It was about an hour before sunset on an unusually warm, early April evening, when Greg and his friend, Mike, out cruising, what they did in the 60s, turned down a side street. He was heading east, with the sun at his back. As it happened, he saw Dan’s car approaching. The sunbeam illuminated Selma’s face like a spotlight. She was sitting close to him on the bench seat.

“Well, that’s unacceptable,” Greg said as he spun the steering wheel to the left and slammed on the brakes, sliding to a stop, effectively blocking the road in front of Dan’s car.

The windows were down on Greg’s blue and white, ‘58 Chevy Impala. A beautiful car he had dressed up with tuck and rolled Naugahyde interior. It had a big block, 348 cubic inch engine for power, and everybody knew the vehicle. It was not too different from the one Ron Howard drove in the movie American Graffiti so many years ago. He and Mike climbed out and walked up to the driver’s side of Dan’s car.

Greg, wearing tight-fitting blue jeans and a white T-shirt with a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes rolled up in the left sleeve, strolled up to Dan’s open window. Greg’s hair was combed back on the sides, but not greasy. A little less under control, kinda like his reputation.

Greg leaned in, glancing at the two passengers in the back seat, perhaps to assess any potential resistance he might encounter, before locking eyes with Dan. Not a word was spoken.

It seemed like an eternity passed. The silence was deafening. Greg wondered if Dan could hear anything but his heart pounding in his ears. No one spoke, or even blinked, until Dan finally asked, “What do you want?”

Greg responded simply, “Your girl.”

Selma’s heart skipped a beat. She and Greg had met a short time previously at a slumber party held on the evening of Valentine’s Day. Boys were welcome until eleven. After they left, the girls would stay the night at the host’s home where their party would continue until the following morning.

Greg showed up with his girlfriend at the time, Betty. The entrance of the house, and the family room, where the partying and dancing was to take place, was all decorated with red hearts, bows, and streamers for the occasion.

Selma was supposed to have been met there by some boy from the nearby university, but he stood her up. A girl Mike had dated a few times was at the party, too.

The shindig turned out to be a dud and the five of them decided to go cruising instead, in Greg’s car. Betty sat next to Greg, and Selma, next to her, in the front seat. Bucket seats were unheard of in those days. Mike and his friend had the back seat to themselves. It seemed the entire night Greg and Selma leaned past Betty and talked around her. There was an undeniable chemistry between the two of them, but Betty was not amused.

Greg’s relationship with Betty quickly faded and they broke up a couple of weeks later. When he saw Selma with Dan, who was very good-looking, Greg knew he had to do something about it.

Dan’s response, however, shocked Selma. He said to Greg, “Well ... if she’ll have you, take her.”

Selma couldn’t believe her ears! What did he just say? What a wimp.

She then looked at the girl in the backseat, whom she’d never met before, and said, “You wanna go with them?”

The girl looked at Mike, he was kinda cute, and then at Greg. She had never met either, and only knew Greg by reputation, but she realized if she didn’t go, she’d be left behind with two very angry young men—and she’d already seen the Chevy. She said, “I think I do.” They both got out of Dan’s car and walked with their new suitors, hand-in-hand, to Greg’s.

Once Greg backed up a bit, Dan sped off, squealing his tires and throwing the little bit of loose gravel and sand the snow-removal trucks had left behind from the dying winter, all over the place. Greg looked at Selma and said, “I don’t think he took that well.”

Everyone in the car roared in laughter.

Selma said, “What made you do that?”

“He’s not right for you. That’s all.”

Selma looked up with a wry smile and replied, “And you are?”

“He’s a pussy. Look at him. He’s not the kind of person you can count on. He wouldn’t even stand up to me to keep you.”

“Greg, you can’t blame him for being afraid of you.”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t threaten him. I didn’t say I’m gonna kick your ass, or anything. I just answered his question.”

Selma shifted her position in the seat, as if to take him on, when she said, “Greg, your whole presence there screamed I’m gonna kick your ass. And everybody knows about your reputation.”

“Really? Is that true, Selma?”

