Showing posts with label HS stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label HS stories. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 27, 2022

Adventures in One Act Play - Spring 1982


In 1982, during the spring semester of my sophomore year of high school, I participated in my high school's entry in the state's annual One Act Play (OAP) contest. The school theatre director's selection for the year? A dramatization of the great American novel, To Kill A Mockingbird. Believe it or not, the show turned out better than the phrase "high school production of To Kill A Mockingbird" might lead one to believe. Probably because most cast members were just mimicking what they'd seen watching the Betamax copy the Academy Award-winning 1962 movie adaptation that the director wisely made readily available.

 

Over the years, I've come to disdain arts competitions due to my ever-evolving philosophical beliefs regarding the nature of art. However, competitions are prevalent in our society and, thus, our school systems, so I won't bore you here with my thoughts on the matter. I'm unsure how much the OAP rules have changed in our state over the past 40 years, but back in '82, each school was allowed 10 minutes to set-up, 40 minutes to perform the show, and 10 minutes to tear down.

My ego would not have allowed me to admit it at the time, but my acting skills were mediocre at best, even when one considers the talent threshold at the high school level. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the company of the people in the theatre program at my school so I auditioned for the show, despite growing friction between me and the school's drama coach (and adults in general, to be honest). I thought I'd be a shoo-in for the role of Dill, described in the book as 'short, blue-eyed, and smart' (and if by 'smart' they meant 'smart-ass,' I was all three back in '82). However, the 40 minute cutting/editing/butchering of the play we were using completely deleted the character of Dill, so I was outta luck there. The lead roles were rightfully assigned to actors better than I, then all the bit parts went to upperclassman and those who physically resembled the descriptions of the characters. Where did that leave me? As an "alternate" - the understudy for the 8 male roles in the cast. Probably not the best choice as I had no desire to memorize lines for one character, let alone eight. Turns out I liked the idea of being part of a production more than actually being part of a production, so I ultimately ended up where I belonged. Shrug.

Design on the show's cast/crew t-shirts

After-school rehearsals were a breeze for me as I was never asked to perform. Ever. You'd think the director might prepare for the possibility of needing an understudy by saying something along the lines of, "Let's do a run-through from the top and this time, let Mark play Jem." Sounds like a solid rehearsal technique to me, but no. Occasionally subbing me into a role would have not only frightened me into learning everybody's lines and blocking, it might have instilled in me as to what what my actual purpose was.  As it stood, I probably could have pulled off the roles that didn't have many lines such as Boo Radley or Judge Taylor. Instead of being an actual understudy, I was just another crew member, building sets and hauling things around. But I think that may have been the director's intent from the beginning since, as I mentioned earlier, we weren't really getting along.

Rehearsals were normally uneventful because I didn't do much beyond clowning around backstage, but I recall two occasions specifically. First, there was a cast member who had a new-fangled Walkman and would let me listen to it while he rehearsed onstage. The whole concept of these new personal stereos was mindblowing to young Mark at the time, so it was quite a trip and quite a treat to rock out backstage without disturbing the action onstage. And that was how I was introduced to one of my favorite albums of 1982, because in that cassette player he had a tape of the Asia album.

The cast member with the Walkman and the Asia tape introduced me to much more good music over the next few years. We spent countless hours at his place watching MTV or travelling into Houston to buy albums. Amazingly, we've never lost touch over the past 40 years, still text often, and see each other about once a year or so - he's a life-long friend. And to think we originally met backstage in the high school auditorium.
The auditorium (left) as it looked in 1982. Built in the '40s, it was a dump and safety hazard in '82
but remarkably still in use today although the surrounding school buildings have been demolished.

The second memorable rehearsal wasn't quite as enjoyable. The role of sheriff Heck Tate was played by Bruce, a senior who I knew mainly because our families attended the same Presbyterian church. As sheriff, his costume included a pair of handcuffs and, at one dress rehearsal, he thought it would be amusing to handcuff me to the urinal in the men's room, just off stage left. And there I stayed for the duration of the rehearsal as members of the cast and crew would drop by to laugh at me or threaten to use the urinal. Hysterical, right? It could have been worse, I guess - at least I was fully dressed. When rehearsal was over, I was released. To this day, when I talk to members of that cast, they inevitably bring up that night. Did I say earlier that I enjoyed the company of these people? Lemme rethink that...  

