Courtship

We started dating in March or April of 1961 and got married on Aug 19th of that year. It was serious almost from the beginning. We were together or on the phone almost every night.

Telephone calls were all originated by me from the kitchen of the little house at 430 Leander Street where I lived with my father, stepmother and sister. I don't remember what we talked about.

Phone episodes...

One night after I had been talking for a long time, there was no response from Brenda. Her end of the conversation had gone quiet. Fearing something had happened to her I rapidly drove the mile or so from our house to Blanton Street. It was late. Her house was dark. I rang the bell. She had fallen asleep while I was talking.

Another night, while we on the phone I got hungry and opened a can of food - potted meat or vienna sausages. I was standing at the kitchen counter, near the sink. Engrossed in my own grandiose talk, I didn't think when pulling up on the can's lid, which slipped and cut my thumb badly. Brenda seemed nicely concerned. The scar is still there, going diagonally from just beside the thumbnail around to the base of my thumb.

And another night, probably later in the relationship, there was an incident with her parents. They had gotten drunk, maybe gone out and not come home. Brenda was frightened and lonely and although she didn't ask, I came over anyway and stayed with her most of the night, maybe holding her. She seemed to want me. I felt needed and helpful, which was an odd sensation for me. I got home about the time people were getting ready to leave the house. I said something had happened at Brenda's. My folks seemed concerned - for her and for me.

Doing Things...

That summer of 1961 we did some - but not all - of the things dating couples did then. Brenda did not like going in places where there were other people so we did not go out to eat in restaurants. The first time I kissed her she said it must be like "kissing a stone". Maybe it was but that got better.

We went on picnics carrying elaborate baskets packed by her mother who seemed to be following a protocol for Southern Picnics which she was anxious that we follow and which Brenda, who hated all protocols, resisted. We visited abandoned old houses which Brenda loved and which I grandly proclaimed that I could fix and make livable.

We rode around in my red Corvair coupe which Brenda named "Little Lulu". For some reason during this period and for several years afterward, I drove (or thought I drove) extremely well. Although I had flipped the Corvair end over end not long after buying it, I could now push it to the limit around fast curves. Strange roads, strange towns, driving at night in heavy rain, nothing bothered me. But Brenda's father was bothered. Hearing me downshift coming up the hill to their house he would comment that I was going to tear up that car.

Brenda also drove very fast. One night in retribution for my driving the previous evening, we went out in her family's 56 Buick, "Speedo" she called it. We went around a long curve at 90 MPH. It was my impression crouched rigid against the passenger door that she almost lost it, but she said (a smug little smile on her face) the car was always in control. Although she was a good driver, I never trusted her after that.

Our travels extended in about a two or three hour radius from Shelby. One route took us 50 or 60 miles south of Gaffney SC following the path my father had established as the best way to get to Florida. We played with the idea of going on, not coming back, but neither of us dared - we both had jobs and she had her family. (Once on this road, traveling at night, I hit a rabbit. I did not even consider stopping until Brenda made a scene, forcing me to return and at least get the animal out of the road. Up until that moment I had no idea of the strength of her will - how powerful another human could be.)

She also raised my awareness in at least two other ways. Sitting at drive in restaurants I would throw trash out the car window. It never occurred to me that this was not acceptable behavior. When Brenda criticized me I said that I was providing employment for somebody - but I soon quit the practice. Another time, after I had worn the same shirt to her house on three or four consecutive nights she gently informed me that the shirt (green I think) was beginning to have an odor.

Feelings...

I don't know how she felt about me. She probably would have said that she "loved" me. I certainly told her that I loved her - attributing whatever I felt to that word. But then and now the word seems inadequate. I was consumed with her; I had to be around her, to talk to her. It wasn't just her beauty, although glancing over at her sitting beside me in Little Lulu I often marveled at how lovely she was. She was the only person I had ever met, would maybe ever meet, with whom I could be myself. Or better yet, with whom I could forget myself, could escape my nagging internal dialog.

