Ah, fall is in the air. The leaves are turning, rustling in the winds of autumn. The cold has returned once again, nippy nights that tell you that it’s time to pull the sweaters out and find your mittens.
Well, not here in Florida. But still for a Northwest guy, it’s my favorite time of the year. With Halloween in my rear view mirror, my mind can’t help but drift back to those carefree days of fall when I was a kid.
Of course, Halloween back then was a very special time. It was back in the days before razor blades in candy bars and LSD drop candy. Still, my mother never let me eat the homemade goodies, telling me they were suspect.
As I noted a few days ago, I had to stop trick or treating when I was 13, as my mom believed this was the magical time that tricking was far more fun than treating.
That was fine with me. I busied myself with scaring trick or treaters at our house, the few that would come by. We lived on a dead end street which had only one street light. It was foreboding to anyone, even on a summer’s night. Add in dark, damp and a rustling breeze and it was scary.
One year I built a trap door over the front door. I spent the night up on the roof, pulling the pin that let the stuffed dummy drop down, suspended by a noose. It scared the hell out of everyone. I never dropped it when little kids were around, just so you know. As I would remember in my pirate life as a Seafair Pirate, there’s no joy in scaring children who can’t understand the concept.
By the time I was in high school, this had become old hat as there were other things to consume autumn, namely football games, halftime shows and school dances.
Since I was in band, every Friday night that had a home game scheduled was all about marching. We would rehearse the week’s show on the field at the school, and also do a couple of dress rehearsals at Renton Stadium. It was always a thrill when Friday arrived. We would make our grand entrance from around the corner of the stadium. We didn’t play music, but marched to the cadence of the percussion section. I can still hear it in my head.
We’d then take the field, making our signature H for Hazen. First the fight song, then the Star Spangled Banner. Finally we’d take the stands until halftime. I’ve written about halftime before, so I won’t bore you with the details of doing these.
Football season was unmercifully short. I think we only did five or six games total that were home. The rest were away games, and we didn’t go to those. That was another band’s domain.
Of course, Homecoming was the big game, the traditional time for alumni to return. The game itself didn’t matter much. Our football team sucked back then. I didn’t go to the dance in my junior year, mostly because I was too shy to ask someone out and we were poor.
We always held our dances at really nice places, too. No gymnasium for us. It was always a big ballroom at a hotel.
I only know this because I finally went to homecoming the year after I graduated. By then I was dating my girlfriend, who would later ascend to the rank of ex-whatever. I think it’s the only time I’ve worn a tux, a hideously cream colored affair with brown velvet trim. I thankfully can’t find the photo of that event.
I have others, however, of me at a dance. I am wearing some pretty fetching leisure suits and my ex-whatever, a beautiful girl in her teen prime, was wearing the requisite Gunnie Sax dresses.
I always loved high school dances, largely because most of the people who went didn’t ever step out on the dance floor. It reminds me of the scene from Sixteen Candles. The boys on one side, the girls on the other, and in between, no man’s land. It was a place that only couples “going together” would tread on.
I would dance back then, if I couldn’t find a way out of it. Only during a slow song, though, which was usually something by Chicago since every dance we ever had then seemed to have one of their hits as its theme… “Searching so Long,” “Just You ‘n Me,” “Wishing You Were Here.” I would wait for a slow song, go out and dance with my steady, then perhaps stay out one or two more faster songs, then retreat to the sidelines once more. It was more duty than pleasure.
I can’t really write about Homecoming, of course, without mention of my senior year. During this time, I had two really great female friends, Michelle Ritchie and Jeany Hahn, both who were in band with me. I had a crush on the both of them, but I didn’t have the balls to ask either of them out, mostly afraid that they would turn me down and then be freaked out about being friends still.
They didn’t have dates for Homecoming, however. So we made plans to do something. We should have really gone to the dance looking back. But I didn’t have the money to take all three of us. It could have been a bit of a game changer in my life, having not one but two girls on my arm. Oh, well.
We did, however, go to dinner at the Boojum Tree at the Doubletree in Southcenter. This was a fairly swanky place back then. It was so much fun. I had gotten them both corsages and we went into the restaurant arm in arm in arm. The girls had decided that they would vie for my affections at dinner. So there was the inevitable braggadocio about what a wonderful guy I was and how I was such a great catch. It slowly became a cat fight, all for the eyes and ears of the rest of the restaurant patrons and our own amusement.
It was a fun, fun night. One I will always remember…
Out on the Treasure Coast, wondering what ever happened of the Alabama Tail Twitcher,
– Robb