1965 - Hayrides

The Hayride is a familiar midwestern tradition that I am sure started in Europe as some kind of harvest celebration. In America's heartland of the '60's it was still one of our many traditions and as American as Apple Cider or S'mores...


1965 – Hayrides

Elaine snuggled close to me feeling the warmth of our huddled bodies. She giggled and fell across my lap. I looked over at Merle and Dolores. Merle winked. I glanced at Ladd and Elsa…they were too self-involved to see me. Elaine and I had met a previous occasion when Merle and I made contact with her and her close friend, Pam, as they watched us bowl at the on-base bowling lanes. We had a late supper that evening with Elaine and Pam in tow. Now, several months later Merle had met Dolores and fallen head-over-heels. She and Elsa were best friends. I had run into Elaine just before we left the San Bernardino USO for the hayride. This would be the third hayride of my life. As I thought about this Elaine reached up from her place lying on her back and pulled me toward her. I could smell the distinct odor of cough syrup. This is what the Sloe Gin she had been drinking smelled like…it was not a pleasing odor to me. As she tried to pull me toward her she gave a squeal and disappeared.

I next saw her 5-feet behind the rack struggling to her feet. She was decidedly tipsy as she rocked slightly crouched and on her feet but still bent at the waist and supported by her hands which were helping push her up. As she struggled to her feet it reminded me of another fall off a hayrack some years back, right around '65. I shook the thought off as I jumped off to help her back aboard the slow-moving wagon. Climbing back aboard I remembered the two hayrides I had gone on in high school:


“I’m Hen-er-y the Eighth I am,
Hen-er-y the Eighth I am, I am.
I got married to the widow next door.
She’s been married seven times before…”

We all sang together at the top of our lungs.

There was a crisp bite in the air when we went on our 1965 MYF Autumn Hayride. We had rented a hayrack full of hay & someone’s dad was driving the tractor. We had a keg of apple-cider and a generous rack-load of hay densely covered by more than a dozen close friends. I had known most of these people since grade school and had fallen into and out of close friendships with many of them. All else aside, were all relatively close during these days. Bundled up against the chill we were still invigorated by the cold and the companionship. There were still patches of snow on the ground from an early storm but it was mostly melted away leaving patches of wet where the snow had recently been piled. I huddled up against friends with Wynola on one side and Ron on the other; we were laughing, singing, telling jokes and goofing with each other. Kelly threw a handful of hay at Wynola and the fight was on! Handfuls of hay flew everywhere until a councilor reminded us we were still on city streets. We sat barely contained for the next block until we entered the Smith Estate. As the tractor pulled the hayrack off the road and into the bordering fields Kelly stood to deliver another handful of hay only to have his feet swept away as Jack cut him off at the knees. They both laughed aloud as Kelly fell down, closely missing Jack who rolled out of the way continuing right to the edge of the wagon. At the last second Jack tried arresting his fall by spreading his arms and legs out to prevent another roll. Unfortunately momentum carried one leg as it whipped off the wagon and pulled Jack off the rest of the way. He landed heavily but jumped right up and ran back to the slowly moving hayrack laughing as he jumped back on, missing once but landing squarely on board with his second try. Robin immediately fell off the rear of the rack as people jostled each other to give Jack room to remount.

The MYF or Methodist Youth Fellowship group, affiliated with our local Methodist Church often had fundraisers like bake-sales and car washes to finance our little outings – this hayride was one of those little outings.

We had purchased some hot dogs & buns, marshmallows, graham-crackers & chocolate (for the S’mores) a half-keg of apple cider (in a real wooden keg) and we had arranged to have a little area prepped with a camp-fire and a circle of logs and boulders around the fire for ease of socialization. We arrived and began drinking cider, singing church songs and performing general horseplay and joking with our close friends. The grass was still a bit wet and slippery but we were all well bundled and the chill and wet was barely noticed. A hint of the early snow was still in the air but, so far, this season early snow had not, yet, been significant. We were a young, happy and innocent group of teens in the Midwestern Illinois village of Winthrop Harbor.