Of course when I say that I could be me with her, it doesn't necessarily mean I was a pleasant me, or a better me. With her I could be a worse me - an angry me - maybe even a slightly insane me. For instance there was the time she spent several night's at the house of her step grandmother Marion Moser. I don't remember the circumstances - if it was because Brenda needed company (maybe Brenda's parents were out of town) or if Marion needed company. I don't remember seeing Marion (who had been my second grade teacher) - maybe Brenda was house sitting. But I do remember being with Brenda in the living room of the big elaborately furnished house and getting into a discussion that involved me getting mad and burning the back of my hand with my own cigarette. I think Brenda was threatening to hurt herself - maybe even kill herself to which my response was to show her - in a sick sort of competition that I could be hurt too. As I recall she was not moved by my sacrifices and did nothing much more than nod at my burned hand. The next day at work when someone laughed and said I must have gotten drunk and burned myself I did not argue with them.

I probably asked her to marry me in June or July - after we had only been dating a few months. We were standing on her front porch when I gave her the ring. The sun was shining through the big oaks on Blanton St. I think it was Saturday afternoon. The ring was in a little velvet covered case. She seemed surprised and pleased - but said that it was too soon and that she did not need to be married to anybody. She said her family would be too much of a burden, that she would be too much of a burden - that it would not be fair to me. But I was possessed by a strange force of will that would not accept any answer other than yes. So after noting that I was making a mistake and that she had warned me, she said yes and told her parents who were doing something in the side yard.

The next step was picking a date for the wedding. I don't think I was in a hurry. I know Brenda was not in a hurry. But for some reason, her parents pushed us to decide. Maybe they wanted to get her out of the house, for her sake. Possibly I got involved, exercising my new found (and temporary will) in forcing the issue. Brenda felt pressured and resentful. But somehow the date August 19 was selected.

The remainder of the summer we attended various prenuptial events which Brenda mostly hated but which her mother and father as more-or-less drunken keepers of tradition pushed her into.

There was the obligatory dinner with my concerned parents and curious sister. It actually went well until my friend Coleman Doggett dropped in announced. Although it was a dumb thing for him to do, it was what we did, without thinking - just show up at friend's house. I was probably glad to see him, anxious to show off my lovely girl. But Brenda mistook his curiosity and interest for criticism and was offended.

There was a party thrown by Brenda's parents for my friends. I don't know who was there, maybe Coleman and his finance Nancy, maybe Frank Hamrick and Bill Harris. Maybe not. Brenda was horrified that her parents would get drunk and would make a scene. She also felt that she was on display and one point in the evening separated herself from the gathering and had to be brought back like an errant child by her parents. But they behaved even if she didn't.

There was the outing with Coleman and Nancy. We went to Lake James then drove up near Table Rock mountain which is visible from the lake. I don't remember Brenda's reaction but she might have actually enjoyed the occasion. Nancy was a California girl - certainly a child of privilege but open and kind. She had a nice laugh and smile. Coleman in her presence was slightly subdued - as I was around Brenda. (Although Brenda claims she never liked Coleman he would show up at our house over the years and I got the impression that he might have had a crush on her.)

Inexorably, inevitably, the day approached.

We looked at several apartments around Shelby and ended up selecting the Lafayette Apartments where Brenda had lived as a child about 12 years earlier. Brenda's uncles on her mother's side furnished a variety of second-hand furniture, much of it quality antiques that had once belonged to Brenda's grandmother Lackey. My father had one of the chests refinished. I still posses some of the items (like the White Tower coffee mugs) after almost 50 years.

This might not be true (maybe none of it is true) but as I recall, Brenda did not seem interested in furnishing the apartment - as if she did not want to think about her upcoming nuptials. But her parents pushed her - telling her she ought to do this, should do that. Maybe I joined in.

Then August the 19th happened.