ARLO

 Note: My brother Arlo passed away on October 5,2002.  I wrote most of these stories prior to Arlo's illness. Now that I read them again, there is a special poignancy to them. Arlo's Cel;ebration of Life at the Mateel Center in Redway was "epic". He had SO many friends and loved ones.

My stories mostly cover Arlo's beginnings.  My brother came a long way, and made his own very special path in this life. As I told him the last time I saw him, he is leaving this world a much better place for having been here; he will never be forgotten; and he is going to a better place, back to our Home, where we all originate (my knowledge, from experiences that I had as a child). I don't think that Arlo was with us long enough in this world, of course, but that was not for me to decide. I love my brother very much (and feel very fortunate that I got to tell him so, before he left this world). He was and is a very special spirit.

Now for the stories:
Arlo had a boat docked in Sausalito years ago, it was the eyesore and scourge of the harbor. The Sausalito Harbor Association members signed a petition to get rid of the mostrosity (this was saying a lot, seeing as to how some of the ships were made from old planks and chicken-wire), but before the fateful day arrived for Arlo to vacate the watery premises, he left to go out shopping and for dinner. Arlo decided to leave his companion on the boat whilst he was out. His companion was a big, black dog named Maynard. Maynard didn't like being left alone, and at some point, he tripped the switch to the bilge-pump, which flooded the boat, ruining Arlo's extensive record and comic book collection. The boat was last seen almost completely submerged, Maynard standing forlornly on the roof, hanging ten at the edge. Arlo's screams could be heard all throughout Northern California, and it was the talk of the family for many years to come.But Arlo was (is) a good and decent man; he let Maynard live.

Other memories....like the car accident in 1963 that made all the local newspapers.. I was 11 at the time, and my mom was driving us to church. We were at the top of steep Manor Drive, a 3-mile-winding road. The brakes went out at the top of the hill, and my mom didn't know anything about the overdrive feature on the car, which rendered the gears useless. So she told us all to say the Act of Contrition (the prayer that Catholics say to get into Heaven, if they think they are goingo die soon)...mom told us that we were going to die. Well! 

You try to remember the words to a prayer when you think that your life is about to be over! Arlo was in the front seat of the car, facing Laurie and me in the back, screaming his head off, Laurie on the floor, and I was holding on to the back seat. Miraculously, mom drove that car like a champion, dodging everyone and everything in her path as that car took on speed. We hit the beach, the dunes...and flipped over three times(that was the occasion of one of my out-of-body experiences). We all survived that accident; Mom had a cut finger, I had glass in my legs, along with bruises, Laurie had to stay in the hospital for a few minor injuries, while Arlo didn't even have a scratch.

 My first husband Perry writes:

"Just remembering some funny Arlo stories.

The time your father threw us out of the house, and we decide to spend the night in the shed. We asked Arlo to throw down a couple of blankets and pillows, and he proceeded to throw just about everything you owned out of the window. Went on for about an hour. Then there was the New Year's Eve when Arlo set every single alarm clock in the house to go off at midnight And the time he kept asking, about the NeilYoung song: "Did he REALLY shoot his baby? Did he REALLY shoot his baby?"; There was also the time we were first watching Dark Star, and Arlo was there. In the movie, Talby is describing the Phoenix Asteroids. He says:"They only come around once every 3.8 trillion years!"  And Arlo says, without missing a heartbeat, totally serious "How do they know??" Gave us all a big laugh, as I recall. Just thought I would share those with you."

 One of the percs of being an older sister is that I was able to give my younger siblings wheelbarrow rides and airplane rides.  We had a large back yard, perfect for playtime scenarios.  Arlo, Laurie & I would stage little shows for the neighborhood kids, charging a dime for admission, and a nickel for lemonade.  We also served popcorn occasionally.  Arlo was the script-writer for the majority of our plays and scenarios, though we also got to do a little improv.   My best friend Leda remembers attending a few of our plays, and actually thought that they were entertaining.   Arlo & I played the characters of "Sporty and Lynn Nelson", which Arlo wrote and directed. I went along with it all, interjecting a few additions to the script, which Arlo would only accept if they were "in character".  My brother was a character himself, a true individual, which sometimes got him in trouble with the local toughs. Laurie & I would often find ourselves rushing off to help our brother out, when he was outnumbered by the bullies.  Arlo later told me that it wasn't great for his ego that his sisters saved him a lot of the time!