Over the 7 - 8 weeks of rehearsals, everything eventually gelled and the play advanced through various levels of OAP competition: zone (March 16), district (March 25), region (April 10?) and qualified for the state tournament in Austin on the campus of The University of Texas. Fortunately, all cast members stayed healthy so I was never asked to step into any roles. Unfortunately, I caught a case of the measles during spring break so I spent the following week (March 29 - April 2) at home, the sickest I have ever been in my life: high fever, disorientation, hallucinations, the whole nine yards. Naturally, the director was rightly panicked that I had exposed the entire cast to the disease, but there was no outbreak and things returned to normal fairly quickly.

Bus rides to competitions were long but lively because most teenage 'actors' don't know when to turn it off. Four albums immediately take me back to those bus rides and contest trips: Beauty and the Beat by The Go-Go's, I Love Rock N' Roll by Joan Jett, Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap by AC/DC, and Time by ELO. Oddly, "Yours Truly, 2095" from the latter album became a common sing-along on bus rides to and from performances. Imagine 30 overly dramatic teenagers singing a bad ELO song at the top of their lungs on a big yellow bus and you get an idea of what was happening back then. And we all thought "Big Balls" was hilarious.


But all this was secondary to the fact that we made it the state competition. At the time, there were 5 different classifications of high schools in Texas based on the school's student population. My high school was in the second largest classification, which meant that we would compete against 7 other similarly-sized schools from around the state on Thursday, April 30, the fourth day of the state meet.

About two weeks before the state contest, I was informed that I my "application to serve as a member of 1982 State Meet One-Act Play Contest HONOR CREW" had been approved. This fact was met with great surprise, especially when you consider that not only hadn't I applied for an honor crew, I had never heard of it. My guess is that our self-appointed "technical director," a senior, wanted to participate in the honor crew and didn't want to go alone, so the director nominated both of us.

The Honor Crew was initiated in 1977 when the state meet invited Austin high school students to serve on the production staff. For several years, the crew experimented with students from ten Austin area school districts. In 1982, this program was made available to students throughout the state and students from twenty-four districts were chosen in the first competitive process. With little experience and few qualifications, I somehow made the cut to this inaugural state-wide crew. I later found out why it was easy to be selected.

While this was a supposed honor and a means to represent the school at the state level, there was the matter of missing school for an entire week in order to participate in the crew. Normally not a big deal, in fact, what kid wouldn't want to be excused from classes for a week? Three problems, though: 1) I didn't have good teachers that year so being gone for a week was a huge hassle for all involved and didn't do my grade averages any favors, 2) I had already missed a week of school with the measles, but, more importantly, 3) I would miss participating in the high school band's big Concert and Sightreading Contest that would take place at some point during that week of the state OAP meet. To say the band director was furious would be an understatement. To compound the problem, the band director was also a family friend and choir director for our church's chancel choir. This led to a tense meeting with the school principal, myself, my mother, and the band director. The principal wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer and said something like, "Well, sounds to me that if you've got 15 trumpets, losing one won't hurt," and his complete lack of musical understanding meant that I was off the hook. Somehow, the family friendship with the band director survived that ordeal.

And so it came to pass that myself, the aforementioned "technical director," and his father, a counselor at our high school who acted as our chaperone, spent a week in late April 1982 at the fabulous Chariot Inn in Austin.

Chariot Inn postcard from the MFD archives.
There's now a Volvo dealership at the location.

The above postcard is captioned on the reverse: "IMAGINE...swimming under a waterfall...dining in splendor..." Well, I'd have to imagine it because the only time we were at the hotel was to sleep as the state meet was a 16-hour/day affair. At least the motel was near the UT campus. I have no idea what the counselor/chaperone did during the day after dropping us off on the university campus, but he was a golfer, so I suspect he played several different courses in the Austin area over the course of that week.


On Monday morning, the first day of the meet, we met with the state meet production staff (a.k.a. college drama students) and were not only given assignments but also a number: HSK1, HSK 2, HSK 3, etc. I don't remember my assigned number, but I do remember being assigned to the stage crew, which basically meant moving set pieces then sitting around doing nothing for long periods of time. Initially, I actually watched the plays as they were being performed in competition, but as there were 40 plays competing that week (8 each in 5 classifications), passive viewing got old very quickly.


