Chapter 9. Rooftop Garden

Hamp approaches his father outside the Tabernacle to bid him farewell for the evening and receive a congratulatory, patriarchal handshake.

“Did your sister attend the program this evening,” interrupts a particularly ostentatious underclassman before Chick has a chance to voice his congratulations to Hamp.

Hamp gives a stern, sideways glance, “No, Bruce, she’s at home with mother tonight.”

Bruce McConkie has had his eye on Hamp’s little sister Margaret this year – much to Hamp’s dismay – and had hoped to escort her to the dance. “Well, please tell her I was sorry to have missed her,” says Bruce glumly, proceeding to follow the throng through the east gate.

Hamp nods in annoyance, and turns back to his father. “Well, don’t wait up for me tonight,” he says, half-jokingly, hoping to judge his chances for a late night by Chick’s reaction.

“Don’t cut things off early on my behalf,” replies Chick, granting tacit rescindence of the ordinary midnight curfew. Dot is not so lucky. Mrs. Saville, afraid of the potential consequences that a night of reveling might have in store for her daughter, had forbidden her from even attending the dance. Dot waits in a crowd for Chick to leave so that she can bid Hamp good night in relative privacy.

She approaches as Chick departs. “I’ve told Carlos and Betty to keep an eye on you at the dance, so you’ll be covered from all sides,” she tells Hamp. The forced humor in her voice can’t disguise the fact that she is dead serious. He gives her a peck on the cheek and hands her his yearbook.

“Well on the bright side,” he says, “you should have plenty of time to write a sizable sermon in my book tonight.”

“It’s a promise,” says Dot, backing away with a wave and a wink, “Be good, and tell me all about it tomorrow!”

Diplomas, robes, and yearbooks are handed over to parents as the students lighten their load for the dance. As Hamp joins the current pushing toward the campus, he finds himself walking alongside Waldemar. “Guess I’ll have to wait until next year to know the feeling...” mutters Waldemar.

“Well at least you’ll get to savor it here a bit more,” replies Hamp in consolation, “I’m afraid I’m really going to miss this place.”

R.J. and Leo, walking just in front of them, are bickering a bit. They stop dead in their tracks, slowing the whole throng.

“Aren’t you heading over to the dance?” Waldemar asks R.J.

“Father doesn’t want Leo out that late. I had planned to run her home before the dance started, but things seem to have taken longer than expected.” R.J. jabs her in the shoulder. “I’ve been trying to talk her into staying anyway,” he adds, “but she’d rather go home.”

“Looks like you should have kept your sermon shorter,” jokes Waldemar, “I can drop her off if you’d like.”

“No, that’s fine; I can do it…so long as I can find where you parked.”

“Oh, come on,” retorts Waldemar, a bit anxiously, “you’ve got to make a grand appearance; after all, you are the man of the hour.”

R.J. hates the idea of missing the beginning of the festivities; having already conceded the keys once, he decides to give in to Waldemar once again. “Just be sure to drop her off at the end of the driveway,” he says, “so they can’t see who’s at the wheel.”

Not only does he fear that his father might discover Waldemar driving the car, but R.J. also knows that his father seizes any opportunity to preach his beliefs to anyone venturing too closely to the house. David Jeffs, a staunch polygamist, especially enjoys debating the topic with the young, impressionable students of the L.D.S. It’s not something R.J. is particularly proud of, and he hopes Waldemar will heed the warning.

While Hamp and R.J. re-join the growing throng, Waldemar and Leo head out the north gate and approach the Studebaker. “I told you you’d get a ticket for parking there,” Leo chides.

Waldemar cringes, but as he picks the paper off the windshield to weigh the damage, a smile emerges on his face.

“What a coincidence that we share the same initials,” reads the note, “We’ll have to meet sometime.”

“You’re lucky he didn’t ring the constable,” Leo chides.

As they pull out onto the crowded city streets and begin to make their way toward Sandy, Waldemar gets caught up in the revelry and begins honking the horn; others soon follow suit.

Recognizing the wailing sound of the car’s horn from a distance, R.J. shakes his head at the instigator. As he and Hamp wait to cross Main Street, Homer and Gordon walk up behind them. A larger crowd soon piles up behind them.

“Tell me when it’s clear to cross!” Homer jokes, his view obstructed by Hamp.

“We might just have to step out and stop the traffic,” says Gordon, “that is, if we want to make it in time to hear the band strike up the first number.”