Arlo loved to sing, and would often solo for school programs. His favorite song to sing at the time was: "Blue Moon", which he sung in a high-pitched voice.   He was braver than I was, since I insisted on being part of at least a duo when I sang. When Arlo was an adult, he performed for audiences. He loved to listen to late-night radio, long after the rest of us had gone to bed.  I would get up in the middle of the night, look downstairs, and see a light under his door.  He liked to listen to far-off stations, like XERB in Tijuana, Mexico, with Wolfman Jack.  I asked Arlo recently if he really liked listening to Wolfman Jack, and he said: "Not really....it was just the only thing on at that time of the night!"   Arlo & I used to put together crystal sets, mostly for the novelty of being able to produce our own radios.  They didn't pick up much signal, but they were fun, nonetheless.  Arlo enjoyed messing with electronics, and later became an electrician.  One memory that stands out is when he was about 10, and I asked him to test some Christmas lights for me.  When he plugged them in, a huge spray of sparks flew out of the socket, sending my brother reeling back with several loud shrieks.  Sparks flew another time, when one of the kids lit a cone firework on the stove to bring back outside (we had run out of matches!), and it went off prematurely in the kitchen.  The floor had a black hole in the tile from then on.  Arlo's interests in electronics and radio continued; as an adult, he was a licensed electrician, and radio host for KMUD radio in Humboldt County, California.

                                                          Arlo in the first KMUD studio, 1980s.

He built KMUD radio in Garberville, maintaining the station, and was one of its radio personalities. His show was called "random Axxes" and he built and maintained the site for the rest of his life. After he died, a stage was named after him at the Kate Wolf Festivals: "The Arlo Hagler Stage". Below: Arlo performing in Humboldt County. He worked at the music festivals for many years. 

Arlo was an environmentalist from way back. He helped saved the Sinkyone Wilderness. I signed many a petition for him. He also worked for the Southern Humboldt Recycling Center and attended many causes. He was friends with Julia Butterfly, the woman who lived in a tree, and many others involved with saving the environment.

  Arlo helped my family & me move years ago. We loaded up his truck before he told me that he truck wasn't running well.  I guess this should not have suprised me (knowing Hagler cars), but I wish that he had told me sooner!  I asked him what we should do, after several attempts to start the car failed.  "Well, it will start if I can roll it down a hill...."  We looked around. No hills. "Where are the hills?" Arlo asked.  "None close by that I can see!"  We got a neighbor to jump-start the thing, then shoved off.  Soon after we got going, we heard something fall off the truck, and crash to the ground.  But all we lost was that full-length mirror, got everything else arrived intact. 

Brotherly love is a strange and wonderful thing.  Arlo always sent me funny cards for my birthday and other occasions.  One year, I got a real flowery Mother's Day card from Arlo.  On the envelope was Arlo's usual greeting: "To a Real Mother...From her Soul Brother".  Inside the card were saccharine sentiments about the preciousness of having a sister such as me.  Brought a tear to my eye. Then I read Arlo's signature: "Don't look at me - I didn't write the damned thing!"

