The Southern Colonels Dance Band (Cont.)
Screen 4 of 5After three or four minutes, the spoon was pulled against the window much harder, making a louder noise than before. Everyone heard it this time, and Leon suggested that we perhaps should stop and see what the two in the trailer wanted. But after a brief discussion, we decided not to stop-at least, not then. The consensus was to let them stay back there a little longer--especially since we felt sure we would never get either of them into that trailer again. We agreed Marvin should be subjected just a little bit more to what the rest of us had gone through several times in that "wooden caboose" as we called it.
About that time, a violent jerk of the string caused the spoon to hit the window with a sharp ring and then drop to the floor. The string was broken and all became suddenly silent.
Even now we were not ready to stop. Just five more miles, we agreed and then we would let them out. What punishment: A kind that only friends could inflict upon each other, calling it a prank.
Soon we slowed down, pulled over on the shoulder of the road, stopped, and turned off the engine. Leon went to the back of the trailer and began unlocking the doors, while the rest of us stood a few steps away to witness what we knew was coming. Even before the doors were opened, we could hear curses and wild threats from inside, first and loudest from Marvin, then from Virginia. We couldn't understand all they were saying, but there was no doubt they were angry--very angry.
With the doors now open, we saw two pathetic figures. Their faces ashen, their hair and clothing disheveled, they obviously were ill. Whether it was because of the dust, the stuffy air inside, the rough ride, the hot night, the cheap moonshine whiskey, or their deep resentment at what had happened to them, we weren't sure. The cause of their illness was probably a combination of all these things.
Marvin was the first to speak, as they were helped to the ground. "Why in the hell didn't you stop when we pulled the string?" he yelled. Leon responded calmly with a lie in behalf of us all. "I'm sorry, Marvin, we didn't hear you. The string must have broken."
"We knew it broke," Virginia put in, "but after that happened, we started yelling and beating on the walls of the trailer. Didn't you hear us yelling either?"
After more charges from Marvin and Virginia and some rather weak excuses from us, things began to calm down. The fresh air began to revive both the trailer riders, and they promptly claimed two seats in the sedan.
I asked them if they weren't able to relax and sleep back there. Marvin promptly answered with some explosive three and four letter expletives, and I let the matter drop.
We were still about ten miles from Elizabethtown and almost eighty miles from Bowling Green. And of course two of us had to ride the rest of the way in the trailer. We drew lots, and I lost, along with Jimmy Jones. As a compromise, Marvin agreed to drive no faster than thirty miles an hour on the dusty stretch and no more than forty on the paved road.
With this moderate pace, Jimmy and I soon fell asleep against the walls of the trailer. The cool of the early morning helped, and when we arrived in Bowling Green just before five o'clock we were awakened by the sound of voices and the unlocking of the back doors.
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