After leaving “The Wicks’,” Richie turned onto Wood Road and made good time until he reached Warren Road, where traffic on Wood was at a standstill. Apparently, there was an accident up ahead. Undeterred, “The Thumb Traveler,” who knew every major road and side street in the township, turned right at the next light, snaking around the road congestion, until he found an alternative route to his destination, Montville.
Richie made great time, pulling up in front of Jimmy’s house, a modest two-bedroom bungalow, five minutes early. Funny, he thought, as he waited for Jimmy, during all their time playing together, today was the first time that he actually knew where Jimmy lived. It wasn’t by coincidence. He realized while waiting that he had been to his other teammates' homes and met their families, and vice versa. But he never stepped foot in any of his negro teammates' houses or invited them into his own. They were classmates, teammates, and competitive brothers, yet once they were away from a team environment, it was as if his Negro teammates didn’t exist.
Without honking his horn, Jimmy came through the front door of his house and appeared on his concrete porch. Spotting Richie, he waved and headed towards the black Galaxie Convertible. Similar to Richie, he wore a brown leather jacket over a white button-down shirt, a black crew neck sweater, black slacks, and black tassel loafers.
With a how did you pull this off smile on his face, he approached the rolled down driver’s side window and admiringly said, “Nice wheels.” Though Jimmy had seen Richie’s car from a distance, he had never ridden in it.
“Are you ready?” Richie queried as he slid across the seat over to the passenger's side.
“Ready,” Jimmy responded as he gracefully slid behind the wheel. “You gotta be kidding me.” Putting his hands on the steering wheel, he looked over at Richie and said, “I’ve always dreamed of a ride like this. It sure beats Pops Oldsmobile.” Shifting gears, Jimmy slowly pulled out from the curb.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Don’t baby it,” instigated Richie.
And with a smile that went from ear to ear, Jimmy hit the accelerator hard and burned some rubber.
Halfway down the block, Richie erupted. “Man who cut the cheese? I didn’t say you could fart in my car. I can hardly breathe…How about a warning next time, so I can stick my head out the window before you start defiling my machine.”
Jimmy, initially caught off guard, fired back, “So you're one of those silent but deadly types. Yo…man up. You did it, but don’t want to admit it. I thought this car needed an air freshener; you’ve been farting all the way over to my house.”
“Not true, I started about halfway here,” laughed Richie, who began to roll down his window on the passenger side.
Trying to control his laughter, Jimmy declared, “I’m pulling over and opening up all the windows and the doors. If Estelle gets in the car and sees you and me with a foul stench in the air, she’ll think it’s me. You know how it goes, blame the Negro. Both of them were laughing uncontrollably as Jimmy, struggling to keep control of the Ford, maneuvered the vehicle parallel to the curb.
Rubbing the tears of laughter from his eyes, Richie saw Jimmy, for the first time, not just as a teammate, but also as a friend. The same type of cherished friendship that he shared with his ball player buddies at Terloff’s Gardens. A boob tuber, Richie, had a twinkle in his eye before he stated the following. “Jimmy, you wanted to date Sally, and I wanted to date Estelle. Together we come up with a secret plan to take our dates to an off-site location where we wouldn’t be seen, yet would be in the company of over 8,700 people in an enclosed environment with no chance for escape. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?
With Richie supplying the theme music, Jimmy delivered a first-class impression of Rod Sterling, the host of the hit TV show The Twilight Zone. Choosing the right intonation, he began, “There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. You’re moving into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas.”
No longer able to hold back during Jimmy’s Sterling introductory soliloquy, Richie interjected, “That’s the signpost up ahead, your next stop, the Palestra.” In unison, both teenagers gleefully delivered the signature line. “You’ve just crossed over into the Twilight Zone.”
It was near dusk, as darkness was almost upon them; the car was full of fresh air, and they were now a block away from Estelle’s house, driving on a side street. At their last stop, Richie decided to switch seats from the front to the back. Lying sideways, he forced himself into the well, the space between the front and back seats, and chuckled to himself as a blanket from the trunk of the car was thrown over him
“What are you laughing about?” Jimmy asked as he repositioned himself behind the wheel.
