My Redacted Life: Chapter 35 (Cont._3)

Things were moving along in the summer of 1972. Work had started on our firm’s first development project, a small but elegant subdivision in south-central Arkansas. Numerous delays had slowed its start, but it was now progressing smoothly. The bosses and local realtors were taking bets on how long it would take to sell it out. Folks recalled legendary subdivisions in Little Rock in which demand was so great that the developers held lotteries to spread the sale of lots equally. Those were heady times.

We were about to unleash the fury of modern urban planning on the unsuspecting City of Hope. A project similar to the one we proposed there had gotten underway in Downtown Little Rock. Segments of Main Street and Capitol Avenue were disappearing, bulldozed to make way for a mall-like area in which pedestrians were free to roam and shop unmolested by vehicles. It was one of the most popular planning ideas of the time. Across the country, urban designers extolled the genius of the approach to addressing the loss of downtown retail to suburban malls. Americans could fix things, right? That’s what we were best at.

The girls about had the wedding planned. The church was set. A local woman with an exceptionally beautiful voice agreed to sing Brenda and me into the world of holy matrimony. Young cousins of the bride-to-be prepared to spread flowers and deliver the ring. Older men stood ready to escort guests and chaperone the mothers. Vernell would serve as Maid of Honor while her sister would manage the reception line. Vernell agreed to perform the additional task of inspecting her sister prior to the festivities for any misplaced articles of clothing, unsecured snaps or buttons, and untoward revelations resulting from thin or missing apparel. It was to be a model of a tasteful, modest, and modern public wedding.

I tingled in anticipation. The girls only suggested again and again that I’d best not screw up. On occasion, after a couple of glasses of wine, they weren’t above expressing the admonition in more earthy terms. At any rate, I got the message. Arrive sober. Stay focused. Leave in apparent ecstasy. Those represented the simplest of tasks, after all. The thought of it kept me awake at night.

Oh, and the bachelor party. It really wasn’t to be a party, was it? No, just a few beers with the bosses before I signed on to marital subjugation as had they. No strippers? No what? You know, strippers, women that remover their clothes for men in a suggestive fashion. Really? Strippers? They have such people in Little Rock? Oh, be serious. If we hear of strippers, you will account for it. Did men really do such things before they married some sweet young thing? I hadn’t seen a stripper since the USO shows they used to bring into the enlisted men’s club at Camp Tien Sha. Those shows certainly didn’t represent a proper introduction into the world of matrimony. Strippers? Really? No, just a few beers among friends

So it went as the day drew close.

The past slowly disappears.
The future is cloudy.