About midweek, I figured out that our designation "HSK" was an abbreviation for "high school kid" and we were given numbers so none of the college kids would need to bother actually learning our names. Honor crew, my ass. More like free labor. 

1982 state meet program

On Thursday, when our school was scheduled to perform, I was excused from honor crew duties and got to be a member of the company. Eight schools competed that day and the top 3 were ranked; our production didn't make the cut so we had to be content with just the honor of earning a spot at the state meet. The next morning, the cast and crew had a scheduled critique session with the judge, a drama instructor from a San Antonio junior college. Following that critique, I went back to being a crew member, working the final day of the meet. The next morning, Saturday, I rode with the rest of the cast and crew back home, ELO blaring - "I LOVE YOU! SINCERELY! YOURS TRULY! YOURS TRULY!!!"

Oddly, I received three separate award certificates for my work that week: a certificate of achievement, a certificate of recognition, and a certificate of appreciation. That's all well and good - who doesn't love to feel appreciated? - but to me, the main benefit of being on the honor crew was missing a week of school and hanging out on a college campus with college girls. 

As for the director, she soon resigned her teaching position and left our little town that summer. She eventually became a Methodist minister. I decided not to participate in the OAP contest the following year, opting instead to spend my time earning spending money by working at the local Burger King. No regrets with that decision. I would go on to participate in a few more productions at various points in high school and college. If memory holds, my last acting role was as Lieutenant Cable in a production of South Pacific sometime in 1986. And, despite seeing the "To Kill a Mockingbird" play more times than I care to remember, I still love that Harper Lee book and have copy of the shelves behind me as I type.


As if this post weren't long enough, here's three quick, related stories: 

Our penultimate OAP meet that year was held at a regional state university. Our production required a large set and costumes, so in addition to the school bus, we also travelled with a cargo truck to hold said items. The year prior (1980-81), the drama students at this particular host university had wanted to stage their own production of "To Kill A Mockingbird" but were told the subject matter and language were inappropriate; their request was denied by university faculty/administration. With a warped sense of justice, these college students thought they would exact their revenge for the university's decision by breaking into our truck and stealing our costumes and props. In other words, if they couldn't do the show, no one should be able to. The drama faculty were able to graciously provide substitute costumes for most of our cast and the contest judge was very understanding with our predicament. The show must go on! So, despite the setback, the play was selected to move on to the state meet. The college students confessed before we left town and the costumes were returned to us, but what a bizarre situation.

Like many schools, festivities in the month of May at my high school included a "senior awards night" where academic scholarships and final class rankings were announced. The day of this event in 1982, the drama director told me I should attend the awards ceremony that evening. No further explanation given. Puzzled, I went home and told my mother I needed a ride back up to school later that day. My sister, back home from her first year at college, was 'voluntold' to take me. As I had no idea why I was there, we sat in the back of the auditorium as scholarships were announced. Near the end of the program, my name was called so I, along with the senior who was also on the honor crew, was recognized and given one of the three certificates mentioned above. I sheepishly crossed the stage as quickly as I could, grabbed the certificate, didn't even bother to sit back down and headed straight for the car. I may be one of the only sophomore ever to receive an award on senior night, another bizarre situation.

That year, I had a American History "teacher" who never taught (more on him in this post), so I was often bored in his class. One week during said history class with nothing better to do, I wrote my own satirical dramatization of the production based on "To Kill a Mockingbird" using lines from the play interpolated with things I had heard cast members say.  I titled it "To Kill a Director" and, by the end of it, I had poked fun at most every cast member (including myself) and, in the "plot," the director had been killed in the same manner as Boo Radley kills Bob Ewell in the book/play. It couldn't have been more than 3-4 handwritten pages and those pages got passed around quite a bit during rehearsals. The cast not only loved the satire, they would often quote it back to me, and many were upset that they didn't get a bigger role in the "play." So, every time I was in a subsequent production, the cast members demanded I create a fictitious script about the show. All told, I wrote five plays between 1982-84. I haven't seen them in a while, but they should be in a box around here somewhere. If they haven't seen the light of day in several decades, that's probably for the best.