“Down the shore, we could get four into the Passion Pit while only paying for two. Since I always drove, I just realized what the accommodations were like in the well and trunk for freeloaders…shitty.”
The car stopped in front of Estelle’s house, and Jimmy got out. Richie could hear the front door open and a muffled greeting in the distance. While scrunching down to assure that no one could see him, he lay there wondering why he had to do what he was doing, all because he wanted to date a negro? This was an untenable situation and one that had to be rectified. Then he waited and waited and waited. Uncomfortable, he wondered what Jimmy was doing…sitting down for dinner? Finally, he heard voices from Estelle’s house. Muffled at first, there were three voices, and they became louder and more distinct as they approached the Galaxie.
“Wow, this car is Cherry. You know I always wanted a convertible, never got one, even when I was young and single,” said Mr. Dinkins. “Do you mind if I get behind the wheel, start her up, and pop the hood?”
The driver’s side door opened, and Mr. Dinkins slid behind the wheel with the enthusiasm of a 16-year-old who just got his license. Afraid to move his left leg, which was going numb, Richie didn’t move a muscle. Estelle’s father, apparently a ragman, took a quick glance over his right shoulder towards the rear seats and said, “Looks like plenty of room in the back.”
Estelle, recognizing Richie’s car as soon as she saw it, gave Jimmy a look of bewilderment, which he returned with a conspiratorial smile.
With Mr. Dinkins' head under the hood, it was Estelle who ended the Galaxie tour. “Daddy, we’re going to be late. We have to go.”
Ignoring her plea, Mr. Dinkins continued, “A V8 with 390 CID…Awesome. Jimmy, I recommend that you swap out your hubs for baby moons, a much better look…Badass Son…the next time you pick up Estelle, you have to take me for a ride.”
Finally, Richie could hear the slamming of the Ford hood and the closing of both the front and passenger side doors, moments before the Galaxie went into forward motion.
“What’s going on,’ was Estelle’s initial reaction. Where’s Richie?
Popping up on cue, Richie ignored Estelle’s question and said to Jimmy, “Step on it, we're running late. I still have to pick Sally up before returning to Wanamaker’s to pick the two of you up.”
“You were in the back the whole time, Estelle exclaimed.
“Yep, he chortled with delight. Then, refocusing on the mission, he instructed Jimmy, “Take Old Harrison Pike, it’s the fastest route.” Then, while Jimmy drove, Richie explained to Estelle how she came to find him hiding in his own car.
”As they pulled into the parking lot at Wanamaker’s, Richie took back his vehicle, and Jimmy and Estelle headed toward the main entrance of the suburban department store, phase two of the plan having been completed.
Using Wood Road to get to Sally’s house, the surface streets were clear, and as Richie pulled into the Dill’s driveway, he could see the silhouettes of two people behind the curtains in the living room. Dam, he thought to himself, he would have to deal with Sally’s father, a successful businessman and braggart, who had an opinion on everything. Pressing the doorbell, “The Blowhard” was the first to greet him.
“So you're Richie,” whom he had met numerous times, “the school's star athlete, a junior, right?”
“I don’t know about the star part, but yes, I’m Richie. Is Sally ready?”
“Come in, come in,” Sam Dill extended an arm in the direction of the foyer.” You know, I wasn’t much of an athlete myself, but I did a whole lot better than some of the sports nuts that I grew up with.”
“You don’t say. I understand from Sally that you are a heck of a golfer.” A stiff arm maneuver by Richie in an attempt to avoid a confrontation.
“Rich man’s sport, which I guess is why I excel. Ever played?”
“Only in my mind, I enjoy watching Arnie make his charges, a groundskeeper's son and the hero of the galleries.”
“White boy, give him credit, excelling in a white man’s game. The problem with football and baseball, there’s too many negroes. Notice I didn’t mention basketball, that’s already about 50 percent Schwoogs.”
