Question: "What was your funniest moment at Central?"
Most recent response:
Since we have a guest moderator this month, I decided to go ahead and post
a "remembrance" for December:
Among my funniest moments in high school was the following event in the
cafeteria.
You might remember a smoking area was outside of the cafeteria. I never
went out there, but I recall it being there.
Anyway, during one lunchtime, I was eating some potato chips, I think,
when the calls went out across the expanse of the cafeteria.
"Girl fight!!!!!"
I think almost everyone in the room, including some cafeteria employees,
rushed to the windows to see the imbroglio in the smoking area.
As I recall, the fight was broken up fairly quickly to the disappointment of
almost everyone.
I believe the story was that the two young women were fighting over a
"fella," of all things.
In the ensuing 50 or so years, I always have thought of that scene when
I've heard anyone mention "girl fight." --Jim Leonhirth leonhirt@tecomm.com
Thanks for Sharing That Memory, Jim!
Anyone else remember that or a similar situation?
I really don't recall any fights myself, at least I wasn't involved in any
personally.
I do recall being eyed skeptically my first week at Central because I had
just moved from Nashville where the fashions were different than those of
M'boro.
Kathy Nixon had just arrived from California and she and I both had
waist-length straight hair. We both experienced someone pulling our hair
from behind in the restroom ostensibly to see if we were wearing wigs!
That was the extent of my unwanted physical encounters with
other girls, thankfully.
Anyone else???
Happy, Happy New Year to One and All!!! --Cathy Sakas CathyJoSakas@gmail.com
Back in high school there was a gas station near my street called "Flash
Gas and Oil" and once, I don't remember who all was in the car, but Jack
Turpin was getting gas when the Rolling Stones' "Jumpin' Jack Flash" came
on the radio. The windows were down and Jack started dancing and singing
along, "Jumpin' Jack Flash, It's a gas, gas, gas." It was a perfect moment
of coincidence, a cosmic alignment of some sort that was so funny. Some
of you were lucky enough to see Jack dance like James Brown, it is still a
treat for me when I remember it. --Melanie Waters Bigelow mwbigelow1@yahoo.com
Wonderful Melanie!
Jack was a very accomplished dancer and always a joy to watch on the dance
floor or even at a gas pump! I remember that station as being one involved
in the gas wars when a gallon dropped to 10 cents. Geesh, weren't those the
days?!?! Thanks for sharing your great memories of Jack! We lost him way
too soon.
Stay Safe and Warm! --Cathy Sakas CathyJoSakas@gmail.com
I think I have mixed-memory overlap! Attendants filled your tank back
then, but the time, place, song, and people are right. --Melanie Waters Bigelow mwbigelow1@yahoo.com
For those of you who remember me, I had an act of getting into some situations.
As some of my closet friends knew, my father worked for the Federal Bureau of Prisons in Smyrna, and when the base closed, he was transferred to the Atlanta Federal Prison.
Now with all of that being said, let me get on with the story that you may enjoy hearing. I was fortunate enough to be mentored by an upper classmate by the name of Judy Boyd. Judy was one of those fortunate people who actually had a car and what a car it was, an old Plymouth with a stick shift on the column (three speeds and a reverse).
One night while she was giving me driving lessons she insisted on going around the Square in my beloved Murfreesboro. I was so focused on shifting and grinding those gears that I entered the Square the wrong way. Needless to say, Judy was laughing hysterically until we got around the area by the theatre when we heard a siren, and I looked back over my shoulder. I saw the flashing lights.
Yes, it happened! Caught driving without a license going around the Square the wrong way! Needless to say Judy's laughter ceased, and the tears and hysteria set in. The officer issued me a ticket to appear in court. Judy repeated over and over what her parents would do. The officer ordered her into the driver's seat and me into the passenger side.
