Losing Shirley
Suddenly, there was Shirley:
![](https://steemitimages.com/640x0/https://s5.postimg.cc/kfq34pz07/graphic-_Shirley.jpg)
When I was twelve years old, I lived in a small town in eastern South Carolina. My parents worked in a cotton mill; one of the two largest employers for the town, and we lived on the Mill Village adjacent to the mill where almost all the other Village residents also worked. In 1952, I was in the sixth grade at Thornwell Public School, about six blocks away from my home. I was also in love with a beautiful classmate, Shirley Trader. For a very shy twelve year-old, being "in love" meant that I alone knew that was what was wrong with me, and I tried hard to keep the secret of my constant blushing from my classmates.
Shirley had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, and joined our class about a month after classes started again after the summer break; something unusual because our population was rather stable and new classmates were rare. Rare and very strikingly beautiful, in this case. She was taller than the other girls and very slim, with long, unruly light brown hair that made her even more interesting to me. After all, I was tall and slim also, so she was a natural attraction.
On the second or third day, I discovered that she walked home after school along the same general route I took, although she did not take the usual shortcuts. The next day, I followed her closely enough to see where she lived, and it was on the other side of the square Mill Village; five streets east and five streets south. The next day, I made certain to leave when she did and offered to show her a shortcut through the edge of the campus of the girls' college, and along a seldom used railroad track. She agreed to let me show her, and, after a few days, we slowly became friends. We talked and both made efforts to overcome our shyness.
The walking home routine continued for a few weeks, and we had become friends! We never walked to school together because my Mom insisted I walk with my younger brother and that we get to school with time to spare every day. After school, he was on his own and usually stopped at the baseball field to play ball with his friends.Shirley got erratic starts to her day and was never around the railroad track shortcut when we were, so we made our separate ways in the mornings.
My family never had visitors who were not family, so the presence of a stranger was an event of major curiosity for me. The first Sunday afternoon when the stranger came to visit my Dad was an historic event for me because of its uniqueness. He brought his guitar and he and Dad sat on the front porch, playing and singing. Dad had done that alone on many occasions, playing his flat-top Martin guitar, and I loved hearing him play and sing in his smooth, soft voice. He and the visitor sang and played songs I had heard on the radio, and songs I had never heard.
They repeated those sessions frequently that late summer and fall and I sat on my bed with the window open, listening to the two troubadours on the porch just ten feet away.
On the third or fourth visit, I learned that he was Shirley's father! I had not known since my parents just referred to him as “Bill.” Now, he was Mr. Trader, to me.
Dad worked in the Mill, was self-taught on the guitar, and had played with The Palmetto Playboys on weekends in dance clubs and anywhere else that would pay the gas money to get there. All worked in the cotton mill, and the Playboys earned as much making music on Saturday night – as little as it was - as they made from a week's work in the mill. Dad (Malcolm), his brother, Harvey, along with Harrison Hutchinson, Angish Hawkins, and my mother's half brother, Boyd Hammonds, loved making music together. My Mom would listen to the latest songs on the only radio station in town and write the lyrics down for them to have the latest tunes on weekends. Before I was born, The Palmetto Playboys had been given a weekly, live radio show on AM radio station WOLS, in Florence, SC, in 1935, and it had lasted until mid-1938.
That may or may not have had anything to do with Dad knowing Mr. Trader, but I was too young to be interested in the adult conversations and may well have missed that part, although I do remember that Mr. Trader did not work in the Mill, and that made their "living on the Village" very unusual. He and Dad played well together, and Dad's voice imprinted the sound and spirit of Woody Guthrie and early American Country music in my background memories of growing up.
I continued walking Shirley home after school as far as her front porch. Duty done, I retraced the blocks home. I don't remember Shirley's mom, and I'm not sure one was around, but I always thought Shirley could have used a mother's touch.
Shirley and I were like the other children. We all were surrounded by poor children because we were all poor. Wearing the same clothes for days in a row and having unkempt hair was commonplace and we paid no attention to others' dress. In any case, there was no such thing as "fashion" to us then because none of the parents could afford frivolous things. All that mattered was that Shirley remained a tall, breathtaking beauty to me then, and lives as that in my memory even now.
At some point near the end of the fall, Shirley and I actually began to hold hands – my right, her left - as we walked home. We never mentioned it, but we always did. Hers was so soft just touching it made me feel wonderful. They were almost the size of mine, with long fingers and nails that had not yet been manicured.
That was the first time I had ever held a girl's hand, and it was with the most beautiful girl ever produced by the human race! At least to me, and that was enough to make my lose my appetite.
"You're not eating your dinner, Will. Are you okay"
"Yes'um. I'm just not hungry."
"Eat your dinner, Willy," my dad said, with the unsaid 'You're going to be sorry if you don't' lingering in the air.
"But.." I began.
"Eat anyway," Dad commanded. So I ate anyway.
I don’t remember that Shirley ever spoke of anything really personal, but I do remember that there was something sad about my most wonderfully beautiful feminine friend. I don’t remember her ever laughing, and sometimes I thought she wanted to cry but was ashamed to. I was too shy to intrude at times like that, so we just walked and held hands.