But enough about my academic and OAP (mis)adventures, this is allegedly a music blog, so let's see what was topping the Billboard charts on May 1, 1982.
Top LP
Chariots of Fire
Vangelis
Hot 100
"I Love Rock N' Roll"
Joan Jett & The Blackhearts
Rock Album
Asia
Asia
Rock Single
"Heat of the Moment"
Asia
Soul Album
Friends
Shalamar
Soul Single
"If It Ain't One Thing, It's Another"
Richard "Dimples" Fields
Dance/Disco Single
"Murphy's Law" (12")
Cheri
Country Album
Mountain Music
Alabama
Country Single
"Mountain Music"
Alabama
Adult Contemporary
"Chariots of Fire"
Vangelis



Here's the top albums from Rolling Stone magazine, April 29, 1982. Lots of good stuff here.


For my thoughts on some of the above albums, click the corresponding chart position: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 15, 16, 20, 22, 23, 24, 25, 29, 32, 34, 40, 41, 43, 50, 55, 68, 69, 72, 75, 82, 88, 93, 96, 99.



Thursday, June 4, 2020

My adventures at Texas Boys State, June 1983


For the week of June 4-10, 1983, I attended American Legion Texas Boys State with a few of my classmates and 1000 other 17-year-old males from around the state.

The local paper announcing our selection for Boys State.
Your humble blogger is the knucklehead on the far right.
The event, basically a summer camp about politics, teaches government from the municipal to the state level, culminating in a visit to the state capitol building. We were housed at Jester dorm on the campus of the University of Texas at Austin and trained to become model civic leaders of the 1950's following a dated right-wing curriculum designed in 1935 to counter the socialism-inspired Young Pioneer Camps. My random memories of that week follow:
  • if you can imagine four 17-year-olds in a late '70s Ford LTD land yacht who had no business being on the nation's interstate highway system (and no real navigational skills to speak of), you can picture the transportation to and from Austin that week. Did I mention the car had an old CB radio which provided hours of entertainment?
  • my friend Scott, once selected for the camp, read the description of the ideal Boy's State attendee sent to the school counselor to help with the selection process, tossed it aside, looked at me and snarked, "Congratulations, we're average."
  • we were grouped alphabetically by last name. Of the 1000 attendees, I was #751 - reduced to a number in the political process from the get-go.
  • there was a wind band and a talent show; I participated in neither, although I probably should have played in the band as rehearsals would have been preferable to citizenship meetings.
  • we were required to write three letters to our parents during the week. My mother saved every letter I ever wrote her and eventually passed those on to me so I have those three letters, postmarked June 4, 8, & 9. It's normal "camp sucks" stuff: the food stinks, I have to climb 11 flights of stairs to get to my room, 18 hour days, but I found this note at the end of my first letter, written Saturday June 4, the very first day of camp:

    I'm sure I thought that was a hilarious aside at the time, but now that I'm a parent, I realize what a heartbreaking sight that must have been for my mother.
  • the 18 hour days, coupled with a "no naps" policy, really took its toll on this lightweight and I would often spend our daily "activity" time looking for a dark, quiet, isolated corner in which I could catch 40 winks. I rarely succeeded. On a totally unrelated note, I've read that many cults use a sleep deprivation technique.
  • in one of my letters, I mention that we went to some sort of church service on Sunday morning, but I have no memory of that.
  • over the course of the week, I was elected to the state House of Representatives and passed the Boys State bar exam which means I can practice law at Boys State, so I got that going for me, which is nice.
  • we were on the football field of Memorial Stadium for calisthenics at 6 AM
  • we were required to wear Boy's State t-shirts during most all activities; we were each given two. Even though we did our best to hand-wash in the bathroom sink, the group was smelling a bit ripe by Friday dismissal. On a totally unrelated note, I've since read several articles describing how uniforms are a method of dehumanization.
  • there's a Boy's State song, sung to the tune of "Giant" by Dimitri Tiomkin (1956). This video was recorded in 2014 and not much had changed in 31 years - same song, same uniform, same location, different generation:

