High School Memories

IT WAS LATE NOVEMBER 1966. Wet leaves were scattered on the ground, and it was already dark by 5:30.

I was a senior in high school, and I had just picked up my new high school letter jacket from the Varsity Shop in downtown Birmingham. At my side was my new girlfriend, Sue Frank, a beautiful blonde 10th grader. We were tooling around the city’s older neighborhoods listening to WKNR radio in my mom’s new Olds Delta 88. It was equipped with a full bench seat, which would prove to be helpful just as our favorite Four Tops songs began to play. 

Now, if you feel that you can't go on

Because all of your hope is gone

And your life is filled with much confusion

Until happiness is just an illusion

And your world around is crumblin' down

Darling, reach out, come on girl, reach on out for me

Reach out, reach out for me

I'll be there, with a love that will shelter you

I'll be there, with a love that will see you through.

Four Tops, 1966, First stanza of Reach Out I’ll Be There

That song was ours, and it only needed a quick meeting of our eyes to set things in motion. I was north of Poppleton Park on a dirt street when a space on the side of the road came to our attention. It seemed like the perfect little spot to stop the car and share a quick kiss or two.

Heck, it was dark out, I had my new letter jacket, and I was with my girl. Life couldn’t have been any better.

I had promised Sue’s mother that I would have her back at their apartment by 6 for dinner. It was 5:30, and we only had a mile to go—about three minutes by car, I estimated. We spent twenty minutes kissing and listening to the radio, quite oblivious to the squall that soon dumped four inches of fresh snow.

My attention was mostly focused on trying to be romantic.

At 5:55, I started the car as Sue brushed out her hair, both aware of our 6 PM obligation. I had removed my coat during our smooching and had stuffed it behind me between the front seat cushions. I put the car in drive and quickly realized we were stuck on the road’s incline with virtually no traction. It was a great spot to park a half an hour earlier, but not any longer.

I quickly assessed the situation and concluded that we needed a little traction, and we would soon be on our way. It seemed so simple in concept.

The car had no floor mats as Mom had had to order them. Using them to get traction had been my first thought. Next, I concluded that my letter jacket was the answer to our predicament, as it could be laundered. I secured my jacket from the front seat and placed it on the snowy ground in front of the back right tire. I had Sue (she had completed driver’s training) take the driver’s controls, and I would rock the car from the rear and get us up the mild incline.

I’m not sure what happened next. The only thing I remember was watching my coat wrap around the spinning tire and rear axle, pieces of maroon cloth and white leather were flying all over the place. My new coat was a goner. The car was still stuck.

We began walking toward Sue’s home, which was near Derby Junior High off Adams. I remembered halfway there that Dr. Miller, a close family friend, lived on the way, so we stopped at the house and knocked on the front door.

I still remember the smirk on Dr. Miller’s face as I tried to explain our predicament and why I was without a coat; mindful of Sue’s reputation, we somehow passed muster. We called Sue’s mom from the Millers to advise her of Sue’s safe harbor. I also contacted my mom. I recall her responding, “Well. this sounds interesting.”

Dr. Miller drove Sue home. The tow truck from the Shell gas station arrived after an hour of waiting at the Millers’ house, and I finally got home with Mom's new car, half-starving and not at all wiser.

The coat was a little big on me, but at least I didn't have to get it dry-cleaned. These became the first steps in moving on from the soon-to-be memorable events of the afternoon.