I have many pleasant memories of Patsy Ferguson Cole dating from 1937. I have written about the pleasure she gave me by accepting my request for a date to a high school dance. Here it is. You may have seen in in Tiger Tales fall of 2004. First Date (with Patsy Ferguson) by Rodney Weldon ((circa 1944: rationing of gasoline, meat , eggs, cheese, butter, etc. and the war)
One of the most interesting things, after frogs and mud were girls. They had cute noses, wore frilly stuff and had the brightest eyes. A few were fun and liked frogs and were good buddies. Easier to get along with than some of the guys. We were supposed to like girls, respect them. But you couldn’t spend much time with them, or even with a group of girls. Some would play ball, but most didn’t want to or felt they shouldn’t. It wasn’t a girl thing to compete with the boys any more. Then there was this thing about giggling. They had begun to giggle and usually giggled more when a boy came close. If you could get her to play cards or monopoly you could pass the time. If not, you heard a lot about clothes and parties and then, maybe, you heard about boy friends, sometimes her own boy friend, who you knew was either a nerd or impossibly conceited. That was time to say excuse me, I have to go wash the dog. I said some were cute, and yeah, they were. You could watch the cute nose or cheek bone while she talked on. It was hypnotic and the time just went by Then you would hear her saying ‘don’t you think so?’ and repeating it and you’d realize that she had stopped and was now asking a question to see if you were listening , which of course you weren’t. So girls were OK but difficult to get along with and some were impossible. Soon, though, as we were now going to high school, we were expected to ask one out on a date. We were expected to go to the school dances and one could go alone but then you were labeled. So you needed to take a girl, one of those giggle things that talked about dresses and parties and her family. The mystery was why? Of course the mystery began to unravel during high school but at first it was just like homework to get a date. The time finally and inescapably came to think about it. The first high school dance was coming up and I began to get nervous. I didn’t know whether I could do this. So I talked to Mom. She got into the act just like any girl. She taught me how to polish my shoes. I hadn’t intended any such foolishness. And she took me to get my first pair of slacks. One of Dad’s white shirts would fit well enough. She wasn’t any help about the nervousness or who I might ask to the dance but she sure had the preparation stuff lined up. “What if I don’t find a girl to go with me?” I said. “You will,” Mom said. I felt a sinking feeling, like when I had to go knock on Mrs. Hudson's door to tell her my dog was the one digging in her garden. Only worse, somehow. I asked my friends what they were doing. Some were not going to any foolish, boring dances. Some said they would like to go with ‘’Suzie’ because she was hot or cute or sexy or somehow ‘with it.’ But they didn’t have the nerve to ask her. There wasn’t much help there. I told Dad I didn’t know what to do, but I wanted to go to the dance. He said, “Why don’t you just take a friend, a girl who is a friend?” I knew a couple of girls like that, one was fun to talk to, a great idea! Dad didn’t come through very often, but this seemed like a winner. No harm, just friends. No giggling, we knew each other. OK, good. I knew the dance would be boring but some of my friends would be going and I didn't want to miss out if something fun happened. And I sure didn’t want to have to listen to Roger tell how great it was and how much I had missed. So I decided to ask Patsy. She lived on the next street and was in my class at school. She had older brothers who were OK, I thought, and a nice mother who knew my mother and acted a little like my Grandmother T. She’d be fun to go anywhere with. She played all the games, didn’t wear fussy clothes and looked good. She was tall and built lean for a girl. She had been the second fastest runner in our grammar school. And I had known her for a long time, well, since about the 3rd grade. Should have no big nervousness here. But this was different. I was shaky.
I called her on the phone. A great big black box of a phone with a rotary dial and mouthpiece attached to the front. It hung on the wall. You couldn’t sit and talk, the mouthpiece was up too high. You couldn’t stand and talk, the mouthpiece was too low! Why was this?, you ask. Good question, I say. The earpiece, the size of two or three cellular phones, lifted off a hook on the side to turn the phone on.
I could have gone through the neighbors back yard and up a dozen houses and found her. We had huge backyards and wide streets and few fences.
But I used the phone. “Patsy?” “Hold on. Hey Patsy! It’s for you. A boy! Hurry up!” “Hello?” “Hi, Patsy. It’s Rodney, Rodney Weldon.” “Oh hi. How are you?” “I’m good. How about you?” We were taught to be polite in those days, especially over the phone. “Oh, I’m fine.” “Well, uh, there’s this dance at school, uh, next Saturday.” “Yes. What about it?” “I’d like to take you. Will you go with me?” “Yes. Let me check with Mom.” “OK.”