Selma chuckled, threw her arm over the back of the seat, and turned around. She looked at the girl sitting next to Mike and said, “I’m sorry, what’s your name again?”

“It’s Connie. Connie Williams.”

“That’s right. Connie, were you scared when Greg and Mike walked up to the car just now? Do you know of Greg’s reputation of being a badass?”

Connie replied, “Yes, and yes.”

Turning her head back to the right, Selma said, “See, Greg. I told you so,” and plopped back down on the seat next to him.

“Mike, are you hearing this shit?” Greg said as he looked in the rear-view mirror toward his direction.

“Hey, Dude. Remember your senior year? Nobody messed with you. I mean you may not have been the baddest ass in school, but nobody wanted to test you. Remember?”

“Well, that was when I was in high school. I’ve gotten better, haven’t I? Never mind. Let’s move on to a more pleasant conversation. I’m sorry if I scared either of you,” still looking into the rear-view mirror and then at Selma. “That was not my intention.”

Almost in unison, both young ladies said, “Riiiight,” trying their best to keep a straight face. Then Mike said, “Got it, boss,” and they all broke into laughter.

Greg couldn’t help but join in. He was outnumbered, and he knew any attempt to defend himself was futile.

Where they lived there were three local hangouts. One across the river called the Park-n-Eat, and two on the east side, Frisch’s Big Boy and The Frozen Custard.

They spent the evening cruising, talking, and making the rounds—seeing, and being seen. They enjoyed a Coke and fries together, completely forgetting about whatever Mike and his new girlfriend might be doing in the backseat. Greg and Selma were lost in each other.

As the evening was drawing to a close, Selma said to Greg, “We have to find Dan.”

Greg rolled his eyes and said, “Why on earth would I want to do that?”

“Because my dad’s home tonight, and if you take me back, he’ll kill me.”

“How do you know your dad won’t like me?” Greg asked.

“It’s not that. If I come home with a boy other than the one who picked me up, he’ll go ballistic. Trust me, we need to find Dan.” Selma insisted.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I am,” Selma assured him.

“Okay. This is against my better judgment, but I’ll do as you say. We’ll see how it turns out. Maybe we should just wait here at ‘Big Boy’ and see if Dan turns up. But before I let you go, can I get your phone number so I can call you to make sure you get home safely?”

“Good idea. Do you have a pen?” Selma asked.

A pen? Of course, he didn’t. Near panic, Greg saw one of the carhops walking across the parking lot. He called out, “Miss. Could you come here, please?”

Selma, frustrated, said, “What are you doing? We don’t have time to order something else.”

“I know. Wait for it.”

When the carhop turned to head his way, a wave of terror washed over Greg. When she arrived, she smiled at him as he said, “Hi, Linda. I didn’t realize it was you when I hollered at you. I’m sorry.”

In a sweet voice, Linda replied, “That’s alright, Greg. What can I get you.”

“You’re probably gonna be mad, but can I borrow your pen and a slip of paper out of your pad, please?”

Her sweetness disappeared, “You called me over here for that?”

Greg shrugged.

“You’re such a jerk. I don’t know why I don’t just tell you to go butt a stump,” Linda said as she handed him the pen and paper.

“Thank you,” Greg replied as he took the writing instruments and asked Selma, “Okay, what is it?”

When Selma rattled off her phone number, Linda said, “Oh, for crying out loud, Greg. You called me over here so you could write down your latest girlfriend’s phone number? You are such a loser. You couldn’t commit it to memory long enough to write it down when you got home?”

Linda then looked past Greg to Selma and said, “Honey, take it from somebody who knows, you can do a lot better.” Then, in a huff, she said, “Keep the pen, Greg,” and stormed off.

As they watched Linda, who put a lot of extra emphasis in her walk across the parking lot, Selma said, “An old girlfriend, I presume?”

“I can see how someone could get that impression, and it’s true, we do have a past, but I wouldn’t call her a girlfriend. We were never that close.”

“But you two obviously had a relationship, right?”

Greg hesitated—until Mike helped him out. “She means in the Biblical sense, dude.”

The girls couldn’t hold back their snickers when Greg blurted out, “Whose side are you on, Mike?”

