400-450 people) I guess I was a “city girl” and “doctor's daughter.” Sounded like much more than it was.

Jim had just celebrated his 21st birthday and it had been low key. I sent him a card everyday for a week before his birthday. I still have my favorite one in my many boxes of clutter I can't part with. Everything was pretty economically done and while he might have thought this was in deference to his limited funds, in truth it was due to mine. My parents sent me food money and about $10 a week for spending. Even in our day, that didn't go really far.

The excitement of going to meet his folks already had me up tight. We would only see them a little while before the Alumni dance but still I was excited and determined to make a good impression. I mentally rehearsed several times and chided my self not to “rattle on and on” as I could when I was anxious. We would be stopping at their place of business, a liquor store and laundromat. This would be a big night for the liquor store in particular so both of them would be there.

When he picked me up I thought I detected a little nervous distraction on his part. I supposed it was because he was going to see his exgirlfriend there and it would be uncomfortable seeing her with a date and also bringing someone else, an outsider. Or maybe he didn't like my dress. He hadn't said much just smiled and opened the car door. Men. I had spent almost my entire month's food allowance on this dress just to wow his hometown and that's all I get, a smile. A nice smile, but just a smile.

On the way down I chattered from nerves and the hour trip seemed to go on and on. Just about ten miles before we arrived in his hometown he looked over at me and said, “I think there's something you should know”. He sounded ominous and I thought he was about to tell me he was dumping me and going back to her.

“This is kinda strange, but you need to know it before you meet my folks”.

Jumping to conclusions and being ahead of a conversation was my specialty. I had already decided he didn't want me to tell them I was Baptist knowing how the Baptist had made his family so miserable for years. And he might not want me to mention that I was a tee-totaler since they depended on people who drank to make a living. Beyond that I figured he should know I could be quite appropriate in social situations.

“Well?”, I prompted.

“It's just that Jim Kent isn't my real name.” He was looking straight ahead and not at me.

I am sure I was unresponsive for a full minute. I was trying to figure out how we could have dated almost two months and I wouldn't know his name. And besides that, I knew Jim Kent was what I had been told by him when I asked.

He finally began to explain. I think it was easier here in the car as he had an excuse not to look at me.

“ Jim Kent is a name I used as an alias when my buddy and I used to go out picking up girls. He and I each had our own special name and that way if it wasn't good with the girl, she didn't even know who I was.”

Now, I understood what he was saying and I heard him saying it, but he obviously didn't know the bond between our gender. I was getting really steamed thinking of the girls he tricked and to me it had the ring of a “one night stand” to it. I just sat there incredulous. Why in the world would he pick now to tell me? Oh, of course. His parents won't be the Kents, and suddenly he wasn't Superman.

“I couldn't find a time or way to go back and tell you the truth after I had lied. It hasn't been easy, or fun. I've almost brought it up a dozen times but you have no idea how hard that is to work into a conversation when you don't want to make someone mad”.

I absorbed it all a little longer then decided his motives were good now. He wanted me to meet his folks and he wouldn't be doing that unless he was sincere about us so it was a good thing. And I was the girl who survived the Jim Kent Legacy and was still around long enough to meet his folks and know his real name. That was good right? So what was his real name?

Trying to be the peacemaker and keep the evening on an even keel I asked, “So what is your name”.

“Grubbs”, he said flatly.

Now he would have had no way of knowing what that did to me. Of all the surnames I had known I hated that one absolutely the worst of any. It had been the name of the Fraternity President that I considered was instrumental in breaking up my former relationship . The very reason I had changed colleges and even met Mr. Jim Kent Grubbs. Of course New Age friends I met later in life told me that if I looked at it right, the fraternity Grubbs had been right. The former boyfriend wasn't the right one for me and somehow the forces of destiny were trying to give me hints with the last name. Whatever.

I had been quiet a long time but finally I said, “So it's Mr. and Mrs. Grubbs for your folks right?”

Now I was really nervous and knew I would be a chattering magpie when we got there. I was not able to prepare myself long as we were arriving and I was at least able to say he'd been truthful about his hometown and how small it was. Three blocks of businesses and the roads on the main street and highway coming in were about the only ones that weren't dirt and gravel. Most of the residential area had yet to be paved or was blacktop. And yet we didn't have to worry about that as their business was on the main street. They owned the buildings their buisnesses were in and had incorporated their living area in an apartment like setting behind the liquor store.

We pulled up in front and they both came out to visit. It seemed odd but as it turned out I could not go in as I was only 18 and you had to be 21. They religiously ( no pun intended)enforced that law knowing anyone who had a reason to report them would. Their own children weren't allowed in until they were 21 which had just been a couple of weeks for my husband.

The introductions were made and I tried to restrain myself from being overly talkative. I did notice however that when I would tell stories about their son and our exploits at school they would give little knowing glances to each other. And I also noticed that his dad had that same s---eating grin as my husband and I knew for some reason I was entertaining him. Whenever I said the name Jim his father's Paul Newman blue eyes would sparkle and there would be that grin again.

