prom catastrophe
Last night’s (Monday, May 26, 2008; Memorial Day) local TV news reported a major prom catastrophe; not the usual drinking-and-driving deaths, but the falling of a giant light-fixture onto a high-school prom dance-floor.
The fixture was a giant truss-beam with many spotlights attached.
The Police thought teenagers were probably hanging off the truss-beam, but witnesses disagree.
Teenagers knocked out cold, and injured debutantes in mauve strapless gowns carted to the hospital in giant white Chevy ambulances.
A dance-floor lit by flashing red gumball lights instead of purple disco lights — yellow crime-scene tape around the fallen light fixture.
“Well, that wouldn’t have happened to us!” my wife and I both exclaimed. Neither of us attended our proms.
I should explain.
My father was a Christian zealot, and like most zealots at that time (this was the early ‘60s), thought dancing was of-the-devil.
So the thought of attending my prom never even crossed my mind.
Linda was different.
She was a class wallflower, so no one invited her to her prom.
My sister reversed the anti-dancing position of my father by doing a grandstand. She had been invited to the prom by a really nice guy by the name of Sergei Sirochnikoff (“Sir-GAY Sir-OTCH-nih-cough”), her first boyfriend.
My father wasn’t up to countering her noisy tirade, especially when my mother weighed in on my sister’s side.
When we first moved to Delaware a scion of our class visited and invited me to take part in class activities — like an upcoming sock-hop.
I had to defer, of course. I knew my father would go completely ballistic.
Later I helped DJ a sock-hop, and my father appeared at 11 p.m. pounding on the school door.
Other attendees were horrified.
“Man, your father is weird,” they said.
He dragged me out by my ear.
The fixture was a giant truss-beam with many spotlights attached.
The Police thought teenagers were probably hanging off the truss-beam, but witnesses disagree.
Teenagers knocked out cold, and injured debutantes in mauve strapless gowns carted to the hospital in giant white Chevy ambulances.
A dance-floor lit by flashing red gumball lights instead of purple disco lights — yellow crime-scene tape around the fallen light fixture.
“Well, that wouldn’t have happened to us!” my wife and I both exclaimed. Neither of us attended our proms.
I should explain.
My father was a Christian zealot, and like most zealots at that time (this was the early ‘60s), thought dancing was of-the-devil.
So the thought of attending my prom never even crossed my mind.
Linda was different.
She was a class wallflower, so no one invited her to her prom.
My sister reversed the anti-dancing position of my father by doing a grandstand. She had been invited to the prom by a really nice guy by the name of Sergei Sirochnikoff (“Sir-GAY Sir-OTCH-nih-cough”), her first boyfriend.
My father wasn’t up to countering her noisy tirade, especially when my mother weighed in on my sister’s side.
When we first moved to Delaware a scion of our class visited and invited me to take part in class activities — like an upcoming sock-hop.
I had to defer, of course. I knew my father would go completely ballistic.
Later I helped DJ a sock-hop, and my father appeared at 11 p.m. pounding on the school door.
Other attendees were horrified.
“Man, your father is weird,” they said.
He dragged me out by my ear.
posted by BobbaLew at 6:00 AM
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