Drive In Movies

My first exposure to a drive-in movie was after I returned to the States from Germany in 1958.  I landed in California a newly-minted, but savvy, driver; having gotten my International Driver’s License in Germany at age sixteen.  Unfortunately, the state of California had decreed that I must go through a driver’s education course before I could get my California license.  Even my dad thought it was outrageous, particularly because he had to undergo a road test himself to regain his US license.

Nevertheless, I pushed onward and endured several weeks of novice drivers that ground gears, screeched tires, slammed brakes, and generally turned my perspiration into a river.  I was ever so glad to have it come to an end and take the driver’s test – which I passed with ease.

Once my little VW convertible arrived from Germany (via the Panama Canal to Oakland) I was free to go cruising all over the area.  Since my car was totally unique (there wasn’t another like it in Northern California I think) I had what is now called a “chick magnet”.  Hardly a day passed when I didn’t have at least one pretty girl sitting in the car as we headed out for lunch, went to the library after school, or just cruised up and down Petaluma Boulevard all night on Friday.

My dad also shipped a car home from Germany.  It was called a Volkswagen Deluxe Bus.  It was black trim over red and had three bench seats.  The top slid back and let one stand up with the wind blowing your hair.  I had almost as much fun with his car as mine, but he rarely let me drive it.  Most of the time, he would tell me he needed it because he was “on call”.  This, I assumed, meant that he could be called to go down the base at any minute to resolve some difficult weather prognostication.

It was this very same bus that made me a hero to the general population of school as it would fit up to eighteen kids in it.  When, on Friday or Saturday night, the drive-in theatres would declare “carload” night an entire carload could get in for two dollars.  Most cars of the day would rarely fit more than six or, if they were really friendly, eight, but mine would take an entire football and a basketball team.

Drive-ins of the day would feature as many as four films a night depending on length of movie and weather.  Since California boasted good weather, we almost always got to see at least three movies every time we went.  The breaks between movies wasn’t very long, but gave a person time enough to grab yet another hot dog, box of popcorn, and a drink before the next feature.  If you were still in line, you could watch the beginning of the movie through the huge plate-glass window at the front of the refreshment stand.

Since my car was pretty tall, I learned right off that people wanted me to stay near the back of the parking lot.  This turned out to be a real boon as I could park perpendicularly between two speaker posts and put one in the front and one in the back and be assured at least one of them would work.  If both of them worked, so much the better.

Most movies shown at our local theatre were sci-fi and horror movies like “The Blob”, “The Fly”, “I Married a Monster from Outer Space” (which is a pretty good movie by the way), “Earth vs. the Spider” and “Attack of the Puppet People”.  I was a great deal more partial to some of the more romantic movies of the time like “Houseboat” (with my hero Cary Grant), “Bell, Book, and Candle” (with the delectable Kim Novak – but don’t tell my girl). As far as the more raucous movies went, a full busload of kids was fine, but for romantic movies my little convertible was just fine.  Just I and my girl snuggled up with a gearshift between us.

For the first movie we would leave the top down and chatter with our neighbors as well as watch the movie, but when the second movie started (which was usually the feature) the top went up for some serious necking.  Never believe anyone who says that serious necking cannot be carried out in a Volkswagen.  It can, and has, been done.  Many a warm California summer night has steamed up the windows of that little car.  And, yes, it is definitely possible to go from the front seat to the back seat without opening a door.

What better life could there be but to be a teenager, have a movie in front of you, a girl beside you, and a popcorn tub sitting on the seat between you.  If there is one, I couldn’t imagine what.

There existed a state of war between the theatre owners and the patrons.  They would try and make sure that everyone who got in paid their fee, and we would try to get as many of us in free as possible.  This led to a veritable host of methods for sneaking kids in without paying.  Each one attempting to get more kids in than the one before.  The old standards of stuffing a trunk worked a few times, but if the wait to enter got too long there was a distinct danger of suffocation.  The old ‘blanket in the back seat’ would hide maybe a couple of kids with others actually sitting on the back seat.  Since there was usually a very bright light shining on each car at the toll booth this one could be risky.

My favorite was a car that had a trick back seat.  It was a panel van.  Not one of the huge things you see now, but a really nice Ford delivery van built along the lines of a woody but with no back windows.  An enterprising teen had created a moveable back seat that dropped downward and let one move freely between the back bed and the rear set.  When this one got to the toll booth, the taker would first look into the back, count heads, and then move to the rear window.  As this was being done, the seat was dropped and kids poured from the back to rear seat – quietly, of course.  I don’t think this method was ever found out.

Usually, before the movie started and while it was still light, a local radio station was be broadcast over the speaker system.  In our case it was ever faithful KEWB from San Francisco.  Good old “Channel 91” would entertain us with songs that started impromptu dance parties down in front of the screen.  KEWB was the sister station of KFWB from Los Angeles and, if you were ever to drive between the two one would slowly fade out and the other would take over as you traveled.

Parenthetically, I might add that a description of a trip down to Tijuana to get one of my friends car tucked and rolled might be a good story also.

Finally, it was dark enough to start the movie and we would all head for our cars.  Great knots of girls would break up and stream back to their date’s cars too and the lot would get calm as we all watched. Once in a while, you would hear a car door slam and maybe a parting shot by an outraged girl, but mostly we behaved ourselves.  There was also a car patrol wandering around with flashlights to illuminate cars that showed any sign of nefarious behavior.

Periodically the film would break or the operator would blow a change-over and car lights would come on, horns would honk, and jeers erupt from everyone.  This was mostly endured stoically (if you noticed at all) and activities continued as they left off before being interrupted.

Teen etiquette dictated that one never approached a car whose windows were totally fogged up, nor did one get near a car that did not have at least one person in the front seat.  Lights of any kind were frowned upon except in an emergency – like trying to find a wayward bra.

All in all, a trip to the local drive-in movie was a real adventure.  I took full advantage of the times and weather of Northern California to see as many of those movies as I could.  I usually went with male friends to adventure, science fiction, or other non-chick movies but when a good romance was playing I hardly ever failed to take my girl.  It was an uplifting trip on gossamer wings.  A true American experience.

T.O.M.

A trip to the beach

One summer, while we lived in Washington D.C., my dad had to go to some sort of Meteorologists conference out on the west coast which left the rest of us at loose ends on what to do.  My mom came up with the idea of loading all of us into the old station wagon and heading for the beaches down in Delaware; Bethany Beach to be specific.  We had been there several times before and liked it so much that my mom made reservations for us at one of the motels.  Our usual one was full up, so we had to take what turned out to be our fifth choice.

We went around the house and stuffed small bags with clothes and stuff we would need at the beach.  Actually, there isn’t a lot you really need for the beach so the bags were pretty small.  This would have been around 1954 or thereabouts so I would have been 12, my brother 8, and my sister 5.  The station wagon, a 1950 Oldsmobile Rocket 88, had two large seats and a huge ‘back end’ that we loaded up with soft things to lie on.

With a flurry, we were off – well, not quite.  We got 10 miles down the road and found that we had forgotten a couple of bags.  Back we went.  I don’t want to hint that this set the tone of the trip but it did.  We were arranged in the car thusly:  I was in the front seat with my brother hanging over the seat back whining that he wasn’t in the front seat.  My sister was happily lying back on the bags in the back until she said that she smelled something.

Quickly ducking to the side of the road, my mom discovered that a perfume bottle had leaked inside her bag.  This prompted her to crack the back window a little as we took off again.  Bad idea, as the back end of a station wagon causes a huge vortex of air to be pulled from under the car and directly into the open window.  This, of course, caused yet another complaint from my sister – that of being gassed.  Carbon monoxide is not a viable replacement for cooling breezes on a hot day.  Closed went the window.

Now, my brother decides it is time to get into the act and begins kicking the back of my seat.  I endure it for as long as I can (around 12 seconds) and then rise up to smite him.  The moment I do, my mom whips to the side of the road again and threatens to decapitate all of us and leave our heads at the side of the road as a warning to other kids.  She thrusts the map at me and tells me to direct her through Baltimore.

Baltimore?  I hear you asking – Baltimore?  Well, of course.  The Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel hasn’t been invented yet so you have to go all the way up to the north end of Chesapeake Bay and then down the DelMarVa peninsula (Delaware-Maryland-Virginia) to get to Bethany Beach.  We may have been able to shorten our trip at Annapolis, but the bridge there wasn’t in service due to repairs (we found out after driving into Annapolis).  So, with a heavy sigh, my mom heads back north towards Baltimore.

At this point in development of the Interstates there were none to speak of.  Some very small portions of them were under construction around DC, but nothing in the wilds of Maryland.  We ended up on several US highways passing through many tiny municipalities that appeared to consist of nothing but used car lots, fast food joints, bars, hock shops, bowling alleys and the like.  Every fast food place we passed my brother whined about being hungry.  My mom, after planning carefully ahead, decided that making a lunch we could eat in the car would be much faster than trying to herd us through some beanery along the way.

