This is another story I wrote for my nephews some years ago about growing up in Claremont in the 1950s and early 1960s.  They asked, “Uncle Dan, is this really a true story?” to which I answered “Absolutely, I remember it very well.”  Does any of it sound familiar to you? 

Dating in 1963 or “…you don’t want to make me angry!”   

Dating for boys in my high school class (1963) presented its own set of unique problems that later generations didn’t have to face.  I don’t mean dealing with your date, but rather dealing with her father.  You see, our fathers were part of the ‘Greatest Generation’ who were educated in a school of ‘hard knocks’ that included growing up in the deprivations of the Great Depression and serving in combat in World War II as young men.  For the most part these experiences molded hard and resolute men of few words, but when they did choose to speak, you’d better darn well listen!  If they happened to be cleaning their guns at the time, you listened very attentively!

We all quickly learned at home from our fathers that there were ‘consequences’ for not listening to, and/or disobeying, the rules.  This carried over to school in codes of conduct/dress and even carried over to dating.  Of course I’m talking about that first date and your first meeting with ‘her’ father.  In my time and small town of Claremont, CA. there was no school night dating or pulling up in front of the house in your jalopy, honking the horn and having the girl dash out to be with you.  You were expected to ring the doorbell, enter the house, meet the parents and actually sit and talk with them for a while.  The usual questions thrown at you were:  your age, what classes you were taking, what college you were planning on attending, your life’s goals and what your father did for a living.   If you were lucky your date was at your side and she could say “we need to get going…” if the questions got too intense or the session got too long.  But usually this wasn’t the case as girls were rarely ‘ready’ on time.  I never could figure that out until many years later my wife finally explained that girls didn’t want to seem to be too anxious to be with you (even though they were) and liked to make the ‘grand entrance’ after spending hours getting ready with hair, make-up and numerous changes of clothing (apparently my wife Cynthia still likes to make the grand entrance as she is rarely ready on time!).

Anyway, during the parental ‘interview’, the mother was usually quiet (although not always) and was mostly supportive with smiling nods after you answered a question ‘correctly.’  I have to admit that I was never comfortable during these sessions, but they were a piece of cake compared to the ordeal that followed this statement from the father of one girl I dated:  “Girls, how about giving Dan and me a moment to ourselves…?”  At which my date and her mother quietly got up and left the room.  I scrutinized my date’s face at this moment.  If she ‘rolled her eyes’ in exasperation I figured that I could relax a little, but…if her face betrayed any anxiety, I knew I was in for trouble.  Unfortunately for me, her face was a ‘frozen’ mask of fear! 

“Oh boy!” I thought as a few tiny beads of sweat popped out of my forehead and I turned my eyes back to the father.  I had quickly noticed that this wasn’t a typical middle-age, slightly puffy businessman type of father; he looked like a motorcycle cop or maybe a sergeant in the U.S. Marines or Army Airborne.  He was wearing a ‘polo’ shirt that showed his stomach was flat, shoulders broad and arms well-muscled.  He had a square jaw, close cropped hair and blue eyes that were now turning to steel-gray as he looked at me. I sat perfectly still, thinking that if I moved he might eat me alive!

“Dan,” he asked in a not unpleasant voice, “how old did you say you are…oh, that’s right, 18.  You know, I wasn’t much older than you when I enlisted in the Marine Corps to fight the Japanese in the Pacific.  I spent 2 hellish years out there jumping from one putrid island to another.”  Then he asked me to come into the den with him where he pointed to a sword hanging on the wall, “that’s a samurai sword I picked up on Saipan in 1944 before I was wounded and sent home for good. Do you know what kept me going during the war years, what kept me doing the things I needed to do?  It was anger…a cold merciless anger!”   Although I thought the sword was pretty cool, I wasn’t sure what he was getting at but felt it wasn’t going to be good for me!

