The Story
When last we met, I had just purchased a 1974 Mustang II. The date was April 7, 1978. The location was western Nebraska. The purchase was the result of an event that had taken place a couple of weeks earlier. This is the story of that event.
Brief Summary of 1976-1978
As previously mentioned, my family moved from "Earling County," South Dakota, to "Snobbytown," Nebraska, in July 1976, when I was 15. By the time the main part of this story takes place, I had spent two long, miserable years among the unfriendly, cold-hearted kids of this town (1).
I used to be a very stubborn person when it came to trying to make friends; therefore, it took me a long time to learn my lesson and stop trying to make friends with these kids (so no one can say that I did not try). More importantly -- as far as this story goes -- the more I tried and failed to make friends, the more unforgiving I became toward my parents for having put me in this situation without giving me any say in the matter (thankfully, a lot of parents are not like that anymore). Even worse, they refused to care that I was being treated like an outcast here. Whenever I mentioned it to them, they usually told me I was probably doing something to make them not like me (I'm sure we all remember how frustrating it was as kids when our parents didn't believe us; but aside from this one particular quirk, my parents were very decent to me). [Note: Years after I graduated from high school my dad finally admitted to me that he had hated it here as much as I had and that he had actually believed me when I told him what the kids were like here (because the adults weren't any better). I did my best (which was not very good) to restrain myself as I asked him, "Then why didn't we move!!!!???" He replied, "Because at that time I was too proud to admit that I had made a mistake and that you had been right." As frustrating as his answer was, it was also a relief to hear it because it proved that I had been right all along (I had given him two warnings that proved to be accurate even before we moved here). For the record, my dad was a master at getting along with almost everyone in those days, so if he had failed here, then I knew I had never stood a chance.]
In the fall of 1977, when I was a junior in high school, I brazenly started making plans to go back to Earling County for a visit during spring break in March 1978. By that time, I had concluded that a short visit would be better than never going back at all. My plan, such as it was, involved a long-term psychological strategy that was designed to convince my parents to let me make the 630-mile roundtrip by myself since they refused to take me. Yes, it was quite a radical fantasy for a teenager, but I felt that I had nothing to lose by trying.
I had chosen spring break because Earling County High School didn't have spring breaks, which meant I would be able to go to school every day for the entire week as a guest and see all of my old friends (and the many, many beautiful girls) in one place.
A kid from Snobbytown High went on my Sioux County excursion with me (the only time we ever did anything together). Like my dad, he had no idea that I had an additional plan. After we had explored a couple of long-abandoned houses about 30 miles from Snobbytown (and a building that may have been an old post office), I told him that it would be "fun" to drive all the way to the South Dakota border (a distance of roughly 100 miles from Snobbytown) before returning home. He wasn't overly thrilled with the idea, but he didn't protest loudly enough to make me change my mind (probably why he never did anything with me again either ;-).
The sun was starting to set by the time we were about twenty miles from the border. At about the same time, we drove into a thick fog that was like driving into a wall. In the fog and darkness I took a wrong turn on one of the back roads (I guess my map wasn't very useful in foggy darkness ;-), and I ended up having to turn back when I was about three miles from the border (by my best guess). After we drove out of the fog again, it snowed on us all the way home; however, there was not much wind, and it was far too cold for it to stick to the highway, so I actually enjoyed the drive on that dark, nearly deserted two-lane highway. Not long after I arrived home, I bravely told my dad how far I had gone, because I wanted him to know -- for future reference -- that I knew how to "take care of myself" on the road. He took it well (at least I don't remember getting in trouble).
In fact, he was obviously so okay with it that he let me go on a similar trip two weeks later: On February 4, 1978, I convinced him to let me drive the pickup to Hot Springs, SD (map), which happens to be roughly 30 or 40 miles beyond where I had driven (roughly speaking) the first time. Once in Hot Springs, a friend of mine from school (a real rarity in Snobbytown) and I were supposed to spend the night with his grandparents before returning home the next day. The trip went very well, and we had fun being as free as adults; however his grandparents weren't home when we got there, so we ended up spending the night in the pickup in a motel parking lot, and we definitely froze our rear ends off!! (You'd think...)