When instructed to look on the floor of the middle seat for the basket, my brother again whined that he couldn’t find it.  This prompted another crash dive to the side of the road and an exasperated search by my mom – no basket; we must have left it home also.  My mom told us that she’d stop at the next ‘greasy spoon’ she found.

We pulled into a roadside café and, true to his calling as a wise-ass, my brother then asked the greeter if this was a greasy spoon.  She smiled frostily and directed us to seats near the restrooms and behind a large column holding the ceiling up.  Eventually a waiter came to take our order.  The funny thing was, the spoons were actually greasy to the touch.  Was this truth in advertising?

Even my brother ate only about half of his food.  Usually he snarfs it up and starts looking around for more.  It was truly bad food.  My mom’s hamburger looked as if it had once been a nice fat one, but cooking it for twelve hours at four-thousand degrees had turned it into a lump of coal.  On the other hand, my sister’s hamburger was almost raw; mine, well let’s just say it was passable.

Barely suppressing a gag reflex, we all walked back to the car to take up our forward charge towards the beach.  Once loaded, off we went and two hours later found us cruising south along a narrow stretch of tar-topped gravel deep into the wilds of Delaware.  The first sign of Bethany Beach was, of course, a sign that read ‘Welcome to Bethany beach’.  For all the size of the town it should have said the same thing on both sides.  We didn’t count actually, but I bet there couldn’t have been more than twenty-five or thirty buildings in the entire town; and half of them were either bars or tourist traps.  All the motels were cleverly placed so that you had to run down the center of town to get to them.  We finally located ours and, it could be said charitably, that the place was a real ‘fixer-upper’.

There was some confusion at the registration desk but none of us kids knew what it was because all we could hear was muted muttering by our mom when she got back into the car.  Something about having to pay – in advance – for the entire weekend, or we wouldn’t get the room.

After being warned that “there might be some sand in the room” we unlocked the door and waded through the stuff to each take our turn at the bathroom.  The sink was stained with rust and the bathtub held a nice set of rings around it etched in yellowing stages from top to bottom.  One bed, when we sat on it, sank nearly to the floor while the other could have been a cement slab with a sheet over it.  The radio howled like a banshee but gave up some static-filled twangy music when whacked on the side.  Virtually every tube in it was microphonic.

The good part was that we were right on the beach.  By that I mean we could walk out our back door and be just above what appeared to be the high tide line.  This was easy to tell because we first had to go out the front door and clear away the driftwood from the back door.  Apparently, there had been a storm a while back and nobody bothered to clear it out.

Dinner that evening turned out to be pretty good.  Every one of us dug into the huge pile of crabs plopped in the middle of the table and started whacking them with the wooden hammers provided.  This was really great!  We could eat with our fingers!

Smeared in butter from mouth to fingertips we walked back to the cabin (yes, each unit of the motel was a separate cabin) and started our cleanup.  While waiting for the water to get hot, my mom read War and Peace to us.  Finally, we eased carefully into the tub (one at a time), washed the grease off, and hopped into bed.

I’ve never liked sleeping with my brother.  He’s one of those kids that, when he rolls over, he actually catapults upward, flips in midair, and crashes back to bed.  This has the effect of an artillery shell near-miss and never fails to wake me.  Since we had the soft bed, his movements would be transmitted to me and I would echo what he just did. Only a half-second later.

The next morning dawned rather bright with the sun hitting our eyes through the torn window shade.  Taking turns, we all washed up, dressed, and went to breakfast.  On the way, we noticed that there was a fairly stiff wind coming up and had to hold up our hands to keep stinging sand from blowing in our eyes.  Our waitress told us that sometimes this happened and would last for days.  I could tell my mom was not happy with this news.

Finally, we donned bathing suits and headed for our little stretch of beach.  We walked towards it until we could feel wet sand but never opened our eyes.  On the beach itself, there was nothing to break up the wind from its charge across the Atlantic to dash against Bethany Beach.  If anything, it had grown stronger while we were at breakfast.

We struggled about two hours trying to find or build some shelter from the stinging sand.  A fort was made using driftwood but all that did was allow the wind to drop whatever sand it held directly on top of us as it passed over.  Finally my mom hopped up and yelled for us to go back to the cabin – we were leaving.

Even I was kind of happy we were going because having my skin sandblasted really wasn’t one of my favorite activities.  It really stung and grit got into some of the most interesting places – and created raw spots that really hurt.  We packed rapidly and put all the bags in the car while my mom went over to the registration cabin.

When she came back lightning was flashing around her head, steam was coming out of her ears, and a huge cloud of angry black clouds hovered over her.  She said not a word. But marched directly into the cabin and began stripping beds of covers and sheets and piling them on the floor.  Once they were bare she balled the linen up, took it to the car, and pushed it into the back seat.

A woman came running out of the registration cabin yelling things like ‘you can’t do that’ and ‘give those back to me’.  My mom only replied that “if you don’t give refunds, then these are certainly worth what you owe us” and hopped into the driver’s seat.  With a slam of a door, off we went, throwing sand into the woman’s eyes as we left (against the wind, actually).

We were all strangely quiet on the trip home.  Probably fearful of lightning striking in the same place.  Our mom was awesome when she got mad.

T.O.M.

My secret love

When I was around twelve or thirteen I fell madly in love with a girl in one of my classes at school.  Since this was grade school we stayed in the same room all day long with just occasional visits to other rooms, like gym and science.  This put me ever so close to her pretty much all day because her last name began with the same letter as mine.  The teacher loved to have us sit in order because she always passed out test results and marked up homework from an alphabetically organized pile.

My seat was one person behind and to the right of hers.  This meant I got a right-quarter view that drove me to distraction most of the time.  She was always in my field of view and, when she got up, sat down, moved, or twitched my eyes would flick to her instead of where they should have been.  I missed many a homework assignment because of this.

I was shameless in my efforts to attract her attention.  I would try to help her with her coat for recess only to be told she didn’t have one; or push other guys out of the way in order to get paired with her for ballroom dancing in the gym.  This particular activity would cause my feet to grow about seven extra toes and become as big around as a tennis racquet.  Thus, I was armed (or footed actually) to cause real pain when I stepped on her feet.

She would allow me to barely touch her waist while keeping her arm straight out from her side.  I don’t remember ever being allowed to move much closer than two or three feet.  We weren’t going to win any tango championships.

I would daydream through class coming up with elaborate scenarios where I would heroically rush in and snatch her from the jaws of an alligator, or carry her from a burning building.  The inherent problems with my fantasies were that there actually had to BE an alligator about to chomp her or how to arrange a burning building.  Each bizarre thought would smolder, burst into flame, and then be extinguished immediately by a dose of cold water.  What’s that Ma’am?  The country to the south of France?  Denmark, maybe?

As the school year dragged on decade by decade, her defenses began to crumble.  Occasionally she would glance in my direction and almost smile.  At Christmastime I helped rig the name drawing with a little deception (and a big hand from my friend who was picked to draw the names).  I ‘drew’ her name.  Now, if only I had a clue as to what to give her.

I agonized over the present for days; rapidly thinking of objects and just as rapidly rejecting them as not suitable.  What could I possibly get her that she might appreciate?  My little bank jar had exactly seven dollars and assorted coins.  I had no idea how much diamonds cost, probably a lot, so that was out.  Besides, her parents wouldn’t let he wear them anyway.  Clothes?  No, not hardly.  I tried to remember if I had ever seen her with a hair ribbon.  No, that’s not right either – too simple.

I began to ask her friends if she had given them any hints.  One of them told me she needed a new bicycle.  I could barely afford the new inner tube I bought for mine much less buying a whole bike; that was out.  Our ‘mall’ was actually a collection of five and dime, hardware, and grocery stores at the edge of our development but I spent a huge amount of time over the weekend there prowling the stores for an idea.  Finally, I found it.  It was the perfect gift – practical, yet with a certain whimsy she was sure to like.  She would surely throw her arms around me and we would share a kiss.

Finally, the big day arrived.  We put away our books, circled the desks, and loaded down a table in the middle with our gifts to each other.  Slowly, piece by piece, each gift was handed out to the proper person and everyone watched as it was opened.  I could hardly contain myself as the presents on the table were handed out.  At last, the ‘elf’ lifted my gift and called out her name.

She stepped up and accepted it from him, then sat back down to open it.  All eyes turned to her as she ripped the paper off … an ant farm.  A stunned silence fell over the classroom as the kids stared at her.  Oh, how could I have been so stupid!  What the hell was I doing buying her an ant farm?  As I prepared to slink into the coat room, she snickered and began to chuckle.  Through a rising tide of laughter my face began turning a deep shade of red.  She looked around and, once she met my eyes, she gave a big smile and mouthed the words “Thank you”.

Later, when all the gifts had been given, cake cut and eaten, and ice cream slurped she came over to me and asked:  “How did you know that I have wanted an ant farm for so long?”

“I dunno, Deanna, just lucky I guess” I mumbled.

