Chivalry on Washington Avenue

It was sometime during the summer of my eleventh birthday, so let’s say that I was eleven.

My paternal grandfather had already had the first of his strokes and was semi-retired.  I doubt if it was prescribed therapy - more likely, it was just because Pop was Pop - but every day he would walk down to Washington Avenue and stroll a couple miles along the street.  Whatever therapeutic effects the walk  might have produced were tempered by the fact that he would stop for a beer at just about any ice house or beer joint he passed.

I had accompanied him on his tour one day, and we were sitting in a beer joint when a woman put a nickel in the jukebox, selected a Bob Wills song, and then came over and invited me to dance.  I was a whole lot surprised and a little bit embarrassed.  She was probably in her late 40’s, but to me she looked older than dirt.  I politely but firmly declined.

When she left, Pop said “Boy, that was just wrong.  Don’t you know anything about chivalry?”

“Sir?”

“You always dance with a lady that asks you, especially if she ain’t so pretty.”

“See,” he continued, “A pretty girl don’t think twice about asking a feller to dance, but a girl that nobody’s likely to ask - a girl that ain’t so popular, one that’s kind of chunky, a little cross-eyed or has a bit of a moustache – well, it pretty much takes all she’s got to screw up her courage and ask a feller to join her on the dance floor.  You turn her down, you’ve just tromped on what little bit of pride she’s got.  Why, she may never build up the nerve to try again.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.  “I never thought of that.”

“Don’t tell me,” he said.  “I ain’t the one you hurt.”

I went over and put a nickel in the jukebox and selected Tennessee Waltz.  I went to the woman and told her that I thought I might be able to dance to that, if she was still interested.

I was vaguely familiar with the box step, but she led and she held me a lot closer than I expected.  Since I was still a little under five feet tall, my face ended up planted firmly in her décolletage.  Even so, we made it through the song without serious injury.

After the dance, she led me back to our table.  She gave me a big smile and a quick kiss on my forehead.

“Don’t that feel better?” Pop asked.

“Yes sir.” I replied.

He leaned toward me and grinned.  “Did you feel her up?”