“It’s OK. I’d really like to go.” “OK then. I’ll pick you up about seven on Saturday.” “OK.” “Bye.” “Bye.” I sat down, just enjoying the moment. I had actually asked a girl out on a date. It hadn’t hurt. I began to think that it would be fun to go. Looking back, it was just a school function. The girl was an ‘old’ friend. But it didn’t feel ordinary. I almost floated.
My folks agreed to drive us to the dance. it was 1944 and gas rationing was still in effect, but it was three miles to school and Patsy would be wearing heels and a long skirt. Patsy’s house stood back from the street. A long concrete walk divided the lawn and ended in steps, about four or five, up to the porch. It seemed like a long way, sort of like a walk to the gallows. Life was never going to be the same. I couldn’t scuff my toes, the shoes had just been polished. And I really couldn’t bend over or my shirt would pull out and my tie hang loose. So, standing straight at the front door I reached for the doorbell button.
The big door was open and I could see Patsy’s Mom and brothers prepping her, adjusting her dress and her hair and giving last minute advice. She came to the door alone. I waved to her Mom but Mom nodded toward Patsy. She was beautiful! If I hadn’t been friends with her my knees might have buckled and voice failed. She had been transformed. ——————————————————————————— I wasn’t thinking sexy, just saw a glowing long-limbed beauty. I did manage to say hello and how nice she looked and was she ready to go? First of many dumb questions I would ask, “Was she ready?” She had been done as I had been done, polished and dressed and readied to go, only much more so. She smiled nicely and said, yes. I saw the big brothers, in the back of the living room but very much there. I nodded. I was to be nice to their sister. They could call her names and insult her, but I was to treat her nice. Mom could criticize her, give her chores, yell at her, but tonight Mom just quietly beamed. My Mom and Dad sat in the car for all of this, and were very low key as though they were chauffeurs and this was my date, really. I loved them for it. We rode in a 1939 Nash automobile with huge seats and we talked a little about how the dance would go. She seemed to know, because her brothers had been to dances already. When we got to the high school we agreed with my folks about when the dance would be over and then we walked up to the school gym, the girls’ basketball court, where Patsy had been many times before, but in jeans or shorts. We spent a lot of time saying hello and seeing who was with whom. Patsy seemed to love it and greeted everybody happily. I liked some of them and saw some friends and laughed and talked as Patsy flowed into the party as I imagine a Queen of England might. She loved being out, loved being where everyone was. And she was as much as any. Some were more polished, had shinier hardware on, more hair, rhinestones. She had a simple dress with a touch of lace on the front and she was a queen, a natural beauty, freckles and all, a queen. And the dancing! It was going to be a bore, but no! She took my hand and I put my six Arthur Murray lessons and his ‘Magic Step”, a gift from my Aunt Helen and my mother, to work. We flowed over the dance floor and I discovered how much easier and wonderful it was if two bodies were close. We were both tall and lean, about the same height, and discovered how closely we could come together. It all seemed natural, innocent, and she moved in with each new dance. The fast ones as much fun as the slow ones. We laughed with the discovery, my queen for the evening and I. I wasn’t ready for the evening to close when the music shut down. Some of us waited to see if there was more. One of the boys I didn’t know well, well I knew who he was, one of the outlying members of the jocks, sat down at the piano. His friends had talked him into it. He had no way out. He bent over the keyboard, got his hands in position, flexed his fingers and relaxed them and began to play Boogie Woogie, a torrent of notes and rhythm you just had to listen to. His playing sounded just like what you heard on the radio. I was totally impressed. What with his curly blonde hair, seldom brushed, and his swagger, he seemed to be someone who seldom if ever saw the inside of a book, someone who might not even know what a chemistry set was and surely never sat at a piano. Even that had to come to an end and we said so long to whoever was left and walked out to find my parents waiting in the car and beginning to get worried. We were late. The evening had been wonderful, just in itself, the social time with a wonderful friend who now had an aura. She was more than I realized, and, now, so was I. We finished on her porch, dark and warm, surrounded by love and support. If we kissed, I don’t remember. But the dancing, contact and motion, haunted me from then on. I knew we would remain friends. Patsy became quite popular. I did well in chemistry. When I met her some decades later her four children were grown, her husband had begun to show early signs of aging and she contined to help one tall son who had limited intelligence but was good with plants and honey bees. She had the same easy laugh and had acquired the no-nonsense wisdom and kindness of her mother, and I remembered the magic.