Then she did lean over and brushed her lips along my cheek.  I was invincible and ready to fight off any alligators that tried to chomp her.

T.O.M.

The driving exam, European style

In order to be able to drive off the base it was necessary for one to obtain an International Drivers License.  This is actually a small book roughly the size of a passport and contains pages of information about you printed in many different languages.  Since I was able to drive on base I thought that adding the ability to drive off base would be pretty easy.  Not so.

First off, driving anywhere in Germany at sixteen just isn’t done.  A German kid has to be at least eighteen and take a three week course in driving just to be able to take the written test for his license.  It was offered to Americans as courtesy since we had differing laws.

I ended up downtown in the city hall facing the stern visage of a bespectacled matron of indeterminate age who gave me a tight-lipped smile meant, I can only guess, to make me feel welcome – about as much as much as a crowd of foosball rowdies.  I explained my purpose in disturbing her morning coffee to which she responded by slapping a couple dozen forms on the counter and pointing to a small table fixed to the wall.  I suppressed a grunt as I lifted the paperwork and carried it over to the table.

As you might not know, Germans are very fond of paperwork.  You must have all your papers in order to do anything so I began sweating through the answers to all the boxes on the forms.  For all I knew, I could be enlisting in the German army as I painfully translated German officialese into English.  Finally, I was finished and returned to the counter only to be told that now I had to go to another counter with my completed paperwork.

I loaded the wheelbarrow with the forms and trundled them over to the other counter and dumped them in front of a pleasant-faced guy bordering on the “Onkel Otto” persona.  He took his time scanning all my papers and finally pronounced “Ve vill calling you when made the decision” is all he said to me then turned to his desk.  Decision?  What decision was that pray tell?  Somewhat deflated, I left the building and headed home to await The Decision.

…

Several days passed until I received a phone call from, I think, Onkel Otto who informed me that I was to be at city hall in two days for the written test.  This is a test that is more visual that any other test I have ever taken.  Most traffic signs in Germany, or, for that matter anywhere else in Europe, are visual.  For example, a train engine with a gate in front of it, followed below by three red stripes means a railroad crossing in three hundred meters.  The striped diminish one at time until you are facing either a clear track or a gate.

Hundreds of other signs, mostly round with red borders, depicting almost anything from numbers (speed limits) to ducks (ducks) can be found.  If there is a red slash through it that means the opposite.  Parking, for instance, can be very confusing.  Parking areas are marked with a square blue sign with a “P” in it but No Parking is depicted by a round blue sign with a red border and a slash through it.  One sign one gets used to is the square yellow “Umleitung” (Detour), the end of the detour is marked by the very same sign, but with a red slash through it.  Simple, no?

As a sidebar, you might be interested (or not) in this web site: http://www.gettingaroundgermany.info/zeichen.htm

In any case, I was ready for the test when I arrived at the appointed place and time.  I was not ready for the huge booklet with hundreds of questions in it.  When told to start, I plowed manfully through the tome checking boxes and scratching my head.  By the time I was finished, only slightly before getting the fisheye from Onkel Otto, I was bathed in sweat.

Without a word, he pointed to a chair, fittingly in a corner, where I was to await the verdict.  He sat at his desk and scanned my answers a page at a time and, when done, I swear, he pulled out a stamp pad and a big stamp and clonked each page in rapid succession – Bam, Bam, Bam.  That the ink was red didn’t help my apprehension at all.  With great care Onkel Otto put away his stamping materials and smiled.  I hoped this was a good thing.

“Zweiundneunzig” he announced – ninety-two – and I exhaled slowly. “Now must come the driving test.  Ve vill calling you when made the decision”.  He and Stern-faced matron must have studied the same English text.  I once more left to await the calling.

…

This time, it only took a week to get the call.  Since I had to bring a car for the test (naturally) my dad drove me down to city hall in my Volkswagen.  There were several people ahead of me this time so I had to wait until an examiner was free for me.  While I waited, I chatted with some of the other perspirees ready to meet the examiner.  The one right next to me explained that he needed his license so he could go on the road to sell his wares – he was a salesman of work clothing.  That sounded very interesting to me.

Finally, my turn came and I was marched out into the courtyard for my exam.  First I had to demonstrate that I knew where all the safety equipment was – horn, emergency brake, ‘mox nix’.  The last item was, at that time, almost universally known to everyone in Germany.  It was actually two little lighted ‘flippers’ that appeared from each side of the car that indicated which way you were planning on turning.  The ‘mox nix’ moniker appeared from the corruption of the German ‘machts nichts’ which means ‘never mind’ or ‘makes no difference’ (take your pick) since whichever side the flipper popped out of was not necessarily the direction the car would eventually turn.  The flippers had a strong tendency to stick in the ‘out’ position.  But I digress.

In keeping with the flavor of this entertaining story, I will keep the comments made by the examiner in their German context and provide translations parenthetically.  Some things don’t translate well – like screams of terror – so I will keep these to a minimum.

We pulled out of the parking lot into the main stream of traffic in the middle of a town in the middle of the noon hour.  The first louder-than-normal words out of his mouth were “Bremson!  Bremson!” (Brakes! Brakes!) as we approached a rather primitive stop mechanism.  I say this because the stop “light” consisted of a clock-like dial with an arrow that rotated around the “face” which was marked with alternating quarters of red and green.  As the arrow approached the red portion drivers would speed up to try and get through before the arrow hit red.  When I attempted the same this prompted the response.  There was no yellow portion.

Cars around me began revving their engines as the arrow approached green and, slightly before it actually arrived, they were off like a shot – except me, I wasn’t ready until at least twelve microseconds later.  Off down the street we went, with the examiner pointing the way for me.  I missed one point and as I approached a “Y” intersection he began murmuring “Links!” (Left!) with increasing fervor and finally hit me with “Nein, dein Anderen Links!” (No, you OTHER left).  I eased into the adjacent lane with a minimum of horn-blatting and took the left as indicated; accompanied with my indignant mox nix pointing the way.

One of the more colorful comments was given after we had launched ourselves over a railroad crossing: “Gleise müssen viel langsamer warden” (tracks must be taken much slower).  Thanks, and I’ll be happy to have your hat re-blocked after mashing it into the roof.

Finally, came the parallel parking part.  We searched for some place we could do this, but noontime traffic had taken up most of the really good places.  I headed towards a narrow street and, as I prepared to enter it, I glanced at the sign: totally red, with a white bar horizontally across it.  I was about to enter a “no entry” road.  As I dodged nimbly to one side, the examiner hit me with “Dass eine Einbahnstrasse ist!” (That is a one-way street).  Yeah, I know, I just dodged it; weren’t you with me?

At long last, we ended our trip in and about town and headed back to city hall.  I committed no more noticeable infractions, but spent a bit of time watching out my peripheral vision at him as he started ticking boxes on his paperwork.  Uh oh, this could spell disaster.  As we parked and got out, he pumped my hand once, announced (are you ready for this?) “Ve vill calling you when made the decision”.

A week later I received my brand new International Drivers License in the mail.  I was the first among my peers to receive one and that made me very happy.  My first off-base drive found my girlfriend Virginia and I tooling along the river we used to ride our bikes along.  It was much better this way instead of puffing up hills.  Whole new vistas of travel opened to us.  And, at forty-two miles to the gallon, pretty inexpensive also.

T.O.M.

 

A Wonderful Christmas Gift

Since it is nearing Christmas time again (Yeah, I know; it is still six weeks away – but all the stores would have you believe it is tomorrow) I think relating what, for me, was my finest Christmas of my teenage years, would be in order.

It is the winter of 1958 and all through the housing area plans are being made for parties everywhere.  In Germany everyone really gets into the spirit.  Huge gatherings in town squares with caroling, red noses, smoky fires in barrels, chestnuts, warm drinks of an alcoholic nature and the like are the norm.

My girlfriend Virginia, with whom I had been going steadily (and steady) for over two years (I may have mentioned her before), and I dressed warmly and headed out the gate to town.  The sky was the color of lead and the wind, while brisk, was hardly noticed by us as we walked arm-in-arm down the street.  Halfway to the Stadtplatz (City Square) it began to snow.  Large, fluffy, flakes drifted downward and smacked us in the face wetly.  We were oblivious to this however as we savored the solitude of our walk.  We only had eyes for each other.

I had plenty of time on the stroll to reflect just how lucky I was to have Virginia as my friend and lover.  She had a droll wit, sparkling personality, and, most of all would put up with me.  She would catch me in a half-turn looking at her and glance back with a smile and say “What?”  “Nothing” I would reply; “Just happy to be with you today”.  She responded with a hand squeeze that sent thrills through my being.  Damn, she looked beautiful with snowflakes in her hair.

Turning the final corner, we entered the square.  The festivities were just getting started so we walked to the middle and joined in.  First off, we had to have some warm chestnuts which we bought from a vendor who had his charcoal fired pot overflowing with chestnuts.  Right next to him was a Glühwein seller.  Glühwein is a hot, spiced, wine which is usually made from a poor vintage wine.  What they do is add spices and honey to make it drinkable again.  Topped off with a cinnamon stick there is nothing else that will beat cold weather.