When I asked about it later Jim was evasive but said that it was because his dad had called him Jim-bo as a kid . It made his mother mad because she had named him after her father. It was an increased conflict because his dad didn't like his father in law all that much. I learned most of his family just called him “Lund”. (I later found out Lund is a nickname that was used interchangeably between male family members at his house And much later I learned it wasn't necessarily a complimentary nickname.) Southern folks are big on nick names and “handles” so I decided to just deal with the “Grubbs” shock and move on. At the dance he was mostly addressed as Grubbs or Bull a high school nickname from his football days), so no problem and a good thing he warned me.

And speaking of the dance, we are now back where I started. Standing in the doorway with the irreverent thought “Shut my mouth and feed me corn pone.” I was looking into the room where the dance was being held. It was a large hall in a brick building on the main street. There were already a lot of folks there and I was about to make my grand entrance. Suddenly grand seemed over scaled and I was about to walk in to a dance room full of folks in jeans, western shirts, boots and pretty much small town clothes. During the course of the evening, yes, I even saw bib overalls. Now I had no problem with their choice, only that I had been led to expect something entirely different and now was sticking out like a sore thumb.

I stood there with my cotton sateen brocade dress with it's white bodice and black skirt and black matching jacket that I had bought with all my food money. My black patten heels made me taller than I was but I was feeling very small at the moment. Glad to have my big protector by my side even if he had been the one to say it was a “dressier event” and the big event of the year for their community. I now realized I had been up north too long and was sure that there would be those there who would think I was “showing off” or trying to “put them down” by dressing up the way I had. All of this went completely over his head as he was focused on the event.

We heard his friends greeting him and we were swept up into the activities as he was promptly handed a beer. They were talking about celebrating his 21st birthday tonight since he'd been at college when he turned 21. They seemed a little surprised when they heard he didn't go out and “tie one on” to celebrate. Didn't everyone? It was almost as though he'd failed some rite of passage.

I began to feel guilty like I was holding him down. I became paranoid and thought their looks were at me and indicating I was the influence who was “changing” their friend. I was not at all comfortable and getting worse by the moment. I dreaded the conversation if it ever came up I was a Baptist. Southern Baptist at that.

Suddenly I felt rather than heard the atmosphere change. A couple of the guys were giving each other an elbow signal and looking up to the front of the room. It didn't take a genius to figure out who had just arrived. When I finally looked, she appeared to be unescorted. Hell and damnation, she was beautiful. I hated dark brunettes but worse yet the only person I could compare her to in the face was Elizabeth Taylor. Her body was more a Jane Russell type body, but that face. She really was a looker.

From her first glance at me it was not pretty. She didn't like me, didn't like me being there and you could bet your bottom dollar she didn't like me being with him. While this would not be the first encounter she and I would have that would go completely over his head, it was clear the lines were drawn in the sand. In the entire evening she was never introduced to me or approached me. If she could have squished me like a bug she probably would have. Women know these things.

Her reaction to me did not escape his buddies however. For what ever reason and I suspect it was out of respect for their friendship with him and little to do with me, they began to be very friendly and dance with me and did act like I was the most entertaining girl they had ever met. Even some of the girls came over and were friendly and slowly but surely, it began to be a better evening.

The guys kept plying the “Bull” with beers of celebration and I was beginning to see a side of him I'd never seen. It was actually a little intimidating as I was always nervous around men who were drinking.

The Liz Lookalike made sure several fast dances were done in front of him and she could have fallen in his lap a couple of times she was so close to his seat at the table. But as the evening went on he was only dancing the slow ones, and only with me. And this was definitely something we did well together and it kept him bonded tightly to what was going on with us. I did learn a couple of useful pieces of information about him for future use. When he was drinking he became a lover but also became very jealous. No close or slow dancing even with his friends.

I truly think this was my first serious manipulation of our relationship. I was able to convince him we had planned to drive back to campus and I was looking forward to being alone before we got there . I even convinced him I should drive and I came to understand that was a big deal for him. After all like most people who drink, when it comes to driving they never believe they've had too much. But when your relationship is young, it is still in the phase of trying to please each other. And then of course there was the very happy part of him that was the “lover” and feeling his oats. Ahhh, thank goodness for the lull of a car in motion for putting someone to sleep.

With all the trauma of the home town initiation behind us, we started to be inseperable. We had to catch up on our time together as I was going to be gone for ten days over Christmas and neither of us were looking forward to that. I was going by train and he was taking me to the station. I was trusting that he wouldn't go back home over Christmas and get back together with the Liz Lookalike and he was trusting there would be no Chicago ex coming to visit and no visits to Chicago.

We communicated our messages to each other with some of those wonderful kissing sessions. I left to face my parents with evidence of whisker burns but no hickeys'. I had threatened him within an inch of his life and warned him my parent's would never trust him in the future. It worked. What is it with guys that they think hickey's are a personal brand that says, "This woman is taken and she is mine"?

Being home was interesting. Things hadn't changed much other than my sister and her husband living in town and the fact that lots of my friends now had new boyfriends, jobs or were off to school. I was a little bored to be sure and to say I was laying around mooning over my boyfriend being twelve hours away would have been accurate. The days were passing slowly and there was a weekend coming up.