    We sang this at least twice a day and even now I remember. every. word. On a totally unrelated note, I've since read several articles describing how rote memorization/recitation can be a potential foothold for indoctrination.
  • I ran into two other boys who had attended the same small elementary school with me in Odessa 5-10 years prior.  Two of us had since left Odessa and that summer the three of us were representing three different cities. 
  • unfortunately, Boys State is where I spent my 17th birthday. I would have rather spent it in Houston at the Music Hall where The B-52's were playing with The Blasters as the opening act
     
  • I wouldn't do it again and I certainly didn't raise any Boys State interest or possibilities with my sons when they were in high school. Maybe I'm too much the contrarian to go along with the mentality required for politics. (Spoiler alert: I am indeed). I didn't return home with a fire for politics, but it was that summer I finally made a decision to study music in college (previous careers considered: pediatrician, architect, psychiatrist, Broadway star).
I've read that a documentary film about Texas Boys State was premiered at the Sundance Film Festival earlier this year, where it was awarded the U.S. Grand Jury Prize for documentary film. I'll look for it once it hits a streaming service - more out of curiosity than nostalgia.




The song I always associate with that week in Austin is Duran Duran's "Is There Something I Should Know?" which had just entered the Hot 100 at #57.


Let's take a look at what was topping the Billboard charts on June 4, 1983.
Top LP
Thriller
Michael Jackson
Hot 100
"Flashdance...What a Feeling"
Irene Cara
Rock Album
Cargo
Men at Work
Rock Single
"Rock of Ages"
Def Leppard
Soul Album
Thriller
Michael Jackson
Soul Single
"Juicy Fruit"
Mtume
Dance/Disco Single
"Let's Dance" (12")
David Bowie
Country Album
The Closer You Get
Alabama
Country Single
"Lucille (You Won't Do Your Daddy's Will)"
Waylon Jennings
Adult Contemporary 
"My Love"
Lionel Richie




Here's the top albums from Rolling Stone magazine, June 9, 1983.








Sunday, April 28, 2019

April 28, 1984 - My Senior Prom

Labels: naïvety, pity date, purple, unrequited, champagne wishes & caviar dreams, home alone, Rit dye, rented clothes, XXL blog post, Commodore computers, Long John Silver's, opera gloves, Adidas

Everything in this post is true. Well, anyway, I remember everything happening this way. Whether that's the same thing would be an interesting discussion or book, but far beyond the scope of this blog.



The prom theme decided upon by the junior class that year:

Note: photo of city skyline is NOT representative
of the skyline of the small city where prom was held

The invitations were mailed and the local cover band was booked, but your humble blogger was faced with a familiar problem: no date and few prospects.  <sad trombone sound>  I had dated a girl off and on throughout our junior and senior years, but, to be honest, I had no idea how to properly handle a steady girlfriend and by this time, my ignorance had caused things to completely deteriorate. Foolish pride kept me from asking her to the prom that year and I take full responsibility for screwing up that relationship.

I had a major crush on a girl in the junior class for most of my senior year, but she had just starting dating the guy she would eventually marry. Oh-for-two. There were two possible dates in my church youth group, but I had pretty much burned those bridges earlier in the semester by being an unbearable jackhole. Oh-for-four. I asked a girl in my geometry class and was literally laughed at. Oh-for-five.


[Pseudonyms follow.] The last class on my schedule during my senior year was Computer Math, in which we learned to program Commodore PET computers and back-up our work on cassette tapes. A great way to end the school day, it was an easy course which gave me plenty of time to talk to two good friends also in the class, Mike and Evelyn. Mike and I both played trumpet in the school band and had similar tastes in music so we had plenty to talk about. He was (and I'm guessing still is) one of the nicest people I've ever met. We need more Mikes in this world. Evelyn and I had known each other for four years and had been in a few extracurricular clubs/activities together throughout high school. Evelyn had dated the same boy, Kirk, for several years, so I got daily updates about the drama surrounding that relationship. I'd had a little crush on Evelyn since I first met her, but to be fair, I had a little crush on half the girls in my high school because I was a typical teenage boy. A favorite album that spring was In Heat. And I was.