After a slight pause staring at the sword, he turned and looked me directly in the eyes, “Which brings me to the point of this conversation.  My daughter is very precious to me.  If you don’t drive safely, don’t get her home by 11pm…if you aren’t a gentleman or if you make her unhappy in any way…I would be VERY angry!”  I swallowed hard as he put a strong hand on my shoulder and asked, “…do you get the picture?”  Oh, I got the picture alright; I’d end up like one of those enemy soldiers he encountered in the Pacific whose bones were now bleaching in the tropical sun!  Involuntarily, I came to attention (almost ‘clicking’ my heels together) and practically shouted out, “YES, SIR!”   This certainly drove home what we were well aware of…the fact that 20 years earlier most of these men (then about our age) were in mortal combat with either the Germans or Japanese during World War II.  We knew that some of these fathers had killed other men for less reason than toying with their daughter’s affections!  This obviously was one of those men!

Fortunately, the date went well (after I stopped trembling that is), and why not, I liked her and she liked me.  If I had liked her less I probably would have run screaming from the house and never seen her again!  We got along great and each time I called for her, I rang the bell, entered the house and had a few words with her parents.  Her father never again said anything implying that he might ‘kill’ me if I didn’t behave myself, but he always looked at me when leaving and said, “You know the rules…”  To which I replied, “Absolutely, sir.” 

The funny thing was, most of us (at least in Claremont and especially in my circle of guy friends) didn’t need a lecture from a worried father on how to treat his daughter.  As this was before the ‘free love’ ethos of the coming hippy sexual revolution, I treated all girls with the respect they deserved and was expected from me at the time.  Holding hands was a traditional (and enjoyable) sign of affection and after a time we hugged and kissed, but that was pretty much it.  It was a ‘romantic’ era when most boys respected girls rather than try to use them…and I might add, most girls acted like ladies.  I for one enjoyed being with a girl as I liked the way they looked, acted, thought and ‘smelled’…nice differences from the guys!

Anyway, we dated the summer of 1963 until fall took us in different directions.  We did talk about her father who she admitted was a ‘tad’ on the strict/serious side and tough on past dates, most of whom didn’t come back for a second…no fooling!  Well, I did come back, we had fun and I managed not to make either her or her father angry.  If that had not been the case, I can only imagine what ‘souvenir’ of my demise her father would have hanging on the wall next to the samurai sword…my Pendleton shirt maybe?  (I did love that shirt, just like the ‘Beach Boys’ wore!)

At the time I thought fathers were ‘overly protective,’ but judging from the statistics about teenagers, sex and drugs these days, maybe it’s too bad there aren’t more combat vet fathers around like in my day.  Although things may have been a ‘tad’ strict back then, I’m still very happy I grew up when and where I did.

Martha (Gerdeman) Johnson remembered this about fathers and dating:  "Reading your story brought back memories.  My Dad had to meet anyone I had a date with, no horn honking either.  I did not get it at the time, but knew my Dad ruled and what he said he meant!  I had a date once with a guy in high school who had a "DA" (Duck Tail) hair cut and was wearing motorcycle boots.  He was a real nice guy but my Dad opened the door, looked him up and down, and said, "My daughter is not going out with a hooligan...good-bye!"  And shut the door!  I was in shock and cried.  My Dad said, "better you cry now then I cry later!"  I never forgot that quote."  

Phil Lacy has this to say about fathers:  I remember one time after graduating when I went to the beach with a junior girl I was dating, and two of her friends.  Her father wouldn't let us leave until I told him what time we would be back…he wanted the exact time.  As soon as I said 8:30 PM he was completely satisfied.  I wasn't even driving that day but once I told him the time we all knew that we had to be back in Claremont by 8:30 PM!

 Another time, this was between our junior and senior year, I drove a bunch of kids, my brother and several girls, from the Presbyterian youth group down to beach, it was an “official” youth group beach party.  On the way home we took a detour and visited Knott's Berry Farm, back in the days before it became a big amusement park, and didn't get back to Claremont until after 10:00 PM.  The parents of the girls were in a total panic and I was in big trouble!  The next day I went to each home and apologized to the parents in person.  It wasn't a fun task, but did get me all sorts of brownie points with the parents!