Richie’s facial demeanor started to change ever so slightly. Looking Mr. Dill straight in the eye, an incredulous, yet friendly, smile was starting to appear on his face, a ploy to hide his true feelings of anger and revulsion that this pompous, racial, asshole was bringing out in him.
“You know, Mr. Dill, every sport that the negro is allowed to play in, they’ve excelled. An athlete is an athlete regardless of race or religion. There’s a shift in the wind, including sports, as more Negroes gain equal footing. Once that happens, you’ll see negroes in all the sports, including tennis and golf. It’s just a matter of time before the caddy becomes the golfer.”
“Well, we’ll see about that…We’ll see about that. He still won’t be able to get into my club,” Dill said smugly as he did not attempt to hide his overt racism.
Richie, looking past Sam Dill, was in search of an escape and his date. He knew that he could only parry Mr. Dill’s racially biased conversational attacks for so long before he took an offensive posture. Reacting to the perceived threat, Richie’s eyes started to change or hardened as he looked back at Dill, taking in the full measure of the man, his verbal sword about to go for the kill.
Sally’s Old Man instinctively knew he was jousting with a dangerous adversary, so he suddenly pulled back. “Let me see if Sally’s ready?”
But before he could inquire, Sally appeared before the two of them looking stone-cold gorgeous, wearing a brown short-wasted dress and tights, complemented by a wide black belt and black Capezio shoes. ‘I’m ready, shall we go,” directing her question at Richie.
Richie, tongue-tied at first, could only nod his head while thinking of his sister’s earlier remark that he was ‘out of his league.’
The father, soon joined by Sally’s mother, exchanged the requisite information between both couples as to their plans for the evening.
Richie helped Sally on with her coat, waited while she kissed her parents, then, carefully avoiding a handshake with the bigot, beat feet as fast as he could.
As soon as they left the Dill’s mini Danbury estate, Sally asked, ‘What’s up? You’re quiet, everything okay? There was concern in Sally’s voice.
“Richie bit his tongue. The conversation with Sam Dill still rankled him. What an intolerant, self-important ‘dick’ he thought to himself. However, telling Sally about the conversation with her father, he admitted, would accomplish nothing. She already knew her father’s position on race and would be utterly appalled if she knew he was now sharing those views with her friends. In the end, Richie decided it would only ruin her evening before it started.
Delaying answering Sally’s question, Richie turned on the car radio. Playing through the car speakers was the number one song of the week, Ruby and the Romantics ‘Out Day Will Come,’ Listening to the lyrics, it was then that he realized the potential consequences of their planned romantic evening, especially for Sally. If caught, her life with Sam Dill and his holier-than-thou views would be unbearable. It took courage to do what she was about to do compared to the other three, whose response from their parents, he guessed, would be at worst disappointment for violating the interracial dating barrier.
Breaking his silence, Richie shook off the negative Sam Dill karma and laughed before saying, “I’m fine. Do you want the long version or the short one?“
Sally, seeing Richie revert to his old self, said, “Short.”
“Jimmy and Estelle are at Wanamaker’s, shoplifting, only kidding. Jimmy’s dad reneged on giving him the car, so I went over to his house, picked him up, and then the two of us picked up Estelle. They’re waiting for us, and as soon as we pick them up, we’ll head to the Palestra.”
Sally, who looked radiant sitting next to him, touched his right arm and said, “Thanks for setting this up and for putting up with my Dad. I heard what he said to you. He wasn’t always this bad, but lately his business has been struggling, and it’s always the fault of others. I know it’s not an excuse, but it’s the best I can offer for his behavior.”
Richie didn’t say a word; instead, he turned up the radio. Ironically, ‘Will You Love Me Tomorrow’ was playing. Looking over at Sally, he winked, then the two of them joined the Shirelles as they started singing their 61 hit single. Richie, realizing they were running late, stomped on the accelerator in the same way that he and his fellow coconspirators were about to stomp on societal norms. Blending his voice in with the recorded version and the live one sitting next to him in the car, he sang, “Is this a lasting treasure or just a moment's pleasure…”