A Night to Forget

 

The brass-beaded chain was (and still is) ubiquitous in 1976. Lamp chains. Ceiling light pulls. Key chains. Especially key chains. And the two inches of brass-beaded chain I was desperate to find on a winter Friday night in 1976 was threaded through brass grommets pressed into the holes of brown fake alligator leather which hid the steel case a tiny nail clipper set slid into. Of more importance than the nail clipper or its case though were the two silver keys, one oval, the other nearly square. Each bore the Mercury logo and worked the ignition and trunk of my mother’s 1972 Mercury Marquis.

I’d gotten to Granby Memorial High School later than I should have that afternoon, rushing to board the school bus which Ma Sokoloski would drive to Tolland High School. On board would be the boys varsity and junior varsity basketball teams, cheerleaders, trainers, and coaches. After the nearly hour bus ride, those of us on the JV would be the first to change from our away game dress up clothes into uniforms. We played first, then the important game would follow.

I remember nothing about either game, nor any of the conversations I taken part in as I sat in the bleachers with teammates and my girlfriend as the varsity teams competed. What I do remember is the growing anxiousness inside of me when I became aware that I wasn’t finding the keys to Mom’s car. Pockets of the slacks I had on? Nope, double checked. Inside or outside pockets of the mandatory sport coat? Not there. They weren’t in the pockets of Army jacket that had belonged to my brother-in-law until his discharge and I was given the coveted coat.

The varsity game ended and I approached Mr. Hauk with dread before he went back to the locker room with Coach Romano and the team. Mr. Hauk coached the JV and I felt he might be more sympathetic. Coach Romano probably still burned at the memory of coming into the locker room of a recent home game at halftime, his team under performing and there’s Bobby Kalinowski and I still under the steaming hot water showering down on us, deep in conversation nearly an hour after our game had ended.

“Mr. Hauk,” I began, “I can’t find my keys. I think I dropped them under the bleachers.”

Now I understand that a custodian was located after Coach Hauk informed Romano and the Tolland staff of the situation and about 40 people stood around watching and  waiting to go on the bus, get back to our school and start their weekends. Then, I just panicked as the bleachers were rolled into themselves and I scoured the floor beneath where I had sat carefree such a short time before. I saw gum wrappers, lost homework assignments, lovers’ notes fumbled into darkness when the young hands attempted to secretly communicate without notice. No car keys.

The ride back took longer as it had begun to snow while we played. Now my dread increased as the probability that I had locked the keys in the car meant I was going to need to call home and Dad would have to come with the second set and open the car. A call and an encounter I’d just as soon do without, for there wasn’t an excuse I could conger that would placate Dad.

About an inch of light, fluffy snow covered the cars and the pavement when we disembarked. Half relieved, I hustled over to the large vehicle, praying that perhaps I hadn’t locked the keys in the car after all. Perhaps everything was going to be fine. I brushed the snow from the roof with my forearm; a scenario I hadn’t envisioned in my most dreadful thoughts became my newest, worst reality, because hidden beneath the blanket of snow was MARK AVERY’S LTD! As this realization gripped me and I turned away from his car, trying to grasp what this could mean, I noticed that the parking space next his vehicle had significantly less snow on it. A depression of sorts which caused my spirits to sink even lower, for now I had TWO phones calls to make, the nature of one altered drastically and the other into unknown territory.

“GAWDDAMMIT, Booth, it’s always something with you, isn’t it?” Romano wasn’t thrilled with further delays postponing his plans.

The police came and took down the necessary information from me while I waited for Dad to pick me up instead of unlocking Mom’s car, which was now reported stolen. I’m sure he was thinking out loud during the ten minute drive home, reviewing the negative aspects of us being down a vehicle were going to have on our family life. Somehow it felt worse than getting yelled at.

As with most bad things that have happened to me in my life, this was quite short lived and worked out pretty good. Early the next morning, maybe about 7:30, the phone rang. The Granby police department called to let us know that Mom’s car had been found. It was stuck in a snowbank in the parking lot behind Flavor Mount, a small store close to our house the sold fruit from its local fields and orchards as well as candies, fudge, cakes and beverages. The working theory was that some kids had discovered it unlocked with the keys still in the ignition and decided to joy ride. Interestingly enough, it had more gas in it than when I parked it and some of the other boys on the team reported their tanks had been siphoned.