They nudge their way out into the street until a passing car finally catches the cue and lets the crowd cross. They make their way up the front steps of the Joseph F. Smith Memorial Building, entering between the two oversize columns. From there it’s a race up the stairs to the Roof Garden; the out-of-breath students pause for a moment at the top entrance, where a line has formed. Though it has served as the venue for so many of the school year’s social activities, the scene seems singular tonight.

Hamp points around to the extravagant decorations after they make it past Jerry Jones and the other ticket takers. “What do you think of that?” he asks.

R.J. looks around and nods his head, a bit on edge. He is more at home in an academic setting than in the social scene, and he feels a bit out of place in this setting.

“I’d like to start on the hors d’oeuvres, but we might have to wait until the line dies down a bit,” he remarks. He had hoped for a grander reception, having pictured a line of classmates gathering around to congratulate him on his speech and his awards rather than being focused on the food. He blames the lackluster reception on the low lights, figuring it might be difficult to recognize faces from across the room.

“Well I’m just curious to hear how well the band plays,” replies Homer, “We heard them perform at Saltair’s season opening last month, and father hired them on the spot.”

“Looks like we made it just in time,” says Gordon, “so you’ll know soon enough.”

The bandleader stands to introduce his fellow band members, but decides that his lone voice can’t compete with the noisy crowd. He turns back to the band instead, snaps his fingers to set the rhythm, and all twelve pieces of the twelve-piece band simultaneously strike up a hard-driving swing popularized by Benny Goodman and the Pollack Orchestra.

Recognizing the tune from the dime store label, couples rush out to the dance floor. Hamp and R.J. step back, instead, taking their places against the wall. After scouting out the surroundings for a few minutes, Hamp grabs two chairs from a nearby table.

Homer and Gordon join them just as Hamp pushes the chairs into place. “Thanks for thinking of us!” Homer jokes, and he and Gordon take the seats. Hamp laughs and grabs two more chairs from another table; he and R.J. likewise take a seat, and the four friends collectively decide to sit out the first dance number together.

Homer places his yearbook on the table – the only one of the four to have brought it along to the dance. “I just came for the music,” he jokes as he sits back and puts his feet up on the table. “What’s your excuse?” he asks, nudging R.J.

“I’ve got some light reading to do,” says R.J., picking up the yearbook. He passes the challenge along to draw the unwanted attention away from himself. “Gordon won’t admit it,” he says, “but his mind is over at East High right now.”

“I just need to gage my surroundings first; then I’ll be warmed up,” Gordon counters.

Hamp chimes in with his own excuse: “Well I’m going steady, and my date’s not here.”

“Oh, she won’t mind you just dancing a few numbers, will she?” asks Gordon.

“Dot? Well actually, now that we can’t go to dances together – thanks to her evil mother – she’s got me under strict orders.”

“But I thought you went to prom together,” says Homer, a bit puzzled.

“Well, when prom came around, we struck a deal to circumvent the wicked witch’s strict orders: we’d each ask someone else and then go on a double-date as a foursome. So she asked Carlos; that was fine by me, because I knew he’d keep us all laughing.”

Homer taps his fingers on the table, waiting for Hamp to finish his explanation.

“But when I told Dot that I had asked Betty,” Hamp continues, “she got quite upset. ‘I thought we had a deal,’ I told her.” Hamp then tries his best to imitate Dot’s voice: “‘Well I didn’t think you’d ask Betty!’ she said. So now I don’t know what to think! All I know is that Carlos has been tasked as her lookout, and I’m not about to get in another fight with Dot just over some lousy dance.”

“Well if you do ask a girl to dance tonight, it sounds like you just have to make sure she’s not as pretty as Betty,” says Homer with a shy grin.

Gordon quickly turns his head and says quietly to Homer, “Watch what you say – here she comes now!” “Well hi there, boys!” says Betty in an overly flirtatious tone, “Could I get a picture of the four of you?”

They scoot their chairs a bit closer together and give her sheepish smiles as she snaps a photo with her new camera. “It’s probably too dark for a photograph,” she remarks as she folds up the camera, “but isn’t it just a beautiful night?”

Hamp knows better than to get caught in her trap this time around, so he deflects her greeting. “Well Betty, as a matter of fact,” he says, “we were just talking about you.”

The dim light can’t hide the redness in Homer’s face as he cringes at what Hamp might say next.

“Is that so?” asks Betty.

“Why yes! Homer was just telling me he wishes you would sign his annual,” says Hamp.

Under the table, Homer kicks Hamp in the shin as subtly as he can manage.

“Well I’d love to, Homer,” answers Betty, “Hand it over.”

He anxiously grabs his book away from R.J. and hands it to her. She scribbles a brief message and hands it back.