One thing about being in such a large family is that you are noticeable when you are all together. You are part of your own army.  Every time we would go out, people would stare at us.  We became accustomed to being looked at, when we were out, though. The advantages were that we always had someone to play with.  Some disadvantages were that we had to share - food, space, talk-time.  There was never enough food; if one of us was unwise enough to leave their plate for a second, someone else would consume the rest of our meal!  We all learned to eat fast.  I also learned to talk fast, as well, because there was also competition for "talk-time".  We all wanted mom's attention, and had to grab for it, in bits and pieces. Arlo would really become frustrated, because his thoughts were so long, that when he paused in the middle of one of his monologues, another of us would jump in.  "Stop interrupting me!"  "Stop interrupting my interruption!"  Later, as the older sister, I had young siblings hanging onto me, trying to get their own words-in-edgewise.  Sometimes it felt like Night of the Living Dead, with all the little hands reaching up.   But the need for talk-time was always there. Even in Arlo's last days, he was often interrupted by some of his siblings (myself included, guilty as charged).  His happiest moments then were when everyone would just shut up, and LISTEN to him.  What a concept!  Letters and email became critical, because then one could express oneself without interruption.  I have some wonderful, funny, informative  letters from my siblings. Whoda' thunk it?

NOTE: I had written another post about Arlo shortly after he died. Forgot a out that one! He's worth teo blogs, at least. Here os the link to my earlier blog:

  https://haglerstories.blogspot.com/2019/11/annual-renewal.html

Memories of Tom

It has been over three weeks since my brother Tom left us. As happens with profound loss, the initial shock and pain dominates for awhile. Grief comes in waves after that. Everything will seem o.k. for a while, and then an image or memory will come up, and I start sobbing again. I realize that everyone grieves differently, and even then, each death carries its own significance. For those who were accustomed to seeing the departed on a daily, or regular basis, that empty space is a chasm of continual loss. At least, that's how it was for me when my sister Laurie died at 16. 

Visits with Tom have been fewer since Tom and his wife Georgia moved to Paradise. We kept in touch, of course, along with the annual "Markfests" which were stressful for Tom and myself. I can't say why, for sure. We have had this tradition for our autistic brother Mark and for our other siblings, for decades. We never hung around too long after lunch and the obligatory candy run (Mark had to load up on chocolate at CVS pharmacy before heading back home). The visits were chaotic, at least in that meaningful conversation was difficult - it was loud, with scattered attention. But it was often the only time we got together each year. Tom was a big part of those Markfests, acting more like Mark's "big brother".  Another thing! Tom was our "backup conservator" for Mark. When Sue, Tom and I filled out the paperwork and were registered as Mark's conservators (a long legal process), I took the reigns as main conservator, since I was the eldest. I did that for 7 years, then asked for Sue's help. Sue and I now share equal responsibility, but if anything happened to us, Tom was our planned backup. 

The last time I saw Tom: Markfest, January 27, 2026

My mind often wanders to our childhood. Tom was the first of us to be born when we lived in Pacifica. Like me, Tom was born in San Francisco, as were Arlo and Mark; Laurie was born in Lynwood, CA. Tom wound ultimately become the middle child - four older, four younger. 

I love all of my siblings, but Tom and I had an often contentious relationship, based upon his bullying of the youngest 4 kids, all of whom I was responsible for taking care of (along with my sister Laurie). But Tom and I got along very well at other times, and our love was never questioned. 

Random memories: 

Tom was the first baby I took care of. Mom had to work full-time, and our parents needed Laurie and me to step up. Tom got stuck - with safety pins - often. It was a challenge to fold those diapers and adjust the pins on an active baby. The diapers had to be tight. If they fell off, there were a few times my father pushed my nose into the baby shit on the floor. I'm sure those babies/toddlers lost some circulation in the process. We also had to make the formula for the bottles. So, yeah, Tom was the first. 

Me holding Tom, when he was 13 days old

Tom's diaper was on tight, reinforced by his holster

In May of 1964 when Tom was 8, our brother Arlo, Tom, and myself appeared on the "Mayor Art" show", which I wrote about in a blog entitled "Kiddie Shows."

I related about a thrown chicken incident in my blog: "Begetting Violence"

I did a blog about Tom's love of aircraft, from childhood on, in my blog: "For the Love of Flight." 

One year, Laurie, Arlo, Tom & I got 3-speed Huffy bicycles for Christmas. They were all pretty much the same model - I think Laurie and I had the girl's version of the bikes, but otherwise all the same type and size.  I came home from school one day to find that my bike had a flat front tire. I was confused and upset about that, wondering what could have caused it. One of the "little kids" later told me that Tom had switched his flat tire with mine. Of course he did.

