Love these stories!! In the mid 1960's I was a scraping-to-get-by college kid passenger in the back of a new Lincoln blasting thru Mississippi towards an opening day snooty dove hunt. They were rich & I was just a friend's college buddy being given a courtesy ride. The man paid NO attention to any speed limit, and we subsequently learned the cop behind us couldn't catch up, so he radioed to come cops up ahead of us & we literally drove up to find a chain gang of prisoners the county had out picking up road litter. A REAL LIFE CHAIN GANG, strung out across this little 2-lane county road!! Like we were Bonny & Clyde! The cop was not in any kind of forgiving mood, no matter who Mr. String-A-Pearls from Dallas might be. Anyway, we'd pass the small town gas stations (with segregated bathrooms on the outside - yes, that long ago), but Mrs. String-A-Pearls always said they would be too dirty for her liking & to drive on ahead, surely we'd find
something "better". We didn't, and she eventually had to tip toe (in her high heals) out into a crop field. She squatted & I guess all was fine ~ until a passenger train blasted past maybe 20 feet out in front of her. At this point she couldn't just stand & cover up. All she could do was turn her blushing face to the side. Seems the crop had hidden the fact that there was a railroad track right there close by. Her husband & my buddy & I were all hysterical. Her glare stopped all that. We were all sternly instructed to just forget the incident ever happened, and we were certainly NOT to mention it at the snooty Opening Day Shoot we were travelling to attend. Her husband shared the scene & story anyway, with quite a few folks. The hundreds-of-miles drive back to Texas was totally silent. SHE told the story many years later, proving time really does heal lots of things.
I never grew up, just taught how I'm supposed to act in public, sometimes, if I want to.
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