Another of my shyness-inspired traits was that I thought Shirley was so beyond description beautiful, I don’t remember actually looking at her face, except from the side when she was not looking at me. Oh, she was unquestionably pretty; far too pretty for me to look at without blushing.
And then,
One morning, Shirley got to school late and was very excited. She had never been disruptive or had ever done anything that would call attention to herself, but she was effervescing with excitement.
"Daddy sold his song and Hank Snow is going to sing it! Daddy said we are going to be rich!" she told everyone who would listen. She was mobbed by the other girls in the class, even though most of them had never spoken to her because she was tall and beautiful.
I knew who Hank Snow was because I had heard him sing Country songs on the radio. I knew Mr. Trader could write songs. I didn't know anyone who was rich, and I don't remember even thinking about being rich.
"Daddy said he was going to buy me new clothes and anything I wanted," she told me with excitement when I finally got to talk with her during recess.
We did walk home together after school, but she was in a hurry and we didn't talk much. We didn't hold hands... because of the excitement, I think.
The next day, Shirley had a written excuse and left school at lunch time.
The following morning, Friday, Shirley caused a stir because her hair had been cut and she was dressed nicely and was suddenly even more attractive and exotic than ever to my twelve year-old self. She suddenly looked like one of the college girls I saw every day as I passed the nearby Coker College campus!
That afternoon before class ended, Mr. Trader came to our classroom and Mrs. Tindall, our teacher, introduced him as Shirley's father. Shirley joined him at the front of the classroom and Mr. Bill Trader played his guitar and sang his to-become-popular song while facing Shirley as she stood facing him. A Fool Such as I was the song I had heard him and Dad sing on our porch! I had heard it several times, but I didn't know Mr. Trader had written it or how special it was. It had been just another song to me.
Shirley left with her father as the school day ended. That was on a Friday. I remember that because Shirley was not in class on Monday, and Mrs.Tindall told us that afternoon that Shirley had moved away and would not be in our class any longer. After school, I walked to her house and found it empty.
Not many weeks after that, I heard Hank Snow singing A Fool Such as I on our hometown WHSC radio station.
Over and over it was played.
Every time I heard it, I wished I could have told Shirley goodbye. I thought of her almost constantly, of her tall, lithe beauty; of her long, wild hair that I loved, and of how grown up she looked the last time I saw her.
And about how she laughed and smiled and looked the happiest I had ever seen her.
I never heard of them again, but - odds aside - I hope they got very rich.
The photos are from Pixabay
About Me:
My Writing:
- Jules, Freddie and the Monkey Man
- The Foot
- Beans
- Timeline
- The Time Tree
- The Little Lake Without a Name I
- The Little Lake Without a Name II
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isn't it wonderful that young impressions are the sweetest. they have touched a virgin mind and hence plumbed the deep within. i was fascinated to read it and the simplicity of the story telling was quite remarkable. may you prosper!
Yes, the first memories are the sweetest. Those from our youth were unpolluted by evil, prejudice, sexism, and hormonal input. The sweetness is what makes them precious to me.
Thank you for the compliment and may you prosper also, my friend.
This is awesome. I also like the links at the bottom of the post.
I grew up listing my father and grandfather playing country music. Old songs. Hank Snow, Hank Williams, Tennessee Ernie Ford, etc. This brought back some of those memories, and of course memories of holding hands with some pretty young girls. Thanks a lot.
You are welcome, @blockurator, and thank you for the compliment.
I was raised on that kind of music also and did not know there was any other kind, other than the songs in church, until I was up in grade school. I was misguided later into The Beatles and rock through toe late 80's, but got back on track with C&W and feel much at home with it and my dog in my truck. Life is good!
Ah yes, those tiny excursions.
I loved the rock music of the 80s. Going back now and seeing the videos, I don't know why. lol
Depending on your age, there was a LOT going on then and music was woven into everything we did. Vietnam had its soundtrack and even a group of friends sitting around talking had a soundtrack. Music brings back the associated memories and I like that.
I still blame part of my bad hearing to Pink Floyd and Lynyrd Skynyrd.
Oh yes. I still love to hear Lynyrd Skynyrd. And Pink Floyd sometimes, but I like to think I've outgrown the depressive angst.
Oh, me, too. I still like the music for the nostalgia and because it was far, far...far better than the effluvia produced now.
Hi willymac,
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Getting attention from Curie and members is better than winning the Kentucky Derby! Thank all of you profusely!
I identify completely with the shyness at that age and all the way through high school. Never did get up enough courage to walk a girl home after school every day, let alone hold her hand, so kudos for doing that.
That's an amazing memory of an amazing time in your life. This is like the behind the scenes story that plays on the periphery of fame, but may actually be just as compelling, if not more, as the main story line. It's cool that Bill Trader was able to sell some of his songs and hopefully that at least lifted them out of poverty, but it would have been nice if Shirley, let alone you, would have had a chance to say goodbye.
