Bedframe Memories

William Wayne Weems

© 2004 by William Wayne Weems


I sold my late Mother's old bedroom suite today.  It was solid wood, and of an antique style.  I judged it to be the
Moorish/Spanish motif popular when Valentino was a silent movie star and "the Sheik" one of his signature roles.
Alas, the bed needed at minimum to be pulled apart and reglued, and the entire suite was scarred so badly refinishing
seemed the only answer.  Still, one hated to see it go if only for the memories it evoked.

Consider the 1955 photo above:  As a spinoff from a school art contest I had converted one of the bed's spiral posts into a mannequin, complete with wire flyswatter.  The girl viewing the curious figure with a "what in the world is
this" expression is my older cousin Sarah Ann Coggin (now Bush).

That summer I visited with Sarah and found her to be a rapidly developing social powerhouse in her small home
town of Pulaski, Tennessee.  Her status had been elevated by two fortunate circumstances. She had just gotten her
driver's license and her daddy, who owned the local Buick dealership, let her drive his 1954 lime-green
convertible.  She took me for a ride on a winding road that crested the high hills north of town.  At one of the highest
points a broad parking area opened up beside the road.  It commanded a splendid view, but I was a bit confused when
Sarah informed me that the site was most popular at night.  Dating couples would end their outing by stopping for a
while there and twisting the radio dial to explore the unusually broad selection of radio stations available from that
altitude.  Excited, I began to work the controls of the Buick's radio, hoping to get something in daylight.  Boy, I opined,
I bet they have fun up here at night. Sarah sniggered and agreed they did indeed, sometimes exploring even more than
the radio dial. Facing my blank look Sarah cocked an eyebrow, doubtless wondering just how much she could tease
this clueless little twerp. But then the radio blared into life, and we both sat transfixed by the music booming out.

Some new, hot young crooner named Elvis Presley was singing in an electric style we had never heard before. The DJ told us Elvis was singing rock and roll, and prepared to play another of his songs.  Sarah stirred and started the car.  As she pulled out of the lot I asked her if she had ever heard this singer or his music before.  "No", she said, "have you?"  I shook my head.  She began to turn off the radio but her hand stopped short. "Let's listen for as long as we can", she said. "I think I like it."  So the Buick convertible roared back down the hill and into another era.

Just one of the memories evoked by the bedframe as it went out the door.

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