From that point all the way to Elliot Drive (my home) Judy and I went over and over what our fates would be. She would lose her car and the privilege to drive, and we would not get to hang out together anymore. Me, now a hardened criminal, would probably have to do jail time for this terrible thing I had done.
Of course, the court date was set several weeks out from the date I got my ticket (gives you plenty of time to think about what you have done). My dad showed no sympathy and convinced me I would have to spend time in a boy's reformatory.
Well, my court date came! My father and I rode together, and no words were spoken. We entered the courtroom, and when my case was called, my father and I approached the judge (I know how the Lion felt in "The Wizard of Oz."). Very softly the judge spoke to my father saying, "Sir, I understand that you work for the Federal Bureau of Prisons," and he answered, "Yes, your honor."
"Mr. Hill I think you are capable of handling this situation with your son."
My father answered, "I have your honor."
His focused shifted from my father to me and firmly said, "Son, I hope you have done plenty of thinking about this. I release you to your father and would prefer not to see you again in my courtroom."
It was done! No prison time!
I cannot truthfully tell you that I did not drive anymore, but I can assure you it was not an old Plymouth with three speeds on the column and a reverse. Oh yes, Judy survived and kept her car, and we remained close friends until my family moved to Atlanta.
God bless each one you and I look forward to seeing you this summer! --Barry Hill barryhill@windstream.net
Wonderful, Painfully Funny Story, Barry!
Thank you for sharing! Our famous Square has silently witnessed many of us
doing things we shouldn't have. Glad your incident ended well and that Judy
kept her car and that your record remains clean. Well, it has, right???
Happy New Year! --Cathy Sakas CathyJoSakas@gmail.com
Wow, Barry! At least you and Judy didn't cause a wreck. I remember being
outside the Band building one summer after practice when someone else who
was also learning to drive drove into a brick wall. There was quite a bit
of commotion that day. Looking forward to seeing everyone in June! --Carolyn Bigger Lattimore carolynlattimore@gmail.com
Two speeding tickets! (and you know I was just going with the flow of
traffic)
Not bad for driving in Atlanta all those years!
--Barry Hill barryhill@windstream.net
Oh My, Carolyn! I bet that caused big headaches on several levels!!! --Cathy Sakas cathyjosakas@gmail.com
Ha! Not bad at all! Actually, I abhor driving in Atlanta traffic and am
surprised I haven't gotten a ticket for driving too slowly. Those of us on
the coast have a more relaxed lifestyle except when it comes to getting out
of the way of a hurricane! --Cathy Sakas cathyjosakas@gmail.com
When my steady would bring me home after a date, we usually stayed in the
driveway for extra good night kisses before I went into the house. I was so
woozy from the kisses that I was oblivious that the street light by our
driveway probably lit up the inside of the car, giving my family ring side
seats to the "driveway show" from the windows on that side of the house.
My family never let on that making-out in the car was scandalously on view
to the whole world, but at some point my mother told me that my date and I
should come inside the house instead. The next time we came inside. That
went well for about 10 seconds until my father planted himself in the
living room and silently glared at the two of us. My father's glare was
petrifying! We both lost the ability to speak or breathe and the date
quickly ended. I think that's when it sunk into my pea brain that though my
mother may have had the "teenagers will be teenagers" attitude, my father
thought they should be stuffed into a trunk and never seen again! --Melanie Waters Bigelow mwbigelow1@yahoo.com
Great Remembrance, Melanie!
Thank you for sharing! I remember your parents fondly. Your mother was
gorgeous and gregarious and your dad in his crisp uniform was official
looking and his demeanor went right along with that uniform. Navy, right?
My dad and brother were more upfront with their intimidation. They made
sure to answer the door to intercept and then grill my date. On occasion my
father would speak in Hungarian to further screw with my date's head. One
poor guy actually ran back out to the street to check the number on the
mailbox. Nope, it really was my house!
