Get Me To The Game On Time

Dear Boo and Bubble,

This is Friday, August 22, and in many parts of the country an annual tradition that has become one of the thickest foundational planks of our society begins – high school football.  Just the mention of it brings back many memories, especially of your great Uncle Bryant who captained the Wade Hampton High School Generals both his junior and senior years.  There is one story, though, that pops to the surface right now and I want to share it with you in honor of the occasion because it speaks to the significance of the football ritual, especially for fathers.

Our family had a routine on Fridays for away games.  Both your great Uncle Gene and I could each invite a friend.  We also took Bryant’s girlfriend.  With Mamaw and Granddaddy in the car, that made seven people.  Back then, seat belts weren’t even invented much less required by law for the wearing, so Gene and his buddy sat in the back of our station wagon.  The three girls were in the back seat, Mamaw and Granddaddy up front.  The distance we had to drive dictated when we would leave.

On this particular Friday, the Generals played the Newberry High School Bulldogs.  Newberry is located about 70 miles from Greenville which took around two hours in those days.  The game started at 7:00.  Granddaddy Schaefer told us all to be ready by 4:30 and he would leave work early in order to make it in time.

As luck would have it, he found himself delayed at the office and pulled up in front of 3 Lakecrest, frantically honking the horn, right at 5:00.  We piled into the car and struck out for Newberry.

Friday night traffic made it difficult to get through town, but we finally turned onto US Highway 76 and headed out of Greenville ……….. at which point the skies became a harrowing black of swirling clouds bringing daylight visibility to a screeching halt.  The heavens opened up and a deluge descended on us.  Granddaddy turned on the windshield wipers and headlights.  He pressed his body forward to the steering wheel to see the road better.  Because of all the body heat in the car, the windshield began to fog up and Mamaw Mary took a handkerchief out of her purse to wipe a circle in front of Granddaddy. 

We came up behind a freight truck which made matters worse in two ways – it was going very slow and kicking up additional water onto our windshield.  Granddaddy couldn’t see very much.  The rain and splattering from the truck totally obscured the center line of the road. Although he wanted to pass the truck, he couldn’t tell if the line was single or double.  Patiently he waited until he thought he had the opportunity.  He pulled out from behind the truck and sped forward.  As our car pulled even with the truck’s cab, Granddaddy saw there was, in fact, a double yellow line.  He quickly maneuvered back into the right lane, breathing a sigh of relief that we were safe.

The sigh didn’t last long.  Almost immediately, the red lights of a patrol car rhythmically flashed through the windows.  Grandaddy’s shoulders slumped as he pulled the station wagon over to the side of the road.

The rain continued to pelt.  As he opened his door, Granddaddy said to Mamaw, “I’ll be back in a minute.”  With that, he got out of the car and ran back to the patrolman behind us. 

We sat there, wondering what was going on.  The windows fogged up completely and we started making imprints of baby feet and writing our names to pass the time.  In a few minutes, a soaking-wet Granddaddy, opened the door and got back in the car.  He started the engine and wiped the windshield with his bare hand.

“What happened, Schaefer?”  Mamaw asked with some concern.  “Did he give you a ticket?”

“Everything’s okay, Mary.”

“But….what did….how?”

“I’ll explain later.  We need to get to the game.”

With that, the patrolman pulled out from behind us, his red lights still blazing in the now dissipating rain.  Granddaddy followed …….. all the way down Highway 76…..all the way into the town of Newberry…..right up to the football stadium…..and into the parking lot.  We literally had a police escort.

Later, Granddaddy told us that he decided honesty would be the best policy.  He explained to the patrolman that he was on his way to see his son play in the football game and was just trying to get there for the kickoff.  Maybe Granddaddy led a charmed life or had a guardian angel on his shoulder, but as luck would have it, the patrolman’s son was playing in the game for Newberry.  He confided to Granddaddy that he would give anything be able to see the kickoff, too. 

“Do you know how to get to the stadium?” he asked Granddaddy.

“Maybe, but I’m not real sure.”

“Well, why don’t I lead you,” he answered.  “I know a shortcut.  We just might be able to get there in time.”

I have no recollection as to who won the game, but we did see the kickoff.  And I learned a valuable lesson that night – fathers (and mothers!) will do whatever it takes to see their sons play football.