And so it came to pass that Kirk did not invite Evelyn to prom, but instead asked a girl from another school.  Our rural town was small with just one high school, so to date a girl from another school meant putting some serious miles on your car; this was a major slap-in-the-face. As you would expect, this snub from Kirk had Evelyn in tears during Computer Math one afternoon. I did my best to comfort her, but I doubt my efforts consisted of more than a simple "It'll be okay." Of course, when I heard Evelyn say the words, "Now I don't have anyone to go to prom with," I quickly seized the opportunity and asked her if she'd like to go with me. She tearfully accepted and we were set. Sure, I suspected I was being used but at this point in time it no longer mattered.

In the weeks leading up to prom, Evelyn and I were often together outside of school as we worked out the details for the evening of prom. We spent a fair amount of time together shopping and at each other's homes. On Sunday afternoons, Evelyn liked to pick up food at Long John Silver's and drive to a local park for a picnic. Even though I don't particularly care for food from LJS, I played along in order to spend time with her. On its face, this all seemed very platonic, but I was falling hard and savored every second we spent together. Haven't been to a LJS since 1984, though.

I've always been a bit of a contrarian and for the prom my junior year, I decided to be different by wearing tennis shoes with my tuxedo (see below, special thanks to my date for allowing it). I realize that wouldn't so much as raise an eyebrow these days, but in 1983, it garnered several condescending eyerolls from members of my immediate family and, amidst the rice fields of rural south Texas, it was quite the trendsetting statement. So much so that I had a teacher come to me as prom neared in 1984 and ask, "What do you have planned for prom this year?" I didn't have an answer for him because I hadn't given it any thought. Besides, I didn't know I had set such expectations.

I'm thinking they were Adidas. I could wear white because it was after Easter.
Evelyn and her sister had found some purple crepe material and decided to make her prom dress. As you'll see, they had the vision and the talent to pull it off. In an era of puffy sleeves, shoulder pads, and lace a'plenty, Evelyn opted for an elegant, timeless (and sleeveless) design. She decided that opera gloves would perfectly complete her outfit. I quickly had two thoughts: we should dye her gloves purple to match the dress and I would wear dyed purple gloves as well to match my tie and cummerbund. And while the other boys would be wearing pastel, gray or white tuxes with ruffled shirts, I would opt for black tails. Given a little more time, I could have come up with something better (maybe some pinbacks or checkerboard Vans?), but that was as contrarian as it was gonna get that year. Again, it seems tame today, but I was the only boy wearing black, the only boy with purple accessories, and the only boy in tails at that dance.


We met at Evelyn's home on a weekend afternoon in April to dye the gloves on her stove-top. Neither of us had ever used Rit dye before and we each had just one pair of gloves, but somehow we didn't screw anything up. We simply followed the instructions on the box and the gloves went from white to purple. Gloves dyed, dress ready, tuxedo rented, flowers ordered - we were ready.

At this point, I think I should mention that my parents left me alone in the house on the weekend of prom. You read that right. Home alone. The best I can remember, they went to Houston for a wedding my father was officiating. They must have left Friday for the rehearsal and stayed in Houston until Sunday afternoon. Sort of a mini-vacation from their overbearing 17 year old son suffering from a bad case of senioritis. I can't blame them and at the same time I can't believe they did that.

On the morning of April 28, I set off by myself to the nearest mall in order to kill some time as I was a bit anxious about that evening's events. I'm fairly sure some vinyl was purchased but I can't recall which (best guesses: It's My Life, The Flat Earth, and/or "The Reflex"). I also bought some purple earrings to give to my date that evening. Upon returning home that afternoon, I tried on the tuxedo I had rented and everything was looking good except my feet were way too wide to fit in those skinny rented shoes. At age 17, I didn't own a pair of black leather shoes, so I raided my dad's closet and grabbed a pair of his shoes. Even though they were at least 2 sizes too big, they fit better than the rented shoes which claimed to be patent leather but I think were actually rigid, shiny plastic. I haven't rented shoes since.