“Well, I hope the four of you aren’t just going to sit there all night and leave us poor girls without dance partners,” she says, giving Hamp a wink, “otherwise I might have to settle for Jerry on the dance floor. He may be a singer, but that boy sure can’t dance.”

“Well, you’ve got that one right,” Homer says, pointing to Jerry – who had confidently stepped out onto the dance floor, but is now struggling to keep his steps up with the music’s quick tempo. Thinking he might score some points with Betty by further berating Jerry, Homer adds, “Just look at him out there; his Lindbergh Hop is looking more like the Lindbergh Flop!”

“Oh no!” says Betty with a giggle, “He certainly does look like he could use some help.”

The papers in New York are already calling the new dance the Lindy Hop – a newly coined phrase courtesy of Harlem dancer Shorty Snowden – but Utah youth still include the aviator’s proper, full name. The Charleston is still the standard in Utah’s dance venues, but the hop is certainly catching on quickly with the local youth of Great Salt Lake City.

“Well, if you do give him a dance lesson, tell him I want my dollar back,” says Homer, “I lost my ticket to the dance tonight and he charged me another dollar at the door for a replacement.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Betty says, “after I get more of the boys to take the dance floor.”

“Maybe you should start with Rex and his football crowd over there,” says R.J., “that is if you can get Coach Ashton to stop rambling on with his football stories.”

Their eyes all turn to the varsity team members huddled together on the sideline. In the center of the crowd is Coach “Wid” Ashton – Marvin and Afton’s uncle – who had signed up as a chaperone tonight. He is sorry to lose his graduating seniors but still wants to keep a close eye on his boys in case they get out of hand.

“Be my guest,” says Gordon, “I certainly wouldn’t want to cross a man who has spent his life lugging around ice blocks.”

Coach Ashton is a brute of a man who runs an ice company in addition to his coaching job.

“I heard he can halve a commercial-size block with a pick in one fell swoop!” says R.J.

“You might think he’s intimidating,” Betty adds, “but he definitely had a horrible time trying to teach them to Quickstep through the tires during football practice.”

“Well if you manage to teach them some steps,” says Hamp, “Wid may hire you as an assistant next year.”

“They may be athletes,” remarks Homer, “but you may want to take it easy on them – any exertion at all and they’ll be sweating even more in their Gold and Blue.”

Though it is much too warm for sweaters, many of the school’s athletes – including Rex – couldn’t help taking advantage of the last chance to show off their school pride by donning the signature gold and blue sweaters, embossed with a large letter “S.” Their oversize figures had already been sweaty by the time they shed the graduation robes before the dance.

“Guess that’s why they call them sweaters,” says Homer, attempting to hold Betty’s attention just a bit longer.

Betty forces a smile and Homer grimaces at his own flopped joke. She politely excuses herself and makes her way toward Rex; as she nears, the “offensive line” parts and the letter sweaters form a tight circle around her.

Homer can’t wait to see what Betty might have written to him, and he puts his nose in his book the instant the circle closes. He reads her note silently to himself:

“You have proved that small boys can have a whole lot to them,” it reads. It isn’t quite the kind of acknowledgement Homer had been hoping for.

“What did she write?” asks Gordon.

“I’ll show you in just a minute,” says Homer. He turns around, hiding the book from view, and, turning to a blank page, writes his own version of Betty’s note in mockery of himself. “Egad, how I love the ground you walk on,” he writes, and then adds in parentheses, “I sure think you’re perfect; you only lack about 1 foot.”

Homer hands the book to Gordon and points to the latter message. Gordon recognizes Homer’s handwriting right away, giving away the true author, but they both have a good laugh about it anyway.

Gordon takes the yearbook and begins to leaf through it. “Let’s have a look at the funny papers,” he says as he reaches the humor section. “Take a look at this: the list of synonyms starts with Betty and Jerry. Bet Jerry did that just to make Rex sore.”

“Good! I hope it worked” says R.J. Rex, the classic scholar-athlete, had been the junior class valedictorian the previous year; R.J. had narrowly edged him out this year, leaving a bit of a rift between them. It actually gives R.J. some pleasure to see Rex caught on the losing end of the love triangle.

“Not so fast, R.J.,” says Gordon, “You made it into the funny papers yourself.”

“Yep,” says Homer, “Jerry sure got you good this time! It might even be enough to make you want to side with Rex.”

“Let me see that!” says R.J., but Hamp intercepts the book first. He laughs after glancing at the page and passes it on to R.J. “Say what you will about Jerry,” Hamp says, “but you can’t deny that he’s got a good sense of humor!”