Between 1968-1971 Tom and Arlo used to hang out in my "hippie hangout" room. I have some old home movies of that time, and of Tom and the kids playing in the yard. 

In 1972, when Tom was 15, he and our mom drove up to rescue Perry and me when our car broke down in the snow in Lodi. Tom opened the hood of the car, wanting to dismantle it right there. Mom nixed that idea, and just drove us home. Tom knew all of the car parts, and was on his way to becoming a mechanic. 

Once we became adults, we got along much better. Tom even helped fix a few of our run-down cars. 

I remember when Tom introduced us to Georgia, who seemed very YOUNG. It was the first and only time I ever saw my brother in love. We lived on Hess road in RWC at the time. 

We saw Tom often when I was married to Perry, especially when we lived in Redwood City, and Tom and Georgia lived in La Honda. They would also visit us when we lived in Milpitas, mostly because our mom lived there.  At the time, our grandparents, mom, George, Sue and family also lived there.  They visited with babies Talina and Linda a lot, and later their kids hung out with Sue's kids. 

Our daughter Kelly stayed with Tom and Georgia several times during summertime.  We attended a party for Linda's second birthday and other visits- at least once to Memorial Park. 

I remembered that Tom was the one who told my first husband Perry and me about the film: "Harold & Maude", that we just had to see it. Once we did, we agreed that it was our favorite film of all time. It still is mine.

Tom's nickname for Perry was "Erpy."

Tom and I corresponded via snail mail - when we were both in our 30's, when he discovered that I had been telling the truth about our father, something he and my brothers didn't want to acknowledge up to that point. It was a sore spot for me, and I went through a lot to finally be believed. It was most important that my brothers realize the truth...they all had daughters.  Tom stepped up and was the only one that I know of to write to our father and mom. I know that it wasn't easy for him.  I was proud of him, and kept those letters, which mean a lot to me. 

When Arlo died in 2002, we all gathered for a huge Celebration of Life at the Mateel Center. That's LtoR: Eddie (Sue's son), Kelly (my daughter) Sue, me, Brenda (Sue's daughter, and Tom. 

Years later, Tom visited Mike and me a few times, once with Georgia in Half Moon Bay, where we had lunch at the Flying Fish Grill. 

Other times were a stop-off from the HMB airport, once with his son David.  

We also visited Tom & Georgia at our sister Sue's house for Thanksgiving in 2007, and once when we were on one of our road trips in 2012, where we got to hang out with Tom & Georgia at Table Mountain Aviation, Tom's business. 

There were also numerous memorials, a few weddings, and our Alaskan cruise, where we met up with Tom & Georgia between ports-of-call. Also, Tom, Sue and I were the only ones up around 4 a.m. for coffee in the ship's lounge.

When I turned 60, Tom wished me a happy birthday, then whispered in my ear: "Now you're circling the drain."  Gee, thanks, Bro! 

During one Markfest several years ago, Tom told me that I was his "hero". 

According to Ancestry DNA, Tom and I shared 53% of our DNA. 

I will miss Tom's text messages at 4 A.M., mostly for birthday or discussions about "Markfest".  Each birthday, he would wish me a "Happy Birthday." Exactly one week later round 4 a.m. I would wish him a "Happy Birthday". Tom's wife Georgia's birthday is the day after Tom's, and our brother Mark's is on the 2nd. My daughter Kelly's is on the 25th, and my mom's was on the 9th. That's a lot of December birthdays!

Each time we all got together, we always hugged, and remembered to tell each other "I love you". We all knew that there might be the possibility that it could be the last time we see each other. I think for me that started when when our sister Laurie died in a car accident at 16. Then, our brother Arlo, when he was 48, of cancer. Now, Tom.  I miss them all.  The only way I could reign in my grief this time was to ask myself what Tom would do if the situation were reversed - if I had died first (which I had expected to do). He would have been sad for a short while, but then he would have continued to live his best life....as he should have....and as I would have wanted him to do. 