It's a wonder all of our parents didn't stuff us into a trunk and throw
away that key! --Cathy Sakas cathyjosakas@gmail.com
Fun to read the memories. It's like getting in a 1955 Chevy and driving
down Main Street fifty or so years ago. --Larry Pinkerton gtrmain@gmail.com
Dashboard Saints Finale
When it was the end of my junior year at Central, my best friend,
Elizabeth, was at the end of her sophomore year. We were good friends
since we lived just across the street from each other. On one fateful
afternoon with Elizabeth, she decided we needed to get ice cream from the
Burger King off of Highway 41. That was not on the designated route
stipulated on her hardship driver's license, and I pointed that out, but
she wouldn't hear of it, so off to the Burger King we went.
Elizabeth had a large white Chevy with standard shift. You may know that
the shift was on the steering column. We pulled into the parking lot that
was on an inclined angle, and she put the gear shift into first. I
strongly suggested that she engage the emergency brake as well, but she
didn't see the need for that extra precaution. It was her car, so I didn't
argue the point. I should have.
While we were ordering, I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. I
wheeled around to see her car backing down out of the parking space on its
own accord. I grabbed Elizabeth to let her know what was happening, and,
of course, her reflexive instinct was to bolt towards the moving car. I
grabbed the back of her blouse to stop her, and it took all my strength to
keep her from going to the car. I quickly reasoned with her that she
couldn't possibly physically stop her car. It just wouldn't end well.
Fortunately she listened.
But then the screaming came and then the tears and then the wailing about
what her mother would do to her.
We both watched as her car backed out of the parking space, down the lot,
and towards that then very busy four-lane major highway with cars zooming
by at high speeds in both directions. Our mouths gaped in horror. My mind
raced to the ultimate likely conclusion of multiple cars piling up in both
directions.
We watched as her car backed down in slow motion towards the highway. Our
young lives were doomed. We would be forever known as the girls who caused
the most horrific accident on Highway 41, ever. But to our great surprise,
her car, seemingly with a mind of its own, began to turn at the last
possible moment before entering that unaware stream of high-speed
motorists. The car turned to the left. Ha! What a stroke of great good
fortune! The anticipated cataclysmic accident wasn't going to happen after
all! WOW!
But wait. The alternate outcome, while not as horrific in collateral
damage, was equally as horrific for Elizabeth. The Burger King parking lot
was a good three feet above the parking lot of the adjacent Dairy Queen.
And there was no railing to prevent a car, as in Elizabeth's Chevy, from
backing down out of the Burger King parking lot into the Dairy Queen's
parking lot.
And so it was that Elizabeth's Chevy slowly, painfully slowly, backed its
way towards that three-foot drop off.
You may recall as I stated in a previous story that I have a perverse
sense of humor, so I was in hysterics at this point as I watched the
entire scenario play out in slow motion. Elizabeth, on the other hand,
wailed. She knew what the consequences of this act of rebelliousness in
not sticking to the designated driving routes would be. Clearly the Burger
King on busy Highway 41 was not allowed on her provisional hardship
driving permit.
I tried very hard to be supportive but I truly was doubled over in
laughter. I could hardly get my breath. Her car slowly, slowly made a hard
left turn, and its rear end headed right for the wall that separated the
two fast-food establishments.
At first, her car hesitated for just a split second at the edge, but then
it creeped just a bit too far and backed out of Burger King's lot
tail-diving into the Dairy Queen lot. Her car upended like the sinking
Titanic in a remarkably graceful swan dive. Her trunk sank into Dairy
Queen while her hood pointed skyward in Burger King. Spectacular!
I was transfixed. I thought we may be able to get out of this predicament
after all. But those hopeful thoughts were dashed completely as her car
groaned as it listed to the right and then creaked loudly as it slowly,
painfully slowly, began to tilt and then fall on its right side. The tires
were inexorably plastered against that three-foot wall.
Oh my! There was no recourse except to call for professional help. I
immediately went to the phone booth to call Bill Bethel at his father's
shop. Bill worked with his father every day after school as I recalled.