It looks like A Fool Such As I was recorded several times by various artists, but until today, this was the only version I'd ever heard, so I guess that makes it my favorite. :)
I went through grade school being almost terminally shy and have a few srories about that, especially about Elsie. It is so strange about Shirley being an exception and I have never sorted that out. She was a head taller than the other girls and her hair was long, making her look even taller. I think I could tell she was self conscious and had no friends and I felt protective. Maybe. I was not that comfortable around girls after Shirley and did not even hold hands until the fall beginning my Senior year, and that didn't last long.
Yep, Elvis did a better job on the song, but with his voice and production, he could have sung about tin cans and it would have sounded great. Simplicity was the hallmark of early C&W music, and all that made a quick change after Bill Haley and the Comets came along...then the entire world changed with the Beatles. I still listen to them.
Aww such a sweet, sad story of young love! I'm sorry you never got to say goodbye to her but I'm glad you have those memories.
Ivy
Thank you, Ivy. I have thought a lot about Shirley while writing this and have wracked my brain to recall more related memories, but they must be in the bit-bucket now. Nothing more seems to be there and the oddest part of all is that I don't have even the fuzziest memory of what her face was like! Zilch. Nada.
How I could possibly forget what she looked like, for Pete's sake?
I don't remember what a lot of people from my past look like too. I think that's common. But, I remember the way they made me feel and the moments we shared. And that's the most important part to me.
Ivy
I think that validates the idea that how we treat others is the most important part of a relationship. Being honest, supportive, and caring are far more important than who you are or how you look. Sometimes, something as simple as holding hands can leave echoes in someone's life that remain forever.
Such a sweet and tender story @willymac! I just read @glenalbrethsen's gnome story today, and saw that it was your ideas that triggered it all, and I thought, "hmm, I haven't checked out @willymac in a bit" and I stop by to read a wonderful story and to see you've had a visit by curie! Congratulations!
Hope you are well!
Thank you, @lynncoyle1, I always feel rewarded by any compliment from you.
The Curie was totally unexpected! I was sitting at my desk, absorbed in making notes, and kept hearing Ginabot's soft notice tones and then thought something was broken because there were so many of them! It took a while to figure it out because I was staring at Ginabot's notices that were triggered by Curie. It was thrilling to see something that important happening in real time!
Note to everyone: ginabot is the best Steemit assistant you can add to Discord! Install it now!
And thanks to @socent for nudging me into Discord!
BTW, @glenalbrethsen's attribution was a bit overdone in his attribution to a passing suggestion I made in a conversation. It's easy to suggest building an elevator to the moon, but quite another task to make it happen, and Glen made the gnomes (and the vicious dogs) happen.
What a kind thing to say @willymac!!
Any visit by Curie is so exciting, and it was as if you could see the magic happening before your very eyes :)
Ginabot is my favorite girlfriend! I love what she's capable of, but I hear she gets around, so I can't consider it a serious relationship :) Hooray you were "nudged" into Discord!!
That's why I love your writing...and Glen's for that matter!
hey there @willymac! say..how do you get that Ginabot bot?
Get registered on Discord. It is one of the free channels there:
https://discordapp.com
thank you sir I'll do that
Congrats on the Curie vote! If anyone deserves it, you do. I'm so glad you joined Discord and are using GinaBot because they are both great tools. Happy to know you, friend.
Ivy
Thank you, Ivy. Your warmth and dedication was the motivator for me. It's the little things that count!
Will
Awesome writing - it feels so authentic. And not only because this is a true story but there's something about how grounded you write. Also, your story made me listen to "A Fool Such as I" on repeat :)
You just made my day, @jazzhero! Thank you for the compliment.
You would not believe how many times that tune has echoed through my head in the past 60 years. Simple, straightforward, and it also had to be true. Lots and lots I wish I knew...
howdy @willymac! I missed this post yesterday so finally caught it today, so impressive and involved me so much that I forgot about everything else. Well everyone comment's say it better than I but I wanted to show my support, great job!
Thanks, Cowboy!
What a whole bunch of beautiful memories about one flower in your life. I know the feeling man, I had three of these disappearances of wonderful happinesses that came along, brought warmth and left again quietly leaving a chill. Beautifully written Will
Thanks, Pete. Having had the experience yourself, the compliment means a lot.
Touching story @willymac.
I am willing to bet that losing the girl you have a crush on due to her father making it as a songwriter doesn't happen all that often. =p
My childhood crush moved away cause her dad got a job as a heavy equipment operator which probably happens more often.
But it definitely adds a compelling element to your own timeline in that a song that came out meant something special to you that it did to no one else.
Funny, but I never thought about it that way. I was always rather proud that I heard my Dad and Mr. Trader singing and playing the song on our front porch before the rest of the world heard "that other version" from Hank Snow.
I think my relationship with Shirley would have changed after that, anyway. After seeing her with new clothes and a new hair cut, she looked so much more grown up to me I would have been intimidated and felt outclassed. She was even more appealing and not at all the ragamuffin kid she had been days before.
Such fragile things are the perceptions of youth, and such precious memories they leave.