For the Love of Flight

 My brother Tom died on February 28, 2026. He was flying a friend's plane to the Oroville Airport, where Tom would inspect the aircraft. Two miles from the airport, Tom's radio went silent. Shortly after that, he crashed. No one else was hurt. It is probable that Tom had a medical emergency, and lost consciousness.  His wife Georgia explained: "Details show that he likely went unconscious before the crash. He was communicating with a friend by radio. After he announced he was 2 miles from final, it went silent. His friend didn't hear anything from Tom. The plane went straight down and impact caused instant death. I am comforted by that thought. It's even possible he suffered a massive stroke or heart attack and was dead before impact. Tom was an excellent pilot, he practiced emergency landings often. If he was in trouble and conscious, he would have said something to his friend."

For Tom, interest in aircraft and flight began early. 

Tom's gift, second birthday- something that flies!  

Our father hung model airplanes in our garage. The model I remember the most was the Gee Bee. Those models could fly - sort of. They were control-line models made from kits, not radio-controlled models, even though they had internal combustion engines. Dad would take us out to Orange Park or San Bruno Park to fly these planes. We would stand in the middle of a grassy field and hold onto the handle of the plane, spinning around in circles to make the model "fly", while the engine whirred the propeller. Much later, radio-controlled models were used.

Some of Tom's collection, decades later

Spinning around is also what I did with Tom and the youngest 4 siblings. I gave them airplane rides in our back yard, holding onto an arm and a leg, or both arms (NOTE: I have since learned that this is not recommended, as it can pull arms out of sockets).  My siblings would line up for these rides. After a few up-and-down-and-around spins and sound effects that I made - something like: "Yeoomm..blblublu-yeoowm blblublu.." I would toss the "airplane" onto a pile of grass.  Tom was always the first, getting these rides before he became too heavy for me (I joked with him several years ago that he needed to give me one, now). Sometimes I missed the pile of grass, but my sibs didn't seem to mind.

When my father bought the Aeronca L-3, we were all expected to pitch in to maintain it. This included stripping the wings and doing a re-apply of the fabric covering. We spent many weekends at the Half Moon Bay airport, and we were also expected to fly with our father - we had no choice.

The Aeronca L-3 at the Half Moon Bay airport 

After numerous flights (frights?) with my father piloting the Aeronca as well as a memorable ride with one of his pilot friends in a Cessna, I decided that flying was not for me - but Tom loved it- he was hooked! He liked being "up in the air".  In fact, Tom, Ben and Laurie all learned to fly the Aeronca. Laurie even obtained her student pilot's license when she turned 16 and flew solo shortly after that. Tom and Ben eventually got their pilot's licenses.

Tom not only enjoyed piloting aircraft, he enjoyed working on them, ultimately starting his own business, Table Mountain Aviation in Oroville, CA. Tom was that guy whose car bumper strip said: "I'd rather be flying".  He did confess to me that he was not comfortable flying in commercial airlines. Maybe he knew too much? Since then, he has traveled to Europe and other trips, so he may have gotten used to it.  But small aircraft were another story. He was at home in the cockpit. Here is a video that Mike shot in 2014 when Tom took him for a ride:

When Mike and I lived next to the HMB airport, Tom would occasionally visit - after all, we were right there. I enjoyed living next to the airport, watching the planes take off and land. 

Tom and his son David at the Half Moon Bay airport, 2014

Tom, me and David, in front of the old 3-Zero Cafe at the HMB airport.

We were even lucky enough to watch Eddie Andreini do his stunts overhead from our house(!), many times, when he practiced for an event. He often tipped his wing at us as we photographed his stunts. Tom admired Eddie Andreini, and was impressed that we knew him.

A photo I took of Eddie Andreini and Mike at our gallery in 2006. 

It's so cliche' to say that someone "...died doing what they loved",  but in Tom's case, that was true. I am convinced that his heart gave out prior to the crash. In essence, Tom left us while he was still in the air.  With the exception of being with his wife and family, that was his happy place. 