But even he couldn't save the day. Her car would have to be towed, and her
mother would have to pay for the damage. Not good. Elizabeth had to call
her mother.
I remember insisting Elizabeth make the call, and she eventually did after
a lot of urging. Her mother was just grateful neither of us was hurt.
The next time I got in her car though, which was only a week later, I
noticed that the entire Holy Family had been added to the already crowded
dashboard. Elizabeth's mother was a fervent believer, and Elizabeth and I
were lucky to have had so many guardian angels. Who knows what would have
happened otherwise!
Merry Christmas to all, and may you be blessed throughout the New Year and
beyond with your own special guardian angels! --Cathy Sakas cathyjosakas@gmail.com
I have quite a few humorous stories involving some of our friends and
classmates, but segments will have to be redacted to keep us out of
trouble. Here goes:
David Lasseter XXXXX XXXXXX XXX XX XXXXXXXXX long raincoat XX XXXXXX XXX
XX XXXXX late Saturday night XX XXXXX XXX XX XXXXX XXXX driveway.
XXXX XX XXXXXXX XXX Jim Bellamy XXXX XX XXXXX XXX. It was the first time
he XXXXX XX XXX XXXXXXX.
Oh, here's an even better one:
Tommy Campbell and Cy Wiser XXX XXXX XXX XXXXXXXXX XX XXX, usually on
Friday nights, but XXX XX XXXXX XXX at least a couple of times!
Out of respect for our dear friend, Buddy Briley, I'll withhold certain
details:
XXXXX XX XXXXXXX XXX XX XXX XXXXXX XX XXXXXXX. XXX XX XXXXX! XX XX XXXXXXX!
Sorry if I've offended or caused undue consternation for any of the above
named individuals.
--Kirk Mason kirklandamason@comcast.net
Ha, Kirk!
How about leaving out names and filling in the Xs! I would love to know
about that long raincoat. Oh wait, that was David???
So that being said, I know there are stories out there about yourselves or
perhaps about unnamed friends that are humorous. Nothing incriminating
please!
Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas to All Y'All! --Cathy Sakas cathyjosakas@gmail.com
How funny! There was certainly a lot more going on than I realized. My
husband and son nicknamed me O.P. They said it's because I'm "Oblivious
Pollyanna." I guess they're right. : ) --Carolyn Bigger Lattimore carolynlattimore@gmail.com
You might say we were adventurous. We also thought my mother was
oblivious....turned out not so much. --Kirk Mason kirklandamason@comcast.net
Hey There Carolyn!
Yep, I too have been accused of being a Polyanna by my husband, imagine
that! Some of us were all about school and preparing for next steps. Others
of us were just too distracted being teenagers and trying to make it to
graduation day without screwing up too badly. Thankfully most of us made it
through the hazardous gauntlet of teenagehood, but not without tales to
tell.
I'm waiting..... --Cathy Sakas cathyjosakas@gmail.com
Date in the Headlights
Part of our high school experience was dancing. Ah yes, remember how
wonderful it was to see our dates gatoring on the floor and how funny it
was to see how long it would take a chaperone to make it to the dance line
to stop the vulgar actions of these unruly, disrespectful young men? I
recall how truly amazing our dates were when they dropped to the floor in
an instant without snapping a wrist or busting a knee, undulating
rhythmically, prone, to the pulsating music. It was great fun to watch
this rebellious athleticism take place right there on the gym floor!
And so it was that I loved to dance. I think most of us did. But one
night, I do believe it was prom night or perhaps a fraternity or sorority
dance, at any rate, one such night there was a dance, and I was in a
dancing mood. My date on the other hand, who will remain nameless, had
other things on his teenage mind. We danced the first part of the evening
in fine form, and I do believe gatoring was a part of that evening,
certainly it was later. My handsome tall date looked dapper in his crisp
tux, and I a veritable princess (sans tiara though) in my flowing evening
gown with long gloves clutching a pearled clutch.
