Those Were the Days

At last, here's a new story.  It was painful to write - painful in the sense that it was like pulling teeth.  I don't know how I'm ever going to get out another book if my writing muse doesn't soon return. I think life is just a little too busy right now, but everything in its own time.

Hope everyone is settling into this new year.  They come entirely too fast to suit me anymore.  The older I get the faster they go.  I guess that's life and I'm not complaining.  I have a good life with good health, a great husband that loves me despite my added gray hair, wrinkles and pounds and friends that stand by me, no matter what.  Isn't that so friends?  What more could a girl want?  Okay, add in winning the lotto and living by the beach and I'd have everything - lalalalala.

The year was 1954 and I was a young girl of twenty-two;  recently graduated from the local teacher’s college and ready to take on the world. I applied for any teaching jobs anywhere that was far from home and in places that had a population larger than 35,000 people.  At the time, that seemed a huge number of people to me coming from Appleton, population 10,000 during the summer season.

When I received an offer from the local high school and turned it down, my parents were aghast.  I had no desire to be the local schoolmarm, I had much bigger plans for myself, California was always a dream of mine.  Warm weather, beaches, palm trees, movie studios what was not to like.  So I decided to spend my graduation money on a trip to California.  A girl traveling alone at the time was radical and looked at suspicious but I was not to be deterred.  I boarded a train to Los Angeles and was on my way.

I was not alone, after the war, women had increasingly joined the white collar workforce and when traveling needed a safe, comfortable place to stay. The YWCA was that place. The local coffee shop was a great place to meet and exchange information with other women.  I learned several school districts in Orange County were looking for teachers.  The area was growing by leaps and bounds due to families settling there after the war and the new amusement park that was being built by Walt Disney.  After a couple of calls, I had two interviews lined up and three weeks later was offered a teaching position.

California then wasn’t the California of latter years  - apartments were very affordable and I was able to find a converted garage apartment, two blocks from the beach, that fit very well into my measly budget.  School was only a couple of blocks away so I didn’t have to get a car right away.  It was utopia.

Jobs in the booming aircraft industry were plentiful and many men who had been stationed at the local bases during the war came back to live in this golden state. There was no shortage of available young men.  Rodney Allen Morgan was one of them.  He came from a farm family in the midwest and had been stationed at the Army base in Santa Ana during the war.  After discharge and a short visit back to his hometown, he migrated back to California.  He snagged a job at McDonnell Douglas, was going to school nights on the GI Bill and playing guitar in a band on weekends for some extra money.

One Friday night after the start of the school year, a group of us younger teachers got together and ventured up to Redondo Beach for a night of clubbing. Back in those days, we all had morals clauses in our employment contracts and it was best not to play to close to home.  Not that we planned on doing anything wrong but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Anyway, that’s the night I met Rod.  His band was playing at the club and during one of the breaks two of the members came over to our table and introduced themselves.  They stayed and visited with us for the rest of their break. At the end of the next set, the men visited at another table.  I didn’t think anything more about it but during their last set, a bar server delivered a note to me.  Surprised,  I opened it and found a note from Rod, giving me his full name and a number where he could be reached.   I looked up and saw him staring at me.  I folded the note and put it in my pocket.  Shortly thereafter we left and he watched us as we walked out the door.  I had no intention of using that phone number, back in those days, girls just didn’t call guys.

A couple of weeks later I had a surprise.  I came out of school and there waiting beside a blue convertible was Rod.  He called out to me.  Shocked to see him I walked over and he promptly took me in his arms and gave me one of those kisses you see in movies.  When I recovered, I slapped his face and heard clapping in the background.  Apparently, everyone had seen the interchange and were either applauding my behavior or his.  He spoke first as I gathered my wits.

“Hello gorgeous.  You didn’t use the number."

“I’m not in the habit of calling men.  How did you find me?”

“Do you know how many schools there are in this district?  I’ve been visiting each one and today I finally succeeded in tracking you down.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re the girl I’m going to marry.”

Once again I was speechless.  There was still a crowd milling around us – obviously waiting for something else to happen.  He suggested I get in the car and go somewhere we could talk.

“I’m not sure.”

“It’s broad daylight; we could go down to the beach and take a walk along the ocean.  Would that be okay?”

I didn’t see the harm in that so I got into the car and heard the crowd applauding again.   Rod smiled at the crowd and took a short little bow before getting into the driver’s side. 

I think that’s when I first fell in love with Rod.  That one little gesture.

He was not extraordinarily handsome  - tall, with chestnut brown hair that seems to defy a comb, piercing blue eyes that actually twinkled, a nose that had been broken at one time, and a smile that lit up his face.  But that wasn’t what attracted me – it was something in the way he walked, talked and viewed life. I knew he was a keeper.  I knew he was right; I was the girl he was going to marry.

It wasn’t as fairy tale as that though.  There were several bumps along the way.  Despite all his charm, he could be as stubborn as a mule.  There were many clashes regarding how I did things and how he thought things should be done.  The biggest issue was that he wanted to get married immediately and wanted me to quit my job.  There was no way that was going to happen.  I tried reasoning with him that I should continue to work at least until he was finished with school.  He balked at that so I wouldn’t agree to marry him until he was finished with school. I received my first spanking from him over that very argument.  Spanking in those days wasn’t the taboo it came to be later on.  Most men spanked, at least most men where he and I came from.   How we managed to stay together those two years was nothing short of a miracle and pure love.  It was hard – we didn’t see each other much.  He continued to play gigs with the band and between his schedule and mine and the thirty-five miles between us, there wasn’t a lot of time to spend together. 

The day after he got his degree we went down to the courthouse and got married. I had saved most of my salary over the past two years and had a nice little nest egg.  That, combined with the wedding money from our parents, gave us not only the down payment but the wherewithal to purchase furniture and a car for me.  The ‘bump’ over the car was a doozy and I almost called off the wedding.  I planned on keeping my job – there was no reason not to until I became pregnant.  Rod didn’t see it that way and we fought and fought until one day, he put down his foot and threatened me with a spanking every day until I came to my senses.    Three days later, instead of a hand spanking over his knee, he used his clothes brush.  That was the day I told him in a not very nice way to forget it – I wasn’t going to marry him and he could keep the damn house and find someone else to marry.

His laughter at my tirade was what brought me back to my senses.  We compromised, I got to keep my job for another year but would quit even if I wasn’t pregnant by the end of the next school year.  Sounded fair to me.

As it turned out, I needn’t have worried,  I would have had to quit anyway because Rod received a job offer in another state.  We were moving to Washington – I can’t say I was the happiest girl on the planet when he told me.  I was happy for him, it was what he had been working toward but I felt I should have, at least, had a say.  But, he accepted without my input. Eventually, I always came to his way of thinking.  Most times, he convinced me while I was over his knee as he pounded acquiescence into my bottom 

.

Now it’s 1961.  Our daughter Lindsay was born in June and I’m a stay at home mom.  I’m coping along with a little help from Rod’s large hands.  He’s added a couple of weapons to his arsenal over the years that he takes out on occasion but for the most part, I’m spanked, bare bottom, over his knee.  I wonder how this is going to work out once Lindsay gets older.  Like everything else, I guess we’ll find our way and I wouldn't change a thing.

See you later for more Aimless Ramblings.