BLIND DATE(Ed DeRousse) The Blind Date

We met at the Lions Club community dance. It was the late 1960’s. That was the good ’ol days when towns actually hosted community dances for their high school age kids. These Lions Club Saturday night dances drew kids in from several smaller surrounding towns.

Every Saturday we danced with live bands. Some were so so, some were great. It didn’t matter, though, we always had great fun. I was very rarely on the dance floor, but enjoyed the music and the conversations of those around me.

Dave, my best friend in high school, and his girl friend, Cindy, arranged for me to meet CJ at one of those dances. That, of course, required CJ and I both to put a lot of trust in our friends. As for me, being a shy kid, I was pretty sure I would not be able to get a girl to go to the dances with me. That would require me to ask a girl, and that, most likely, was not going to happen.

Dave told me all about CJ. She was Cindy’s best friend. Dave informed me that he and Cindy planned to bring CJ to the next dance. It would be a great opportunity to meet her.

This, obviously, was going to be a blind date. Right or wrong, blind dates were met with skepticism. But, at least I was going on a date. Who knows, maybe something good would come from it.

I was already sitting at a table when Dave arrived with the two girls. As soon as Dave introduced me to CJ I remember thinking, “Wow! She’s way too pretty. This is going to be an extremely uncomfortable night. That girl’s not going to like me.”

My thinking was way wrong.

Of course, the first few moments were uneasy. We didn’t know each other. We knew our being at that dance was due to someone else.

Somehow, God’s doing I think, we quickly moved past the respectful stage and immediately into being comfortable talking with each other. We danced a couple of dances, but mostly talked. I was having a good time. I told CJ I am always at the dances and hoped that if she came back next week, we could have a dance or two together. She did.

Cindy and Dave somehow managed to insure we met each other at the dance. Those two saw something in two other people and took the initiative to make it happen. How cool is that?

Cindy and Dave, though, were not meant to be and have long since gone separate ways.

For the first month or so of our relationship, I would meet CJ at the community dance. We always had lots of fun.

CJ and I enjoyed dancing together. I was a skinny, awkward, insecure kid, but for some reason, felt I was a good dancer. I don’t really know if I was. No one ever told me I couldn’t dance. Everyone was having too much fun to care.

In reality, I think it was CJ that made me look good. You see, she was the beautiful red head and she was dancing with me. There was no way I could ever look bad next to her.

CJ, though, like me, was shy. For the life of me, I could not understand why. How could someone as beautiful as her, not be surrounded by a crowd? Dave and Cindy once told us; it was our shyness that made them believe we were suited for each other. They were right. Whenever we were together, we became one strong unit.

One day I figured out a way I could spend more time with CJ. I could pick her up at her house and drive her to and from the dance. CJ lived in a nearby village, twenty miles away. Today, that distance is no problem, but in the 60’s in Southern Illinois, for a boy who had to borrow his dad’s car, twenty miles may as well have been one hundred. So CJ and I were Saturday night daters only. During the week we let our fingers do the dancing. That, of course, meant we gave Ma Bell lots of support. Our fingers would dance around Ma Bell’s rotary dials almost every night.

Picking my date up at her house meant I would eventually have to meet her parents. Back in the 60’s or even today, I doubt if many teenage boys look forward to meeting the date’s parents.

Boy! Did I dread that. CJ’s dad was strict. Or at least I felt he was. I really had nothing to base that on. I just had a hard time meeting adults. I always thought my dad was strict, so I guess I felt every dad was the same way.

Anyway, my date had given me the directions to her house. She lived in a village of about three hundred people, including the cats and dogs. How hard could it be to find her house?

But I am directionally challenged and back then I did not have the advantage of the global positioning service we have today. Heck, we hadn’t even visited the moon yet.

Eventually, I found the house I heard CJ tell me was hers. It was the white house on the corner with a white fenced in yard.

I pulled into the driveway, parked my dad’s big green Buick LaSabre, and walked to the front door. Contrary to what the 50s and 60 teen movies portray, honking the car horn and waiting for the girl to slide into the seat next to you didn’t really happen. At least no one I talked to admitted that.

I proudly, but respectfully, knocked on the door. To my surprise, a small white haired elderly lady opened it. Thinking I had just met Grandma, I asked her if CJ was ready yet. She looked confused. She informed me there was no CJ living in her house.

I asked her if this was 205 West Church St.

“No”, she said. “You’re looking for the Salger house. West Church is one block behind me.” She pointed to an imaginary spot behind her. “You can see their house from here.”

I think my face turned red. As politely as I could, I excused myself, returned to my car, and drove the one block the nice old lady indicated.

It couldn’t be the house the old lady pointed to? It was white and was on the corner. It did not have the fence I was looking for. But it did have the numbers 205 on the door.

Once again, I parked my dad’s big Buick in the driveway. As before, I politely, but not so proudly, knocked on the door. This time, CJ opened it with a smile. Before I could even speak, she asked me if I “enjoyed my stay at Mrs. Smith’s.”

Apparently, in a small town like that, there is no hiding. Even back then word spread fast. You see, Mrs. Smith called CJ’s house as soon as I left her house. It appeared that Mrs. Smith was that time period’s internet of the town.

