I remember the day of my Senior Prom in the Spring of 1975 very well, and not ONLY because of my fabulous date and how much fun the evening was.  I’ve got other reasons to remember the day.

I had arranged to borrow my mom & dad’s ’72 Pontiac Bonneville for the evening.  Now THAT was a car.  Dark Forest Green.  Huge.   455 cubic inches, four-barrel V8.   250 HP.   A family of four could live in the back seat.   It oozed power and class.  Worthy of a special girl on a special occasion.

And it WAS a special occasion.  Though I had known this girl since we were toddlers in Sunday School together, and we had actually been very good friends and “lunch buddies” through the last couple of years, I had only been out on exactly one other date with her.  The weekend before.  At her insistence.  Because when I asked her to prom, she said,  “Yes!  But only if we can go out on at least one other date first.  I don’t really want “prom” to be our first date.”    Well, ok.  So this was going to be our second-date, and  I wanted to make a good impression, especially since it was Senior Prom night!

I wanted to make a good impression, and I drove a ’72 Vega.

No matter how you spin it, the Vega was one of the worst cars ever put out by Detroit.  Now, don’t get me wrong.  I loved that little silver car.  I was glad I had it, felt LUCKY to have it, and I had plenty of good times in it … and some great memories.  I even gave it a name.  Rudy.  Rudy Vega.    Drove it through my first several years of college. right up until the engine blew up.   As they do.

But I definitely needed a much spiffier ride for my big date on Prom Night.   Mom and Dad were happy to oblige with letting me borrow the Pontiac.

So after spending time early in the day thoroughly washing and waxing the Bonneville until it shone, and vacuuming it out, I had a few important errands to run ahead of the big dinner party being hosted by my date at her house for us and several other couples.     I had to go by the florist to pick up her corsage.  I had to go by Hagan’s to get the powder blue tux with ruffled shirt I’d rented for the evening.   And I needed to go by the bank to get some cash for the evening just in case we found ourselves somewhere needing folding money.

As I headed out the door to run those errands, my dad handed me the keys to his old work car.  A lime-green with white vinyl top 1967 Ford Galaxy 500.  His “work car” that he drove the half-mile to work each morning and back again, and that was just about it.

“Take the Ford,” he said, “and if you don’t mind, put a little gas in it for me while you’re out, it’s just about empty.”

So I went to florist first, picked up the orchid corsage, then by Hagan’s for the tux, then by the bank.  Last stop before heading home, I went to the discount gas station on the corner of Monroe Street and Western, catty-corner from Westlake’s Plaza   As I pulled in, I hit the curb with the right rear tire, and heard a “clunk”.   I didn’t think anything about it.     I pulled up to the pump, got out and put some gas in.   Went in to pay, then came back out to the car.

When I put the car in gear and started to pull off, there was a horrible noise, a hesitation, then the car lurched.   It mostly just didn’t seem to want to “go”.   I tried again.  Same thing.  It really seemed like something bad was wrong with the car.  Engine?  Drive train?  I wasn’t sure.    Hmm.   I was out near the street by then.    Instinctively, I put it in reverse to pull back closer to the station.   It went just FINE in reverse.   Hmmm.

I looked at my watch.    I needed to be getting home so I could shower, get in my tux, and get out to my date’s house on time.

I put the car back in drive ….. Lurch, THUMP, lurch, THUMP!!     Crap!

I put it in Park, got out, laid down on the pavement and looked under the car.   Nothing.   Not sure what I was looking for, it just seemed like the right thing to do.   I raised the hood and looked and listened.  It was idling just fine.    I got back in, put it in reverse and moved backwards some more.  No problem.

I looked at my watch.   Crap.

So I did what ANY logically minded teenage driver in a small town on prom-night with a looming deadline would do.    I decided to BACK all the way home in REVERSE.

Hey.  It’s a small town.

So, with the big Green Galaxy in Reverse, I backed across Monroe Street and into the parking lot of the liquor store across the street. Through their parking lot, through the alley and another parking lot to Jackson Street.  Looked both ways, and backed across Jackson to the “new” Post Office.  Through their parking lot, around the curve where the drive-up mailboxes are,  all the way back (IN REVERSE) past where the mail jeeps were parked, and onto Promenade Street.  I backed up Promenade to the appliance parts store and into their parking lot, behind their store, and then behind the old jail.

Now I had a problem, and was faced with my first real decision.  Where to go from here?    This was my first place where I knew I would deal with significant traffic.

I sat until there wasn’t any traffic at the stoplights, and backed out onto Clark Street and up onto the “Overhead Bridge”, over the railroad tracks.   This was the bridge that, before they put in “Green Boulevard” (sort of a downtown bypass) was actually US Highway 54.   Regardless, this was STILL the major route into downtown Mexico for anyone coming into town from the South.   Nevertheless, I navigated it just fine.  In reverse.  Yes there was traffic on the bridge.   But I was in the correct lane for the direction my vehicle was moving, if not for the direction it was FACING.  So I ignored the honking, and went BACKWARD across the bridge    Then turned east (backwards) on High Street on the north side of Hardin Park.   Backed down to the corner of High and Washington Street.

