Lad’s senior class of twelve was one of largest at Merriman High School, so all students and alumni were included in the spring tradition called Prom. In other words, it was a community dance at the high school gym instead of the dance hall on Main Street. Underclassmen adorned the gym with provided decorations and Moms prepared dinner for seniors in the cafeteria.
Lad and I had been dating for a couple of months and still learning to navigate communication between two people who apparently didn’t speak the same language. I knew I needed a date for the prom since I was expected to be there. I waited for Lad to ask but he didn’t. So I called my high school friend, Duane, (we thought of each other like brother and sister when he was dating my best friend and were used to helping each other out). He agreed to bail me out and since my Superintendent had been our English teacher in high school, it was easy to set up a place for him to stay. I left it up to him to find a ride since his buddy had wrecked his car the summer before. That put me in deep trouble because he asked Lad for a ride to Merriman from Chadron where they both were in college. At that point, things got a bit tricky. Lad was gracious and spent the evening out with Wendell and friends who didn’t have dates.
We took my car and Duane drove. Unfortunately, he got stuck in a sand blowout when we were taking David Sandoz home after the dance. Who finds us? Lad of course. We left the car there until morning and he took us home. The next day, he was laughing when he brought my car back, he said it wasn’t stuck at all! He left and went back to Chadron.
The next weekend we talked about the whole mix-up and learned we were each waiting for the other to ask. He thought I would since I was on staff and I thought he should since he was the alumnus. That was one of many communication style differences that caused confusion. We have learned to navigate. I still think he just didn’t want to dance!
He did have a little trouble trusting me for a while. I went home to Mitchell, Nebraska for the summer. Nearly every time he called, he would ask if I was going out with Duane. My answer was always the same; “NO.”
Dating in the Sand Hills in the fifties meant going to a high school event, a movie on Saturday night in Gordon thirty miles away, or an occasional Pitch Party where Lad would end the evening at the winning table with first place and I would be at the last table with the “booby prize.” Sometimes it was just “cruising main” for a race or game of “chicken.” There was always a stop at the gas station “pop machine” for his coke and my Squirt. Our favorite stopping place was the airport, a grass landing strip with one hanger. We shared our dreams of traveling the world, he wanted to fly and I just wanted to experience all the places I’d read about.
One night in February, after a basketball game, we drove out there and he simply said, “When I get my income tax return check, I want to take you to the Jewelry Store in Gordon for a ring and we should get married when school is out.”
Prom that year meant a new red dress that his Mom helped me choose in Valentine, Nebraska. This time, we did dance and I had an opportunity to flash that new diamond ring. Tudy Jensen (his date when we first met) said, “Well; I had him first.”
Even then God had his hand on us. We did accomplish both those dreams. Lad got his pilot’s license and flew his Piper Warrior and our Saudi Arabian years helped us see the world. But that’s for other stories to come.
Fireside Stories 