Armed with a paper cone of chestnuts each and a cup of Glühwein, we were ready for the rest of the fun.  As we wandered from kiosk to kiosk looking at all the items for sale I began thinking that this would be the perfect time to see what Virginia was interested in and get it for Christmas.  I had a fairly well paying job in the base PIO photo lab (Press Information Office) so, at the moment, I was flush with cash.  I had to get her something memorable because we had come to realize that this would be our last winter together.  Her dad was being reassigned in the spring and who knew what would happen then.

We passed tray after tray of doodads, gewgaws, and whatnots, she and I would pause and look.  Several items caught her eye, but I could see there was nothing she really wanted.   One vendor, in an isolated corner of the square, had a huge amount of silver items hanging from strings across his cart.  She has always been interested in anything worn around the neck.  She has a completely full jewelry case of necklaces and the like.  Still, she wanted to see what he offered.

I saw her reach for an item, pull her hand back, and then reach again for it.  When I saw what it was, a slow glow appeared behind her ears and down to her throat.  It was a miniature Eiffel Tower – about six centimeters long on a delicate chain.  I whispered in her ear “I know what you’re thinking” which brought her flush to full bloom.  She smiled at me without saying anything and held the charm to her throat.  “It’s perfect” she proclaimed.

She and I became one, in every sense of the word, on the train to Paris last summer.  It was I had to agree, the perfect gift.  I wondered if, every time she saw it, she would think of me.  I knew I wouldn’t forget that trip for as long as I lived.  ‘The first time’ is just that and cannot be repeated.

But then, she looked at the tag.  It was a solid silver charm and cost a great deal of money – even back then.  With a sad last look, she put it back in the little blue box and handed it back to the vendor.  I hugged her and made our apologies to the old guy as we walked away.  I knew I was going to come back here so I winked at him as I turned.

Continuing around the square we ran into a group of people standing in front of a small bandstand with a collection of musicians on it.  It isn’t often you get to listen to a band composed of an accordion, a trumpet, a set of drums and two guitars.  Surprisingly, they made very good music.  We sang along to a few Christmas carols and a couple of popular songs while sipping our second Glühwein.

We eventually got a little hungry so we went in search of a place to eat.  Neither one of us really wanted to have just a wurst or something like that so we headed to our favorite little Inn for dinner.  Before we left the square though I excused myself and headed for the restroom.

I rapidly walked away and headed immediately for the little stall where she had seen the necklace charm.  The old guy remembered me and we chatted for a bit on the quality of the charm.  He admitted that what he had hanging and on display was his “tourist items” but then brought a box out from a shelf under his cart.  It held a much more lustrous (and heavy) charm that I was sure would cost much more.  He indicated that he would like me to buy it for my young lady because it obviously meant something to the both of us and that he would sell it to me at half the listed price.  “She is very pretty and should have the best” he said.  I couldn’t have agreed more; and bought it.

I caught up with her and we walked a few blocks to the Inn which was crowded, but not full. We had a wonderful dinner and strolled back up the hill to the housing area in the snow.  It was a perfect end to a perfect day.

…

Virginia and I hosted the final party before Christmas for our group of friends.  It was a great party with a complete dinner, loads of games, and intimate dancing afterwards.  Between the games and dancing, however, was a gift-giving.  Each of us gave and received gifts from everyone else.  One at a time, we opened them.  I could hardly contain myself until Virginia announced that she would open mine.  The box had changed from square to a rectangle and the color from blue to red, but she knew right off what it was and with a cry of joy opened it.

She threw her arms around me and, for a moment, there was nobody else in the room for me but her as we kissed.  Man, I really loved this girl – this woman.  I nuzzled her neck as I passed the chain around it and fastened the clasp.  All the other girls gathered around, ‘ooh-ed’ and ‘ahh-ed’ at it.  I am sure that everyone who had been on the trip with us knew exactly what it signified but I didn’t care.

For the rest of the party I would catch her fingering the charm and smiling at me.  When we danced, we held tight to each other; and, when it was time to go home, we walked arm-in-arm through the snow to her house in the dark, still, night air.  For the rest of her, and my, time there in Germany I don’t think I ever saw her without the charm around her neck.

T.O.M.

 

Trip to the Worlds Fair – 1958, Part 4

After breakfast the next day, all of us piled into our two cars and headed back to the fairgrounds.  The parking, as usual, was chaotic but we finally managed to park together way at the back of the dusty lot.  By the time we got to the entrance gate we were already tired and thirsty.

The parents split off again leaving us kids to our own devices so we took off for the nearest place we could get something to drink.  As it turned out, the Belgian Congo exposition was the nearest and they had a sort of cocoanut drink that was very refreshing – also expensive.  We all had two of the milky drinks before we moved on.

Next on our agenda was the cable ride over (or actually beside) the Atomium.  It was a simple end-to-end lift with little round cars that seated four.  The cables actually ran through the open structure of the Atomium so you approached it, dove through, and popped out the other side.

After that ride, we queued up for almost an hour wait to get enter the Atomium.  Once inside, you had to be a hardy soul because there were elevators, but they were only for the sick and infirm.  We managed to huff and puff our way into one of the upper bells but decided to go no further.  I’d climbed to the top of the Washington Monument and had no desire to do that again.  After spending a while looking out the portholes at the entire fair grounds we left and took the tram to the Soviet Building.

Except for the French and the United States buildings, the USSR had probably the largest building on the grounds.  It was immense and held all sorts of interesting displays.  There was the obligatory huge statue of Lenin but what caught my eye was the replica of Sputnik in the aviation section.  There were also sections on agriculture, machines of all description, and a car assembly line.

By contrast, the US building was quite different.  It had wide tree-lined areas where periodically a fashion show would be held; demonstrations of “future homes” which had great expectations, but just didn’t pan out; a lot of fountains with synchronized water spouts; and, finally, a glass-walled booth with “Waldoe” controls in them so that they could reach out and tap people on the shoulder and the like.  Waldoes are the name given to the remote control arms used mostly in nuclear laboratories to handle dangerous items.  One guy manning the controls was so good that he could lift a person’s wallet right out of their back pocket – with that person’s permission that is.

The tree of us began to crash around three in the afternoon and began searching for another café. We found one at the US pavilion and rested our weary feet.  After a short burst of rapid-fire French, Adrianne told me that they were planning on leaving this evening for home.  Colombe looked sad at this announcement, but I guess she knew it all along.  In silence we trekked back to our meeting place for the trip back to camp.

Adrianne headed for the beach again while Colombe and I walked towards the boat rental place.  This time we just got a swan pedal boat and aimlessly wandered the lake.  At one point, we ended up on the little island but there were so many people on it we couldn’t be alone.  By the time our hour was up both of us were pretty frustrated at our attempts to get off by ourselves.

As the sun fell towards the horizon, we chanced on a perfect place.  There was a large structure that sat off to the side near a wooded area.  From the front it appeared to reach the ground, but when approached from the back through the woods you could see that it was supported about six feet from the ground on pilings.  There was a door in the lattice held by a simply hook which, when opened, allowed us to get under the building.

We worked our way deeper under the building until outside noises faded and we were completely screened from view.  When I threw down our ever-present blanket Colombe sat and then lay back reaching out to me with her hand.  When I took it, she pulled hard and I dropped down near her.  She began immediately raining kisses all over my face and neck.  Not to be outdone, I returned her effort myself.  Kisses and caresses became more and more serious until we were both panting for breath.

In the process, her blouse had become unbuttoned and her bra removed.  My shirt was gone completely and my belt unfastened.  She lay on her back and, while holding my gaze with those incredibly blue eyes, lifted her hips and pulled her Capri pants down to her knees.  I removed them completely and put them aside.

She reached out and found my erection and was in the process of liberating it when I stopped her for a second.  She looked puzzled at me until I held up a foil packet I had taken from my dad’s shaving kit the other day.  All she could say was “Bon!”  And she wasn’t kidding.  I ripped it open and we both rolled it down.

I rapidly removed my shoes and pulled my clothing the rest of the way off.  When I bent over and began kissing her breasts she closed her eyes and started humming to herself.  She hadn’t let go of me though and while I kissed lower and lower, she did a slow stroke that drove me wild.

I finally had reached a turning point and pulled the elastic of her panties away and down her legs.  I rolled over her and between the two of us our bodies met, and joined.  It happened so rapidly that her eyes flew open and she gasped once and recovered enough to begin pulling on my hips as she raised her knees.  Silence punctuated by kisses, sighs, gasps, and an occasional word in English and French ensued as we melted into each other.

Once she rolled me over to be on top for a while and then let me roll her back over as our passion erupted into a mutual climax.  She bit my shoulder again, much harder this time, to keep from crying out; I had to let out a small shout as she did.  Finally, and much too soon, it was over and we lay back in the afterglow gasping for air.