Knowing Jerry was the yearbook’s humor editor, R.J. had tried not to cross him this year. As he reluctantly peers at the yearbook page, he realizes his efforts have been in vain. The jest jabs R.J. close to the heart: His appointment as valedictorian is listed under the heading, “Signs that the L.D.S. teachers can take a joke.”

“Well, it looks like he nicknamed you Bull Durham,” R.J. says, a bit defensively. “You know, he was banned from baseball for a bar fight and had to change his name before they’d let him pitch again. Now that’s quite a character to be named after!”

“I’m glad to know I’ll at least be remembered. It’s quite an honor to be immortalized in the annual’s funny papers, don’t you know!”

Hamp laughs. “Thank you very much, but I must say, I’d rather be forgotten.”

“Don’t think you avoided the honor entirely,” says Homer, “check the senior class’ last will and testament.” He hands Hamp the yearbook.

“We, the Dilletante Club,” Hamp reads aloud in his best Shakespearian English, then turns to the side with a subtle remark under his breath, “of which, I, of course, was a proud and distinguished member…” Hamp pauses, stands, and clears his throat. “We, the Dilletante Club, leave to the school memories of long, boring, tedious vaudeville shows.”

Homer laughs. “Well I rather enjoyed them, I’ll have you know.”

“At least we have one patron of the arts in our midst!” replies Hamp, taking his seat again. “Let’s see what else our class will leave behind.”

The foursome gather their chairs into a circle and look through the pages together. “I wonder if Betty saw this yet!” shouts Homer, having spotted Jerry’s name at the top of the list. “I, Jerry Jones,” Homer reads aloud, “bestow upon the underclassmen the right to date Betty, at least once in a while.”

They all break into hysterical laughter. “And what did Betty leave?” asks Gordon. Homer flips to the next page. “I, Betty Callister, leave for one good reason, and his initials are Jerry Jones.”

Their laughter resumes, almost drowning out the music. As the night progresses and the dance floor fills to capacity, the four graduates stay seated in their circle, basking in the evening’s merry mood. They take turns flipping through the yearbook, each page bringing with it amusement, reflection, and a story from their fledgling yesteryouth. What a night it has been! Though the dawn will transform adolescence into adulthood, for now – for this one night – the worries of tomorrow will just have to wait until tomorrow comes. It is one of those rare occasions in which life seems to have culminated, yet still manages to promise an even brighter future; it is without a doubt the best of times.

The band plays on, churning out song after song, but the four friends are content as spectators and never do manage to break away from their table; then, all too soon, the music stops and the bandleader turns to face the crowd. The voices in the room dim in response.

“Thank you all for inviting us to celebrate with you tonight. We wish the night could go on forever, but unfortunately the clock has struck twelve and this will have to be our last number. We hope you return to your homes safely, and we wish each and every graduate all the best for the future.”

Cheers greet his words, then subside as the band plays the opening chords of the last number, a slow foxtrot. The end of the evening accelerates toward the four onlookers like ground-rush to a descending pilot. Suddenly and inevitably, their thoughts turn from the past to the overwhelming, open void of the future. They silently stare at the couples dancing the night away before them. Smirks and exchanged glances break the reflective tone, but not the silence, as Betty and Jerry pass in front of them on the dance floor, Betty methodically leading the steps: Slow, slow, quick quick…slow, slow, quick quick…

Sitting silently to the side are the four wallflowers: Hampton and Homer, Rulon and Gordon…the tallest, the shortest, the smartest, and the boldest of the graduates. Mesmerized by the syncopated rhythm of the dancers’ steps, their eyes each follow a different couple’s trajectory across the crowded dance floor. Though dancing similar steps, each couple takes a completely different route; mostly they avoid one another, occasionally they gently brush up against one another, and in a few random instances, a mild collision takes place. Order and chaos are embodied in harmony here, and the intertwined motions are subtly symbolic of life’s unfolding saga ahead.

Not a word is spoken as they contemplate what the future might have in store for them. Are their paths destined to cross again? Will, in prophetic fulfillment, the first be the last and the last be the first? Will they be readily remembered or forever forgotten? These questions just barely begin to surface in their minds, but their imaginations – no matter how vivid – surely lack the capacity to picture how the answers might be fulfilled.

If a voice from the future were to whisper to them in that instant even just a hint of things to come – the amazing sights they would see as witnesses to the changing tide of history, the influence they would bear on millions upon millions of people, the manner in which they, quite literally, would change the world – they would scarcely believe it. What little do they know…

~~~~~~~~

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