Lee High School - Huntsville Alabama Alumni

Miss Irene Jones

by John Scales

Class of ‘66

Recent articles on car dates inspired me to write. Although not exactly a date situation, I well remember the awkward feeling of being dressed up in a car, next to a girl, being driven around by parents.

It must have been late in the summer of 1960 when the parents got together and set it all up. The first hint I had was a “casual” conversation with my parents over the dinner table.

“Well, you certainly are growing up—this fall you start junior high school at Lee.” Sensing something was up but unsure of what, my only reply was a non-committal grunt. “Soon you’ll being going to dances and things like that.” Horror at the dinner table! Whatever my true feelings, admittedly ambivalent at 12 years old, this was not something I wanted to discuss with my parents! Ever! I’m thinking, “Keep your mouth shut, this can only get worse.”

“We’ve signed you up to take dancing lessons this year. You’ll learn not only how to dance but also how to ask girls for a dance. You’ll also learn etiquette.”

It is worse.

“Some of your friends will be in the class with you: Hooker Shuey, Kathy Henritze, and Polly Gurley. You can carpool together.” Great! Not only will this be terminally embarrassing, but some of the neighborhood kids will witness the whole thing.

Well, it came to pass that fall—four young junior high school kids, all to be in the Lee Class of 1966, riding down Bankhead off the mountain to a house very close to East Clinton School: Miss Irene Jones School of Dance. None of us talked; we were all dressed up, intimidated if not downright scared of what we would find.

I don’t remember much about that first night. It was early evening in the early fall, just getting dusk, when we arrived. Except for the sign out front, the School of Dance looked like any other house in that neighborhood. The front room was large and covered in mirrors above wooden bars mounted on the walls about waist high. Miss Jones was short, very dressed up, and older than God. She might even have been as old as I am now! We didn’t know any of the other kids, but had to introduce ourselves. There were about twenty kids, some a little older than us (I think one was Carolyn Burgess), and two assistant instructors (a couple) who must have been high school seniors.

Over the next several months we learned the foxtrot, the waltz, the cha-cha, the rumba, and, as a concession to modern times, the twist. We learned how to fill out each other’s dance cards (never dance with the same partner twice in a row except for the last two dances of the evening!). We learned about corsages and getting some punch for your date. We learned to figure out what the dance was supposed to be by counting: One... Two…Three is a waltz, One… Two… Three… Four is a foxtrot. We were admonished against talking except in very low tones. We changed partners for every dance. If you learned a step slowly or tried to cut up a little, you were punished: You had to dance with Miss Jones so she could correct your step or your manners!

Right before Christmas, we had a practice “real dance” at the Russell Erskine hotel. My “date” was Kathy Henritze. I should mention that whatever our romantic interests at that time, they were not with our partners at dance class (who they were with is another story). Awkward silence is a charitable characterization of the whole thing.

It wasn’t over with, though—our parents had signed us up for the whole year. That winter and spring, more of the same. Becoming 13, as all of us did that year, somehow made our physical coordination even worse. Somehow we managed to survive, and topped it off that spring with another “real dance”, again at the Russell Erskine. This time my “date” was Polly Gurley. Otherwise, no change. Except it was over! Never again! My parents asked me if I was interested in continuing, but I think my expression alone was enough to answer that one.

As I found out in high school, Miss Irene Jones taught me a brand of dancing no one else knew! Whenever I tried to dance a step taught by her, my partner never had a clue as to what I was trying to do. As for dance cards, please! I never saw another one. Between the negative associations raised by dancing class and the realization almost no one knew the same steps I did, it was many years before I ever went to another formal dance. Maybe that’s what my parents had in mind all along.

(Editor's Note: The actual listing for this establishment in the Huntsville City Directory of 1962 was Irene Jones Studio of Dance, 702 Randolph Avenue S.E.)

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My First Car Date

by Barbara Seely Cooper

Class of ‘64

I had to laugh a lot at Barbara Wilkerson Donnelly’s first car date story, because her Dad and mine had to be reading the same parenting book. My Dad was very strict, and I felt he was keeping me on a very short leash compared to any of my friends. Of course, nowadays I appreciate every little rule he had (well, almost) and wish his care and guidance could be shared with some of the lonely, ungoverned kids today.

The “You Have to Be 16 to Date” Rule was very much in place at my house too. When I turned 16, the whole world seemed just around the corner, finally within reach. I had no idea what I would do with it, but there it was at last. But there were issues: would any boy actually ask me on a date, now that there was the possibility of my being able to go?? Oh, the stress of it, and the waiting…and the many doubts. I would be the last girl in Huntsville to have a date! Every day I looked around the halls of Lee High and was so intimidated by “the competition.” So-and-so’s hair was so cute, just like the Breck shampoo girl’s, and mine needed all the help it could get. Another girl was dressed just right, while I was in skirts my Grandmother made from remnants, no less. And lots of other girls actually filled out their blouses! Last but far from least, even the boys who might be desperate enough to consider me had to run the gantlet of my father. There could be only one conclusion: I was doomed to spinsterdom.

