A few days later we had the party. Probably ten kids there. Certainly nothing much happened and nothing untoward, but someone squealed. Big haloobaloo. My grandfather was not too happy - very embarrassing for him. I went into the general store, shortly after the whole episode became public. Dickey's brother, working there at the moment, confronted me at the front door. It was obvious his indignant attitude was a show for his boss, but he cold-cocked me in the face, and I knocked him through the door, busting all the glass. He was a kiss-ass anyway, always insecure being adopted, and we did not hang out with him. The end for the pastor was probably that he came out in support of us. The real power in this local church were the rich. They didn't like him because he didn't act proper, didn't act like a straight lace, no nonsense, fire and brimstone preacher. He had to go. Beer party in the church - what an affront to propriety, sacredness and all that phony yada yada. We did get punished but don't remember how, probably something church related.
The rock and roll thing happened starting in 1955. It was DA haircuts, custom cars, Levis and boots, smokes and juvenile delinquency. So the church hired a young pastor's assistant who was about twenty-four or twenty-five, newly married, both cute and sweet and from maybe North Carolina. He looked like us. He had the long dark greaser duck tail hair cut, dressed in the style and listened to the music, popular with the advent of Elvis Presley, Pat Boone, Chuck Berry, Little Richard and a host of others. His job was to give us a good church affiliated figure to identify with, as opposed to the bad influences that had become pop culture.
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