In anticipation of the dance that was to take place after this formal part
of the evening, the breakfast dance, we each had packed a bag with blue
jeans and shirts and comfortable shoes.
So to change and ostensibly to save time by not going back to one of our
houses, my date drove to a secluded spot over near Johnny and Andrew's
place just off Nelson Lane. It is now a subdivision of considerable size.
Then it was a dirt rut that offered some concealment with a good stand of
trees.
We made it to our changing spot, and I immediately jumped into the back
seat leaving him in the front seat with some semblance of privacy. Only
problem was he didn't want privacy, nor did he want me to leave the front
seat nor change too quickly. I had dancing on my mind though and made it
very clear that was exactly what I wanted to do. He tried very hard to
convince me otherwise. I proceeded rather quickly with my changing and had
already done a good job of getting out of my gown and into my jeans, flat
dancing shoes and blouse. He on the other hand had just managed to get his
shoes and pants off. He was after all hopeful.
It was about that time as he was still pleading his case, a bright set of
headlights bounced down the ruts. We both knew it was just another couple
who had the same idea as we, to change in the seclusion of this lovely
wooded lane.
As the car neared, the telltale shape of a bulky bar across its top clued
us in that it was the Cops. EGAD!
Now I have always been one to see the humor in most situations, and this
was right on up there in my book of hilarious moments. I couldn't conceal
my laughter, and that just was not a good situation as you can well
imagine. But wait, it got funnier.
Our Finest rather quickly assessed the situation. They had after all been
teenagers themselves with raging hormones and so ordered my date out of
the car. They pulled him in front of their headlights, and there in all
his glory he stood at "full attention." My handsome tuxedoed date now only
in his socks, T-shirt and tighty-whities revealed he was clearly still
interested in pursuing horizontal dancing. I was in hysterics.
My abrupt change in attitude, however, came when I heard one of the
officers say, "How about we march you right on over to her parents' house,
just as you are?"
Eeeeekkk, I heard fingernails screeching down the chalkboard. My hysterics
changed to gasps of horror in a nanosecond.
I sat up straight; they had my complete attention. All laughter had been
taken from me as if a fist had punched me in the gut. Eeeks, I would be
grounded for months and so would he! Worse, he wouldn't have made it back
to the car since I am certain my father would have pummeled him on the
spot, right on our front porch for all the neighbors to see, illuminated
brilliantly in the cop car's headlights!
I don’t recall what I said exactly, but I found words. "Sirs, Dear
Officers, Sirs, when you came up you clearly saw I was seated in the
backseat, and he in the front, and that I obviously changed more quickly
than he did and we haven't had a drop to drink, Officers, Sirs, can't you
please let us go this time? Pretty please?"
Groveling at this point was not beneath my dignity. The fear of my date
being paraded up to my parents' front porch in his skivvies in front of a
police car's headlights for all the neighbors to see made me pull out all
the stops on groveling.
Fortunately it worked or at least something struck a chord or perhaps they
just received a more urgent call in need of answering. In any case, I
never told my parents of that night, and I don't think my date told his. I
don't even think we told anyone else about it except a few close friends,
but now, all y'all know!
--Cathy Sakas cathyjosakas@gmail.com
Oh Cathy, that was good. I think I know the exact dirt lane where you
stopped. Several of us were spending the night with Andrew on a weekend
night and hid near that lane. We jumped up and yelled at the car in the
lane and then took off running. We were adventurous, but not stupid or
brave. It was disappointing when they paved it and opened it up on the
other end.
Thanks for the story. --David Lasseter dblasseter@gmail.com
Yep, David, that's the very one! I know you and others have more
"revealing" stories of our "misspent adventurous days of youth." So let's
hear 'em! --Cathy Sakas cathyjosakas@gmail.com
When we were in freshman home ec, we had to cook things by an assigned
recipe and then eat what we cooked.
