Even during the two-week winter break, Paul was busy with scheduled wrestling practices most every day. Near the end of the second week, he finally had a free day, and he, along with Bill Sommers, was invited by some of the veteran teachers to play cards. Paul and Bill, no doubt regarded as the inexperienced country boys, were picked up around noon and I supposed I’d see him for dinner that evening.
Wrong – I had no idea where he was and he didn’t call, so the girls (Kari, 4, Lori, 2) and I had dinner alone. Afterwards, we did the usual—baths, storytime, and bedtime. After tucking them in, I continued to fret. I had no clue who else might be in their group, and for that matter, really didn’t know many of the wives I might call. Bill was newly married, but I’d never met his wife, so I waited and worried.
The phone rang about 9:00. Paul, on the other end, pleaded in a very meek voice, “Will you come and get me? I’m in Verona at the VFW club.”
Verona is twenty-some miles from where we lived, but I had the car and after worrying about him for hours, couldn’t refuse. And relieved to hear his voice, yet annoyed and anxious, I woke the girls, bundled them in blankets over their pink fleece sleepers, and carried them out to our ’57 Chevy station wagon, one at a time. The sleepy twosome shared the front seat and I cranked the heater up.
To mask my concern about Paul, I began singing Christmas songs. Soon we were all singing, and half an hour later, we arrived at the VFW club, where outside the door stood two forlorn-looking guys, Paul and Bill.
Crawling into the back seat, two otherwise nice guys who reeked of alcohol slouched. Bill muttered directions to his apartment complex while Paul said nothing. So, the girls and I picked up our concert.
In those pre-seat-belt-kids-in-the-back-seat days, picture two toddlers leaning over the seat singing along with their mother, “Silent Night,” “Away in a Manager,” and “Rudolph, the Red Nosed Reindeer” to their back seat inebriated passengers.
We dropped Bill off…he admitted later he tried to use his key to get into the wrong apartment. Chagrined, Paul didn’t say a word the rest of the way home. And I suppose the group at the VFW club who had enticed their inexperienced younger cohorts with martinis felt they had the last laugh.
It never happened again – Paul and Bill, who retired from Monona Grove the same year, have shared their awful memory many times.
