Audry was supposed to be an old maid.
That’s what she told her grandchildren, anyway. In her experience, every family had at least one. Her brother was already married, though the family still wasn’t sure how he tricked someone into doing it. Her sister was also married, with a baby on the way and a husband fresh on the draft. And she was nearing 22. This was small town Missouri—the closer a woman got to 25, the worse her chances were. By all accounts available to her, Audrey just didn’t see it happening.
In addition to that, she already led a head-butting match with her dad. Audry wanted to work, and was gaining ground toward her secretarial degree. By then she knew a world of hand me-down-shoes and only-so-much-butter. She also bore witness to what happened when the gears of the nation were left running by her own kind. Throughout the country she was seeing what women were capable of when the country was left in their hands. She understood the value of their work, tangibly, and she wanted to be a part of it. She was an independent mind under the authority of someone who saw no use for a working woman and, in protest, her father kept her under lock and key. Nonsense was not to be tolerated. It stands to reason that meeting new men would be an impossibility.
She failed to take two things into account, though. The war had just ended. And she was friends with Earl and Bob.
Earl and Bob happened to have a new friend, Jim.
Jim ended up in Missouri…eventually. His journey started in college. He left his hometown in Illinois to pursue a degree in fire protection engineering. That plan was interrupted pretty quickly, as he too fell victim to the draft. Thanks to government disorganization, too many men were selected, so he spent his first stint of military training at a college in New York. He utilized this particularly strained waiting period with his usual coping mechanisms—drinking buddies and math textbooks. A year after that he found himself operating bulldozers in Okinawa with no expectation that he would return in one piece or otherwise. Marriage wasn’t really on his radar. Why hope for something so sweet when you weren’t even certain about tomorrow?
Jim knew all too well that war waited for no one.
As it turns out, there was a tomorrow. And a few more. And more after that. On the unluckiest day in history, he was informed that he was going home. He even got to go in one piece.
He spent his last year of college in Chicago, finishing his degree on the military’s dime. There he met a whole variety of people, in bars and churches alike. That’s the way Jim lived, searching out friends no matter the venue. Any given stranger who dared to sit next to him would have no idea what they were getting themselves into, but nevertheless they were usually trading life stories by the end of it. Still no ladies on the horizon, however. He had an awkward sense of humor that didn’t exactly earn him points in the intricate art of courting. It was stair-stepped and swirling, joining two far away concepts, often built on references to philosophers, literature, and farts.
He was a little off the wall, but it made sense if you paid attention.
Jim landed in St Joe by way of a job offer that no man of good sense would turn down. He dutifully traveled southwest once more, and continued in his tradition of good friend-making. Some of those friends, as it happened, went by the name of Bob and Earl. Both were big fans of nonsense, so when Jim mentioned that he noticed one pretty face in particular up in the choir loft at church, they hatched a plan.
Bob was very good at schemes, you know.
It was a crisp fall night. The Missouri summer burnt off all the heat and Halloween was just around the corner. Earl picked up his date, then Audry, then headed over to collect Jim. Jim was a little unsure—Earl had not exactly communicated which of the girls was supposed to be his for the evening but as he slid next to Audry, he held his hopes under his hat. They made light conversation. Jim asked Audry about her interests. Audry asked Jim about his job. Just before the sun started to set, they made it to their destination.
A weenie roast, set up by Bob, for their Sunday school group. What a coincidence.
The weather was perfect, with golden leaves just starting to turn and a slight breeze that would give the bonfire a short burst of intermittent flame. The birds bedded down and cricket chirps slowly began to dot the hillsides around them. A lovely watercolor of mango stained the westward skyline. Octobers are a balm for young hearts that way. A few people milled about, stopping every few minutes to dip a speared hotdog into the flames until it turned exactly crispy enough. Try as they might, Jim and Audry kept ending up on the same hay bale. He’d get up and fry her a marshmallow. She’d get up and put graham crackers and chocolate together. Then they’d return, heads bent together and a gleam in their eyes. She would peak up through the curtain of sudden shyness. He searched for the right words to offer such a pretty face. He came up short, and they settled on questions.
“I see, and how is your mother’s garden this year?”
“What was it like to commute in New York?”
“Ok, but does your dad know what you’re up to tonight?”
“So, your mother still speaks fluent German? What does she say the most?”
“Have you heard the one about the mathematician and the rocket scientist?”
What a delight when she cracked a smile instead of rolling her eyes.
Earl and his date stole glances at a distance, stopping every once in a while to smirk at Bob. The night was too quick, ended by the coming starlight and a ride home. Jim made certain to walk Audry to her door, all the while racking his brain for something to say. He settled on Shakespeare: always a safe bet. As she opened the door he spoke, full of mirth and facetious romance:
“Goodnight sweet Princess. May flights of angels guide thee to thy rest.”
Audry was wise enough to know that Jim made for a better Horatio, and bid him a warm good-night. As they parted, Jim swore for generations to come that he heard a voice say clear as day:
“Jim? Jim. If you don’t marry that girl you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life.”
Anyway, that’s the story of how my grandparents met at a weenie roast.
October 16, 1949.
