Moving to Broughtontown

After moving to Broughtontown in April 1972, my brother David and I soon developed several new friendships. Among them was a young man named Scottie Taylor, who had lived in Broughtontown his entire life. Scottie was the youngest child of his family and was mischievous in nature and a natural prankster. We soon became very good friends and enjoyed hanging out together.

Scottie and I got wind of the fact there was a family "down in the bottoms" that had put a volleyball net in their front yard. There, on Saturday or Sunday afternoons, their large family would gather and play volleyball. We were told this large family had several pretty young daughters, and that piqued our interest considerably. We had also heard that several other young girls would also gather in this front yard to play volleyball as well. Finally, we were told these pretty young girls, with sun tanned legs and short shorts, were worth the time it might take to go take a look.

Scottie and I knew we had to go see for ourselves if these wonderful tales about this treasure trove of beautiful young girls was true. We just had one problem, and that was the fact we were both just 15, and couldn't legally drive a car.

Although we couldn't drive, we did have bicycles! Bicycles are just about the best thing ever if you're a youngster, but after you turn 14 or 15 years old, they're alright, but not really what you'd hope for. At that age, the most important thing in the world is to "be cool". We were so anxious to be able to drive after we turned 16, but for now, if we were going to see the pretty girls, bicycles were our only option.

We set out one pretty Summer afternoon, excited about the prospects of finding the girl(s) of our dreams. It was a long ride on the bikes down to the road the girls lived on, which was a tree lined gravel road. I don't remember much about the house, but I do remember their big front yard. There, indeed, we would find the volleyball net, as well as the pretty girls.

Scottie and I stopped in the curve before reaching the house. We could hear the sounds of talking and laughter as we tried to peek through the trees at the view that lay ahead. We could hear lots of different girls' voices and our anticipation and excitement could hardly be contained. We reviewed our plan, which was to just ride slowly by their house and yard, looking as cool as we possibly could, hoping to steal a glance or make eye contact with one of these pretty young girls. Our plan was perfect, and we knew it would work. All we had to do was carry it out and we would have it made.

I was to go first, with Scottie following me several feet behind. We rode single file, not wanting to spoil one another's view of these girls, while at the same time letting the girls check out these young fellas, the very embodiment of coolness, riding slowly by.

We began our journey. Our much anticipated plan was starting to unfold! About the time we got directly in front of the house and yard, the chain on my bicycle slipped off. It had a tendency to do that from time to time, and this was just the worst time of all for that to happen. I panicked at first, but I knew it was an easy fix. I simply straddled the bike and bent down to slip the chain back onto the sprocket. After quickly slipping the chain back on, I looked up hurriedly to see if I had been noticed. About that time, crash! Scottie, looking toward the girls and not looking ahead, rammed into the back of my bike with his. We had a horrific wreck. The wreck threw both of us down onto the gravel road, along with our bicycles. We were both startled and tried quickly to untangle ourselves from the handlebars, chains, tires, and sprockets that encompassed us both.

The family, and the pretty girls, rushed over to check on us and see if we were okay. We, as embarrassed as could be, assured them we were as we finally got free from all the wreckage and carnage. We got back onto our scarred and bent handlebar bikes and limped on around the curve up ahead. They went back to their volleyball game. After getting out of sight of the yard, Scotty and I got off our bikes. We, blaming one another for the disastrous turn of events, spent the next several minutes picking gravel out of our legs and arms, as well as trying to get our bikes back in some kind of working condition so we could make it back home.

As we rode back home, we discussed amongst ourselves if the girls had really been that pretty, and whether it was worth the effort we'd put forth. We didn't dwell on that fact very long because we were having to expend every ounce of our energy holding our bent bicycles in the road. That was our last bike trip.