“Hey, man, I’m just telling it like it is. That’s all.”

“Okay, it’s true. Linda and I did have a short-term relationship, but that was a long time ago. It was no big deal. Can we drop it now, please?”

“Sure. What should we talk about? Let’s hope Dan’s still cruising, huh? Maybe he’ll show up in time to get me home before my curfew,” Selma mused. “I guess it shouldn’t come as a surprise, though, that she’d be a little upset.”

“Oh, for crying out loud. I thought we had dropped the subject,” Greg protested, and the laughter erupted again.

Greg was being a good sport about it and joined in the fun everyone was having at his expense when he saw Dan’s car turning into the entrance. “There’s Dan, and his friend, still by themselves,” Greg said, with sarcasm dripping from the words.

Thankful it had provided an end to the conversation about Linda, he stepped out of his car and motioned for Dan to stop. Greg explained the situation. Dan’s reply, “I figured you’d give her back once you figured out she’s still a virgin,” infuriated him.

He was filled with rage. He reached through the window, grabbed Dan by his shirt with both hands, and, through clenched teeth, said, “You son-of-a-bitch! Every fiber of my being wants to drag you out of this car and pound the shit out of you, right here in front of God and everybody. But for the sake of Selma, I’m not going to do that. Just take the girls straight home. I’ll be following right behind you, so don’t try anything stupid. Do you understand?”

Dan nodded, and Greg walked slowly back to his car, straightening his shirt, and trying his best to regain his composure. He told the girls Dan would take them home. He didn’t feel the need to mention the remark he made about Selma’s chastity.

Selma couldn’t help but witness the altercation through the windshield and she asked Greg, “What was that all about?”

“Oh. Nothin’ to worry about. He just needed a little gentle persuasion, that’s all. He’s fine. I told him I was going to follow you, just to make sure he takes you both straight home. That way I know everybody will be fine.”

As the girls were walking to Dan’s car, a line was building behind it, and they were becoming impatient. Greg opened the passenger side door. Dan’s buddy had decided the girls would ride in the back seat, and he chose not to get out but rather leaned forward. Since it was a 2-door sedan, Greg pulled the seat back forward, effectively shoving the boy’s face into the dashboard so the girls could climb into the back seat more easily. He was happy to simplify the girls’ entrance and inflict a bit of discomfort as payback for the boy’s rudeness, all at the same time.

Through it all the driver behind Dan, became aggravated and pressed the button on the floorboard with his left foot to flip on his bright lights, and honked his horn. Greg, holding the door open and assisting the ladies, stood tall and glared at the guilty driver with a look that could kill. The bright lights immediately dimmed, and not another horn was heard.

Greg, without shifting his gaze from the driver of the offending vehicle, methodically closed Dan’s door, and then headed back to his car. Dan drove off.

Greg watched to see which way he turned out of the parking lot before bullying his way out to catch up. On the way to the young ladies’ homes, he wondered how Dan gained his insight into Selma’s state of sexual experience. He and Selma hadn’t even discussed that sort of thing. How long had she and Dan been dating? How far had Dan gone with her? Greg had lots of questions.

Greg must have put the fear of God into Dan because he drove straight to Selma’s house and dropped her off first.

“That’s good,” Greg said to his friend. “I love being feared. Especially by some wimp like Dan. I also like knowing where Selma lives.”

“I know,” replied Mike. “On both scores. He is such a pussy. Can you imagine the humiliation of having to drive her home, with you right on his tail?”

They both laughed hysterically.

Selma was a senior in high school, the oldest of three daughters living with their mother and father in a modest, three-bedroom, one-bath home. They moved there when she was 10. She would sit in front of the picture window at the front of the house and dream about escaping that life and seeing the world. She read a lot about beautiful and fanciful places around the globe and wondered if that dream would ever come true.

She loved school and attended every sockhop she could. She was actively engaged in extracurricular activities.

Her father worked two jobs: as a mechanic at a gas station from 8 AM till noon, six days a week, and the 3 to 11 shift as a union machine operator at a local factory at least five days a week. He would work as much overtime at the plant as he could get because it paid time and a half—or double time for anything over forty-eight hours in a week. He was a hard worker.