Begetting Violence

When you're a child, you don't know any better.  We lived in a violent household, but thought that was normal. My father beat his children, and raped his daughters regularly.  The rapes and other sexual abuses began when I was 8. I never understood why I was being hurt and humiliated this way. When I was 10 years of age, I was hospitalized to repair the severe damages from one of the rapes.  Various forms of torture were also included. The rapes went on until I was 17 when I told him to never touch me again. With the exception of his trying to choke me to death when I was 17 (my mom intervened) he never did. 

 
When your father beats you on a regular basis, you hate and fear it, but know that it is a part of life. It was also a large part of our continued underlying anxiety, growing up. Being punched, kicked, thrown against walls, having hair pulled, and subjected to spankings defined a painful part of our existence.  There was never a question of IF we would be beaten, but WHEN.  Spankings were terrifying, always with our pants down or clothes off, and with sticks or, on a few occasions, with electrical cords

The majority of the time, we didn't do anything wrong, so we couldn't really "prevent" being punished, or predict when our day would turn sour and terrifying.  The beatings were an excuse for our father to let off steam, so we became his little punching bags. 

Appropriate, I guess, considering that my father was once a Golden Gloves boxer.  We used to watch him box, back in the early-mid 1950s, on our little B&W t.v. set. Later on, we were made to watch the Monday and Friday Night Fights.  His Golden Gloves, meanwhile, retired to the big storage closet in the hallway.

                                           We also learned to box.  

We were made to put on the gloves, and spar, learning to jab with a left-hook, how to get that uppercut in when your opponent was off-guard, the cross punch, etc.  I guess this was to help us learn to protect ourselves - that could be a good thing. But what we really needed protection from was our FATHER.

In any event, we learned violence from the time we entered the world.  When the neighborhood kids would beat up on our siblings, Laurie & I would beat up the bullies.  Arlo later told me that I was doing him "no favors" when I would beat up the kids who beat him up.  It just earned him more derision, that he "...had to have his sisters defend him".  Our brother Tom became a bully and also kicked holes in the walls, learning from dear old dad how to vent his frustration and rage.

I used to get sucked into fights in grade school.  There was one notable fight in the school yard, where my opponent was at least a foot taller than me. As I was flailing away with my punches, he mostly just slapped me, and held me back.  I was too stupid to realize that he probably could have decked me with one punch, but since I was a girl, that might not look good for him.  As it was, a teacher broke up our fight, pretty much telling him that it was wrong to be fighting with a girl, and wasn't he ashamed of himself?  Since I was the one who said: "Call you down!" in a fit of rage, I felt slightly guilty that he was the one who was made to sit in the principle's office, and I was made to look like the victim. 

Rage.  I had a temper, with rage fueled by violence done to myself and my siblings.
 
Hitting and punching were accepted forms of communication in our house.  Since I was the eldest of 9, I was the enforcer when one of the youngsters complained about another sibling (usually Tom) who was beating up on them. I had to then kick the offenders' butt: "Stop hitting Sue! If you do that again, I'll hit YOU!"    This usually worked on a short-term basis each time, until my brothers grew taller and stronger.  Big sister had to resort to other methods of "discipline".  Once, I was so upset with my brother Tom's bullying, that I threw a chicken at him that I was stuffing for dinner. 

Stuffing all over the floor - no harm done, but I had to revise my methods of keeping the "peace". Tom just laughed and ran off.

"Peace" was the operative word beginning at age 14, when I spent a lot of time with my hippie friends.  The rules were changing, we didn't want to live as our parents did, etc.  Living in peace was a goal to achieve, though something not that simple for one who was raised in violence.  But I was willing to learn about PEACE & LOVE! 

I wasn't the only one who had trouble maintaining that philosophy.  During a peace rally in SF in 1967, as we were holding up our "Make Love, Not War" signs, one of the marchers turned to another, and started hitting him with him with his peace sign. They'd had some sort of philosophical disagreement.   True story.  The irony was not lost on the rest of us. I heard one woman cry out: "Let's split this scene, Melissa - bad vibes!!!"  