I give this background to show my state of mind when I actually did get asked on my first car date. The guy was someone I had met at Carter’s Skateland and I had a huge crush on him for some time. He was a year or so older than me, and went to Huntsville High. I mention the Carter’s Skateland connection for two reasons: one, it was THE source of my social life for years, and two, any boy who approached me there was already pre-scrutinized. My parents were there, one or both of them, every single night. Billy had already gotten past the Parental Guards by spending time talking with them and by his respectful behavior towards them.

I was ecstatic and also scared to death. What to wear? What to do with the mess I called my hair? What to talk about? Where to sit in the car – by the window? In the middle? As I recall, my mother and I actually agreed upon my choice of a new outfit for the date, but I have no recollection of what it looked like.

The big night finally arrived. Billy was old enough to drive and had his own car. He knew full well he would have to come inside (no honking at the curb for the Seely girls) and talk to Dad while I delayed behind closed doors for a few minutes. At last we were off together, my heart pounding and my head blank about all the things I had prepared to chat about. It was also raining a little, which any girl back then could tell you was bad news for a hairdo involving curlers, hairspray, and Dippity-Do.

One block away from our house, a dog ran in front of Billy’s headlights. It was OUR dog, loose and running wild for the first time in the years we had owned him. Billy managed to avoid running over Bobo, but now I had the Date Dilemma From Hell: stay cool and proceed with my first grown-up date, or save that silly dog?

Well, it turns out the dog had the best evening of all. Billy allowed me to catch Bobo, put Bobo’s wet, hairy, doggy behind in Billy’s precious car, and take Bobo back home. We then left again on our date, with the car and me smelling of wet dog. I truly do not remember where we went, because I was very aware that my choice to rescue Bobo would have its consequences.

Billy and I had another date or two, but there was no future there. He went on to other more grown-up girls, while I got braces and honed my date anxieties to greater and greater heights. Still, my memories of that first car date are special, and I would once again choose to rescue that foolish dog.

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Subject:STATE LINE BEER RUN

Tony Thompson

Class of '64

Hi Gang,

When Lehman mentioned the State Line Beer Run, memories came flooding back! I made that trip several times in Harold's Mom's white Station Wagon. Friday night often found us at GLASS'S, a Bar in Ardmore Tennessee that required you to have $2.00 entrance fee and know where the back door was in case of a raid.

We hid our Quarts beside the road behind the School one Friday morning, and watched helplessly from Mr.Stuart's Class as a Wino discovered them and carried his bonanza away!

I also remember the Assassination of President Kennedy. We were in the "Smoking Court" when we received the news. Later, anyone that was Catholic was allowed out of School for a while. Harold and I immediately changed our Religion. We sure got in trouble for that.

Gary Broadway worked at a Drugstore at 5 Points. He got us several large Prescription Bottles typed up that stated "take 1 ounce every hour for coughs". When filled with Cherry Vodka, it made for a HAPPY FRIDAY!

Happy Day All.

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Subject:State Line Beer Run

Woody Beck

Class of '65

I too enjoyed many terrifying road trips with Harold Tuck and Lynn Baeder to a concrete honky-tonk just across the state line in Ardmore, Tennessee. I can't recall its name. The owners weren't terribly discriminating when it came to age - as long as your money was green, you were cool. If my mind has failed completely, Harold's ride was a once-in-its-lifetime white Nash station wagon - its a miracle that no one was killed during one of those brew runs. Thank God we hadn't discovered grass/weed/pot until later- that would have been a fatal combination.

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Please Read -

Concerning 2005 Reunion

by Judy “Fedrowisch” Kincaid

Class of '66

We are “sorely” in need of information on our classmates. Our next reunion meeting is set for Feb. 7th, and I don’t know about the other classes, but the Class of '66 only has up-to-date information on about 20 classmates. I spent about three hours last night going over the information booklet from the 2000 Reunion - trying to re-verify addresses, phone numbers, etc. I was really surprised to discover how many names didn’t have any additional information - even though many of the folks were at the reunion. Also, the information we do have is almost five years old and most of it is no longer valid.

So please, fellow classmates, submit your current address, phone number, e-mail address, etc. as soon as possible. Even if you don’t think you’ll be able to attend the reunion. Whether you realize it or not, each & every one of you is remembered by someone. And they’d like to know where you are and how you’re doing. With the technology we now have, there’s no reason we all can’t keep in touch and up-to-date.

We are also in need of additional reunion committee members. If you’ve unable to attend the meetings, I would be glad to e-mail you a copy of the EXCEL spreadsheet that we are using so that you can see who we’re needing information on. Any and all help will be appreciated.

Judy “Fedrowisch” Kincaid

njkincaid@hotmail.com

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