Thank God For Unanswered Prayers

You are not going to believe this one today! My son has a car that tells him where he is. And where he is going! He punched in Unicoi State Park and a voice Jess referred to as "Marlene" told him to turn right on U. S. 400 and continue six miles. I likened to have jumped over into the back seat!

We got six miles up the road and Marlene, clear as a bell, spoke up and said turn left on state road 52. Jess politely went into an elementary discourse on GPS, satellite location and the modern advances made in vehicular technology. I was leaning forward trying to catch Marlene's accent and thinking about Phyllis Millgren.

Phyllis lived over in Lexington. It was forty-five miles from my house and this was back when a long trip was the four miles or so out the Gleason Highway to KECO Mills. I met Phyllis at a baseball game. She seemed pretty nice. And, as is always the case, she was a heap better looking than the "local" girls. We hung around the concession stand and chatted until Coach King herded us back on the bus. "Come to see me sometime" was the last thing she said as I waved good-bye.

I figured it was true love. I had just turned sixteen. The only question I missed on my driver's test was the one about not having to stop for the school bus on a four lane road or maybe you did have to stop. I'm still confused about that one. But I digress. I was old enough to drive. It was the wonderful summer of 1963. The Cuban missile crisis was over. President Kennedy had the respect of the world. Peter, Paul and Mary were singing songs that sounded light and folksy but often had deeper meaning. And that group from England with the bug sounding name had just started getting a little "air play" in America.

It was time for me to spread my wings. Our car was a 1960 Chevrolet. And I mean "our" car. It was the only vehicle we owned. Daddy had first dibs. Mother used it for her weekly trip to Woodrow Kennon's store. Leon was older and "more responsible". Plus, he could sweet talk Mom into letting him use it anytime. I was way down on the list. And Dad was not very big on "joy" riding. His idea of a fun evening was for everyone to gather around on the porch and outline the work details for the next day.

I begged Mom for a week. I was old enough to drive to Lexington. It was just down Highway 22 on the other side of Huntingdon. "What could possibly go wrong?" "Are you saying you don't trust me?" "Mr. Wiggleton lets Buddy drive to Trezevant all the time." "God will watch over me." "You love Leon more than you do me!" I was pulling out all stops.

She finally relented. I called Phyllis. She acted like she was pleased and agreed to a date. I wrote down 237 West Brookins Drive and started working on the crease in my Levi 501's. I wore my new madras shirt. Borrowed that thin, double buckle belt from Leon and tried to comb my rather short hair into a duck tail. I was shooting for the Elvis-Dean-Brando look. Leon allowed I was leaning more toward one of the guys in the Kingston Trio.

I stopped by Tommie Hill's DX station and put in two dollars worth of regular. I cruised through the intersection out by Eddie Carden's house and headed southeast on Highway 22. I flipped the channels on the radio until I found Bo Didley bending those strings on "Bo Didley is a gunslinger". I had one hand on the wheel, my left elbow propped on the window opening and both shoulders reared back. Life is good.

I was in Huntingdon in fifteen minutes. I'd been through the place a hundred times. I'd just never driven through it! Getting around the square was a little tricky. I wasn't sure who had the right of way. That wasn't in the manual! I turned by the movie theatre, thought about buzzing the Dairy Bar, started singing along with Chuck Berry and figured I'd impress Phyllis by being a few minutes early.

It was only eight miles or so to Clarksburg; and another fifteen to Phyllis'. I was working on my opening line when I saw the Leach City Limit sign. Leach? That wasn't on the road to Lexington. Had they put a new town in the way? I started looking for a road sign. Was I still on 22? When I saw the lights of Lavinia I knew something was dreadfully wrong! I was on County Road 104 West. Where was 22? How could they change roads like that?

I was way too cool to stop and ask. I had played baseball in Lavinia. I just couldn't remember how we got there. The next road sign said McLemoresville 9 miles. That was the opposite direction from Lexington! I turned around and headed back the way I came. I figured Lexington had to be off to my right so I took the next turn in that direction. In about fifteen minutes I wheeled into Westpoint. I had somehow crossed 22 without seeing it. The sign said SR 424. You've got to be kidding me! I'm forty-five minutes late and I don't think I'm even close to Lexington!

I turned down the Ball Creek Access Road and followed it until the black top ended. You know, Pam Collins and Jane Hill and Ruth Ann Wiley are not all that bad looking. Maybe I ought to be shopping at home! This is crazy! And I'm now an hour and a half late. I backtracked about twice more and found myself driving up on the square in downtown Huntingdon. It was almost 11:00 p.m. I was supposed to be home by now! I had both hands on the wheel and was sweating when I pulled into the yard.

Leon was standing on the porch. "Did you have any trouble finding Brookins Drive?"

"Jess," I propelled myself back to the present. "You'd better be thankful we didn't have this GPS stuff back in my day. Your mother might be named Phyllis."

Respectfully,

Kes