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Five decades later, high school years in Sylva still seem golden
I have a great deal of affection for my old high school classmates. In fact, now that I am edging cautiously into my “golden years,” I frequently find myself lapsing into long reveries.
For a moment, I can be back on the bleachers at Mark Watson Field in 1952 watching the Golden Hurricanes sweep the field as our cheerleaders chant “Push ‘em back, Push ‘em back ... a-wa-a-ay back!” Or, maybe I slow dance with Jean Nicholson to Louie Armstrong’s “That’s the Story of Love” at the Teen Club (the old American Legion Hall). Sometimes, I imagine that I am sitting in a dark car after Troy’s Drive-in has closed, listening to Johnny Ray sing, “If your sweetheart sends a letter of goodbye,” Oh, yeah.
My teen years constitute a major part of my dreams, too. In my dreams, I can sit again in the back booth of Velt’s Cafe (now Lulu’s) with Charles Kilpatrick while he plays “Blue Tango” 25 times on the jukebox. (He only stopped because Velt pulled the plug.)
In dreams, I ride with my senior class through the night as we cross Virginia on our way to Washington. (Was there a full moon on that night? There is one in my dreams.) If I turn around and look back down the aisle of that Trailways bus, there they all are, all smiling in the dark ... Bill Crawford and Clara, Joyce and Jean and Doris, Tommy Reed, Bobbie Blackwell, Eddie and Lois ... the windows are down and we can smell the ocean more than 50 miles away, and I sometimes hope that we will never get to Washington, but will ride through Virginia forever.
But we got there. We stayed at the Harrington Hotel, saw the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument and posed for a photo with our congressman on the White House lawn. One night we walked to a marvelous theatre where the Four Aces (who were on Velt’s jukebox) came on the stage before the movie and sang “From the Vine Came the Grapes.” Then, we saw “Moulin Rouge,” which had a sad love song: “Each time that we kiss/ I worry and wonder/ Your lips may be near/ but darling, where is your heart?” Now, more than five decades later, I sometimes wake with that song in my head – and maybe the hint of tears in my eyes.
I realize that there is a bit of “selective memory” involved in my dreams and memories. I’m picking the best events, and in addition, I’m “embellishing” them. Were the hot dogs at Troy’s really that good? Did we really park in Keener Cemetery to listen to Randy’s Record Mart on the radio? Was there only one traffic light in Sylva? Was my girlfriend, Quince Ann really that beautiful (especially in her basketball uniform)? Was it a better world then than it is now? Oh, yes, trust me, it was.
One thing is for sure. In 1953, life was simple and uncomplicated. I remember that the world was always interesting (never threatening), and we were all eager to see what would happen next. Television was an innovation, and we gathered in the drug store each afternoon to watch Dick Clark. We all had the ability to be amazed, entertained or delighted by cars, music, telephones and each other. Each afternoon, many of us could walk from Sylva High School to the drug store, Velt’s or the poolroom. The Ritz Theater was a natural part of our social life, and if I went to a movie or drove to Troy’s, or sat in Velt’s, or danced at the Teen Club on Friday night, my friends were there, too, and we moved and shared each experience together. My entire universe seemed to have a radius of about five miles, and it was comforting and secure. I can remember that I always slept deeply and sometimes woke in the night to hear the tannery whistle blow for a shift change. Life was good. It was predictable and gentle.
Perhaps life is still wonderful for teenagers and perhaps they live each day with the same innocent enthusiasm that I felt in 1953. Hopefully, they have adjusted to traffic jams, noise and congestion. I guess it is possible that they love cell phones, plasma tvs and thunderous music the way I loved Troy’s hot dogs, James Dean at the Ritz and “Blue Tango” at Velt’s.
While I won’t be able to join all the former Sylva High students at Saturday’s reunion due to a previous storytelling engagement in Brevard, I’ll cut my hearing aids off tonight and sit on the deck and watch the Balsams fade in the twilight. Who knows ... maybe I’ll ride that Trailways bus through Virginia again.
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