Rodney Weldon
I have many pleasant memories of Patsy Ferguson Cole dating from 1937. I have written about the pleasure she gave me by accepting my request for a date to a high school dance. Here it is. You may have seen in in Tiger Tales fall of 2004.First Date (with Patsy Ferguson) by Rodney Weldon
((circa 1944: rationing of gasoline, meat , eggs, cheese, butter, etc. and the war)
One of the most interesting things, after frogs and mud were girls.
They had cute noses, wore frilly stuff and had the brightest eyes.
A few were fun and liked frogs and were good buddies. Easier to get along with than some of the guys.
We were supposed to like girls, respect them. But you couldn’t spend much time with them, or even with a group of girls. Some would play ball, but most didn’t want to or felt they shouldn’t. It wasn’t a girl thing to compete with the boys any more. Then there was this thing about giggling. They had begun to giggle and usually giggled more when a boy came close.
If you could get her to play cards or monopoly you could pass the time. If not, you heard a lot about clothes and parties and then, maybe, you heard about boy friends, sometimes her own boy friend, who you knew was either a nerd or impossibly conceited. That was time to say excuse me, I have to go wash the dog.
I said some were cute, and yeah, they were. You could watch the cute nose or cheek bone while she talked on. It was hypnotic and the time just went by
Then you would hear her saying ‘don’t you think so?’ and repeating it and you’d realize that she had stopped and was now asking a question to see if you were listening , which of course you weren’t.
So girls were OK but difficult to get along with and some were impossible.
Soon, though, as we were now going to high school, we were expected to ask one out on a date. We were expected to go to the school dances and one could go alone but then you were labeled. So you needed to take a girl, one of those giggle things that talked about dresses and parties and her family. The mystery was why?
Of course the mystery began to unravel during high school but at first it was just like homework to get a date.
The time finally and inescapably came to think about it. The first high school dance was coming up and I began to get nervous. I didn’t know whether I could do this.
So I talked to Mom. She got into the act just like any girl. She taught me how to polish my shoes. I hadn’t intended any such foolishness. And she took me to get my first pair of slacks. One of Dad’s white shirts would fit well enough.
She wasn’t any help about the nervousness or who I might ask to the dance but she sure had the preparation stuff lined up.
“What if I don’t find a girl to go with me?” I said.
“You will,” Mom said.
I felt a sinking feeling, like when I had to go knock on Mrs. Hudson's door to tell her my dog was the one digging in her garden. Only worse, somehow.
I asked my friends what they were doing. Some were not going to any foolish, boring dances. Some said they would like to go with ‘’Suzie’ because she was hot or cute or sexy or somehow ‘with it.’ But they didn’t have the nerve to ask her. There wasn’t much help there.
I told Dad I didn’t know what to do, but I wanted to go to the dance. He said, “Why don’t you just take a friend, a girl who is a friend?”
I knew a couple of girls like that, one was fun to talk to, a great idea! Dad didn’t come through very often, but this seemed like a winner. No harm, just friends. No giggling, we knew each other. OK, good.
I knew the dance would be boring but some of my friends would be going and I didn't want to miss out if something fun happened. And I sure didn’t want to have to listen to Roger tell how great it was and how much I had missed.
So I decided to ask Patsy. She lived on the next street and was in my class at school. She had older brothers who were OK, I thought, and a nice mother who knew my mother and acted a little like my Grandmother T.
She’d be fun to go anywhere with. She played all the games, didn’t wear fussy clothes and looked good. She was tall and built lean for a girl. She had been the second fastest runner in our grammar school. And I had known her for a long time, well, since about the 3rd grade. Should have no big nervousness here. But this was different. I was shaky.
I called her on the phone. A great big black box of a phone with a rotary dial and mouthpiece attached to the front. It hung on the wall. You couldn’t sit and talk, the mouthpiece was up too high. You couldn’t stand and talk, the mouthpiece was too low! Why was this?, you ask. Good question, I say.
The earpiece, the size of two or three cellular phones, lifted off a hook on the side to turn the phone on.
I could have gone through the neighbors back yard and up a dozen houses and found her. We had huge backyards and wide streets and few fences.
But I used the phone.
“Patsy?”
“Hold on. Hey Patsy! It’s for you. A boy! Hurry up!”
“Hello?”
“Hi, Patsy. It’s Rodney, Rodney Weldon.”
“Oh hi. How are you?”
“I’m good. How about you?”
We were taught to be polite in those days, especially over the phone.
“Oh, I’m fine.”
“Well, uh, there’s this dance at school, uh, next Saturday.”
“Yes. What about it?”
“I’d like to take you.
Will you go with me?”
