THE PROM AND THE FLIG

I guess the prom has always been a big deal in high school. I know it was in 1968. This was our senior year and it was an even bigger deal for Lynn and I because we hadn’t been allowed to go to the prom as juniors the year before. You have to know a little about Lynn’s family to understand this. Her father was a minister and felt strongly that dancing was sinful. To allow his daughter to attend a dance not only went against his convictions, it also sent a bad message to his congregation. Lynn tried to convince him that the prom was more of a social event where dancing happened to occur by coincidence. It didn’t work. Another couple from their church had tried that line on their parents and gained permission to go if they didn’t actually dance. Through some bad timing (or perhaps bad karma) they happened to get their picture published in the newspaper the next day on the dance floor. Lynn’s mother held the paper up indignantly and exclaimed, “Be sure your sins will find you out!” So the following year when Lynn used that rationale on her parents we were stunned when they agreed. We could attend as long as we didn’t dance. This would be the first dance we had ever attended as a couple. I had been to lots of them in my wayward, heathen youth but Lynn had never even gotten close. The dancing part was no big deal since I was not the greatest dancer. Besides I figured I could coax Lynn onto the dance floor as long as there were no photographers in sight. We really just wanted to be a part of the overall experience as seniors.

There was quite the pre-prom ritual to go through in those days. First you had to have the nicest car that you could find. It was pretty common to prevail on an older friend or family member who owned a prom-worthy car. (I suppose these days most kids take limousines to the prom but no so back then.) While my dad’s Ninety-Eight Oldsmobile demonstrator was a car most people would be proud to be seen in, we thought it more of an older person’s car. I was looking for something a little more sporty. My brother had just purchased his first new car – a bright red 1968 Chevrolet Caprice Classic coupe with a black vinyl top. The “classic” meant it had the more formal “notch-back” roofline as opposed to the traditional fast-back. It was the perfect transport for a formal occasion. Based on my track record I am not sure why he allowed me to use this car but he did. The morning of prom day was spent detailing the ride. That’s what most other guys were doing as well. Afterward it was time to pick up the rental tuxedo (actually a white dinner jacket) at The Hub in Butler as well as the flowers at Kochers’ flower shop in Grove City. Guys didn’t spend the time primping that the girls did. The toughest choice was between English Leather or Jade East cologne.

When I picked Lynn up at her house there was the obligatory photo shoot, as well as the obligatory caution regarding dancing. Her parents pretty much painted the picture that if one were to take a dance step as a couple the gymnasium floor would split down the middle and you would free-fall into hell. I recall that Lynn was non-plussed by her hairdo. You could not go to the prom with an “ordinary” do – it had to be something out of the ordinary. It was. I thought she looked great but she was a little uncomfortable with the hair. I tried to convince her that we were actually going to a dance and not to be too concerned about something simple like a hairdo. I was the perfect gentleman – helping her with the flowers, opening the car door, helping her in, etc.

When we arrived it was neat to see all our friends in their formal attire. Most guys looked alike in their white dinner jackets and black pants. I seem to remember that a couple boys had gone the full tuxedo route but I can’t recall who they were. We got a seat at a table with our closest friends and waited for the festivities to begin. We had been among several couples nominated for prom king and queen but we never really considered the possibility we would win the competition. There were a number of much more popular couples on the ballot after all. When it came time for the announcement we were shocked that they called our names. We were equally shocked (actually more like horrified) to see that they had notified our parents and they were in attendance. After the “coronation” ceremonies and photographs they made the announcement that the king and queen would now lead the “spotlight dance”. We were to go out to the middle of the floor, all alone, and begin the next dance. I don’t think I have ever seen Lynn so scared in her life. When I took her hand and led her to the middle of the gymnasium floor she kept protesting that she couldn’t possibly do this. After all her parents were right over there in the corner watching. My retort was that we had no choice – we were the king and queen and this was really our only responsibility as such. As we stood in the middle of the floor I tried to get Lynn into some semblance of a dance pose. I said, “Let’s just move around a little right here so they think we’re dancing - just till the others take the floor and they turn the spotlight off.” She wouldn’t budge. She stood there stiff as a board (I’m sure wondering when the floor would swallow us both up). Eventually others did take the floor and they did turn off the spotlight. When they did we returned to our seats. I tried to deflect attention by mentioning that I was prone to leg cramps and I never knew when one might sneak up on me. We waved to our parents as they headed home and breathed a collective sigh of relief.

The rest of the evening is pretty much a blur. We did take a few dance steps (after we were sure the newspaper photog had departed). I’m pretty sure there was a movie as well. I do recall that the doors were locked and if you left for any reason you could not get back in. Those of us with Cinderella drivers licenses had to wait until morning before we could take our dates home. The twins had a bunch of us over to their house for breakfast and then we had a picnic at the Sportsman’s Club. Even though I can’t recall all of the details it still goes down as “an evening to remember.” Oh, and she’s still my queen 42 years later.