The carport was often used as another covered entertainment spot that we could use as an extension of the patio. If rain threatened then we had two places that people could gather in the backyard to escape the downpour. In the summer between my Junior and Senior year in high school I decided to have a party in the backyard and this would be the first big “girl/boy” party of the group of kids that I ran around with. We were probably a bit retarded in high school, our partying days were mostly left for our early twenties, but when we finally got to it, we made up for it with a vengence.
Nevertheless, when asked Mom agreed with the plan and we set about deciding what we’d serve and who we’d invite. The gang of kids that I ran around with were pretty eclectic, to say the least. Most of them were from the neighborhood, but some were from the other high school (RA Long) and some were friends I knew from Castle Rock and Kelso. This was not going to be a big party, probably no more than a dozen people all together and it was just going to be an excuse to get together before the new school year began. Mom said that we could play records and dance and have refreshments. So we moved the ping-pong table to the carport so that we could dance on the patio and have food and drinks under the carport. I don’t remember what the food consisted of, but I do remember that Mom thought it would be cheaper to have punch instead of soft drinks, so she got the big punch bowl out and filled it with some sickeningly sweet concoction that she thought the kids would like (which really meant that she would like since no one in their right minds would drink the sweet stuff that she enjoyed). The party started in the late afternoon and as the day wore away and evening set in some guys, as guys are wont to do, showed up who were not invited. It wasn’t that we didn’t know them, we did, but we had not invited them and they, as you might expect happened to bring a little hootch along for the ride. As Mom scurried in and out of the house making sure that the food was kept replenished and that everything was in order, I noticed that surreptitious sips were being taken from the bottle of firewater. But as Mom made another dash for the door one of the guys sidled up to the punch bowl lifted his shirt unscrewed the lid from the bottle and tipped the whole thing into the pot. Now, we were in for it. There was no going back; this was going to be a party! I’m sure that my already pale complexion blanched a couple of degrees as I envisioned the coming disaster; plastered kids lying in heaps all over the backyard, raucous shenanigans being carried out in all kinds of dark, dank places, and God forbid, Daddy coming home and the ensuing fiasco. However, this was not to be. Mom came to the rescue as she blithely bounced out the back door and announced for all to hear, “Well, now I think it’s about time I had a taste of that punch.” The crowd jerked to attention, someone scored the paper cups and quickly announced that we were out of cups and that she’d have to go get some more. Oh good, she could be helpful and still have a chance to taste the sticky brew, so she headed back in the house to procure some more cups while the guys swept the punch bowl up promptly dumping the contents in the nearest garden bed. By the time Mom returned to the party, the punch was gone; everyone was sad to say that they had drained the punch but that it had been delicious. In the days following the party I carefully watched the garden and particularly the white trumpet lily that took the brunt of the liquor-laden potion from the party. I was happy to report that the garden survived none-the-worse for the wear, and thanks to my quick moving and quicker still thinking friends I too survived what may well have been my parent’s murderous rage at their moonshine sharing daughter.
Nevertheless, when asked Mom agreed with the plan and we set about deciding what we’d serve and who we’d invite. The gang of kids that I ran around with were pretty eclectic, to say the least. Most of them were from the neighborhood, but some were from the other high school (RA Long) and some were friends I knew from Castle Rock and Kelso. This was not going to be a big party, probably no more than a dozen people all together and it was just going to be an excuse to get together before the new school year began. Mom said that we could play records and dance and have refreshments. So we moved the ping-pong table to the carport so that we could dance on the patio and have food and drinks under the carport. I don’t remember what the food consisted of, but I do remember that Mom thought it would be cheaper to have punch instead of soft drinks, so she got the big punch bowl out and filled it with some sickeningly sweet concoction that she thought the kids would like (which really meant that she would like since no one in their right minds would drink the sweet stuff that she enjoyed). The party started in the late afternoon and as the day wore away and evening set in some guys, as guys are wont to do, showed up who were not invited. It wasn’t that we didn’t know them, we did, but we had not invited them and they, as you might expect happened to bring a little hootch along for the ride. As Mom scurried in and out of the house making sure that the food was kept replenished and that everything was in order, I noticed that surreptitious sips were being taken from the bottle of firewater. But as Mom made another dash for the door one of the guys sidled up to the punch bowl lifted his shirt unscrewed the lid from the bottle and tipped the whole thing into the pot. Now, we were in for it. There was no going back; this was going to be a party! I’m sure that my already pale complexion blanched a couple of degrees as I envisioned the coming disaster; plastered kids lying in heaps all over the backyard, raucous shenanigans being carried out in all kinds of dark, dank places, and God forbid, Daddy coming home and the ensuing fiasco. However, this was not to be. Mom came to the rescue as she blithely bounced out the back door and announced for all to hear, “Well, now I think it’s about time I had a taste of that punch.” The crowd jerked to attention, someone scored the paper cups and quickly announced that we were out of cups and that she’d have to go get some more. Oh good, she could be helpful and still have a chance to taste the sticky brew, so she headed back in the house to procure some more cups while the guys swept the punch bowl up promptly dumping the contents in the nearest garden bed. By the time Mom returned to the party, the punch was gone; everyone was sad to say that they had drained the punch but that it had been delicious. In the days following the party I carefully watched the garden and particularly the white trumpet lily that took the brunt of the liquor-laden potion from the party. I was happy to report that the garden survived none-the-worse for the wear, and thanks to my quick moving and quicker still thinking friends I too survived what may well have been my parent’s murderous rage at their moonshine sharing daughter.
Some Pictures of the Back Yard
That have nothing to do with the silly story above
Beverly's First Communion circa 1952
(yes, at one time she did look innocent!)
Arlen, Bobby, Beverly (front left) Larry holding Karry
circa 1950
You were a naughty little girl Grammy! I like the photo of Aunt Bev pretending to be sweet & pious :)
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