Slowly we got dressed, shook out the blanket, and made our way to the door.  Just before we opened it, she kissed me deeply and thanked me once more for the wonderful time.  She would be leaving in an hour or so and I would never see her again.  I’d have the memories though for the rest of my life.

Hand in hand we walked back to our tents and rejoined the others for dinner.  Conversation was relative light, but quiet, as we finished supper and they went off to pack up their car.  As the got ready to leave, Adrianne and Colombe both came over and kissed me; the former with a tiny bit of tongue and the latter with a lot of tongue.  She was a hell of a kisser.  Both turned, got into the car, and they drove off.  I had an address and a telephone number but I wasn’t sure I would ever write or call.  One never knew though.

We left Brussels the next afternoon and went back to Stadt.  It was a very quiet trip except when my mom noticed that the little bite mark had a twin on the other side.  She didn’t really say anything, but I could hear wheels turn as she mulled that one over.  I wasn’t ready to lie to my parents about what had happened so I was thankful that neither one of them asked.

All told, it was a hell of a trip to the Worlds Fair.

T.O.M.

 

Trip to the Worlds Fair – 1958, Part 3

Not very much happened the next day.  The girls and I were just about walked out so there was no real attraction towards trekking around the fair again yet another day.  We put on our swim suits, loaded up a bag full of the usual beach stuff: oil, sunscreen, a small transistor radio, and other items and headed down to the beach.

I call it a beach, but the sand was carted in from the North Sea and was pretty coarse; not enough to cause severe discomfort, but certainly nothing like I was used to in Delaware where we used to go during summer vacation.  If you didn’t have a fairly thick blanket, the stones would make you rather uncomfortable if you sat on one.  After clearing out the bigger ones, we set the blanket and sat.

My eye wandered across Arianne’s amber body in the near foreground which was certainly a sight until I focused on a more distant object – a small boat.  When I sat up quickly, Colombe asked me what I had seen.  I told her that there were small boats on the lake and maybe we could find where they were renting them.  They both thought that was a great idea so we packed up again and walked towards the edge of the beach.

We came across what appeared to be a small marina with different two and four-person watercraft.  Most of them were swan pedal boats, or otherwise foot-powered.  The guy did have quite a few simple rowboats, which were much cheaper.  We dickered over the pricing and finally rented a rowboat for three hours.  We dropped our gear into the bottom, stepped in, and paddled off.

I manned the oars first and took us to the middle of the lake.  There was a small, grass covered, island in the middle which looked like a nice place to visit so I made for that.  There were several other boats tied up or anchored near the shore of the island so we certainly wouldn’t be alone.  I stepped out and helped the girls ashore.  I moved to take out stuff, but Adrianne told me that it was unlikely to be stolen so I just took the radio.

It only took about 15 minutes to walk completely around the island and, since there wasn’t anything to see really, we loaded back up again and headed out into the lake.  This time, Adrianne and Colombe each had an oar.  They had a heck of a time coordinating their strokes though and much splashing, muttering, and jocularity ensued as we wove our way to and fro across the surface.  Colombe prepared to take a deeper stroke but the oar came out of the water and, since there was no resistance, flew out of her hand, jumped out of the oarlock and landed in the lake.  Her first reaction as well as Adrianne’s, was to lunge for the lost oar.  I shouted “No!” just as the both of them leaned way out over the side.  Gravity took over and we capsized immediately.  Adrianne managed to get “oh, merde!” out just as she went under.

The lake turned out to be only about four feet deep but it was enough to thoroughly soak all three of us.  Not only were we wet, but our little canvas bag got tossed over the side too and that held our identification, cash, and other papers.  I managed to flip the boat back over and leaned on the transom enough to spill most of the water back out. There was a tethered can under one seat so I helped the two girls in and hopped back in myself.  We were laughing so hard we could hardly speak as we bailed the rest of the water out.

Adrianne pulled out our ID’s and found that they were still dry.  The bag hadn’t been in the water long enough to soak trough.  That was good news indeed.  We spent some time squeezing out wet clothes and laying them on the seats to dry. I tried the radio, but it wouldn’t work.  I hoped that when it dried it would work again.  It was cheap, but had fairly good sound.

In a short while, Gus paddled up to us in a swan boat and asked Adrianne if she wanted to ride with him.  There was a short conversation with Colombe during which the both of them began gesturing.  Since it was in very rapid French I didn’t have a clue, but I had a feeling Gus and I were involved in the exchange.  Finally, they both said “OK” to each other and Adrianne pulled her stuff out of the bag, hopped over to Gus’s boat and they pulled away.

I asked Colombe what that was all about but she wouldn’t say other than that her sister was being ‘difficult’.  I wondered what that meant.  Later, she finally told me that Adrianne wasn’t very fond of Gus and that she really wanted to be with Colombe and me.  I had to keep asking why until she told me that Adrianne wanted to ‘be intimate’ with the two of us and that she didn’t want to share.

Well, this was a new twist I thought to myself.  How the heck did I get so lucky here?  I wasn’t what you would call particularly handsome so it must be that I was just available.  Colombe’s first response to our lovemaking made that pretty clear so maybe that was the reason.  In any case, I told Colombe that I was happy just being with her and if her sister wanted to be with us I didn’t mind.  Oh, that wasn’t a really good thing to say as she got a bit frosty and splashed bilge water at me with her foot.  So I hastened to add that she alone was better.  This brought a smile.

Our time ran out as we neared the marina so I steered us to the dock and we unloaded.  Colombe asked what to do now and I answered that I hadn’t a clue but I would go along with whatever she wanted.  She wanted to go back to camp and have a sandwich so we walked back to the tent.  We rooted around enough to come up with a loaf of French bread, a can of meat spread, some butter, and a jar of German mustard.  I made the sandwiches while Colombe went into the tent to change out of her damp clothes.  I went over into my tent and did the same.

Colombe wasn’t back by the time I returned to the table.  She must be taking her time I thought until I heard her call my name softly.  With a grin of anticipation I pulled the flap open and went into her tent.  She had the flap to her room closed too so I asked if she was decent.  She assured me she was decent so I opened the flap.

Holy cow!  She certainly was decent – and her sister as well.  Both Adrianne and Colombe were lying on the sleeping bag completely nude.  Adrianne giggled at my expression and motioned for me to lie between them.  Before I did that however, she wanted me to strip.  Never before in the annals of teenage lust had anyone taken their clothes off faster.  Nude also, I dropped facedown between them.  They both reached over and began massaging my shoulders and back.

Chattering among themselves they continued across my buttocks and down each leg.  I reached out for Adrianne’s breast, but she moved deftly away with a laugh.  She explained that this was to be for me, not them.  By now, I was drilling a hole into the sleeping bag so when they wanted me to turn over I balked.  I shook my head a couple of times while they tried again to get me to turn over.  Finally, Adrianne moved close enough to lift my shoulder enough to lever me over.  Colombe said “magnifique, n’est-ce pas?” and Adrianne agreed.  They chattered a little more and then they both started getting serious.  Adrianne moved closer to my head which afforded me access to her breasts while Colombe moved downward.  As I worked on Adrianne, Colombe worked on me.  Adrianne reached out and started bringing Colombe’s nipples to attention.  Soon, nothing was heard but heavy breathing as we continued stroking each other.

At some point, Adrianne had swapped with Colombe and she was attending to my erection while I began stroking them both.  Breath rate increased almost immediately.  When both of them started stroking me I lost control and began shooting all over their hands and my stomach.  When I wound down, they began working on each other.  Colombe went off first, followed closely by Adrianne.  It seemed to go on forever but finally they broke apart.  I was still sandwiched between them; and mostly breathless from the experience.

I had been right in the middle of their lovemaking and was still replaying the scene in my head as they began dressing.  I recovered my clothes and put them on also.  I thought to myself that if I lived through this trip I was really going to have some tales to tell – but, then again, who would believe them.  I certainly didn’t need my girlfriend, Virginia, hearing about my escapades so I became determined to never mention them to anyone.

The three of us were sitting at the table drinking sodas when our parents got back and asked us if we had fun all day.  All I could say was “yes”.  My mom looked steadily at me a moment and then nodded her head as if she understood.  What I didn’t know until I looked was that I had a small bite mark low on my shoulder that wasn’t quite hidden by my tee shirt sleeve.  “Oh, man” I thought, “She’s got me.”

That evening, after dinner, all seven of us just sat in camp and talked about all sorts of things.  I was between Adrianne and Colombe but I minded my manners and didn’t even try to hold either one’s hand.  I was going to be a good boy especially with my mom on my case.  I had a feeling she wouldn’t let any of us out of her sight tomorrow.  I was right.

T.O.M.

 

Trip to the Worlds Fair – 1958, Part 2

I slept fitfully that night as I relived our evening and awoke almost as tired as when I went to sleep.  I was the first one out of the tent, followed by my parents.  Shortly after we got the coffee going, Colombe and Arianne came out.  Arianne caught my eye as she smiled and winked once slowly.  Colombe had surely confided in her what happened last night.  I smiled back.  I’m not sure, but I think my mom caught the exchange because there was a thoughtful look on her face.