At this point, I sat there for a minute and thought.  I put it in drive and tried it again.  Lurch, THUMP, lurch, THUMP.    Crap!.

So I put it back in reverse, and proceeded to go IN REVERSE down Washington Street the four blocks or so to Central.  Backed down Central to Jefferson, and across to the old Hardin campus.   I’m not sure why I didn’t just back up Jefferson Street at this point, but in my “logic” the Hardin loop seemed right.  Maybe just for good measure.

So I backed up the Hardin “out” driveway.   Around the circle drive in front of Richardson Hall and the old Gym.  Then I backed down the “in” driveway past the tennis courts.   Across Jefferson again, and up Seminary Street.   My street.   Finally, I pulled up IN REVERSE in front of our house.

Dad was standing in the garage.  He had looked up just in time to see me pull up to the house IN REVERSE.

There are times in my life when someone whom I respected has looked at me with such a look of utter confusion and puzzlement.  Today we know this look as “WTF??”   Back then we did not have such a succinct label.  I know exactly how I have felt in those moments.

This was one of those moments.

I shut off the engine, and stepped out of the car.   Dad walked across the lawn to where I was and asked, “Why were you backing up the street?”

“It won’t go in Forward”

“Oh.  Why not?”

“I don’t know.  It just won’t. “

He looked at me.

“Maybe the transmission has gone out?” I offered weakly.

“Hmmm.  Ok.  Let’s have a look.”

He got in, started the engine, put it in drive and stepped on the gas.    Lurch, THUMP, lurch, THUMP.   He put it in reverse and backed up a few feet.  No lurching, no thumping.   “Hmmmm.”

I said, “I gotta take the corsage and tux inside.”

I went inside, put the corsage in the fridge, the tux on my bed, and came back out.  Dad was laying on the street looking under the car.   (At least that was comforting.  I knew my instincts about laying on the ground and looking underneath had been right.)

“Ahhhh….. here it is!”    He rolled out, and got up.    “What is it?” I asked.

“Looks like a bracket broke and the exhaust pipe has dropped down so it’s digging into the tire when you’re in drive.  It doesn’t dig in when tire’s turning backwards.”    (I remembered hitting the curb as I pulled into the station, but I did not think this was something to mention).

He thought for a second.   “So, exactly how far did you go in Reverse?”

“All the way from down by Westlake’s Plaza.   Clear across town.”

Another of those looks.

“Seriously??”

“Uh huh.”

And that’s about all there was to say about that.    He just looked at me.   “Why didn’t you try to call?”

“I don’t know.  Didn’t have time.  In fact, I need to go in now and shower.”

And I walked into the house, with him just standing there looking at me.    I’d like to think it was with pride at my resourcefulness and ingenuity.    More likely (and I can say this in total confidence now as a father who has had teenage boys) … it was with bewilderment.

So.  I wore my powder-blue tux on prom night.

As you can also see from the picture, I did indeed take the Bonneville out on Prom Night.  The car is a beast.  It filled me with pride and confidence.  In a way that the Vega could never have done.

And what a night.  The amazing dinner party with a good, fun group of friends.  (We had brisket, twice-baked potatoes, and green beans.  Ice tea in stemmed glasses.   Cherries Jubilee for dessert.)  It felt so “grown up”.    I’d never had  “twice baked potatoes”.   I may have never had brisket. We were more of a roast beef family.  I remember that when my date told me the menu ahead of time, I asked, “Why TWICE baked?   Once isn’t good enough?”  She laughed, but explained it to me.  I was worried.  Being a picky eater, I thought they might be yucky.   They weren’t.  Quite delicious actually.

Then to the big dance.  (“Stairway to Heaven”).   She wore a peach-print formal dress.  I wore powder blue and ruffles.  We were a lovely couple.  You know, for 1975 anyway.   My hair was longer than hers.  Significantly longer, actually.

After the formal dance, we headed back to her house so she could change into casual clothes.    Then to my house so I could do the same.   Then, still in the Bonneville, out to the Empire Club for the big “After-Prom” party.   We danced the night away, and laughed and talked and laughed and danced some more.  Then afterward, we did some wee-hours cruising around Mexico and environs in the Bonneville, and talking and solving the problems of the world (as you do at seventeen), and other stuff.  …. then, at the appointed hour, off to the home of one of the other dinner-party guests where his mom had made a big breakfast for several couples.  Then finally, not long after sunrise, I took my date back home to her house, walked her to the door, held her tight and kissed her good night…. Or more accurately, good morning.

I drove pretty slowly back into town from Melody Lane, savoring the special memories of the evening.  I remember exactly how I felt.

I drove past the Country Club, and deliberately took the long way back to my house.   And never once did I ever think about putting the Bonneville in Reverse.

It was the right time for going Forward.

So I did.

John