The Party.

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By Gerry Wendel, Groovy Reflections Founder and Team Member

I was just barely out of my teens and had a whole house to myself. Living alone in the early 1900’s home I grew up in - neato! 

When I was really young the house had a 1940’s kitchen with metal cabinets. In the late sixties, a new kitchen went in with a micro-ray oven, a Formica table top and a curious curved bench seat in the corner. I later learned that the formica covered seating with an "M" inscribed on it had previously belonged to a diner. 

The house also received a fresh treatment in the living room with a generous amount of wall paneling and orange carpeting. Wall paneling was already sprinkled liberally in the bedrooms, so why not have even more? 

Not THE house but one from that period.

This was the house my dad had pretty much abandoned because he had moved about eight hundred miles away. Twice a year he’d visit with a small trailer (that he built himself) for hauling away more furniture. The place was looking pretty sparse each time after my dad set up temporary camp. When he wasn’t around, I shipped off the utility bills to him every month.  

Sweet.

I had a paltry job for a publishing company, and by night, I enjoyed hanging with friends at restaurants and bars or going to the movies. Nothing terribly exciting.

Oh, and going to parties. That was a fun pastime. And heck, it was MY turn to have a party.  All I needed was a keg, right? And my boyfriend would take care of that. Food? Snacks? Eh, fuggedaboutit! But I did have plenty of good tunes to put on the record player. 

Now, I grew up on an acre of property, about half of which was driveway. Probably enough space for ten cars, but no easy way to get out or turn around a vehicle. Plus, my house was on a main street with no room on the sides for stashing a car. The last thing on my mind was where my friends were going to park. Who needs details?

Then the big night arrived. And friends started showing up. They were coming in packs. Friends were bringing their friends.  And the house was getting mighty crowded and loud with conversations swirling, and platters (uh, records) spinning. It was noisy but under control; just a bunch of people having a good time! I was in the kitchen when suddenly someone came in from the side door and bellowed very loudly, “there’s a cop directing traffic outside!”

The church parking lot.

What?

I ran outside to take a peek. There was the friend of one of my brothers, Don*. Don, a cop in town, was standing in the middle of the street with his arms waving around. He was directing the cars to the church parking lot across the street!

And that’s the only thing I remember about the party. I can’t tell you who was there, how much beer was consumed, or when the party finally broke up. 

Thank you Don.
* not his real name.

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