[Musical Note: Shortly after we arrived back in town from the long trip and were driving through a residential area, this song, one of my favorites at the time (I still love it), played on the radio. For some reason I have never forgotten this bit of trivia. It was in the Top 40 at the time.]
By early March, my psychological tactic and my now proven ability to drive long distances seemed to be having an effect on my dad. He was still no where near letting me drive to "Earling County" for an entire week, but he did seem somewhat less resistant and less argumentative whenever I brought it up (or maybe he was just ignoring me ;-). Whatever his mindset really was, I continued my efforts with as much (or maybe even more) intensity than ever before.
Small (but Necessary?) Kink in My Plans
For some reason (maybe I was afraid to go alone? or maybe I felt empathy? or both?), I asked another kid, "Joe," if he wanted to go with me, even though we weren't friends. Joe had moved to Snobbytown from "Van Camp," SD (not its real name), the previous summer. He disliked it here as much as I did (and for the very same reasons), so I thought he might enjoy getting a chance to go home too. I told him that if he could get someone to come to Earling County from Van Camp to pick him up (a distance of 50 miles), then he could go with me. He eagerly agreed. Unbelievably, his parents agreed to let him go with me before mine had even agreed to let me go -- if they agreed to let me go. You can be sure that I used their permission for their son as ammunition in my own efforts to get my dad to let me go.
Bet 'cha Can't Guess...
I very briefly described the sequence of events in a letter to my old best friend (and maybe exaggerated a little, as only a kid would exaggerate, regarding the arguments): "In January, I asked 'Joe' if he would like to go along... He jumped [at the chance] in a second. So I made plans, worked out a schedule and got into a heck of a lot of arguments with my family on how I was to get there... Finally, on the very last day before spring break, I persuaded my dad to let me have the pickup!"
In spite of the blatantly leading title of this entry, did you honestly think my dad would really let me go? Needless to say, I was thrilled beyond words.
One of the last things my mom said to me before I received permission to go (or after?) was, "You can never go home again. Those kids probably won't care about you anymore."
I didn't believe her because I had the letters to prove otherwise.
Hot Springs Lesson: Not Learned
Being a kid, I still managed to skip one minor detail during my months-long planning. It was the part part where I bothered to inform my friends in Earling County that I might be coming to stay with them. I think part of the reason I made this error in judgment was because I was afraid no one would offer to let me stay with them, even though one of my best friends, "Kevin Patterson," had already invited me several times in his letters. The other part (actually it was the biggest part) had to do with the silly notion that I wanted to surprise them by showing up on their doorsteps after driving the whole way by myself. Or maybe I didn't want to get my friends' hopes up, just in case my parents refused to let me go.
The Day of Departure
Finally, the day of departure arrived. One month afterward, I wrote the following to my old best friend: "At 6:00 a.m., Saturday, March 18, we left!! I couldn't believe I was going! All the way there, 'Joe' and I talked like best friends. [The only difficulty] was that his first track meet of the season was to take place on Friday during spring break [back in Snobbytown]. So I said I would call him on Wednesday [to plan our return to Nebraska]. He [said he] could have cared less about the meet... It was the coach that made him nervous... At 11:30 AM, I dropped him off [at "Herron," the designated location in eastern Earling County. His friend was already there waiting to drive him to Van Camp.]"
Did I mention that I was "a bit" annoyed with Joe's last-second announcement regarding a track meet? Well, I definitely was. Joe had neglected to tell me about the meet at any time prior to our departure. I was angry that I now had to return to the miserable Snobbytown two days sooner than I had planned. I had waited two years for this trip and had been planning it for several months. I wasn't thrilled to have an unexpected, last-minute announcement shorten it. Joe should have changed his plans to accommodate me, not the other way around, especially at this late date.