My parents and the girl’s parents decided to join forces and we had a lot planned today so around nine we got started towards the fairgrounds.  After spending a fortune to park in the lot, we all walked directly to the Atomium.  This was (and still is, decades later) a huge model of an iron crystal magnified something like 160 billion times.  This, it was stated, is where we would meet again in the afternoon.  With that, we split up.

Arianne, Colombe and I wandered around through the various country pavilions until our feet began to hurt.  There was some small ‘bus trains’ with seats on them, but you were supposed to put money into the seat barrier in order to raise it and sit.  Granted that one Belgian Franc wasn’t a lot of money, but to do this every time you wanted to ride really took a lot of change.  We only did this a couple of times until Arianne spotted a open air restaurant with a table open.  We zoomed over to it and aced out another couple by arriving first.  This table, we determined, we would keep all day if necessary.  We would take turns holding it down.

Arianne, who was wearing new shoes, pulled them off and tended to a couple of blisters while she shooed Colombe and I away.  We took the hint and vanished towards the German building.  When I asked one of the attendants where I could get a couple of sodas she asked me where in the Rhineland I was from.  This made me feel really good so I told her I was from Stadt, but that I was American.  I actually had to convince her I spoke English.  My German appeared to be pretty good.

Colombe and I sat down on a bench and sipped our soda in silence.  I have no idea what was running through her mind, but I was again replaying our nighttime episode at the lake.  I glanced sideways at her and was rewarded by a shy smile and a slight reddening under her chin.  She told me she was sorry if I thought she was a bad girl.  I told her that nothing like that came to mind at all.  I said that she was an exceptionally great girl and I was very happy she liked me at all.  She thought a moment and put her arms around me and gave me a big kiss and added “tonight we will go dancing, no?”  I wasn’t much of a dancer but, I told her I was game for that.

The rest of the afternoon we spent wandering again through all the various building, patios, and verandahs of the member countries.  The Spanish pavilion was pretty cool because they had a huge table set up with dioramas of the various areas in Spain and linked them with a very extensive model train.  We watched those trains for half an hour or so.  It turned out that Colombe lived not a quarter mile from the main railroad to Paris so trains were a part of her life.

We rejoined Arianne about an hour later and she took off to tour the grounds herself.  Colombe and I just sat and drank soda and ate ice cream cones.  The two plain hot dogs (we were in the American section) cost the equivalent of eighty-five cents each – a exorbitant amount for the fifties.  I thought of my dad and how he would rant at the prices.

We went through our goodie collection bags and arranged all the free stuff we had gathered at the different pavilions. Most of it was pretty cheap and would probably be broken before I even got them home.  The brochures were nice to read and provided me with all sorts of arcane information to bore my friends with.

Arianne returned and motioned the two of us to our feet pointing to her watch.  It was time to head for the Atomium and ride back to the campground.  It took almost twenty minutes to locate our parents and over an hour to edge our way through the traffic crush back to Loonbeek Straat (I smile every time I say it).  Tired, sore-footed, and dusty we finally parked at the tents.

Before dinner, I affixed a small blue flag with the Atomium on it to our front tent stay in honor of the Worlds Fair.  Once that was done we all pitched in and prepared supper for the seven of us.  Colombe’s mom made a really great pasta casserole and my mom turned up with a Dutch oven version of a simple meat loaf.  After running all day on nothing but an expensive hot dog and soda I was ready for a good meal.  It was all delicious and, surprising my mom, the girls and I volunteered to wash up while the parents got ready for their evening.

About an hour later, they took off in the bus for downtown Brussels for some night life.  This left just the three of us to our own devices.  Arianne decided she would change into a swim suit and go down to the beach for what sun was left.  Colombe and I told her we would just stay here until the dance started in the friendship pavilion.  “Be good” was all she said as she walked away from camp.

Colombe took my hand and pulled me over to one of the folding chairs next to her tent, pushed me down, and sat in the one next to mine.  She had changed from rather tight jeans and a blouse to a pair of flannel pants and a bulky-knit sweater.  She looked very good to me in the lowering sun.  I asked her if she was warm enough to which she replied that she was fine.  Small talk if I ever heard it.  Brussels is only about fifty miles from the English Channel/North Sea and can get quite cool when the sun sets.

Colombe tapped me on the shoulder and motioned back into the tent, telling me that she had something to show me.  Several dozen scenarios flashed through my mind in an instant as I rose up and followed her into the tent.  She went into the right-hand room, pulled me into it, and closed up the flap behind us.  I glanced around and saw two sleeping bags, a very small box used as a dresser and an opened travel bag.  She reached into the travel bag and pulled out a sheer pink chemise topper.

Without a word, she pulled the sweater over her head and put the topper on.  “Do you like?” she asked me.  When I could find my voice, I told her that it was perfect.  She stood and struck a pose like a model.  Her breasts, unfettered in any way, moved provocatively behind the almost transparent material.  It was incredibly sexy to watch.  I sank to my knees to watch the show.  She turned this way and that, all the while smiling at me.  It really lit my fire to watch her; but, we were interrupted.

I heard footsteps outside and a voice that called “Hallo, jemand zu Hause (anyone home)?”  It was Arianne, come back from the beach.  “One moment” called Colombe as she frantically gathered up her clothes and put them on.  She led the way out, holding my hand, and into the sunset to greet Arianne who smiled a bit at my discomfiture.  They were both so matter-of-fact about what had happened that I turned out to be the one who was embarrassed.  I don’t know why though, nothing did happen.

I cleared my throat and began filling up the coffee pot as they both giggled between themselves.  Arianne was no dummy.  She knew what her sister was doing before she arrived.  Good thing she called out though – otherwise it would have been disastrous.

Our parents arrived just as the coffee was ready and we all sat down to tell of our adventures.  Naturally, I didn’t get into all of mine.  Dinner was again fixed for all seven of us.  This time it was simple hamburgers that, and this surprised me, Colombe’s family enjoyed heartily.  They had never eaten one before.  We showed them how to add lettuce, pickles, onions, mustard and ketchup to top them off.  They were pronounced ‘delicious’.

Dancing that night was a lot of fun.  The band knew just about every dance style from waltzes to rock’n’roll and they were really good.  The younger set, like Colombe, Arianne, and I, tended to congregate closer to the bandstand than the adults so when a particular dance got our attention we jumped up and went to the dance floor.  Arianne had found a guy of about twenty and introduced him to us as Gus.  I got the impression he was Belgian because his French was not quite the same as Arianne’s but no matter, we all had fun.

I managed a slow dance with Arianne who molded herself to me as we moved across the floor.  She and I whispered in each other’s ears while we danced.  She told me that she was very happy that Colombe had met me because she was very sad at home after her boyfriend left.  He apparently had enlisted in the army and didn’t tell her.  When he was ordered to training camp he simply left – not telling her until she got a letter in the mail that he wasn’t coming back home.  I thought that was a pretty rotten thing to do to anyone, especially one as pretty as Colombe.

The band closed down around midnight so we all headed back to our camp.  Following a final round of drinks there was much stretching and yawning as we headed into our respective tents for some sleep.  It took me a while to finally drop off.

T.O.M.

 

Trip to the Worlds Fair – 1958, Part 1

In June of 1958, right after classes let out for the year, my parents announced that they were going to the Worlds Fair in Brussels, Belgium.  By that time I was a pretty good photographer if I do say so myself.  I lobbied long and hard to be allowed to go with them.  I had seen all the hype in the newspapers and listened to everyone who had gone to see it and just had to go myself. After all, I was sixteen now.

They relented and changed their announcement to read:  ‘plus son’.  My brother and sisters complained but they were unmoved by their cries.  I tried hard not to smirk, but it was very hard not to as I packed for the trip.

They had decided right from the first that it would be a camping trip.  Camping nowadays brings to mind all the ‘must have’ stuff that campers drag along with them to “get away from it all”.  Camping in the ‘50s was much simpler – a few clothes, a swimsuit, a cooking kit, you sleeping bags, and that’s about it.

My dad had, earlier that year, bought a very nice Volkswagen Deluxe bus; the large, square, black over red bus with the porthole windows along the roofline bus.  It was ideal for our trip.  We loaded everything up, filled it with gas, and took off one fine morning for Belgium.

My dad had the foresight to book a camp spot at three different sites just to be sure and they were definitely needed.  The trip took over four hours because the roads were terrible.  It seemed as if every place we went through had their portion under construction.  Long waits while it seemed as if each and every cobblestone was placed by hand and tamped down.

The first place didn’t even have a record of our reservation which didn’t help my dad’s disposition at all.  He can be a bit impatient.  The second had our reservation, but the only few spots left were gathered around about twenty portable potties and, as you can imagine, the flies (and smells) were thick.  The third was on a road that I well never forget: Loonbeek Straat.  Even now, rolling that one off my tongue brings a smile to my face.  Loonbeek, what’s not to love?