My date asked me why I stopped at the Smith’s house looking for her. I told her “I was looking for the white house on the corner with a fence. That’s what you said to look for.”

“I said, mine was the white house behind the white house with the fenced in yard.”

There was no sense trying to defend myself. I was in her home. I just made some lame excuse about misunderstanding her.

I was certainly starting this relationship off with a positive impression! NOT! Although nothing was ever said, CJ’s dad must have thought his daughter was getting involved with a dodo.

Anyway, CJ invited me in and introduced me to her parents. I felt as if I was shaking. I hoped it didn’t show.

Mrs. Salger, like her daughter, had red hair. She was introduced to me as Selma Salger. She greeted me with a pleasant, warm, smile. I gently but politely shook her hand. I immediately liked her and she appeared to genuinely like me. That was easy enough.

Then CJ introduced me to her father. I extended my hand. He accepted it and we firmly shook each other’s hand. A firm handshake, I was sure, would leave a good impression.

CJ’s father was not a large man. But then again, neither am I. In fact he could look me straight in my eyes and neither of us would have to so much as raise or lower the head. Mr. Salger wasted no time finding my eyes. I found that quite intimidating.

“Pete, this is my dad, Richard Salger. Everyone calls him Red.”

“Hmm!“ I thought, “Now, why did she tell me his name was Red? Does she expect me to call him Red? I was taught to call all adults by their Mr. or Mrs. Name.”

This was already getting really stressful for me. What happened next did little to relieve any of it.

Because Mr. Salger and I were the same height, I could tell he was studying my eyes. He could see the confusion there. I was looking at his hair. It was more blond than red. In fact, as hard as I studied his hair, I could find no red.

Mr. Salger had not yet released his grip as he ran his free hand through his blond hair. “When I was a youngster, my hair was bright red.” That’s all he said. I could tell he did not feel the need to say more about it. Nor did I feel the need to ask for any explanation.

Finally, the handshake was over, but the eye contact was not. Then, “Red” asked what time I was planning to have his daughter back home.

CJ and I were both Seniors in high school. I figured that would entitle us to be out until the dance was over. It was over at 10:30 p.m. The drive back to her house would take about twenty minutes. Using that logic I confidently told Mr. Salger I would have her back at 11:00 p.m.

To my surprise, CJ’s father accepted my answer. I had survived my first encounter with Red Salger.

It was off to the dance with the beautiful red head. CJ and I were looking forward to a good time.

We arrived at the Lions Club, around 7:30 p.m., just in time to hear the band introduce themselves. This band had played there several times before and had a reputation as very good musicians.

We located our friends, Dave and Cindy. I bought CJ and me a soda and the four of us settled in. Solving the world’s problems was not discussed, I’m sure. We were teenagers. The here and now, the loud music, and dancing, was all that was important. And dance, we did. Lots of it.

A couple of hours later, it happened. CJ and I had worked up a thirst, so I headed to the refreshment area to get us soda.

Teenagers are not very good at cleaning up after themselves. Too busy
enjoying life, I guess.

Anyway, I didn’t see it. Someone had spilt their drink along with accompanying ice cubes on the floor. My dancing feet found the drink’s residue on the floor. The music was moving me, but I am quite sure it wasn’t the music that helped me put on a dancing exhibition, in that spot, at that time.

All I can say, I did not fall down. That would only add insult to injury(perhaps literally). I considered myself lucky that my gyrations matched the beat of the music. To my surprise, no unwanted comments were made about my dancing moves. Perhaps they thought I was trying out a new dance routine. Remember, it was the 1960s and almost any dancing moves were accepted.

I gained composure, bought my date and I another soda, and headed back to my chair. Suddenly, I felt some air movement on my back side where I had not previously felt it before.

Could it be?

While pretending to be interested in CJ’s interpretation of my dancing prowess, (at least she saw something positive) I reached around to the spot in question. Of course this was done while trying not to attract unwanted attention. Splitting ones pants, as a teenager, at a dance would be most embarrassing.

My fears, though, were confirmed. The seam at the butt of my pants was definitely separated.

How do you tell your date, you split your pants? The dance still had an hour to go. Certainly, dancing was no longer an option.

I swallowed my pride, and fessed up to my friends at the table. We all shared solutions. After about thirty minutes, we all decided to leave. My friends shielded me as best they could to my car. Everyone’s pride was at stake, after all. My split pants, seen by others, meant all in my group would be fair game for razzing.

As a teenager, it is important to establish the important time lines. I wanted to continue dating CJ. I told her father that we would be back at 11:00 p.m. We left the dance early. Getting her home early meant there would be a good chance I would be expected to get her home at that same time on future dates.

Hey! I was a teenager. The logic is not the same as adults.

CJ appeared to be thinking the same way, so she had no objections to making a few slow laps around the town. That would insure we would not get back to the Salger house too early.

In the car, I was safe. No one except my friends knew about my pants. I was confident they were not going to say anything.

CJ and I cruised for awhile before heading to her house. We pulled into her driveway at 11:00 p.m. I walked her to the door, got back into my car, and drove away. In spite of the embarrassing moment, I knew we both had a good time anyway. All I could think about on my drive home was that beautiful red head. Somehow, I was going to insure we saw much more of each other.

It’s been over four decades since we met and CJ is still my beautiful red head. Obviously blind dates do work.

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