He made union wages but never managed to save any money. They were from the deep south. The family had a rich history as Southern Baptists and they were active in the church where her dad was a deacon. They attended church every Sunday morning and afternoon, and when they could catch a ride, the females would again on Wednesday evening.

Selma sang in the choir. She loved it, and as her voice grew deeper with puberty, she became an alto and she even sang in their traveling choir. Music was very important to her.

They came from a huge family, many of whom migrated north together. Aunts, uncles, and cousins too numerous to mention, were all members of the same Southern Baptist Church, so they could always arrange a ride when their dad had to work on those occasional Sundays, and Wednesday evenings.

Selma’s mother didn’t drive so she had to grow up quickly. Selma had to tend to the needs of her younger sisters if they ran out of something during the week. Since dad worked every day, Selma would have to walk or ride her bike to the store to buy necessities.

It was not unusual for her to walk her sisters downtown to buy school clothes because her father had to work. This was the life of the eldest sister before she got her driver’s license.

As she got older, Selma would ride her bike to the nearby university to attend dances with the college boys. Her mother’s only rule was, “Be back in the house before your father gets home.”

On her sixteenth birthday, her father was eager to take her down to the DMV to sign her up for a learner’s permit. It was the last day they would be open before the Christmas holiday. Selma was not feeling well that day. She had just started her period. She struggled with them every month.

Her father did not care. His daughter getting her driver’s license would be a godsend for him and he wasn’t going to waste this opportunity. “You’re home from school. You can feel lousy here or you can feel lousy there. What difference does it make? If we go there, at least you’ll be doing something we both want. Come on. Get up and get dressed. We’re going,” he said before he walked out of the room.

She did, took and passed the written test, and got her permit. Her dad let her drive back home. He had worked with her, teaching her to drive on country roads, but this time it was in town and legal.

At the time, he owned a 1964, black Chevrolet Impala SS with a white convertible top, and red interior. It was a beauty. It had an automatic transmission, so she didn’t have to worry about shifting gears, although her dad had taught her how. It probably had more power, with 327 cubic inches of displacement, and a four-barrel carburetor, than a 16-year-old young lady could handle, right out of the gate, but it was the car she had at her disposal, and she was proud to drive it.

The day came for her driving test to get her actual license. Her dad came to her school and got her out of class to take her to the DMV. He had gotten off work at the gas station an hour early, so he’d have enough time for her to take the test, get her license, and drive him back home. He figured he’d have no trouble getting to the plant and clock in by three for his evening shift.

Selma failed her first attempt. Her father was furious. When he got her home, he beat her with his belt.

She was wearing a skirt. The leather against her bare legs left plenty of red marks and bruises, as a lasting memory. She wore only pants for the next couple of weeks to cover them up.

The next time she took the test, she passed.

About two weeks after she got her license, she totaled the car and damaged two others. Luckily, no one was seriously hurt, other than Selma’s pride. The investigating officer knew her father, felt sorry for her and didn’t give her a ticket, even though the accident was obviously her fault.

She wasn’t paying attention and was following too closely in a drizzling rain when the light turned yellow. The two cars ahead of her, that she expected to go on through—didn’t. The first one in the line of three, stopped abruptly. Selma couldn’t stop in time and rear-ended the car ahead of her, driving it into the one at the head of the line who started it all.

The investigating officer blamed it on road conditions. An incredible break for Selma.

With the insurance money, her father replaced the wrecked vehicle with a new 1966, blue Chevrolet Impala. This one had no convertible top. Just a nice, nondescript car. It was his practice to trade for a new car every two years whether he needed to or not. This time, he needed to. Selma would go on to say her dad was a “hundred-dollar millionaire,” because of the way he spent his money. As if trying to raise three daughters had nothing to do with it.

When Greg was a senior in high school he lived with his dad and Bea, his stepmother. There was no love lost between her and Greg, but he and his dad always got along well, or so he thought.