Now there were a few things I truly loved all my life. One of them was dancing. It went to the core of who I was and growing up in my home state, it had been a staple of socializing. I felt lucky that it didn't matter whether you are rich or poor, dancing crosses all boundaries. I had a natural rhythm and my now 100 pound frame could really move. Actually it was how I maintained that frame with my "truck driver" appetite.

Recently in the dorm we'd had a contest for doing “The Twist” which had just become all the rage. Actually we had an all night marathon where you only got ten minute breaks every two hours. I made it the whole night and swore I dropped at least an inch or more on my waist overnight. It was so much fun and it always was a popular dance at every gathering. Having students from all over they had new versions and adaptations so I had more variations of the twist than the “average bear”.

I'd love to say it was my sister's fault and that she never liked me anyway. But the truth is when she asked me the favor I could have said no. I didn't. Boredom had overtaken me. With no money to shop, no person to kiss and hug, my parents working I was easy prey to my "poor me" and "I deserve to enjoy vacation" attitudes. I may have grown in many ways, but I think I was and had been since age 16 a "Tinkerbell". It's all about me, it's all about me.

The favor was pretty cut and dried. Her good friend had a brother in high school who wanted to compete in the weekly dance contest sponsored by a local radio station. It was held every Friday night and hundreds of teens attended. They would pick a dance and judges would roam around picking "the best" and keep narrowing the numbers down until there were only two couples left for a dance off. This week it was going to be the Twist. Oh man, my favorite. And he was just a high school kid, and it was for her good friend, and my sister who didn't really like me sometimes was wanting my help. She even said she told them I was great. Flattery will get you everywhere with a Tinkerbell.

My hesitations were two fold. I didn't want to make Jim mad and I didn't want to go back to the scene of a bad memory. The ballroom for the dance was one of the last places the Quiet Guy Ex and I had been together. We had a "separation of the ways" before I left college for the summer and agreed to see other people. Toward the first of July I was attending a dance with a bunch of my friends having as good a time as I could under the circumstances. I always wondered who he was with and where he was. It was probably because I was out and wondered if he ever thought about that and wondered about me.

I had just finished a rousing dance and went to sit at the table with a really neat guy friend who had just happened along that night. I'd already leveled with him about the breakup and that I was seeing other guys now. He wanted to fix me up with his buddy and we were having a good time together dancing and laughing when I got "that feeling" again. It was like something was going to happen. I felt rather than saw him and the look on the face of the guy I was laughing with said it all. He looked then had to crank his head to see the face of a very tall person.

I heard my name and steeled myself before turning. Acting skills don't fail me now. I turned to look up into a very tan face and was surprised his face was not cocky or confident. He asked, "Is it alright for me to be here? I went by your house and your mom said it would be okay to find you." Who was this meek guy and what had he done with my sparring partner?

I tried to act nonchelant and introduced him to my gang of friends which were all taking in the drama. Looking at my friend nearest at hand, he directed the next question to him. "Would you mind if I danced this one with her?"

My friend's quick look to me for the answer found me already getting up out of my chair. We went out on to the dance floor and he asked if I thought he'd created a problem with my date. I told him no because I wouldn't allow him to be a problem. I said that my friend had no insecurity problems where we were concerned. Lie, lie,lie. I was going to hell for sure and thank goodness noses really didn't grow everytime you lied.

I was unable to relax in his arms and that had never happened before. He ignored it and said he was working a summer job about thirty miles away and just took the chance he could find me. He was afraid calling wouldn't work.

Old feelings were stirring and wasn't this our pattern? Fight, talk, make up. On and on. The end result of that night is he had brought his convertible and we went for a moonlight ride along the river and talked about many things including trying it one more time. His fraternity was having a big do in Chicago and could I come up for the weekend and meet his parents and little sister?

Now reason to me said this was a "next step" and that it was a make it or break it for us. His whole fraternity would be there and it was a bold move for him to bring me with his Pledge Father there and basically amounted to him making a public choice about us. Also he wouldn't include his parents into the scheme of things if it wasn't going to be "important". Meeting them and his little sister whom he adored and staying at their house was almost like a commitment to a future outside of his beloved fraternity life. I agreed to go. Absolute deal breaker when it finally happened but I couldn't have see it going in.

Back to the present. Here I was going back to that same ballroom and with another guy that was just a friend. A new friend actually. I was pretty sure there was no reason for my ex to show up or know I was in town. Having stood him up Thanksgiving and remaining in my home state to go to a dance with my boyfriend had in my mind been an afront that said it all. But as a precaution I made sure my parents knew not to talk to or share where I was or even that I was home if he came or called.

My hesitation about telling Jim I was going out I whitewashed in my mind. How could he care about me being a dance partner with a high school boy I didn't even know. We were just going to dance and then I'd go home. Sounded simple to me and I so wanted to dance in that dance contest. I had really missed that one thing after I went to college. I never found a place that wonderful to dance. Sort of like American Bandstand in real life.

The agreement was made and I was very excited about going. My first clue I was being dumb should have been that I didn't tell Jim when he called and we talked about how I was going to spend my last couple of days at home and confirming my train time so he could drive to that town and pick me up. It was going to be so wonderful to see him and be with him again. And this time there were no interrupting holidays to separate us until Easter. Hallelujah.