We must have arrived right after it opened because there were relatively few campers and what there were had spread out a bit.  Camping in Europe is not quite like camping in the States.  The term ‘close together’ in Europe means that when you sneeze in your tent, your neighbor to the right says “Gesundheit”.  If you break wind, your other neighbor says “Oy, mate.  Aim it the other way, eh”.  In any case, we slid in next to a very nice camper and a rather large, three-room tent.  When finally set up, we strung out our obligatory line with all the flags of countries we had camped in.  This was a tradition among European campers and would allow them to stroll by and visit.  Your own personal country flag was nearest the top of the string; in our case, the US flag.

A rather large lake glistened through the trees so I donned my trunks and told my parents I was off to the lake.  I was warned though to be back for dinner at five.  About halfway there, I caught up with a gaggle of kids about my age and joined them.  There were around ten of us and I guess we only had German and French as a common among us.  We were quite a mix of nationalities.  I was the only American.

We settled down on the shore of the beach and the girls took off for the water while we guys watched the girls taking off for the water.  The bikini, having been introduced a few years back to Europe, had taken the younger crowd by storm.  There were many different styles and all of them added up to a real eyeful in most cases.  There were, of course, some persons who just shouldn’t have tried to wear one, but all in all, we ogled the good looking ones.

For most of the afternoon we rested on the sand, splashed in the water, and dunked girls.  They, on the other hand, shrieked their ‘displeasure’ and splashed us back.  A good time was had by all involved.  In what seemed a short time, it was nearing five and I had to head back.  Two of the guys and three girls walked back with me.

To my surprise, one of the girls walked all the way back to my tent – or almost to my tent.  It seemed she was in one of the rooms of the three-room tent next to us.  Oh, how lucky could one guy be?

My parents had left me a note stating that they were down at the social pavilion and to come on down when I got back. I went into my tent and changed back to shorts and a tee shirt while listening to her chatter with another girl.  I didn’t speak French very well, but I got the gist of it enough to think that the other girl was her sister.  Older or younger, I didn’t know which but it sure sounded interesting.

I had learned earlier that one of them, the blonde, was named Arianne.  I was soon to find out that the other one was indeed her younger sister Colombe. As I emerged from my tent, they both popped out of theirs and Arianne introduced me to her.  Arianne, I knew, was eighteen so I estimated that her sister was about sixteen or very close to it which was a very nice happenstance as it were.  She had very dark, almost black, hair and was superbly assembled in every way.  She tended to giggle a lot, but I was prepared to overlook that purely to be a nice guy.  Right.

Their parents had left them a note with a bit more information than mine: they had met my parents and the four of them were down at the pavilion waiting for us.  At that, we started out walking in that general direction. Colombe grabbed my hand and brought it closer to her face to examine the ring I had on my finger.  It was my birthstone, a square cut ruby, and was set in heavy silver.  She found it fascinating and, after examination, just never let go of my hand.  Well, I’ll be doggoned, I thought.  Things were definitely looking up.

After a satisfying, but very expensive, supper of brats and sauerkraut, the adults decided to go schmoozing with several other couples in one of the bars.  While there were no laws against “underage” people in bars, we younger ones had other ideas.  One of them was to head for the small carnival midway and see what that was like, or we could hang out at a large campfire being set up at the pavilion.  Colombe and I headed for the campfire to get a good seat.

Since I was the one with limited French and she was one of the non-English speakers our common language was German.  It must have sounded strange to others to have an obvious American and a very French-looking girl speaking German but we got along quite well.  After searching for a nice log to lean our shoulders on, we settled down to just chat.

She was from a village near Orleans, which was Southwest of Paris, named Saran.  She lived on a farm and her family had been there for many generations.  She had her own horse and went out riding almost every day.  I envied her that because I loved to go riding but didn’t have much of a chance to do so except when I went to my good friend Wolf and Hilde’s farm.  We continued to chat for a while.

She told me she was slightly chilled and asked if I would go back to the camp and grab a blanket.  The ground was getting cool to me as the sun set so this sounded like a great idea.  Off I went.  When I got there, her sister was there and told me that both her parents and mine were going into Brussels to take in a cabaret show.  They wouldn’t be back for hours.  Okay, this was good news too.

I grabbed a couple of blankets, a bag of pretzel snacks, and two bottles of the local soda to drink, and headed back to the fire.  By now, they had a small blaze going in the fire ring which Colombe and I could feel on our faces.  I fluffed a blanket, laid it under us on the ground, and motioned her onto it.  When we were both resting with our backs on the log, I threw the other one over us.

She scooted over so close to me that our hips were touching and dropped her head onto my shoulder.  I’m thinking ‘this is cool’ as I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.  Now, I thought me and my body had an understanding:  I wouldn’t do anything to hurt it, and it wouldn’t do anything to embarrass me.  This was not the case as the proximity of a nice warm girl caused an involuntary reaction which threatened to cause trouble.

I tried desperately to contain myself, but it was too strong and I had to surreptitiously reach under the cover to make ‘adjustments’.  Colombe snickered, stuck her tongue into my ear, and asked if she could help.  This, if I have to say it, really got my attention.  Without waiting for my answer she reached under the covers also and straightened things out – literally.  With everything again smoothed out, she simply left her hand where it was while we talked some more.  I was soon fully expanded under her ministrations so she gave me a little squeeze and said ‘wunderbar’.

I really don’t remember what we chatted about as my entire attention was on what she was doing with her hand.  I glanced around but no one nearby was taking the slightest notice of what we were about.  In fact, some of them nearby seemed to be even more active and we were.  I could tell it was going to be a really tough evening on my libido.

She rolled even more towards me, pulled on my shoulder to turn me towards her, and led my hand over to her breasts.  Somehow, she had pulled up her sweater so I would have clear access to both of them.  We settled down in that manner simply staring into each other’s eyes.  With no change in either of our positions, or her expression, she reached down with her free hand, unzipped my pants, reached in and ran her fingers over what she had found.  My expression, however, was one of deep surprise but I masked it well.

This emboldened me enough to try some solo flying myself so I reached out and found the hem of her skirt, lifted it, and slid my hand under it.  She began humming to herself as I stroked the front of her panties and she continued her stroking inside my pants.

Before things got really out of hand, so to speak, the master of ceremonies jumped up and began to get the crowd warmed up for the night’s festivities.  The first item was a group sing.  Since it was in French, I hummed along but didn’t have a clue as to what it was about.  Colombe gave me a running translation as we sang.

The blanket remained thrown over us from the neck down as before but she had rolled back away from me and we both sat up – leaning against the log.  Her hand still held me and would occasionally move sensuously a couple of strokes; I returned the favor from time to time.  We followed the evening’s program fairly well until it was time to break up and put the fire out.  I glanced at my watch and was surprised to find that two hours had elapsed.  I also suddenly realized that she had kept my erection alive on and off for almost the whole time.  She hardly ever let it get away from her.

When the fire was finally put out, we reluctantly buttoned, zipped, and otherwise made ourselves presentable.  As we stood, she leaned close to me, put her arms around my back, and whispered in my ear that she would like to find somewhere romantic to go.  I was all for it but didn’t have a clue as to where we could go.  She had been at the campground a couple of days longer than me so she suggested we walk down to the lake.

When our night vision had finally arrived we walked with confidence along the shore trail.  It seemed as if every small path down towards the lake had some sort sound or movement coming from it.  Apparently, a lot of other people had the same idea.  It was almost embarrassing to listen to it as we passed.  Colombe remarked on this in a matter-of-fact tone as ‘having fun’.  Yeah, what fun!

After trekking almost halfway around the lake we finally found a little trail that didn’t appear to be taken.  I followed her closely as she broke trail for the both of us.  We arrived on a very small chunk of shoreline surrounded by tall, thick, bushes.  The only lights we could see were far across the lake.  To our left we could hear giggles and an occasional deeper voice.  This was punctuated by the snap of elastic and, shortly, a sigh of pleasure.  We were definitely on lover’s row all right.

I again flapped out the blanket so we could take off our shoes and stand on it.  She moved closer and began lifting my shirt over my head.  I did the same to her and those marvelous breasts sprang into view in the dim light.  I kissed first one and then the other and felt her nipples harden in the process.  She reached down to her waist, pushed her short dress down, and stepped out of it.  She motioned for me to do the same so I unbuckled my belt, unzipped, and dropped my pants to the blanket too.

We knelt down, knee to knee, and put our arms around each other.  She pulled me tight to her breasts and kissed me deeply with a little tongue thrown in.  It was a true French kiss I remember thinking as I responded.  I had also responded elsewhere again as I knew I would.  She found that next and proceeded to slide my shorts down and put her hands on it.  Not to be outdone, I reached over and did the same to her panties.

With a minimum of fuss, we both got rid of all the clothing we had and lay down on the blanket and threw the other over us.  As we rolled together it was that very moment I suddenly realized I didn’t have any protection at all; nothing.  Oh no, this was going to end in disaster I thought as I fessed up and told her.