“Yes. Let me check with Mom.”
“OK.”
“It’s OK. I’d really like to go.”
“OK then. I’ll pick you up about seven on Saturday.”
“OK.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
I sat down, just enjoying the moment. I had actually asked a girl out on a date. It hadn’t hurt. I began to think that it would be fun to go.
Looking back, it was just a school function. The girl was an ‘old’ friend. But it didn’t feel ordinary. I almost floated.
My folks agreed to drive us to the dance. it was 1944 and gas rationing was still in effect, but it was three miles to school and Patsy would be wearing heels and a long skirt.
Patsy’s house stood back from the street. A long concrete walk divided the lawn and ended in steps, about four or five, up to the porch. It seemed like a long way, sort of like a walk to the gallows. Life was never going to be the same. I couldn’t scuff my toes, the shoes had just been polished. And I really couldn’t bend over or my shirt would pull out and my tie hang loose. So, standing straight at the front door I reached for the doorbell button.
The big door was open and I could see Patsy’s Mom and brothers prepping her, adjusting her dress and her hair and giving last minute advice.
She came to the door alone. I waved to her Mom but Mom nodded toward Patsy.
She was beautiful!
If I hadn’t been friends with her my knees might have buckled and voice failed. She had been transformed.
———————————————————————————
I wasn’t thinking sexy, just saw a glowing long-limbed beauty. I did manage to say hello and how nice she looked and was she ready to go? First of many dumb questions I would ask, “Was she ready?” She had been done as I had been done, polished and dressed and readied to go, only much more so.
She smiled nicely and said, yes.
I saw the big brothers, in the back of the living room but very much there. I nodded. I was to be nice to their sister.
They could call her names and insult her, but I was to treat her nice.
Mom could criticize her, give her chores, yell at her, but tonight Mom just quietly beamed.
My Mom and Dad sat in the car for all of this, and were very low key as though they were chauffeurs and this was my date, really. I loved them for it.
We rode in a 1939 Nash automobile with huge seats and we talked a little about how the dance would go. She seemed to know, because her brothers had been to dances already.
When we got to the high school we agreed with my folks about when the dance would be over and then we walked up to the school gym, the girls’ basketball court, where Patsy had been many times before, but in jeans or shorts.
We spent a lot of time saying hello and seeing who was with whom.
Patsy seemed to love it and greeted everybody happily.
I liked some of them and saw some friends and laughed and talked as Patsy flowed into the party as I imagine a Queen of England might.
She loved being out, loved being where everyone was. And she was as much as any.
Some were more polished, had shinier hardware on, more hair, rhinestones. She had a simple dress with a touch of lace on the front and she was a queen, a natural beauty, freckles and all, a queen.
And the dancing! It was going to be a bore, but no!
She took my hand and I put my six Arthur Murray lessons and his ‘Magic Step”, a gift from my Aunt Helen and my mother, to work.
We flowed over the dance floor and I discovered how much easier and wonderful it was if two bodies were close.
We were both tall and lean, about the same height, and discovered how closely we could come together.
It all seemed natural, innocent, and she moved in with each new dance. The fast ones as much fun as the slow ones.
We laughed with the discovery, my queen for the evening and I.
I wasn’t ready for the evening to close when the music shut down. Some of us waited to see if there was more.
One of the boys I didn’t know well, well I knew who he was, one of the outlying members of the jocks, sat down at the piano. His friends had talked him into it. He had no way out. He bent over the keyboard, got his hands in position, flexed his fingers and relaxed them and began to play Boogie Woogie, a torrent of notes and rhythm you just had to listen to.
His playing sounded just like what you heard on the radio.
I was totally impressed.
What with his curly blonde hair, seldom brushed, and his swagger, he seemed to be someone who seldom if ever saw the inside of a book, someone who might not even know what a chemistry set was and surely never sat at a piano.
Even that had to come to an end and we said so long to whoever was left and walked out to find my parents waiting in the car and beginning to get worried. We were late.
The evening had been wonderful, just in itself, the social time with a wonderful friend who now had an aura. She was more than I realized, and, now, so was I.
We finished on her porch, dark and warm, surrounded by love and support. If we kissed, I don’t remember. But the dancing, contact and motion, haunted me from then on.
I knew we would remain friends.
Patsy became quite popular.
I did well in chemistry.
When I met her some decades later her four children were grown, her husband had begun to show early signs of aging and she contined to help one tall son who had limited intelligence but was good with plants and honey bees.
She had the same easy laugh and had acquired the no-nonsense wisdom and kindness of her mother, and I remembered the magic.