My sister arranged for the high school partner to pick me up at home. Seemed natural to me. We didn't know how long we'd stay or anything. Parking at the ballroom was always hard and taking two cars seemed a bad idea. I might have to walk alone a block or two. Crime wasn't that bad in that time and place, but it never paid to take chances in the downtown area. Pretty dark and bordering on a rough neighborhood.

When he came to the door I was surprised. He was really cute and it shouldn't have surprised me as his sister was too. His greek good looks made it more likely we'd be a "noticeable" couple dancing. I liked the way he dressed and he was a good dancer. We just couldn't "practice' at my house before leaving. It felt too "hokey" and we decided to wing it when we got there. The contest wouldn't start for a while and we would be freer to dance and develop a style when we were actually there.

The place was jammed being a holiday with all of the college kids joining in and back from their respective schools. When the contest began we all were just having fun and slowly but surely the number of couples on the floor were being whittled down. Finally I noted we really were down to about ten couples. The DJ announced a ten minute break before selecting finalists. We each went to our respective bathrooms and agreed to meet.

I ran into different friends and acquaintances from high school and caught up with abreviated answers to "where are you now? Do you like it?"I was especially glad to talk with a former classmate of mine. Actually he had been a year ahead but we were in the same drama clique and we did work together on drama pieces. In fact we had the distinction of doing the first "racially mixed" dramatization in our schools history. It wasn't a big deal to me but looking back from a matured and experienced perspective now, it was a very big deal.

The premise of the piece we did was about a white southern girl who falls in love with her family's house servent's son. "Deep Are the Roots" was the schools first test of racial bounds in class room work. And after all, I was really from the south and he was really African American, still referred to as "colored" and becoming "black" in the sixties. Yes we turned some heads.

I remember two things about that event. He and I had a natural rapport as friends and yet he was the one with the "hang up" about race. I once offered him a ride after school and he wouldn't get in because he "respected" my parents as southerners. I assured him my dad wouldn't care, but he would not get in. Later in repeating this to two of my southern friends, one I grew up with, one I'd met in high school who lived in Arkansas, I was not prepared for the reactions. It made me so mad that I totally wrote off the Arkansas friend, and the other one apologized and said he hoped he would "grow" on issues like that.

Now here we were later, and in the dance competition together as competing couples. He always was the best dancer in school. Tall and lanky and let me tell you that boy could move any part of his body. And he was good looking. We wished each other well and my westend redneck dance partner of greek decent was back. He didn't seem to take any particular interest or make any judgements one way or the other about my conversation with my friend.I realized I liked this new friend, We returned to the contest.

It was down to this. My friend and his date, and My new friend and me. We were the last two couples in the contest out of probably close to a hundred. I give so much credit to my partner as he was a doll and danced like a John Travolta in the making. I do give myself credit where credit is do. Most people had not yet seen the techniques and variations of the twist I had learned at college. Ultimately that was what swayed the judges because we just were so fresh and new.

The DJ called both couples up on the stage to announce which couple had won. I was just impressed to be there and to win was unbelievable. To beat my dancing hero was more than I could have ever hoped. And he and I were both satisfied it was not a racial thing as he said to me, "Girl where have you been learning all that? I learned alot tonight just watching you." We laughed and congratulated each other and then we heard the DJ saying, "OK couples, let's do it. Switch partners".

It was tradition for the two top winning couples to exchange partners for a dance. I had no qualms about it and as it turned out, neither did my partner. But once again, my friend refused. He told the DJ on an "aside" conversation that he didn't want to dance with me because he was concerned my southern parents might not approve. Nothing I could do would convince him otherwise. It was awkward but the DJ said, "Dancing again together, the winning couples".

Now I am sure there were some cynics who made up their own stories and my friend and I made sure we laughed, talked and stayed near each other the rest of the evening so people would't think there was a problem. But truly in the climate of the sixties it could have ended a whole lot differently with people jumping to conclusions. We even left the dance walking together to the parking lot. We never had a discussion where we said, "hey someone's going to think it was a racially prejudice decision on someones part not to dance together", we just all four knew it and handled it so there were no problems.

It remained in my mind that night as the night of the."twisted Twist" It was such a twisted belief system that holds people down and apart as friends and fellow citizens because of the color of their skin, religion or ethnic differences. It was another reinforcement in my lifestyle commitment to approach life and people as I had been taught. With unconditional love.

And maybe "no problem" as a result of the dance isn't true. When I got home Jim had called to console me on spending my boring evening at home. Only, oopps, I wasn't there. Now faced with the growing relationship being honest and solid, I didn't hold back when he called again. I excitedly told him about winning the Twist concert out of all those couples and how I'd won these records and a transistor radio. I told him how I had kept the records but let my partner have the transistor radio as I already had one. I was so excited telling him about my friend not dancing with me, and seeing all the kids back from college, and....and...was the phone line dead? No one was talking.

Finally he said, "So who was this partner?". The tone warned me. Shades of my Military Classmate date. I told him my sister's friend's kid brother. "How did you get to the dance?" Now I never saw that one coming.

"He drove me".

"So he's not such a kid. How old is he?"

"Not sure, probably seventeen".

Silence.