She looked at me a moment, held up one finger, reached back for her small bag, fumbled inside for a bit, and triumphantly held up a foil packet.  I was saved!  “Viola!” she whispered.  She took charge right then by pushing me on my back and fitting the condom snugly over me.  Once that was accomplished, she startled me by throwing a leg over my hips and lowering herself downward and held me inside her.

That’s all it took to get me completely fired up.  I pulled her down to my chest as she began working her hips to get herself settled.  She dropped her head into the hollow of my neck and we began our dance.  We murmured into each others ear as we progressed.  I was overwhelmed by the warmth of her core and could actually feel her getting warmer until I felt the beginnings of what would be one of my truly great orgasms.

I tried to hold off and, to some extent I think I managed yet another few minutes, but was pushed over the edge by her sitting up, pushing down hard against my hips, closing her eyes and hissing deeply as her orgasm overcame us both.  We held tightly to each other as our emotions took over and put us on autopilot.  My hips jumped upwards to meet hers coming down.  If we bruised each other I didn’t notice it at all.

When we finally broke apart, she rolled to her back and exhaled deeply.  All she said was ‘I needed that – very much’.  When I asked her what she meant she explained that her boyfriend had left her four months ago and she hadn’t been with anyone since that time.   I realized at that moment that she was just really using me, but, I figured ‘what the hell’.  She needed some release and this surely didn’t affect me at all since I would probably never see her again.  It certainly wasn’t going to hurt me at all either.

I kissed her and said that whatever her reasons were, I was grateful for the moment.  She brightened with a smile and put her hand on my cheek to pull me closer.  She kissed me deeply again and sat up.  Then she said we didn’t need this any more and pulled the condom off and grubbed a small hole in the sand under a bush to bury it.  I thought idly that it was a wonder she didn’t dig up two more doing that seeing as how this part of the lake seemed to get heavy use all night.

She shivered a little so I threw the other blanket back over us to keep warm.  Once we warmed up, we both decided that we’d better get back to the campground before our parents came home.  Reluctantly we dressed, shook the sand out of the blankets and headed back out the narrow path towards the lakefront walk.  Arm in arm we slowly strolled back to camp.

T.O.M.

Cruel and unusual punishment

I don’t really think that my parents set out to make my life truly unbearable, but it sure seemed that way.  Since I was the eldest, I turned out to be the ‘test kid’ for pretty much everything from haircuts to shoes.

Part 1:

I’m sure they thought it best when faced with four kids (two boys and two girls – in that order) that buying a home hair cutting kit made sense.  Now, I’d seen my mom cutting my dad’s hair several times for ‘just a trim’ so I wasn’t too worried when she sat me down in the kitchen on a stool, threw a dishtowel around my shoulders, pulled it up tight, and clicked on the shears.  It was during this first time that I learned to tell just how deep a certain cut was by the change in tone of the clippers.  A seriously gone astray swath would also be accompanied by a phrase, usually under her breath, that wasn’t meant for my tender ears.

After what seemed like the finals of the Australian Sheep Shearing festival, she turned the clippers off and started using scissors for ‘really close-in’ operations.  Raking the comb one way and snipping with the scissors the other way she whacked across the top of my head.

Finally, she pronounced she was done, whipped the dishtowel off, and pushed me out of the stool.  I rushed to my bedroom where I could take a look at my new haircut.  This was a mistake.  I should have just gone directly to hell.

What looked back at me was what appeared as a badly drawn image of Dagwood Bumstead from the comic strip ‘Blondie’.  Despite several escaping shafts of hair from the side of my head, there was what looked like a small gouge right down the middle – but just a bit off center.

Maybe I shouldn’t have moved around as much as I did.

Part 2:

The haircut was applied at the end of summer so that I might be prepared to enter school in the fall not looking like some lonesome sheepdog in need of a license tag.  What also took place was the dreaded “school clothes shopping” trip to the Base Exchange.  Previously, they had been taking us to places like Sears and Monkey Ward for clothes as they apparently had ones that didn’t self-destruct after two days of wear during the summer.  The Base Exchange, on the other hand, provided clothes that would get you yelled at if you even attempted to sneak out the door wearing them after school.  They also tarred you with the brush labeled DORK.  Why my parents ever thought I would want to wear them after school I’ll never know because if I did I would be shunned, or otherwise made to feel unwelcome.  It was bad enough to have to wear them TO school.  This was 1955 and the wearing of ‘blue jeans’ and tee shirts was strictly forbidden by every school in the land.

As we were wandering through the self-proclaimed School Clothes section, my mom gleefully threw shirts, pants, sox, underwear, and other unidentifiable items into her basket.  Once full, she herded me over to the fitting rooms.  Ah!  No!!!  Not the fitting rooms!

Multiple trips were made by me shuttling back and forth into the closet to change into various combinations of clothes.  White shirts and dark pants were pretty much okay with me, but when she pulled out a lavender shirt and light-brown pants I felt the blood drain from my face.  This combination, I concluded, would definitely put me in contention for the “biggest pansy in school” award.  I’d have to leave town after showing up in them.  The finishing touch was the pants were corduroy.   If the lavender shirt didn’t announce my sexual preferences, the ‘whoop-whoop’ of rubbing corduroy would.

Fortunately, my argument of “Mom, I’ll get stomped” held water and she put them back on the rack.  I think she originally chose them just to rattle me.  It worked.

Part 3:

In combination with the above degrading operations, I was also subjected to a visit to the Optometrist on the base.  My parents had noticed that when I was reading that I tended to put my nose close to the page and squinted a lot.  This prompted them to make an appointment.

I arrived in the waiting room the required fifteen minutes early and, according to the wall clock, waited yet another forty-five minutes as the ‘doctor was running late’.  Running?  From whom?  I bet it was from other boys who had been tortured by his machines.

In due course I was ushered into a chair surrounded by diabolical machines designed to suck your eyes out of your head or some such.  First there was the machine that forced your lids open, made you stare straight ahead, and blasted air into the center of your eye.  The explanation was to check for ‘glue coma’.  As far I knew, I stopped eating library paste in Kindergarten so that wasn’t a problem.

Then the lights were dimmed and another machine wheeled in front of me to be pushed directly in my face.  I couldn’t see anything through it so I just sat and waited for what was to happen.  There was a click and my left eye saw a white chart with several dark blobs on it ranging from a large blob on top down to a really long blob on the bottom.  As the Doc manipulated wheels, gears, and spoke incantations, the blobs slowly revealed themselves as letters.  Telling me to read the middle line proved difficult.  I counted the lines – an even number – so what, pray tell, was the ‘middle line’?  I apparently guessed correctly and was awarded several other visual options that made the letters slide sideways at the top, go in and out of focus, and finally coalesce into crystal clarity.  The other eye was treated the same.

I tried to listen carefully to what the Doc told my mom, but it got a bit garbled I think.  He said I had ‘mild my opium’ and ‘a stick matisism’ and that he recommended glasses.  The last word struck like a dagger to my heart – GLASSES!  Oh, no.  I’d seen what military glasses looked like – my dad wore a pair of them.  Every time I saw him wearing them I was seized with an inner mirth that threatened to permanently water my eyes. They consisted of dark plastic (nearly black) with round lenses and made you look like you were wearing swim goggles.  My fate was sealed.  No self-respecting girl would ever be seen with me while I wore them.  At least I wouldn’t get them right away and could try to get in good with a girl before she saw them.

Part 4:

The final nail in my coffin was a trip to the base dentist.  You have to remember that this was back in the mid-fifties and dentistry was still in the Stone Age so to speak.  There were no high-speed drills, cherry flavored gum deadeners prior to getting a jab by a hypodermic needle the approximate size of a fountain pen, or other niceties you have now.

Entering the room you first see yet another chair surrounded by complicated devices intended to torture others into submission.  The most prevalent machine was a multi-hinged device with what appeared as hundreds of little graduated pulleys and wheels wrapped with rubber bands.

Right next to that was a miniature toilet bowl with water running around the rim; no doubt to let the blood drain without getting it on your shirt.  To the side was a small table with hundreds of little pointed things with which to examine every crevice in every tooth.

The nurse sat me down, snapped a tablecloth over me, and summoned the dentist with a “he’s ready doctor”.  No, no, you haven’t strapped my arms to the chair yet – I’m NOT ready!  But the dentist appeared right in front of me wearing glasses that had several other lenses swung out to the side.  Graduated magnifying lenses I thought so he could peer into the cavities he was sure to find.

Grabbing a fistful of little pointed metal things he began examining my teeth.  Occasional he would mumble something to his nurse like “number seven impacting number eight – distilled side – put a watch on that one” or, “number fourteen has an include all on the mole”.

The final result was that I did need several fillings but that he wasn’t going to do them today – thank goodness.  He told my mom to make an appointment to get them done.  How about June 17, 1985?  I don’t think I’m busy that day.

T.O.M.