First Official Stop
After dropping 'Joe' off with his friend, I drove back to "Earling," the town in which I had lived from 1970 to 1976 (ages 9 to 15). I shouldn't have stopped there at all because "Kevin Patterson," the friend with whom I hoped to stay, lived 35 miles northwest of "Earling."
My letter continues: "[In Earling, I] saw Tom working in [his parents' grocery] store. He was nicer and friendlier than ever before. I talked with him and Ken and some others until 4:00 PM. Tom asked me to go to the recreation hall (formerly the movie theater) with him that night to visit (so did Ken). [But I didn't have time for that.] I then left for 'Kevin Patterson's' farm because in his letters he was always [inviting me] to stay with him."
The "Fun" Begins
I drove 23 miles west on pavement, then I turned onto a gravel road to drive the remaining 12 miles. Due to the spring thaw, the gravel roads were very muddy, and it was very slow going. After the long drive up that very muddy road, not to mention the really long drive from Nebraska, I was very disheartened to find no one home at the Patterson farm. I later wrote to my old best friend: "I went to their place, but no one was home. I parked right at the edge of their driveway because it looked like a recently drained ocean up there. But I got stuck [anyway], and it took me twenty minutes to get out using two boards."
In order to get unstuck, I had put the pickup in four-wheel drive and then placed the boards under one or two wheels to get some traction. After several attempts, I made it back onto the gravel road.
Leaving it in four-wheel drive, I then drove a half mile north of the Patterson farm and turned east onto a roller-coaster road that consisted more of dirt than of gravel. I chose this muddy route -- very hesitantly -- because it was the shortest route to the farm of "Calvin and Charlie Nelson," twin brothers who had also been best friends of mine. By taking this road, I only had to drive five miles. If I had taken the only marginally safer route, I would have had to drive 30 miles. I took the two boards with me in case I got stuck again. A month after my visit, I wrote of my decision to take this road: "Then I was a nut and took the shortcut road between Patterson's and Nelson's."
I made it roughly one mile before I got stuck again, this time at the bottom of a small valley where the mud was much worse than it was on the slopes and peaks. I had already successfully raced through one or two or three similar muddy bottoms, but this one was the worst of the bunch, and I got stuck about half way through it. The more I spun the wheels to try to get out (and in spite of using the boards again), the pickup continued to slide ever closer to the steep ditch on the driver's side. For some reason the wheels on only one side of the pickup were working. After ten minutes of struggle, and with the driver's-side wheels now only inches away from going into the ditch, suddenly all four wheels kicked into gear. The pickup lurched free of its very precarious spot. You cannot imagine how relieved I was. It would have been terrible to have been stuck in a deep ditch thirteen miles from the nearest town and five and a half hours from my home with night approaching and neither the Pattersons nor the Nelsons knowing I was in their midst. Another farm was located near the spot where I had gotten stuck, but I didn't know the people who lived there, and I certainly didn't want to have to bother them.
I carefully nursed the pickup the remaining four miles (thankfully, all of which was flat) to the Nelson farm and happily knocked on their door. To my utter dismay, no one was home there either!
I was becoming quickly disillusioned, not to mention very nervous. Evening was rapidly approaching, and there was no one else I knew who would invite me to stay with them for a week. And I had no choice but to stay in Earling County because Joe, who was now comfortably situated in his hometown, would not have been able to return to Nebraska without me (at least not without a lot of difficulty). With just a bit of panic starting to set in, I waited for my friends to come home. I wasn't about to drive back to the Patterson farm on that terrible road, and I didn't want to drive the long way around for fear that the Nelsons would return as soon as I left and the Pattersons still wouldn't be home. After an hour of waiting, I gave up and drove the sixteen miles to "Annin" (where "Earling County High School" is located). I didn't know what I was going to do. I felt completely lost. How could I have been so stupid as to not tell anyone I was coming?