Greg, despite hating school, was an above-average student. He had plenty of credits to graduate, and during that school year, the only two remaining required subjects had been completed during the first semester.

The rest was chock full of shop classes—auto, woodworking, and machine—his high school had them all, and he took advantage of all three. In the afternoon, Greg enrolled in a program, Diversified Cooperative Education (DCE) where he got credit for working in the private sector. Several companies were included in the program, but Greg didn’t have transportation when he was forced to choose an employer, so he chose one within walking distance of his house.

He was still only seventeen, and his living arrangements had prevented him from obtaining any motorized transportation up to that point. He opted for a retail clothing store on the downtown square. It was only two miles from where he lived.

A couple of months after enrolling in the DCE program, Greg’s father helped him obtain his ‘58 Chevy. His dad fronted some of the money, but Greg had to pay him back. “It’s probably got too much motor for you at this stage of your life, son, so be careful, but I think it should serve you well. It needs a little work, but between the two of us, I think we can make it pretty nice for you.”

“Wow! Thanks, Dad. This’ll be perfect,” Greg said, and they worked the rest of the night on the car, tuning it up, and getting it to run like a top. New spark plugs, points, condenser and they adjusted the timing.”

They took it for a test drive, and both agreed it ran well. Greg’s dad said, “The tires should last you another year, at least, and it came with a set of snow tires. They’re in the trunk for the winter. You might want to save up a little money and buy some nice floor mats. The carpet looks kinda rough. Seat covers wouldn’t hurt either, I suppose. Other than that, I think it’s a pretty nice car. Of course, a nice coat of wax will help, too,” and they laughed together, as Greg pulled into the alley behind the shop.

Finally, Greg had the transportation, he’d been longing for, but most of all, freedom.

Greg did as his dad suggested. He purchased some nice seat covers and classy-looking floor mats. He asked his dad if he would help with the installation of the seat covers. Greg had tried by himself, but he had discovered another pair of hands would be useful. His dad agreed and they wrapped that task up in no time.

Greg would continue to tinker with the car over the next year until it looked like something everyone in town recognized as soon as they saw it coming. He had the seats recovered by an upholstery shop. He didn’t like the slip-on seat covers he had originally purchased. In the end, he had the car lookin’ good and runnin’ right.

Shortly before graduation, he was called into the counselor’s office. Greg was nervous, What the hell could this be about?

When he arrived, the Counselor was waiting for him. “Come on in, Greg. Sit down, please.”

Greg complied.

The counselor looked over the folder and said, “Greg Kenny.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied.

“I have received an inquiry from a multi-national manufacturer that has a plant here in the area. They’re looking for people I think fit the criteria they’ve laid out. I gave them your name. I hope that’s okay.”

“You did? Why?” asked Greg, surprised.

“Because I think you’d be a good fit. They want someone now, and it doesn’t require a college degree. And, Greg, you’ve made it clear you don’t want to go to college, at least not right away.”

“Yeah, well, what’s the job?”

“I don’t know all the details. I think that’s better left up to the company representatives themselves. I’m sure they’ll be in touch with you soon. I just wanted to give you a heads-up. That’s all. Have a good day, Greg.”

“Uh, okay. Thanks,” Greg replied, as he got up to leave.

Greg was living with his dad and stepmother at the time, in the living quarters over the business they owned and were operating. It was a glass and floorcovering company where they provided a variety of services for clients in the surrounding area. His dad was known to be a skilled and honest craftsman providing quality work.

They employed two men on the glass side, one floorcovering specialist, and they used sub-contractors as needed. Bea answered the phone, did the scheduling, and kept the books. They were making a good living but were by no means wealthy.

When he got home that afternoon from school, Greg found his father on the phone and heard him say, “He just walked through the door, hang on, please.” Looking at Greg he said, “It’s ‘VLW International, Jacob Motor Division, right down the street. I think they want to offer you a job. You might want to talk to them, son,” and handed him the phone.

Greg took the receiver from his father and, nervously, said, “Hello. This is Greg Kenny.” He listened intently, and finally said, “I’ll be there. Thank you.”

“What did they say, son?”

