In midsummer 1949 I was working Central Texas towns such as Lampasas, San
Saba, and Goldthwaite, so I spent nearly every weekend in Brownwood. One Saturday afternoon (July 23) I went into
the J.C. Penney store, intending only to visit with Jack Skinner and Buryl Whitaker, two friends who worked there, but my life was
changed forever that day, for I met the young lady destined to affect nearly
everything that has since happened to me.
A necktie display caught my
eye as I entered Penney’s, so I stopped to see whether any suited my
taste. A clerk approached and offered
her assistance. She was young,
attractive, friendly, and talkative, so we chatted while I completed my
selection. I learned that she was
Arlette Wilson, the daughter of J.T. Wilson, a man I remembered from my
first year in Brownwood (1943), when he was employed at Matlock & Taylor,
a barbershop I had patronized as a college freshman.
Arlette and I discovered
several things we had in common; we were both Baptists, and we each liked
gospel music and enjoyed playing “42.”
Our small-talk probably lasted longer than would have been the case had
we each been thirty years older, but I finally purchased two ties and moved on
to see Jack and Buryl.
[One of
those ties eventually reached the Smithsonian Institution; why and how that
happened is discussed in the “NECKTIES REVISITED” section of the segment entitled
“JUST THE TWO OF US AGAIN.”]
Jack had seen me talking with Arlette, so asked, “Don’t you think she’s
cute?” My affirmative response brought
his next question, “Why don’t you ask her for a date?” I protested, “Jack, I just met the
girl!” Nevertheless, he finally talked
me into asking, so I returned to the necktie counter and invited Arlette to eat
out with me that evening.
Although I was unaware of his doing so at the time, Jack made my task
and Arlette’s decision easier by maneuvering himself to a position from which
he could signal affirmation of my good character with his circled thumb and
forefinger. She accepted my invitation.
[I’ve now
known Arlette for well over a half-century, and don’t think she has ever turned
down an invitation to eat out – so Jack’s help may have been unnecessary. Arlette claims his gesture did the trick,
however – so I have jokingly “blamed” him (at our infrequent meetings) for what
he started July 23, 1949.]
I learned she would have to ride a bus home from work, so I volunteered
to come back when she got off, take her home, then return later after giving
her time to get ready for our date. She
agreed, so I went on with my afternoon’s activities.
Transportation was effected as planned, and we left on our date at
seven that evening. We learned more
about each other while dining at a nice downtown restaurant and during a
leisurely drive to Lake Brownwood.
I met Arlette’s parents when I took her home. Her dad no longer worked at Matlock & Taylor, having
left that shop in late 1945 to manage a barber college in Dallas. He had returned to Brownwood in late 1947,
to operate his own barber college.
[I never
asked Arlette’s dad if either school used the old barber college yell, “Cut his chin/Slash his
jaw/Leave his face/Raw! Raw! Raw!”]
Arlette met several of my friends (kids who were still HPC students) the next afternoon on an outing to Lake Brownwood State Park. More dates followed on weekends when I was in town (my work assignments after finishing Goldthwaite took me much further west, some past the Midland/Odessa area, but I returned to Brownwood most weekends); we were going steady by summer’s end, when she enrolled as a freshman at Howard Payne.
◊◊◊
I had two disconcerting experiences with my old Chevy in the general
vicinity of Sterling City, through which I passed
regularly on my travels between Brownwood and towns much further west.
·
I topped a small rise as I traveled northwestward from
Sterling City one Sunday night and suddenly drove into a water-covered
depression; rain earlier in the evening had caused flash flooding, and
floodwaters hadn’t yet drained into the nearby North Concho River. My tires sprayed water over the engine,
thereby killing it and leaving me parked in a “lake.” Fortunately, no one “rear-ended” me before engine heat dried the
wet spark plugs, enabling me to restart the engine and go on my way.
·
Shortly after passing southward through Sterling City on US
87 one Friday evening I heard a loud “bang” from under the hood, followed by
severe vibration; I thought the engine had thrown a rod, but couldn’t verify my
fear by checking for lost oil pressure, for the car had no oil pressure
gauge. In the darkness I could see
nothing under the hood, so I knew I’d have to seek help, but, before I could
determine any course of action, two men (a man and his son) stopped and
volunteered to tow my car on to Ballinger, where they operated an auto repair
shop. I accepted their offer, they
locked my front bumper to their rear bumper (a common way of towing cars in the
days when autos had substantial bumpers), and we went on to Ballinger. Inspection the next day revealed a missing
fan segment; the sound I had heard was the blade striking something inside the
engine compartment after it broke off.
They replaced the fan, I paid them $35, and went on my way to Brownwood.