"Well, I hope you had a good time and enjoy your records. I hope it was worth it. I gotta go." Click

Now life wasn't so simple in those days if you wanted to call someone. He called me as he had my number. I had no number to reach him. His folks had a payphone in the laundromat they used if they needed to call and I honestly didn't even know if they had a home phone. And was he even home?

Damn. Limbo again. The last conversation we'd had before I really ticked him off, he was going to drive to the town where the train lets you off and pick me up. At the tone of his voice and the conversation ending abruptly, I honestly didn't know if he'd be there. I would be stuck without a car at night at the station miles from college or family. All I could do is wait to see if he showed up and then call my aunt and uncle to come get me if he didn't. Providing they were even in town from the holidays.

For his part, I was to learn it was the pivotal decision of our relationship. His first inclination was that he was through. There was no question we had an "understanding" and by his definition I cheated on him. No way in hell he was picking me up at that station in 48 hours.

I waited for the call that didn't come. I told my parents nothing about it as they would have micro managed the family to rescue me. And what if he did show up. He'd think I didn't have faith in him. Well, I thought I did but during the long ride there, it began to waiver.

Words actually fail to describe how I felt when I saw him at the station, My god I thought I'd lost him. I had absolutely no understanding of all of the reasons he had to mistrust in relationships, but I was going to be darn sure he didn't have to doubt how I felt about him. I would have flown in to his arms and showered him with kisses but the aloof man who picked me up intimidated the heck out of me.

As we rode in silence after some preliminary though restrained greetings, I could not attribute the sick stomach to my usual motion sickness. The tension had grown so bad I just wanted to yell pull over and I'll call someone or walk. I don't want to sit through this and have you treat me like someone who did something terrible. At that very moment I almost got my wish.

The car jerked off the rode abruptly and he jammed the gear into position as he killed the engine. It was dark and no traffic was around. I literally think I began to shake. I can't give you all the particulars of the conversation because it was too emotional and too long to put it all together. I do know he chastised me for cheating, told me my weaknesses were chosen and a sign of immaturity (big surprise there). And then he caught my attention.

He began to tell me how if we were going to make a go of this there couldn't be any more of these tangents and I needed to be committed or get out. Thankfully he meant out of the relationship not the car. He never asked me to marry him he just began to talk about when we did get married and all the things that would be expected in the relationship. He was exhausted, frustrated and thru trying to be the perfect date and the perfect man. He was challenged by the finances of staying in school, exhausted by the physical demands of the hours of study and dating and he had all he could do just to stay focused. This up and down roller coaster of "us" had completely put him down.

I began to look at him in the dim light provided by a nearby light pole. He looked like he'd lost weight and he had that look of someone who truly didn't feel good. I felt awful and more so because I was taking all the responsibilty for the things that weren't right about how things were going. I just wanted to comfort him and make him feel loved. He looked absolutely haggard.

We began to talk after that about getting married. We decided to "run it up the flagpole" with my aunt and uncle. They had married at about the age we were then and were in school and studying and working. Almost to our surprise they were very supportive and never even brought up the fact we'd only been dating two months. We began to think seriously about it and decided to check out our options.

We were almost to the end of the semester. If we eloped we could get an apartment and only have one rent and share expenses. Had to be cheaper than what was happening now. Also, we wouldn't be wearing ourselves out trying to make time for each other as we'd be together all the time unless we were in class. And the almost determining factor in our critical analysis was that my aunt and uncle were moving to a larger apartment and they were moving in January. Perfect. We could rent their apartment.

Their apartment was completely furnished with just one bedroom, living room, bath room and kitchen. Situated across the street from the South East corner of campus it sat on the busline and abutted a small grouping of businesses. It was perfect for us and very cheap. This was all coming together so neatly that it must have been meant to be. Hah!

So it was that we found out all the ins and outs of getting married. There were required blood tests, notifying the dorm and Newman Club about vacating the respective rooms. Changing over rent with the landlord and changing all the paperwork at the college. This was where it got complicated and ultimately hit the big brick wall (we thought).

We planned to elope on Friday night and be married on Saturday with my aunt and uncle as witnesses. We had to get the blood tests a week ahead and then everything was done and ready. But remember the counselor I told you was so diligent and gave my such sympathy when I feigned the migraine headaches when we had our first fight? She paid me a visit when she heard my plans and that I was moving out. Her reasons were legitimate, her concerns were understood, but her job was to report this to the Dean of Women and thus I got a summons to appear.

The short and sweet of it from the Dean was that if I didn't call my parents and tell them she would. It was Tuesday before the elopement. I left there absolutely horrified at having to tell them ahead of time and hear their response. They had not even met him, we'd been together a little over two months and hadn't I just been "crazy" over someone at the last college less than a year ago? It was a night mare.

I met Jim at the apartment as he'd helped my aunt and uncle move their things. Not a big deal considering the apartment was furnished. Simply, but furnished. We only had to move our personal things in. My aunt had left us dishes to get started with and we had linens though they didn't fit a full bed because both of us had twin or bunk beds. That was certainly the least of our problems. I broke the news to him that we had to call my folks.