We prayed, we sang, we played and, eventually, we went home.

As we had only consumed about half of the apple-cider we stashed it out back of the church under the stairs that lead to the back door of the church.

It snowed…it melted. The winter passed. The world froze…it defrosted. It did this several times. It was unseasonably warm. Then it froze again. Blinding snowstorms became a light sprinkling of powder. Piles of light powder became solid mountains of firm, wet, icy, heavy snow. Eventually little sprigs of green appeared on the trees. It snowed again…and melted. The snow became less and less frequent and warmer days were increasing in number. Spring was full upon us.

At the weekly MYF meeting we agreed the winter had held us all prisoners for too long and a celebration was in order. Wynola mentioned we still had half-a-keg of cider out-back and added “How about another hay-ride?” After a short discussion with our treasurer we unanimously agreed another hayride would be perfect. The new spring weather would be prefect for this. The hayrack was fairly inexpensive if it cost anything at all to borrow and we already had half of the refreshments. It was agreed the next weekend we would hold another hayride. We were cautioned against too much horseplay by a councilor who reminded us of the mess we had made the previous autumn. We were to conduct ourselves like the young ladies and gentlemen we were…or that we were supposed to be.

The following Saturday we all met at the church around 3:00 in the afternoon. As the ride to the Smith Estate was only a few blocks we mounted the rack as the orderly, quiet young people we were supposed to be…NOT! The guys jumped up right away ready to play King-Of-The-Mountain until one of the male-half’s of one of the “couples” decided chivalry was a better course of action and calmed the guys so the well-behaved young ladies of our group could mount as well. JoAnn popped up out of the hay right about then and plastered Kelly with a double handful of straw. In surprise Kelly stepped backwards only to have his way blocked by Ron. They both fell across the back of the hayrack narrowly missing Linda who was trying to mount with Ron’s help. The girls jumped aboard and the straw-war was on until a councilor insisted we behave and clean up some of the mounds of hay now decorating the parking area in front of the church. We quickly threw handfuls of hay back on the rack and got underway.

Beatles’ tunes bounce around in my head as I think of this incident and knowing this group we probably started joking and singing pop songs of the day at a volume comfortable to us – meaning – probably way-too-loud for the neighbors. In 20-30 minutes we arrived at our campfire and began setting up refreshments and organizing games.

The leftover cider was propped up and other refreshments prepared for ease of use. Jack and Ron started the fire while others organized the area for our use. Little by little the afternoon wore on and more and more of us gathered by the fire consuming hot-dogs, S’mores and cider. The cider had a funny after-taste but it wasn’t unpleasant so we freely refreshed ourselves when called for. Pamela ran in from a game of some sort panting and thirsty. A big gulp of cider was followed quickly by a second. ‘Whew! That’s good!” She exclaimed before heading back out for more fun. A few minutes later she was back with Jack and Wynola out-of-breath. They filled their cups and found a place near the fire. The sun had already gone down and dusk was fully upon us. In very few minutes it would be completely dark except for the light of the fire.

We began to play a game of Concentration fortified by hot-dogs and cider. Little by little we began to sing a little louder, often forgetting words but usually reminded by other members. There was dancing the Twist and we all did “The Freddy” and shouted Beatles tunes in an awful harmony. The cider was almost gone when Ron sidled up to me and said “I think there’s something wrong with the cider. I’ve been too busy to drink more than a couple and I think I’m starting to feel funny…in fact check Pamela.” I turned toward Pamela’s voice, who was singing Michael Rowed the Boat Ashore along with the rest of the group although she was hanging on Kelly who looked confused about the whole situation. His eyes seemed slightly out-of-focus as he looked back at me and smiled, blinking big and opening his eyes to maximum before they descended to half-mast. Pamela patted his shoulder and looked up at him with a look that said “Oh, hi. When did you get here?” She turned back towards the fire. Ron said, “Lar, I think we’ve got us some apple-jack here.” I looked across the fire at Robin. The smile plastered across is face can only be described as…goofy. Eyebrow’s raised, eyes at half-mast, a smirk on the left side of his mouth with the accompanying half twisted up into grimace that I’m sure he thought was a big smile. Yep, goofy.