Arrival in "Annin"
In my letter a month later, I described what happened (without telling my friend how terribly worried I was): "When I got to Nelson's, no one was home, so I waited for an hour. No one came, and I was starved, so I decided to go to Annin to eat. When I got there, it was 6:00 PM, so I thought I would take a look at the school before it got dark [sunset was at 6:50 PM, Central Time]. As I was coming down the [side] road [from the school] toward "Pete's" Bar [which was located on Main Street], I saw two kids running across the street into [Pete's]. One was a little slower, and I knew that it was Calvin Nelson by his gorilla walk [I was exaggerating a little, of course]. I acted like I was going to hit him with the pickup. When I got within ten feet, he finally recognized me, and all he could say was, 'MW!'"
Think about this for a moment: There were approximately 800 people living in Annin in 1978, yet I had managed to stumble into Calvin and Charlie Nelson completely by accident only one minute after I had arrived. If I had not decided -- completeely on a pointless whim -- to go out of my way to look at the school before going to the restaurant, I would not have found them. I could not believe my good fortune. My relief was immense. I quickly parked and joined Calvin. Charlie had already disappeared into the bar without seeing me. Calvin and I joined him.
Securing Lodging
I learned that Pete's was a hangout for the younger adult crowd (18 being the legal drinking age in South Dakota in those days) and minors. Underage kids were allowed to hang out in the south half of Pete's, drinking pop, eating snacks and playing pool or pinball. The City Bar, on the other hand, was generally considered the hangout for older people (it was -- is -- located one door south of Pete's, just across the side street). Calvin and Charlie and their mom, "Dora," had gone into the City Bar just as I was arriving in town (not a scandalous thing in tiny western towns where there are only one or two places for people to get together to visit). The boys had not wanted to hang out with the older crowd so they were on their way to Pete's when I ran into them. If I had driven down that road five seconds earlier or later, I would have missed them.
While we were in Pete's, Calvin and Charlie asked me what I was doing in Annin. I explained that I had come to visit for the week because it was Snobbytown's spring break. They asked me where I was staying. I explained in so many formal-sounding words that I hadn't completely made that determination yet, hoping they would take the bait. They did. They immediately "dragged" me to the City Bar, where they presented me to their mother and then proceeded to "charm" her into allowing me to stay with them. It wasn’t necessary. Dora would have said yes, no matter what, and meant it with all her heart (she had known me since I was 9). She is, and has always been, one of the most generous ladies in the United States.
I hadn’t felt such intense relief in a long, long time. I had come very close to living as a transient in the freezing March weather that night -- and maybe even for the next week (at least those were the fears that had been going through my 17-year-old mind). I did not know who else to ask to take me in for a whole week. There really wasn't anyone else that I would have wanted to stay with, or who would have invited me to stay with them (maybe Tom or Ken in Earling for a night or two, but not for an entire week; besides, I had definitely not come here to stay with them).
An hour or three later, I followed the Nelsons back to their farm. We spent the rest of the weekend on their farm having as much fun as possible. I later wrote to my old best friend: "On Sunday we had to clip cow's ears (90 head). All Calvin and I did was push a few cows into the chute [every so often] and then sit and talk for a while."
I loved every minute of being on that farm, where life was so much more fulfilling and relaxing and contented. You name it.
Going to School
On Monday, I rode to school with Calvin and Charlie. I asked the principal (who was new to me) if it was OK for me to attend classes as a guest that week. He said that was fine. In April 1978, I wrote: "Then came Monday morning, and I was as nervous as a cow. We drove into town that morning, and the first person I saw as I walked into the school was 'Lorraine' [a former classmate] who acted surprised and happy to see me (she is now married to 'K.R.M.' - they're parents) [FYI: Parenthood in high school in Earling County was extremely rare]. Then I went into the hall and saw Kristi, who was sitting on the floor. I tapped her with my foot, so she would look up, and when she did she stared a second until she recognized me, and she said, 'Well, hello! Where've you been!?' Then I saw 'Sareena' and died 10,000 deaths on the spot! She is so beautiful. I went to classes with Calvin for the first five periods; then I went to the gym to watch the girls practice track for the last two periods. Everybody, and I mean everybody, was so friendly that I never wanted to leave again. That was about all I did [for the rest of the week]."
