Chapter Three--The Newlyweds

Actually, it was probably neither the Post Toasties nor the vanilla ice cream that provided the initial basis for the attraction. The particular behavior may--and I use the term may very cautiously--have been a contributing factor. There may have been and, in fact were, several contributing factors that influenced our mutual attraction in the beginning. And, here again I would exercise caution in suggesting that she felt any attraction at this point. Hopefully she did have some interest.

Suffice it to say that soon we both experienced a strong desire to be together, perhaps a stronger pull than either had felt before. At this date, we really can not—and we have discussed this—remember exactly when or how the decision was arrived at to be married. It is safe to say that earlier, neither intended to be married that year, had not even entertained the thought. But, when the thoughts came, and indeed were entertained, it seemed the right thing to do.

We were both so young at 18 and 17 that we had to get parent’s and guardian’s permission to purchase a license to marry from the Taylor County Clerk’s office, a fact that may seem strange to young folks today, as the law has changed since then. In those days a male was not an adult until he had reached the age of 21, but a female was considered an adult at 18. Anyway, we secured the license and stood before my father Elwyn Snow, in the chapel of College Church of Christ in the afternoon of August 18, 1956 as he read the vows. I do not remember one word he said. I think I must have said “I do” a couple of times.

If we had asked ourselves questions like, “are we using common sense?, are we financially stable? or, how are we going to manage to eat and have a place to call home? we would have had to answer in the negative. We were not prepared for marriage but once it was a fact we were determined to make it work and failure did not have a voice in it. That very fact probably contributed greatly to our being able to celebrate our 50th this year. Oh, there were those who said it wouldn't last, but we were determined to prove them wrong.

We drove to the city of Big Spring, Texas after the ceremony in a 1947 Plymouth. We had purchased it for the sum of $60.00 about a month before the wedding. To get an idea of that car, picture the very back row of a note-lot today where they put the dogs that sell for $995 or less without warranty. It probably has several dents and scrapes, the upholstery is shredded and the paint was once but no more.

I think we had looked up colleges and decided there was one in Big Spring that might be less expensive since we were now going to have to pay our own way. We were admittedly somewhat naive. I had made the trip a day earlier and secured a place to live: $8.50 a week, upstairs with a bath at the end of the hall.

I had a job at the Montgomery Ward store as a stocker, but was subsequently laid off at the end of my second week. The pay was in cash and was delivered in a little brown envelope with the calculations for hours, the amount and the taxes, handwritten each Friday. My hourly rate was ninety cents. Thus the term “pay envelope” was an actuality in the 50s. I just remembered a short-term job I had in Abilene at S. H. Kress & Co. that also paid in cash in a little brown envelope.

I think it was at this time that the “mac and cheese” story occurred. We were literally out of money and getting very hungry. We did not go seeking for aid at the local welfare office. I do not think there was such a thing back then. We searched through the apartment and came up with a few coins. We went to the grocery store. The store had those little blue boxes of Kraft Dinner on the shelf for fourteen cents. We had barely enough. By the time we got back to the apartment, we were ready to eat and could hardly wait for the macaroni to cook. That stuff was good! I still like it to this day. It’s a kind of comfort food, sort of a memorial of being delivered from the pangs of hunger.

The way service stations looked in the 50s was a bit different than they do today. There were two gas pumps, regular and ethyl on an island in front. To pump gas (these were the newer electric kind with a little hand crank the side. By turning the crank, one cleared the previous sale. The numbers showed gallons and amount. There was no automatic stop when the tank got full, one had to let off on the lever on the handle on the nozzle, or one would wind up with gasoline on one or the car or the concrete driveway. There was a small office with a cash register and maybe some fan belts and filters hanging up on the wall. There was a pit that one walked down into so as to be able to reach the lower parts of a vehicle for oil changes and actually greasing the chassis parts (most vehicles today have sealed bearings and greasing is not possible).

My job in the service station business was repairing flat tires. The pay was a fifty cent commission per flat fixed. There were no machines in those days where the operator could push a button and the thing automatically separated the tire form the rim. The tires back then had tubes and had to be wrestled off the rims with what were called "tire tools" and a big hammer. They went back on the same way and often times, if one were not very careful a hole could be torn in the tube that had just been patched meaning a repeat process. Needless to say, even in those times, the 50 cents didn't always cover the sweat and skinned knuckles.

I remember a couple of times putting the Plymouth on the rack and removing the pan and rod caps and placing newspaper under the inserts to eliminate the knocking of the old worn-out engine for a few more miles. The Plymouth finally breathed its last and went to rest behind the station.

Money was tight. I had joined the Marine Corps Reserve in Abilene before I met Carolyn. In hindsight, joining the Marines sure complicated things in the beginning. Big Spring did not have a reserve unit. I had gone to Camp Pendleton with the 2nd 90mm Gun Battery in Waco earlier that summer. I was missing meetings and the Corps was threatening me with a full-time job, i.e., active duty. It was decision time. We decided to get ourselves somehow to the little town near Waco where my folks had just moved and regroup.

I still have a vivid memory of stranding on the deserted downtown street of Valley Mills, Texas, the lingering smell of diesel exhaust from a Trailways bus, the sounds of the driver going through the gears growing fainter, looking at my tired bride standing in the middle of tied up cardboard boxes of everything we owned at the time. It was midnight.