Signing at a 50th year class reunion - Reflections on the year

Dropping in at a 50 year class reunion was a really memorable signing this past year. A man from California here to sign his rev mort while on vacation at his 50th class reunion.

I am going to deviate from my usual policy of not using skin color to describe people. In this case it does matter that the bwr was black because there would be no story if it were not so.
The signing was on Friday around 5 pm. The party was on Saturday. I turned down a rutted up dirt trail into a thicket that so dense it turned day into night, nearly.

I was supposed to meet with Mr. H at his sister's house. I am kind of uneasy about this because there is scary stuff along the way...junk...tires...and then I see this huge cattle guard and a gate that announces the name of a industrial vendor firm in the area. There is a paved drive into a "compound" for lack of a better word.

I don't know which shocked me more...the compound or Mr. H. He had rolled into town from LA just a few minutes before I got there. He came in a very, very nice brand new Cadillac. At 69 he is a very tall, handsome man and more sophisticated that your usual 69 year old Texan of any color...he's lived in California and done well for himself. He's also widowed.
Now, about the compound. In Texas, black people know ways to make barbeque and the trimmings taste better than it seems possible. Now I know why. They have these secret places where they go and cloister themselves, and they do all these old fashioned family things and they hand down traditions. This place was unbelievable. There were a few of the family homes scattered around beyond the gate. This was a paradise. Who knew it even existed out there at the end of that sad little road? There was a generous dance pavillion with sound system... a row of barbeque pits to die for and a huge swimming pool for the kiddos to stay cool in. There were a couple of large ice machines to make ice for ancient old ice house type bins where the drinks were overflowing. It was mid July and boy, did those iced down drinks look good. Drinks cooled by ice in a cooler in the hottest part of the summer are better than refrigerated drinks for some reason.

We signed all but one document on Friday night. The LO forgot to send the wire instructions sheet. I had to go back the next day during the party (with pay). And, there was a major party going on.

When I pulled up, Mr. H, standing in a circle of very nicely dressed 1955 beauties, waved to me like he was so glad I was there. (It was the beer smiling, more than Mr. H.) He broke loose of those woman and came out to where I was like he was about 36 years old...moving very fast. Talk about some smiles turning to mean faces on the ladies! Seeing someone like me drawing out Mr. H was the last thing they planned on during their Southern Flirt Fest with local boy who is now a very comfortable (and youthful) widower. And, obviously his family was not doing too shabbily either.

Mr. H was loving it and his sister was laughing at all of it from her corner of the party. It was so obvious how upset it made them. He signed his paper and then he said let's just walk out here a ways. So we did. We had a laugh over the situation, and he told me that he had really enjoyed playing that little trick on those women, and he had needed to get out of the little knot he was tangled up in. It was so good to see him having such a good time. By the time I got into my car, I knew I had to get gone. Those 1955 babes were not even the least bit pretty at that point. Mean. Mean faces.