At one point that first morning, "Sarah," a younger sister of Sareena, and upon whom I had had an unrequited crush in junior high, hurried up to me in the hallway. She had heard I was back and wanted to see for herself if it was true. After I greeted her, the first thing she said (with a hint of awe) was, "Gosh, your voice is so much deeper!" I felt honored that she had come to see me. I did, however, quickly learn that she was, after two long years, still dating our fellow classmate, "T.E." They never got married to one another, though.
Initially, Kevin Patterson didn't seem very happy to see me, possibly because I had not stayed with him. I pretended not to notice his cold-shoulder treatement and visited with him as much as possible during some free time in one class. I explained that I had stopped at his house first and that I had even gotten stuck in his driveway and then again about a mile northeast of his house. He eventually warmed up and became as friendly as ever.
What My Trip Home Was Really All About
In fact, I spent a day or more at Kevin's farm. I was very happy to discover that he still had the best sense of humor in the United States.
AND! -- and this is what the trip was really all about! -- Laughter is the best medicine. And I needed huge doses of it after living in totally humorless Snobbytown for two years (NOT an exaggeration). During the time I was around Kevin I laughed as I hadn’t laughed in ages. I laughed with great gusto and sincerity and humor until I couldn’t keep my face straight for any length of time without squeezing the sides of my mouth together with my hand. Even as I laughed continuously and uncontrollably, I was aware of just how much I needed to laugh. I felt myself "healing" (so to speak) by leaps and bounds every time Kevin uttered a syllable.
One of the most memorable moments of the entire vacation came while Kevin was driving me back to the Nelson farm on that muddy back road. Of course, as is true of reading a movie script, the following brief converation will not be funny in print, especially as written by me 30 years after the fact, but, as delivered by Kevin at the time, it was hilarious. That notorious road between the Patterson farm and the Nelson farm contains several 90-degree curves.
As Kevin approached the first curve at about 40 mph, with no indication that he was planning to slow down, I panicked and said, "The sign says ‘15 mph'!"
Kevin replied, "Aw hell. If the government had its way, they'd have us get out and push our cars around these corners."
I began laughing uncontrollably, and I couldn't quit. I think I laughed for another mile or two (at 40 mph). Eventually, I knew I had probably laughed too much according to Kevin’s standards, but I couldn't stop; so I turned my head toward the passenger window and continued to laugh silently for the remainder of the drive. With each exhalation, I laughed hysterically yet silently. As I inhaled, I could feel the next laugh not wanting to wait its turn. With each laughing breath, I felt my well being increase exponentially. Oh, how I had missed all the creative kids of Earling County!
A Rare Bit of Unrepentant Selfishness on My Part
In fact, I had missed those kids so much, and I was having such a wonderful time "recuperating" among them that I got really selfish and did what many would consider a terrible thing. I didn't call Joe in Van Camp on Wednesday, as I had promised. Instead, I called him on Friday, the very day of his Snobbytown track meet. I had made him miss it, and I didn't feel bad about it at all, which was a first for me. Until that week, I would never have considered doing such a selfish thing. However, he had made it abundantly clear during our drive to Earling County that he didn't care about the meet. It was that statement that gave me the courage to be selfish.
Returning to Snobbytown
I wrote to my old friend: "They didn't have school Friday (dang bust it!!). I was having so much fun that I never did call Joe in Van Camp until Friday, so he missed his meet. We left at 6:00 AM [Saturday, March 25] from "Herron" [where I picked up Joe] (which means I got up at 5:00 AM). He didn't sleep that night, and since he was mad at me, he slept all the way back. The last thing he said to me as he got out of the pickup at his house was, 'I hate Snobbytown! There's nothing nice here!' Everything I had done for him since last fall no longer mattered. He was mad because I made him miss a track meet that he didn't care about. I even told his coach that it was my fault, but he still isn't friendly anymore."