“They want me to come for an interview.”

“When?

“Tomorrow, right after I get out of school and before I go to work. Dad, I can’t take that job. It’s in the Engineering department. I don’t know anything about Engineering.”

“Son, they know that. They obviously know your background. They’ve looked into you. They’re recruiting you! They must think you’re the kind of person they’re looking for. They’re willing to teach you – train you. This is an opportunity, since you don’t want to go to college, son. Don’t pass this up.”

Greg showed up for the appointment. It was more of an orientation than an interview. They gave him his choice. They had two positions available. They were both entry-level, but they didn’t seem like just jobs. One was in the drafting department, the other as a research and development technician in what they called the “Engineering Lab.” He chose the latter. He couldn’t imagine himself sitting at a drafting table all day and not going mad.

The job didn’t pay much, $2 an hour to start. At that time, the minimum wage was $1.25 so, from Greg’s perspective, it wasn’t bad. And it came with full benefits.

The engineering department was considered part of the office staff, and not subject to the union, but all employees were covered by the health insurance plan the union had bargained so hard for. It provided first-dollar health insurance coverage for everything, including any dependents, and he would be earning toward a pension, plus they would match up to 3% of anything he put toward a 401k after the first year.

He would be required to wear a shirt and tie to work every day, and he would be working with some very smart people. It was, indeed, an opportunity. He took a sense of pride in it. He would start as soon as he graduated.

Just before graduation day, while he was in the bathroom shaving. Greg had left the door open so his dad stuck his head in and said, “I wanted to tell you, son, after you graduate, you can’t live here anymore. You have to move out.”

Greg, with shaving cream still on his face, looked at his father’s reflection in the mirror, in shock, and said, “How soon?”

“The next day. I’m sorry.” His dad dropped his eyes, turned, and left.

Greg could tell, it wasn’t his dad’s idea. It was Bea. She hated him and did things to make his life miserable. She would routinely hide his shoes, keys, or books, to make him late for school in the morning. He was sure his dad knew, but maybe he really doesn’t see it.

Nonetheless, the shock hit him, his dad either didn’t have the backbone to stand up to her, or he didn’t want him either. Before even starting his new opportunity, he had to find another place to live.

Fortunately for him, his grandparents had moved, at least for a while, back from Florida to a home they owned adjacent to the business they had sold a year or so earlier. The house was separate and not part of the sale, and it was just a few miles away from where his dad lived.

They allowed Greg to live with them and share a room with his grandfather. His grandparents hadn’t slept in the same room for years. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t the best of circumstances. The house had only one bathroom, and there was no privacy, but it would have to do.

Five months after graduation, Greg turned 18 and had to register for the Selective Service. He was rated 1-A. In 1966 that meant if you were healthy, hadn’t been in trouble with the law, and not in school, your ticket was punched. Greg was destined for Vietnam, and he knew it. His attitude toward life changed. “Living for the moment” became his mindset.

On an unusually warm Sunday afternoon in mid-April, he and Selma decided to take in a matinee at the local movie theater. By the time they came out the temperature had dropped about 30 degrees, and it was snowing—hard. They ran to Greg’s car as fast as they could because they were both without jackets or sweaters, laughing as they ran.

When they got to the car, Greg promptly started the engine so the heater could warm them but seized the opportunity to hug Selma tightly to share his body heat with her in the meantime. He wanted to kiss her, but he refrained. After a moment or two, Selma said, “You know, I could just put my sweater on, and look here, is this your jacket?” They burst out laughing.

That’s something they did a lot when they were together—laugh. There was a chemistry between them that was unmistakable.

Greg reluctantly slid his arms into his jacket and headed off to the Park-n-Eat. They ordered some food and began talking—and talk they did. Until Selma suddenly realized it had gotten dark, and said, “Oh, my gosh, Greg. You’ve gotta take me home. I can’t believe it’s this late.”

When they arrived back at her house, Greg walked Selma to the front door. It was still snowing a little, so rather than coming in, Greg kissed her, passionately, while they stood on the stoop. It took her breath away. She looked at him and whispered, “Good night, Greg.”