It was the summer of 1983. I was home from school for the summer working at the bookstore of the local junior college. My girlfriend Donna, who is now my wife, was traveling that summer with a singing group from our school. We went to a small mid-western Bible College and she was on a ‘camp team’ that went to Christian summer camps all over the U.S. to help staff the week in exchange for an opportunity to recruit students to enroll in our school. She loved to sing and she enjoyed the travel. Her schedule at one point during the summer was going to take her through St. Louis and give her a couple days off.
I was living at my folks, 100 miles from St. Louis. I came up with the incredibly romantic idea of the two of us meeting under the St. Louis Arch in the afternoon. From there we would explore St. Louis, make out a little (this was my plan) and then I would take her back to my folks for a couple days and then she would rejoin her traveling group on route to the next camp and next chance to convince kids that a school with no math pre-requisite and a degree that wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on was the best way to go.
I drove to St. Louis with flowers in my 79 Gran Torino. A ‘Starsky and Hutch’ car. Mine was green but I loved that car. Two huge doors that gave you a work out just opening and closing them and a big hood perfect for sliding across. And I was Starsky not that wussy Hutch as I roared down I55 listening to Billy Joel.
What could go wrong?
to be continued…