That coach was definitely mad at me (so mad that it necessary for me to transfer out of his history class to another history class for the remainder of the year!), but I didn't care about him in the least! Nor did I care whether or not Joe liked me anymore because we hadn't really been friends prior to the trip. I just knew that he had loved the "extra two days" in South Dakota as much as I had, so he shouldn't have been mad at me. If it hadn't been for me, he wouldn't have had those two extra days to remember for the rest of his life.
Conclusion
Having been completely free for one week had a major effect on me. I could never again be the dependent kid I had always been before. I wanted to continue to have control of my own life (as much as possible). On March 31, 1978, one week after returning from Earling County, I went car hunting (on my tiny motorcycle) and saw a 1974 Mustang II at a local car dealership -- the very sort of car I had long dreamt of owning. I went home and got my dad to go back with me in his pickup. The two of us then visited with the salesman. I was allowed to test drive it for a week, and I bought it on April 7, 1978, for $1,450.00.
On May 31, 1978, my parents let me drive my new car to the northern Black Hills of South Dakota to visit my old best friend (the one to whom I had written the letter I used throughout this entry). I was only able to stay for two days because I had to return to work, but it was still great to be free to go whenever I chose to do so (relatively speaking).
I shall tell you all about "Breaking Free, Step 3" this summer.
[Musical Note: I shall always associate two top 40 songs from the week of March 18-25, 1978, with my amazing visit to Earling County. This one played on the radio just as I was struggling to wake up at 5 AM to return to Nebraska (among other times). This one played one night as we were driving around the countryside talking about girls. They were both in the Top 40 at the time.]
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Footnotes
1.) I want to make it very clear that not all kids in western Nebraska are like the ones in Snobbytown. In fact, this town even has a reputation in the region for its snobbishness. I've heard this from several people, including one just two days ago who grew up here and then lived in other places as an adult. Here is another example: In about 2001, a new teacher was hired to teach in the school where I used to work. That school is in a town about an hour from Snobbytown (also in western Nebraska). The new teacher had lived in Snobbytown since about 1991, so his two daughters, both in their early teens, had spent their entire school lives here. They had never known anything different. The first day of school that year was only a half day long. After the final class let out for the day, I was standing in the hallway with two or three teachers, including the new teacher (whom I had actually had known when he lived in Snobbytown; in fact, it was he who had convinced me to take the job at that school back in 1998). His 8th-grade daughter saw us as she got out of class and raced quickly up to us with two or three other girls in tow (her new friends). She had a huge smile on her face. Her father asked her, "So, how do you like it here?" She replied, almost shouting with glee, "I like it waaaayyy better than Snobbytown!!!"
I forgot I was an adult at that moment and let out a huge whoop of agreement! Further vindication! ;-D
P.S. Just in case you're about to ask, no, I have no [expletive] idea what I am still doing in Snobbytown. Life doesn't always work out as we would wish.
2.) Regarding my psychological strategy to get my parents to let me drive to Earling County: For some inexplicable reason, I had come to embrace the idea that you could manipulate other people's thoughts with trickery when I was 8 or 9 years old. One day in about 1969, I found a brochure on the Cosmos, a famous tourist attraction in the Black Hills of South Dakota. I was instantly fascinated. The brochure had pictures and also explained that the laws of physics do not apply there (the brochure also used words that I could understand). In the Cosmos, balls appear to roll uphill; tall people appear to be shorter than short people, etc. I desperately wanted to experience these phenomena for myself, but I knew my parents would probably say no. So, while they were not at home one day, I packed both of their suitcases for them, hoping that would make it seem "easier" for us just to get in the car and go. When they got home, I showed them their suitcases and tried my psychology on them. They were very amused and maybe even a little impressed, but they didn't take me.
After that failure, it didn't occur to me to use that sort of psychology on them again until late 1977, shortly after I saw a fascinating portrayal of that trickery in a certain landmark movie. That trickery takes place in this short exchange. ;-) Now don't laugh, because it worked for me!
