Having lived well beyond the half century mark I have met a lot of women and have had the good fortune to have dated a few of them. But not many stand out in my mind like the one I took to my first junior-senior prom.

Women just don’t realize how much pressure, how much torment and anguish we guys go thru simply trying to build up enough nerve to ask a girl out the first time. My first time would often be the one and last time. As was the case with my first Junior-Senior Prom date at Pickens High School in 1962.

I remember her quite well. Her name was Carolyn. She and I exchanged pleasantries from time to time and eventually started talking with each other about the third month after we first met. We were classmates and sat near each other in history class. As time rolled by, kinda like cold molasses, I started looking forward to seeing her each day. I also started noticing how pretty she was and she seemed to like me.

Being involved in other school activities, I lost track of time. Here it was springtime already with the prom only two weeks away, I really wanted to go but had no date. I had thought about asking her several weeks ago but could not summon the courage to blur out, “Would you like to go to the prom with me?” Fear of rejection as some shrinks will tell you. So, I put it off until it was almost too late.

Finally, the fateful day arrived and I had to stifle my shaky voice and trembling body and find out the answer. After class I caught up with her and uttered it out. Her response was, I don’t know, I’ll have to ask my mother. I thought this was strange since I had not counted on the three of us going together. Do I have to buy her mother a flower also? What will her Dad say about this arrangement? Do I have to dance with both of them? I had never danced in my entire life. How was I going to explain taking her precious daughter to a dance and I had never danced. Many unanswered questions filled my inexperienced but, learning mind.

My fears came to rest a few days later when she told me her mother said that she could go but she had to be home by eleven. After discussing the details a bit we were all set, almost.

Well, at that particular time I had only Daddy’s pulpwood truck to drive. Even I knew that no one drove a truck to pick up a girl for the Prom. I needed a car to drive. Thank goodness for older and generous brothers. Brother Bobby came to the rescue with his beautiful solid black 98 Oldsmobile. It was covered in chrome. Chrome on front, chrome on back, chrome on the wheels, chrome everywhere. I think it was made extra large just so it could carry that extra ton of chrome. He agreed to let me borrow it for the evening. I was set, almost.

How does one pin a corsage on girl’s dress that has hardly a top? That was my dilemma when I went to pick her up that prom evening. Her mother came to my rescue and we were off to the Clemson House.

Upon our arrival, it became obvious Carolyn was, without a doubt, the most beautiful girl there. My beautiful date and my brother’s 98 Olds made me feel much taller than my 6’ 7” height.

As stated earlier, I had never danced. However, when a teenager’s head is as large as a 98’ Olds’ wheel it really did not matter.

We spent a few hours dancing the twist, drank a lot of punch, ate hands-full of chips, and had a lot of laughs and conversations. It was truly a magical evening and it was over much too quickly.

And, I had her home at eleven p.m.

Even now, I look back on this date as the best and most memorable date ever.