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Richard Hughes Liddell (enjoying
some cuddles above) grew up in South Walkerville during the
‘50s and ‘60s “My recollections of that era are
sometimes exaggerated,” he says, “sometimes humorous,
sometimes poignant but always fun. To those of us who knew these
times in a place called Walkerville, we were ever so lucky…” |
The
Garden Party
by Richard Hughes Liddell popdoc@rogers.com
Where
Richard ponders why the farmer always brings the most endowed mini-stallion
for the pony ride
Well
folks, it’s that time of year again – the Hugh Beaton
Public School Garden
Party. I have joined the ranks of Casanova because I have two dates
from my Grade 7 class for this event: Laurie Levine will accompany
me in the afternoon, playing all the games in the girl’s schoolyard,
and Ann McKenzie is my date for the dance.
My Grandmother is a bit concerned on both fronts for she is a staunch
Methodist who begrudgingly became United in 1925 and Laurie is Jewish
and Ann is (shudder) Catholic, but after checking to make sure I
didn’t possess any engagement rings, Gram reluctantly ties
my tie, gives me two dollars and lets me go into this religious
upheaval.
Let’s see, two dollars is going to go a long way since the
Fish Pond is only 5 cents, the pony rides are 10 cents and hot dogs
are a dime as well. So I put one of the dollars in my back pocket
for the dance and start to splurge on Laurie. She wins a Japanese
fan at the Fish Pond and I win a magnifying glass. (Fortunately
for the ants of the schoolyard, it’s a cloudy day.) And then
we head over to the pony rides, but as we approach we notice a group
has congregated in front of one of the ponies. Question: since pony
rides are for kids, why does the farmer always bring that one well-endowed
mini-stallion to these events? Perhaps it is an attempt by the school
board to teach us something about anatomy and the facts of life,
since they certainly won’t spend a lot of time on the subject
in future science and health classes. All the boys are giggling
uncontrollably and all the girls look disgusted and have that “get
me to a nunnery” look about them. From the look in Laurie’s
eyes, I realize I have just saved 20 cents. “Let’s go
to the White Elephant table,” I suggest, but as we get close,
John Pelton, Laurie’s date for the dance, approaches and suggests
Laurie start with him early since he won’t be able to stay
for all the dance. She looks at him; she looks at me. I give her
my best come-hither look, which I guess is lacking for the next
thing I know, I am alone. So what does every rejected grade 7 male
do when he is abandoned at the garden party? He heads back to that
pony so he can giggle with all the other boys.
The dance: 6 hot dogs, 4 pops and 5 brownies later, this less confident
Casanova is pacing about the dance floor looking for his date. He
spots her at the far end of the auditorium and, as the CKLW Disc
Jockey, Bud Davies, starts Jimmy Rodger’s “Honeycomb,”
I feel for my comb, run it through my Brillcream-soaked locks and
coolly, I mean coolly, saunter over to Ann. She spots me and grabs
my arm and I think the dancing is about to start, however, she whispers,”
My cousin is here from across town and would you mind if he joins
us?” (Funny in my ménage-à-trois fantasies, I
always pictured two girls, not two guys.) Quickly I figure this
is much better than Laurie’s rejection, so I boldly accept.
I don’t remember much more about the evening, except that Ann’s
cousin was a real cool guy who taught me how to make some strange
noises with my armpit. (Those guys across town were always ahead
of Hugh Beaton with the neat stuff.) I also remember Ann asking
if either one of us wanted to dance to which we both replied, “not
really,” so she wondered off and the last I saw of her she
and John Pelton were dancing. (What is it with this guy?)
After the dance, my Gram met me at our front door and although she
sympathized with my rejections, I know she felt pretty good and
started to point me in the direction of Methodists. As I got ready
for bed, she did ask me what we talked about and I said,” Oh,
we just talked about a pony and stuff…”
Postscript:
Rock ‘n Roll drove my parents crazy just as Rap drives me crazy
today. I remember rushing home from Hugh Beaton every day in the
late ‘50s and putting on American Bandstand with Dick Clark.
My sister and I would jitter bug the afternoon away. We got to know
all the regulars: Arlene and Kenny, Justine and Bob, Pat Molitari.
At my first sock hop at Walkerville Collegiate in 1959 I assumed
my sister would want to dance with me. However, I was rebuffed by
her since she was in grade 12 and in no way wanted to be seen with
her nerdy brother, let alone dance with him.
In
the mid-‘70s there was another “Garden Party” at
Madison Square Gardens in New York City attended by a lot of Rock
‘n Roll stars from the ‘50s and ‘60s and thousands
of their fans.
Rick Nelson was one of the celebrities known by everyone of my generation
from the Ozzie and Harriet Show and who became a Rock ‘n Roll
singer. Rick was not content to rest on his laurels from the ‘60s
and had changed both in appearance and style of song. Most of the
fans in attendance were there to reminisce and when he started singing
his version of the Stones “Honcky Tonk Woman,” he was
booed off the stage.
Licking
his wounds, he took some time off and then penned wonderful lyrics,
which, once music was applied, became his all-time hit. Out of adversity
sometimes success soars and the chorus of Ricky’s song is another
one of those life lessons:
But
it’s all right now
I learned my lesson well
See you can’t please everyone
So you’ve got to please yourself.
-Rick Nelson
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