The games and songs got progressively louder and less organized as the evening continued. Although we had planned on staying until later in the evening the more sober members quickly reached consensus when Kelly fell asleep and off the log. We all re-mounted the hayrack for our trip back to the church. As we mounted Pamela stood on the right front side next to the rack holding on for balance. She was singing quietly to herself but looking down with brows furrowed looking like she was examining some important question on her mind. Her eyes slowly closed but her expression didn’t change. “Pamela!” She opened her eyes and looked up at Linda. “Time to go.” Linda said and reached down to help her friend aboard. As Pamela climbed aboard, helped by Ron, she tipped forward and fell full-face aboard the hayrack. She sat up, hair full of straw, and laughed. The concern and deep thought she had been involved in seconds ago completely forgotten. As she brushed hay off her front she started giggling and fell backwards. Something was evidently hilarious! As I had been slightly attracted to Pamela since early grade school I paid a bit more attention to her than most of the rest of the group, more than a couple of whom had fallen asleep. I had noticed she had REALLY liked the cider. If there’d been a contest she might have been the winner. Robin was a close second. All the sleepers? – Third. After a second or two she sat back up and started climbing unsteadily to her feet.

The rack jerked forward starting its trip back to the church. “Oops!” Pamela sat back down heavily and twisted to her right, evidently thinking there was more wagon there. She was right on the edge as she tipped forward and began wind milling her arms backwards. She immediately smacked her hand on Kelly’s sleeping head. She stopped wind milling and her hand shot toward her mouth ostensibly to suck the pain off but instead, still off-balance, she slid forward and off the ride and to her knees on the wet grass. She struggled to her feet. Decidedly tipsy, she rocked slightly crouched and on her feet but still bent at the waist and supported by her hands which were helping push her up. It was that act that had reminded me of this hayride some years later. Wynola shouted, “Run, Pamela, run!” but Pamela stood wavering and not inclined to even try this athletic feat. Jack jumped off to help. He wasn’t navigating much better than she was but they soon caught up. We helped a laughing Pamela back aboard. She soon quieted before we arrived at the church and glancing in her direction I could see she was clearly asleep. Head on Jack’s lap who sat nodding off and on, her mouth was agape and little snoring sounds issued from the orifice. Her mouth closed and she smiled in her sleep.

At the end of the evening of each of these distinctly different hayrides I assisted the ladies in question home. I believe Jack and I left Pamela standing at her front door rocking back and forth on her heels. Until recently I wondered why I didn’t see Pamela at any more MYF meetings. Evidently this was a decision made more by parents (understandably) then her.

Now, a few years later, the trip to Elaine’s house was a bit rougher as she was completely unable to stand. As she had hung on me all evening, much to my dismay, I still felt more responsible than anyone else for her welfare. I helped her into the car and drove her home but soon after getting in the car she passed completely out. Upon arriving at her house she remained unconscious despite vigorous attempts to awaken her. As I had my own bed to head for, I picked her up in my arms. MAN, SHE WAS HEAVY! Hey! I’m a little guy, ok? She immediately emptied the contents of her stomach all over my white uniform. Evidently sometime during the evening she had managed to eat a small amount of spaghetti. It, too, was a lovely Sloe-Gin-RED. Unhappy with the new decoration and the ungodly odor I deposited her in a shopping cart handily abandoned next to the road. I wheeled her up to the bottom step leading to the front door and tried again to awaken her. She was absolutely gone. Not wanting to leave her here and not really wanting to meet her parents I stepped onto the porch. Surely at 1:30 AM everyone was sound asleep and there wasn’t a single light on in the house but…well…I didn’t see much recourse… I rang the bell and ran.

To my relief I never saw Elaine again. To my greater relief, having recently seen Pamela, she seems completely unaffected by the adventure. She remains the lovely person we all knew and is as charming as ever.

Run, Pamela, run!