On this particular day, we made broiled or baked grapefruit with, I think,
a brown sugar topping. We were assigned four to each classroom kitchen
setup.
None of my foursome could choke down a bite of the awful things. Somebody,
perhaps me, had the brilliant idea of stuffing them down the garbage
disposal. We didn't have a garbage disposal at home, and I had no idea
how they worked.
So, the four of us (I'm sorry; I can't remember my partners in crime that
day) crammed 4 intact grapefruit halves into the disposal and turned it
on (without even running any water). Needless to say, the disposal didn't
work. I'm not even certain it was hooked up.
Mrs. Vaught was not amused.
I still won't eat grapefruit. --Sara Daw Day saraday1@gmail.com
That's a funny story, Sara. My class made Date Nut Bread. --Rilyne Smotherman Swan rilynes@yahoo.com
Sara,
I was in your cooking foursome and what I remember is making applesauce.
The amount of sugar required was substituted with salt, rendering it
inedible. I think I suggested using the disposal. Mrs. Vaughn happened to
have stepped away from our kitchen area so we felt like we got away with
our crime. --Judy Anderson judyg1951@gmail.com
Maybe we did both. --Sara Daw Day saraday1@gmail.com
Study Hall
(Names have been changed to protect the innocent and the guilty.)
At the beginning of study hall, Miss Smith, with pencil and a clipboard in
hand, walk quietly backwards down the two main aisles looking over her
glasses, scanning each row for absentees, much like an usher collecting
tithing at church.
Robert Mills was skinny, limber as a dishrag and a master of mischief. He
sat in the midsection, in a seat right next to the aisle about halfway
down. On this day, as Miss Smith backed down the aisle, Robert was bent
over in his seat with his head poked out, looking in the opposite
direction, scouting for a malfeasance opportunity. The perfect storm was
set.
As Miss Smith, who was wearing a long, flimsy, floral patterned dress like
your grandmother might have worn, stepped backwards, Robert turned to lift
himself up, directly under Miss Smith's dress! Miss Smith spun around
faster than an Olympic gymnast, and yelled, "What on earth are you doing!"
as she whacked Robert across his head with the clipboard. Meanwhile Robert,
with each whack yelled, "Oh!" -- all while fighting his way out of the
darkness like a man that walked blindly into a clinging spiderweb.
Eventually Robert moved toward daylight and out from under Miss Smith's
dress popped his knucklehead.
Later, his buddies prodded Robert to describe his netherworld experience in
detail. Unfortunately or fortunately, due to the trauma, Robert says he has
no recollection of what he witnessed that day. --Larry Pinkerton gtrmain@gmail.com
Oh My Goodness Larry!
I am in hysterics!!! Thank you for sharing! I am sure there are other study
hall stories equally as funny. Gotta another one anyone???
Great Job! --Cathy Sakas Sakas@gmail.com
That's some memory! --Carolyn Bigger Lattimore carolynlattimore@gmail.com
Larry, I was hoping you would tell that story. Since we are old and
forgiving, you should tell us who the guilty party was/is??? --David Lasseter dblasseter@gmail.com
Great story Cathy! I needed saints on my dash when I rear-ended the truck
at a stoplight doing 30 MPH! Jim Bellamy needed one as well one
night...let me tell you that story.
I was double dating with Jim Bellamy and his present wife (and only one as
far as I know) Janice Haynes. It was February and very cold. We left the
drive in and Janice was a bit angry about something. We went to the
Elam's Mill area where the dry weather bridge was anything but dry. The
water was high, up to the doors of his mustang, and Janice told him not to
try to cross it. I told him it was fine and that we could make it, just
gun it!
Well, he got 1/2 way across and the motor died. Then, the light little
mustang was slowly swept off the bridge. Luckily, it was heavy enough not
to be swept down the creek and the water was only as high as our laps when
it entered the car. We then had to hold hands to the shore, shivering to
say the least. When we got to the shore and looked back, we saw that Jim
had left the lights on. Like a fool, I waded back to the car and turned
off the lights...as if that would make a difference!