I had a child when I was young, who, for the most part, was treated well (in my view), but there were a few times when in frustration, I hit her, and even used my fists on one occasion. She was a teen, and arrived home hours late. No excuses, but I had been terrified. I fell back on what I had been taught, and castigated myself later - over and over - for my actions. 

The majority of the time, however, I turned my rage and frustration inward, resulting in panic attacks, phobias, and hypersensitivity. I was a lot of fun to be around!

I guess I shouldn't feel too bad - John Lennon himself was a violent man, before he preached "Love, Not War".  He wrote songs about threatening to kill his girlfriend, if she "looked at another man".  But then, he met Yoko.

 It's tough finding that middle ground, in real life.  Few of us are Gandhi or Mother Teresa.....but we can learn...can't we?
 

Grief

Grief is just an open wound that truly never heals

But life goes on, and live we must - no matter how one feels.

Remembrance is a foe and friend - our joy is also pain

And hope the stars align someday, for us to meet again.

                                                           Deborah Hagler Wong  

From Dance Contest Winner to Dated Freestyler

I used to win prizes in dance contests in school, and at the American Legion Hall, Rockaway Beach, Pacifica, CA.  I knew all of the latest styles - the Jerk, Mashed Potato, Twist, Swim, Pony, the Shake, Watusi, the Hully-Gully, and the Funky Chicken...for starters.  I had energy and commitment, while looking like an escapee from an insane asylum, in my performances.  

There was also a group participation dance called: "The Madison", which involved numerous people dancing in step with each other, in a long line. That was fun, as there was a team of us dancing in a cool, way, not like the "Bunny Hop" of our parent's era.

In the 1960s, dancing partners were optional, which was a good thing for our pre-high school crowd, because the boys rarely participated.  They either sat in chairs that lined the wall, hung around the iced barrel of soft drinks, or played Ping-Pong, while the rest of us tore up the floor. 

The rest of us - girls, that is -  and one or two brave males - usually the best dancers in the school -  rocked the scene with movement.  In our school, the boys were Bill Keach and Alford Patrick.  Here is a picture of me with Alford (he's the dude in the center of the shot), and yes, we were dancing together -  but you can't tell that from the photo.  Truly, we were all really in our own worlds, grooving to the tunes. I'm the girl on the right, with my head turned around.  Who needed to look at our dancing partners, anyway?

Slow dances were an exception for some of the boys, who either liked a girl, or liked to feel up a girl, or both.  We didn't follow any specific rules. However, I was accused by several male partners that I was "leading", which was a no-no.  I'm still unclear on that concept.

Some of the dance contests were based upon style.  There were others which had nothing to do with dancing technique.  For instance, there was the "freeze" contest, where, when the music played, you froze instantly when the music was stopped.  A pre-pubescent teenage boy who wouldn't be on the dance floor in a million years enjoyed holding the phonograph arm, pulling it up to stop the music at various times, as we dancers became his puppets.

Prizes ranged from school supplies to games or candy, etc.  Once, I won a box of Raisinettes - my favorite candy - and I was THRILLED with the prize......

.................until I remembered that I had given up candy for Lent, so gave the box to a friend. 

Dancing for me was always informal - I could never get into square dancing or "Dancing with the Stars" kind of stuff.  It was just a way to express myself when hearing music.  Outdoor or indoor, every dance move I do screams my age.

At my step-daughter's wedding (see below), the moves are familiar.  That is my husband behind me...we didn't have to look at each other.  Same M.O. as in my teens.  I have not progressed in style, just years.

These days, more often than not, I am carrying a camera while dancing. Here I am with another lively soul, at a 4th-of-July event a few years ago(American Legion again - this one in HMB).

Of course, it helps to dance with someone who enjoys the art of the free-form dance, like Tom here. The ladies love this guy, and why not? He DANCES!

I guess the point is that, even though I lack style, referring back to ancient moves, I'm having fun re-living my youth and also my oldth, shaking more than I ever could have when young. Well........there's a lot more to shake these days!