I can't remember when I was told to arrive at my date's home, but I'm guessing around 5 PM. I made the decision to drive my mother's Pontiac Catalina to the prom instead of my Markmobile because, although the Markmobile had a superior Pioneer tape deck, Mom's Pontiac had air conditioning. So, in great comfort but accompanied only by an AM radio, I arrived to Evelyn's house at the appointed time. I gave her a wrist corsage and the earrings I had purchased earlier. Memory is fuzzy here, but I believe Evelyn had recently pierced her ears for a second time and putting the new earrings into the new holes in her lobe brought about a bit of blood. Admittedly not the start to the evening that I had envisioned. Nevertheless, Evelyn got cleaned up, pinned on my boutonniere, then her older sister took the requisite photos of the happy couple before we headed out. I'd share those pictures with you but I never had my own copies and I'm doubtful prints still exist.

Our first stop: a classmate's house for a pre-prom champagne party. The drinking age in Texas at the time was 19, which meant I had classmates with slightly older siblings who could legally purchase alcohol. I wasn't much of a drinker in high school because I was terrified of parental retribution plus I weighed maybe 130 lbs, so when it came to alcohol, I was a true lightweight. But my parents were out of town, so I probably had two or three glasses that evening and lemmetellya those glasses had quite the warming effect on me. Once we were glassy-eyed, we decided to have our picture taken.

I shouldn't have been driving at all, much less my mother's car, but I managed to get us to the hall where the dance would later be held in order to have our prom photo taken before dinner:

I figured if I was using pseudonyms, I'd better pixelate, too.
But check out those gloves!
We beat the rush, snapped that picture, then it was on to the local country club for dinner. Being in a small town, dinner for prom was always a difficult decision: should we drive 60 miles into Houston for fine dining, or do we wear our formal attire to eat alongside people wearing cowboy hats and boots at the local steak house where branding irons and firearms pass for wall decoration and the salad bar is shaped like a chuck wagon? (What can I say - many Texas stereotypes are true for good reason.)  This year, however, thirteen of my classmates hosted a dinner at the country club and each of them could invite one couple. To whichever parent concocted that brilliant idea, many thanks. My very good friend Sam was one of the hosts, so Evelyn and I made the cut and any dinner dilemma we might have had was solved. Bonus: I didn't have to pay a cent.


I drove out to the club and when I rose up out of the driver's seat, I got light-headed and fell back into the car - I think I mentioned I was a lightweight. Let's get something in that stomach and quick. So we headed to the ball room where numerous tables were set up for the 50 or so diners. After working the room meeting and greeting, Evelyn selected our seats at an empty table. I was expecting my friend Sam and his date Melinda to come sit by us, but nah. None other than Kirk and his out of town date chose to sit directly across from Evelyn and myself. Kirk acted like everything was completely normal and I'm sure I looked at the napkin in my lap quite a bit for the next hour. I don't remember what was served at the dinner other than a heaping helping of awkward. At some point during that long hour, I made eye contact with Kirk's date and we silently acknowledged that we were both being used to trigger feelings of jealousy between Evelyn and Kirk. Get me outta here.


(If this were an '80s movie, this is where we'd have the scene of me and my date ripping off our clothes and frolicking on the 18th green of the country club's golf course as the sprinklers come on, but that didn't happen for four reasons: 1) surprisingly, the thought never entered my mind to try such, 2) the sun hadn't yet set completely, 3) it's a 9 hole golf course - no 18th green, and 4) I probably would have gotten my face slapped. And rightly so.).

Finally, to the dance.

Prom ticket. Not a lot of info on that thing, huh?

From the country club back to the Knights of Columbus Hall. Check in and hit the floor. If there was music playing, I was on that parquet dance floor. Prom means different things to different people (namely sex and alcohol), but to me it meant a chance to dance. I loved to dance and I didn't get many opportunities so I took full advantage of this one. In my mind, I was a fantastic dancer but who the hell knows. The only songs I specifically remember the cover band playing were "Footloose" and, oddly, Toto's "We Made It."  Evelyn was nominated for prom queen which added a little excitement to our evening. She didn't win, and I'll be dadgummed if I can't remember who did and my yearbook is of no help. The dance was over at midnight - we left about 11:30 so I can't tell you if "Stairway to Heaven" was the last tune, fortunately. And if you were looking for stories of me or my friends spiking the punch bowl, sorry to disappoint - nothing but dancing from this guy.