We made a short walk to the 2 story house not far away and knocked on a
farmer's door...this was around midnight I think. They came to the door,
invited us in and let us stand over their floor furnace as we dried out
and one of us called Drew Rhodes to pick us up. The farmer and his wife
said not to worry, it happened all the time.
Drew picked us up in his VW bug with Janet Lester in the car, so all 4 of
us had to climb into the back seat. Needless to say, Janice was not
talking to me or saying nice things to me when she did talk.
Jim can still remember having to go home that night and tell his dad that
he sank the car. You'll have to ask him how that worked out! 50 years
later, Janice still blames me...imagine that.
I'm sure many of you are thinking about stories you can and cannot tell
right now. Go ahead, we won't tell anyone. --David Lasseter dblasseter@gmail.com
Wow David!!!
I am glad you and Jim and Janice and your date lived to tell the tale!
Geesh, that could have gone wrong at several different levels. I had a few
scary experiences at Brown and Elam mills too, and I am sure others did as
well. It is a wonder we survived our youth!
I know there are more stories out there, so please keep 'em comin'!!! --Cathy Sakas cathyjosakas@gmail.com
Wow! What happened to the car? --Carolyn Bigger Lattimore carolynlattimore@gmail.com
Yep, David, good one. Stories from our teenage years and we lived to tell'em. --Larry Pinkerton gtrmain@gmail.com
Dashboard Saints:
My best friend Elizabeth lived across the street from me in a nice newly
developed neighborhood off Bradyville Pike. Her mother and my parents
became good friends and colleagues too. Her mother and my father were
professors at MTSU. Because Elizabeth's family was considered having a
hardship with a working mother and two daughters going to two different
schools, Elizabeth was allowed to drive at age 15 with a provisional
license. At age 16 I had a regular license, but no car of my own. Elizabeth,
on the other hand, was given a spiffy white Chevy as I recall. And so it was
because I had a license I was allowed to ride with Elizabeth to Central,
St. Rose of Lima Catholic Church and to the grocery store. Those were the
only places she was allowed to drive. The very first morning I rode with
Elizabeth to school, we weren't even out of the neighborhood yet when I
asked her if she had a brush. Absentmindedly, Elizabeth let go of the
steering wheel to search through her purse...with both hands. Before I even
had time to yell, much less grab the wheel, the car veered off the road
with my side going into the ditch. Instead of hitting the brake, E's foot
hit the gas pedal, and we bounced our way across two sets of culverts into
the middle of Bradyville Pike. My head smacked the ceiling several times,
nearly knocking me silly. Miraculously we weren’t hit by another car
barreling down Bradyville during the morning commute. I will never forget
catching sight of my mother in the side-view mirror flying out of our house
with her bathrobe flapping as she ran down the street to us. Later after
everyone calmed down and the car was towed to Bill Bethel's father's body
shop, Elizabeth’s mother firmly glued a St. Jude medallion on the
dashboard.
Before that first year was over, that dashboard sported a St. Christopher
medallion, a statue of Joseph, one of Mother Mary, one of Mother Mary with
Baby Jesus, one of adult Jesus, and one of the entire Holy Family.
The incident that capped off the year and resulted in the Holy Family
being added to the already crowded dashboard, is an entire story all by
itself. I will save that one for later.
--Best Wishes,
Cathy Sakas cathyjosakas@gmail.com
Cathy,
Love your story! We were so blessed to have our high school memories! --Karen Stankwytch Brown kbrown6452@aol.com
Thanks, Wittiest Girl! What a story! It's a good thing traffic wasn't as
bad then as it is now. Looking forward to hearing more stories! --Carolyn Bigger Lattimore carolynlattimore@gmail.com
