They left me out completely.
I didn’t mind. I had work to do. Tom was getting antsy that
we finish the Hope plan so the engineering could begin. Business was falling
off Downtown there as in most cities. Later, pundits delighted in blaming
downtown malls for the death of retail in the central business, and those
misadventures certainly didn’t help. But the end had settled on downtown retail
much earlier with the proliferation of family automobiles, the death of public
transit, and the construction of alluring shopping centers that offered
excitement along with spending. Centrifugal force spun retail away from the
city core and into the low-density suburbs, to be chased by swarms of shoppers in individual vehicles.
Since ancient humankind first danced in order to make the rains
come, we have believed we could cause the unlikely or impossible to happen by human interference. So modern sapiens envisioned the downtown mall as a way to
counterattack reality. Reality is an impervious foe, however. Urban planners no
more knew this at the time than did the American military or the government
that directed it.
I knew nothing about all this in 1972. I danced along merrily
with the rest. It would take years of heartbreaking reality before the truth
revealed itself. I was still a believer in urban planning’s prowess in imitative
magic. Besides, I had me a girl, or she had me. I didn’t know which. That made
me untouchable.
On Wednesday, she met me downtown for lunch at Land’s
Cafeteria on Markham. Then we walked all the way over to Cave’s Jewelry on
Main. There we picked out and bought an engagement ring for her and put some
wedding rings on the layaway for the two of us. This thing was getting serious.
It was Daylight Savings Time by now. I took off work a little
early so we could drive out and tell her folks. They didn’t throw a fit. In
fact, they took it in good humor. I didn’t have my hair greased back and didn’t
carry a pack of Lucky Strikes wound into an arm of my T-shirt. Nor did I ask her
father if he might hire me as a farm hand after the wedding. She assured her
mother that I was, indeed, some years older than she, so her daughter wasn’t “robbing
the cradle.” They were pleased, I felt.
Hazel did inquire where and when the wedding might be. “We’ll
have it in the Methodist church in town so all the relatives can make it,”
Brenda said. “I’m sure Grandma will want to come, and she can’t travel far.”
“That’s good,” Hazel said. “I can’t imagine a girl wanting
to get married someplace her grandmother couldn’t get to.”
With that, we were set. Hazel would help get the news out.
That wouldn’t be hard for her. The office of Dr. B.E. Holmes, where she worked,
was the official news center for most of Lonoke County. Walter Cronkite would
have marveled at the speed with which information vital to everyday life in the
polis and surrounding area spread.
My name, the last one at least, quickly became a household
one, though challenging in pronunciation. Who was this mysterious man who had
stolen the heart of the Belle of Lonoke County? Some decided I must secretly be
a physician, a member of the only profession good enough for her.
The next Saturday, we drove to Pine Bluff and broke the news
to my folks. Their response proved predictable. Any man that Brenda would marry
couldn’t be all bad. That even included me.
Thus, we set the stage for a great adventure. Our ship was
rigged, the crew was ready, the lines were taught, the anchor ready to be
hauled, and the shoals well marked.
Most of them were anyway.
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| When is my life going to get simple again? |
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