Wednesday night after class it couldn't be put off any longer. Well, actually I did manage to put it off a little. I made Jim call his folks first. I figured they had to know if my folks knew because there was no way I was starting off a marriage with one side perceived as the favored side. And he was the first of three sons to get married. I had only met his folks once and it was briefly the night I learned he was a Grubbs. His mother was polite and friendly, but sharing one of her sons after having that all male family her whole marriage was going to be an adjustment for anyone. And I thought woefully, "She doesn't even know we're Baptist yet".

It was interesting to hear him when he called. It was much later when I realized they could probably count on one hand the times he'd ever called them unless it was an emergency. He talked to his dad briefly then said something like, "well I just wanted you to know Joyce and I are eloping this weekend." Apparently his dad had quit talking but wouldn't give the phone to his mom. Finally he blurted out, "Well we don't have to get married or anything like that", at which time his dad became very antimated and congenial to speak with. He must have left it that we'd see them when we were married and hung up.

We had gone to my aunt and uncle's who had a phone. My aunt then called my mom and talked about this and that then said , "By the way your daughter is here. I think she wants to talk to you". Wrong. It was the thing I would most not want to do. Encouraged by the ease with which my husband to be had gotten off (forgetting his mother had never gotten to be a part of that conversation), I began with, "Hey, guess what."

To say it didn't go well would be such an understatement. To borrow from the Bible there was crying, wailing and gnashing of teeth and after talking to both of them finally my mother hung up. They hadn't even ask to speak to Jim. I was so upset and crying and mad at the same time. My Tinkerbell persona was back in full glory not even trying to consider the blow this would have been to them let alone all their misgivings. I stormed dramatically out of their apartment and we went back to "ours".

It was at this point I first learned the "mettle" of the man I was too marry. He was being the diplomat and trying to help me see my parent's point of view. He was being the peace maker and saying that he would just keep the apartment, I could stay at the dorm. He would get better acquainted with my parents, and maybe by the time we came back to school in the fall, it could be as a married couple.

I was having none of it. I ranted they should trust my choice and we'd already paid for and had our blood tests. He pointed out we could do that again later. I said we had rented the apartment and financially this was our answer to him being in college and having less stress and making the honor roll which I knew he could do if his life wasn't so hectic.

Looking at him I knew all this was taking a toll. He'd dropped almost fifteen pounds since the holidays and in later life as a nurse I would look back and believe he was surviving a bad case of mono complicated by what we called in those days "trench mouth" from the fevers and the weight loss causing his nutrition to bottom out. Subsisting on one meal a day at the Sonic just wasn't cutting it.

Suddenly I heard a pounding on our door and Jim opened it to see my uncle standing there . "You better get back over to our place. Your dad's on the phone".

I was absolutely rivoted to the spot. My mom had always had a heart condition as a result of damage to a valve following rheumatic fever in her childhood. I truly thought she must have had a heart attack. Later I would think back on that and realize my mother was stronger than any five people and there was no way she would have left this world without micro managing my marriage.

As we arrived back I heard my aunt saying as she wrote shorthand on a tablet, "Yes, a photographer. I know a great bakery. I'll get the church, don't worry. She can find something to wear and I have my veil that mother can bring when she comes." I couldn't believe it. My mother was so mad and blamed my aunt for "letting this happen." She told her she was in charge and she was to put a church wedding together and since I refused to postpone it, they were coming this weekend and there would be a wedding, and it would be in a church so find one.

My aunt, the younger late in life child of her familly knew when her older sister spoke, you better listen. She found a church whose pastor had one rule. He had to personally counsel the couple before he would marry them. So it was we went to the mandatory counseling session Friday afternoon.We shared about the fact I was Baptist, his background of church was Catholic. Our parents had not met nor knew anything much about the other. He was from a family of boys, I had only a sister. His parents had a liquor store, mine were tee-totalers. We had no jobs and were both in school and oh by the way, we were only there because the Dean of Women had screwed with our plans to elope by demanding I tell my folks. And my mother mandated we have a wedding in church.

You see the crux of this whole thing hinged on the Dean's demand and the truth is she nor anyone in the college or dorm had followed up to even see if I complied. It was that thing I'd had since childhood of blindly following authority figures demands because that is what I was taught. My life lesson on this is that sometimes that's a good things and sometimes it is not.

The only doubt in this whole episode that I had took place during the counseling session. After he had listened to our "shortcomings and challenges" he began to talk to us about marriage and responsibilites. Then he talked about how the ceremony would be conducted and where people would stand and so on. But it was the information he gave about the actual ceremony and what would be said that almost stopped me in my tracks and gave me a true moment of panic and doubt.

The minister said, "I will say to you, do you James Grubbs take", Jim stopped him right then and there.

"Maybe you need to use my real name."

My mouth dropped open, my head jerked around toward him, and I know I had the most shocked look imaginable. "What did you say?"

Still looking directly ahead he repeated to the minister, "Maybe you better use my real name."

The minister didn't seem to think anything about it. Many people go by a name other than their formal name. But I knew this was much, much more than that. How I knew was just instinctive and because we had gone from Jim Kent to Jim Grubbs to???????

"What would you like me to say?" asked the minister with pen in hand.

"Well you better use my real name, Herman. Herman Grubbs".

Now I was about to fall out of my chair. The Grubbs still grated on my nerves sometimes due to the memory of who it reminded me of, but I had pretty much put that in the dark recesses of my conciousness. But this. This was too much. And I felt he had deliberately lied to me. I insisted on an explanation right then right there and in front of the minister.