After leaving the dance, we had to change clothes before heading to the afterparties. First, we went to Evelyn's place where she changed into some 501s and a loose, backless, white top. Then we swung by my house where I changed into Lord knows what, probably some jeans and an Ocean Pacific tee. While I was changing, Evelyn laid face down on the floor in living room, ostensibly to rest up before more partying. Heck, I made the poor girl dance for 3 straight hours, so I can't blame her for being tired.

Allow me to set the stage: in an otherwise empty house, my prom date is laying down on the floor with a backless shirt, proudly showing me that she wasn't wearing a bra. We had been in close proximity for the past 7+ hours. Weeks had led up to this very moment. I was feeling pretty good about the evening (other than the initial bloodshed) and was at peak smoothness. It was at this point I knew I had to ask a question that would completely change the trajectory of the night: "So, you ready to go?"


Actually, I think I laid down beside her for a few minutes, but was too naïve (or terrified) to even think about making a pass. Evelyn had shown absolutely no interest in a physical relationship with me in the weeks leading up to the prom; I had no reason to think anything had changed suddenly, so I carried on. We piled into the car and headed a few blocks down Avenue K.

The first afterparty was at one of those houses "where everybody knows your name," so a post-prom party was a given.

Even this simple screen capture from Google Maps brings back plenty of good memories.
The people that would normally hang out at the above house are people I still consider friends. I was usually at that place at least once a week if not more. Good family, good people, good friends.

But we had to give equal time to Evelyn's close friends, so after awhile we left the first party to head down some farm roads on the outskirts of town to a classmate's estate, where the party was in the pool house, next to the tennis court. In other words, I never would have rated an invitation to this afterparty if I hadn't been with Evelyn. I'd love to tell tales of skinny-dipping or fully-clothed couples being pushed into the pool, but if that happened, I didn't see it.

To be honest, I don't remember much about either afterparty. I have always been an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kinda guy and this was after 1 AM, so I was mentally checked out. Most likely, I planted myself on a couch while smiling and nodding, not unlike my behavior at many social events today. I don't remember drinking anything but surely alcohol was present at both parties.

I have no idea what time it was when I finally delivered Evelyn back to her home. I walked her to the door, we shared a goodnight kiss, and she went inside. Senior prom was over. What a wonderful 12 hours. I was asleep within 5 minutes of hitting my front door.

But wait, there's more...


I don't remember attending church later that morning, but that very Sunday night, I starred as Joseph in a local production of the musical, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. Now that I'm 52, I can only marvel at the stamina and resilience I had at 17. Whew. If I stayed up until 3 or 4 AM on a Sunday morning these days, I'd be worthless for the remainder of the weekend. Back then: no problem - what else you got for me? And then it was back to school on Monday; only four weeks until graduation.




At our ten year high school reunion, a good friend (you may know this guy from this story) said this about our senior prom; "That was a weird prom. Nobody went with who they were supposed to." While that last part may be true, I never thought of our senior prom as weird. But I guess all proms are weird in their own way because it's high school and kids are trying their hardest to act like they think adults should act. Some of us outgrow that.

As you could probably predict, Evelyn and I didn't see each other as often after prom and even though we caught a couple of movies together that summer and made at least one more trip to Long John Silver's and the park, I slowly accepted the fact that nothing was ever going to happen between us. I chased several girls that summer and ended up dating a Burger King co-worker. (It was a whopper of a relationship. Hi-yoooo!) Evelyn and I attended different universities that fall and I didn't see her again until her first wedding, which I believe was in 1990. These days, we keep up with each other through social media, but that's about it. I think there's a 35 year class reunion this year - I should probably check on that.

As you can tell from the above scans, I'm sort of a pack rat and, believe it or not, I still have the multicolored coat costume that appears in the photo above. Spoiler alert: it no longer fits me. But I have no idea what happened to my purple gloves.




Let's see what was playing on the radio that historic weekend, courtesy of the April 27, 1984 edition of Radio & Records:








And since it was around that time that my friends and I stopped asking, "Have you heard that song?" and started asking, "Have you seen that video?" here's what MTV was playing around prom time:


To be honest, my family didn't have cable, so I got my video fix either at friends' houses or by videotaping Friday Night Videos on our Panasonic top-load VHS machine.