He didn't figure he had lied. His dad did call him Jim-bo and had nick named him that because he hated the name Herman. It was his father-in-laws name ( my husband's maternal grandfather). I figured he had lied as when he told me that the night of the Alumni Dance, he let me think his grandfather's name was Jim. He said no, I had just assumed it. My fiance' justified the story by saying he just chosen to go with it. He didn't think it was a big deal.I of course was remembering it was part of his "one night stand" name.

At this point I am putting things together rapid fire. I thought back to when his friend from Newman Club had acted funny back at a dance when I asked him to give "Jim something". I thought it was just that he didn't want to do it because Jim and I were having a spat. But he probably knew Jim Kent was an alias he used when he was going to dump a girl and wondered why he still let me think it was his name. Undoubtedly he probably thought he was still stringing me along til he found someone else.

Then there was the time I met his folks and embarrassed myself in front of them calling him Jim and probably insulting his mother. I suddenly was faced with the realization, I just might not know this guy as well as I thought I did, or should. I definitely was nervous now and I thought there was no way to take time to think about it after everyone had left and were driving hundreds of miles, a wedding was planned for the weekend. I sure hoped I hadn't fooled myself and that all those things I believed and felt about him were real.

I reasoned the "dishonesty" had been well intended on both sides anytime there had been a problem like his name or my Christmas date, so we were going to take a step of faith and proceed. It would be sometime later, more than a few years, before I would learn that he'd had cold feet too . He actually drove up to the church from his hometown and was almost late because he kept driving slower and slower trying to decide whether he should go through with it. He felt he loved me so he did arrive. He said he kept thinking maybe we should wait and then finally told himself if it didn't workout he could always get a divorce later.

Knowing my family oriented husband and his fierce loyalty and devotion, I could hardly believe that when he told me about those doubts. When we talked about it more recently he said that what he learned is that he didn't know himself as well as he thought. He had been put down for so many years and so many disappointments had happened that he began to believe his own "press". He didn't know the strength of his character until after he married. He had seen good relationships go sour with marriage and had few good examples to draw from. And he learned he wasn't that kind of "jerk" (not the word he used but will serve the purpose.)

He learned then that the fact there had been so many problems in his parent's marriage and other marriages familiar to him had actually strengthened him and made him a more committed husband and eventually father. I on the other hand told him it was just me bringing out his best. I truly believed he was a strong and good man, and that proved to be true.

Let's get on with this wedding now. My mother was formidable and never ignored. My aunt had found the church just a half a block from my dorm and Newman Club that had that Sunday afternoon open. Just like the location of the church being somewhere in the middle between our living areas, it was also not Baptist and not Catholic. He and I considered it a neutral beginning. We had survived our counseling with the minister though I am not sure he survived us.

We ended up with ushers from the Philipines wearing their traditional formal shirts made from pineapple fibers and beautifuly embroidered. Another usher was a friend from India with his turban and traditional beard.

We had a beautiful traditional wedding and even found the wedding dress of my dreams which had just arrived that day (Friday before the wedding) at a bridal shop. It had to be altered down to a size two. No kidding. I wasn't sure my folks would want to pay for it so Jim magnaminously said he would. Both of us prayed he wouldn't have too in the end, but he wrote out a check for it and completely drained his bank account.

Jim (Herman) looked exceptional in the black pants and shoes with a White Coat and black tie. My uncle had worn the white jacket in his wedding and I wore my aunts "crown" veil. I still have the torn piece of paper that was pinned to the cleaners bag when Jim picked up the coat for the wedding. "Grubbs" is all it says, but I know the significance of it forty five years later.

I carried a white bouquet resting on a small white Bible and the white three tiered wedding cake was covered in white icing roses. There were white corsages for the moms and a white carnation for the best man and groom.

It turned out the bakery was owned by fiends from my hometown. Their twins were in college here so they'd moved their bakery so they could live at home and put them through school with their business. They went all out on short notice to make it and attended our wedding as well.

The photographer found my husband so photogenic that for more than a year the picture of him taking a bite of cake from me was a big eight by ten display in their studio. They said that's the hardest shot to get to turn out and his was excellent. By contrast they did not display the picture of us kneeling during a prayer. The back of my gown was gorgeous and it was a very special shot but we noted that on the bottom of my new husband's one shoe was a big hole in the sole. It was a sort of foreshadowing of things to come. Glad we didn't know it then.

Many relatives from my family were there including my step dad's two identical nieces who had been in many weddings at their tender young ages. They served as flower girls wearing blue velvet dresses and their brother as a ring bearer. Now keep in mind, this was done in three days. We called Wednesday and were married Sunday afternoon. Yet all the important amenities were in place and the memory and pictures would grow more precious as the years went by and we could share them with our children and grandchildren.

And did I mention the ice storm? There was a glare ice storm My parents, sister and brother-in-law had to drive through coming down Friday through three states. Normally a twelve hour drive it was a humdinger and much longer. Saturday it cleared off and unbelievably Sunday when we got married the sun was shining and it was 76 degrees and gorgeous. I have to say it was wonderful and I have actually counted my blessings so many times that we had that beautiful wedding to look back on. And our children enjoy seeing the family support we had.

Not everything was perfect. My biological father was a patient in a tuberculosis sanitorim and we didn't think he could make it. Jim's older brother was away on business and couldn't get back in time. And the Newman Club priest told all the guys they were not allowed to come as it was not a Catholic ceremony. Many sneaked out anyway and the two Phillipino ushers were from the Newman Club.

Not knowing my sister would be coming I had asked my aunt to be my Matron of Honor and Jim had asked my uncle to be his Best Man. Those had been the "elopement plans" so we just went with it.

We really all laughed when my one grandfather walked out and looking at the highly decorated car read the inscription and said, "Oh, I didn't know they were going to Hot Springs for their honeymoon. " The inscription was, "Married today, Hot Springs tonight".

Then there was the brief "reception " at our tiny apartment. Friends, and I use that term lightly, had short sheeted the bed, poured rice throughout the apartment and refrigerator, and I almost caused a family fued and didn't know it for years. It turns out my husband's uncles had brought some scotch and were drinking when my family arrived. They hid their glasses with the amber fluid in them. With all the mess and things I found in our apartment, I thought one of our young college guys or the naughty hometown guys had been crude and put pee in the glasses so I poured them out when I found them. When the men went back and found them poured out they thought my tee-totaling family had done it. It explained some of the animosity early on.

And of course there was the limburger cheese on the manifold which didn't show up until we took the car out the next week and as it heated up the smell was over whelming. We had to drive in snow and cold with our windows down. It took two months to get rid of all the smell.

All things considered we did have a good memory and it was very special. Of course the effort of some of the guys to give us a mini "chilvary" that night completely torked off my new husband as we had classes the next morning. He made it, I didn't.

In the first week of our marriage, I managed to food poison our guest and ourselves. I only knew how to cook three things and one was "hungarian goulash". My guest and I made fun of my husband for having three platefuls. When he began to feel bad and vomit we thought it was strictly over indulgence. But the sound of him heaving in that little apartment drove her back to the dorm early.

At two in the morning a knock on the door brought other friends from the dorm who had been sent by the doctor. Our guest had ended up in the hospital and he wanted my husband and I there to be checked as well. He assessed me and wanted to admit me for dehydration. I refused to stay saying I was on my honeymoon. The kindly doctor smiled and told me as sick as we were it wouldn't do my husband any good to have me home . But home I went. It was my first experience of sharing the "great porcelin throne" with someone as we had only the one bathroom and we threw up all night and I missed another day of school.

It was also the week I learned my husband was a sleep walker. At one point I woke up to find him in the middle of the bed toward the bottom. He was up on his hands and knees counting down as though he thought he was in a football game and was going to run on the "magical" number. I had no idea what to do and knew if he did down, set run he would go right over the headboard through a window. At the last moment I thought to bring up my foot and placed it against his chest. I shoved with all my might and he went flying off the end of the bed into the living room. (Our bedroom was about eight by ten).

Our blind friend brought us a small gray kitten as a wedding gift. My new young brother in law was our first overnight guest and had been smitten by one of the dorm mates from the wedding and came to visit. I made egg salad realizing no one would dare try my hungarian goulash for years to come. While my husband and I were at the store to get pop, my brother in law watched the cat get into the bowl or egg salad but never said a word to us when we returned. He smiled alot as we ate then after we'd had our fill and thought it odd he didn't eat he told us. That was part of a life long "pay back" that has gone on in the practical joke field between us low these forty five years thus far.

That was the week we learned about issues of the "hair kind". My hubby needed a hair cut and we couldn't really eek it out of our non existent budget so I offered to cut his for him. I told him I had cut my dads and many people including so many of my dorm mates. He decided he could "trust" me, but we had no scissors or clippers. We took the double edged razor blade from his shaver and the rest is history. My handsome sexy husband had to wear eyebrow pencil blended into his hair line for some days.

I am still not sure if it was retailiation but one day he sat looking at me intently and said, "I wonder what you'd look like with short hair?". Well all my insecurities at now being an old married woman and still having a vision of his ex sparked my competitive "want to please" nature. I decided I would cut it to please him.

I knew I could do a good job even though I was working on myself. I cut it and went to model it for him. He sat looking and rubbing his chin with his index finger extended (a trademark habit of his) then slowly shook his head no and said, "nope".

This was the point where I could have beat him senseless with that iron skillet his mother had given me. The first time I ever met my older brother-in-law he'd told me to use that skillet if my husband ever got out of line. I was mulling over that option as I saw how nonchalantly he had blown off the results. Didn't he realize how long it would take to grow it out? I now thought I understood Samson after Delilah took away his power from his long hair. I felt the same for a very long time.

But we did survive, we did have lots of adventures, funny and awful. We struggled, we challenged ourselves and each other and as I write this it has been forty five and a half years since that original wedding took place.

The one thing we both agree on is it could have been smoother, better and perhaps a little more "sedate", but our pride in surviving it and knowing that in the end we love each other and eventually proved to each other there is a great reward in honoring those vows in the end no matter the path you took to get there.Definitely a legacy we hope is passed on in the family as much as is possible.