1974 SADIE HAWKINS DANCE “CHUCK” THE HEARTBREAKER! Part 1

Chuck Who?…” 
Jacky Schwartz. Cheer Leader, Honor Student. Farmstead High School. Class of 1977.

“Chuck Bucklin? No, I don’t remember dating a Boy named Chuck in High School. But what a Funny Name though.” 
Christy Hines. Song Girl Captain, President of Debate Club. Farmstead High School. Class of 1977.

Introduction 

A 1974 Sadie Hawkins Dance in High School proves – That dating in High School was a lot tougher than it looked! 

The Disastrous Affair as I remember it...

“Would you go to the Sadie Hawkins Dance with me?” 
“Huh. What?” 
“I said would you go to the Sadie Hawkins Dance with me next Saturday?” said Sara Connolly. 
“I uh… Wait. You are asking me to go out like on a… Date? To a dance? Next Saturday?” I stammered. 
“Yeah.” 
Now I was totally blindsided as Sara had suddenly approached me from out of nowhere. 
Plus I has the major case of the Stupids because I had been staring at Candy Benson. Who I may add looked totally bitchin’ in her new Song Girl outfit. 
So I was taken by surprise by a girl. A high school girl who asking “ME” out to a dance. The fact that we had never spoken a word to each other at school seemed to add even more confusion to the mix. 
I was standing with a group of friends and of course, they had stopped talking and were all staring at me. 
“Uh sure… Heh, Heh…uh when do you want me to pick you up?” I asked nervously. 
“Saturday.” 
“Oh, right you said that. Heh. Heh. Uh, what time? 
” 7 O’clock. The dance starts at 8 pm but we can meet at Christine Jensen’s house for snacks and then head over to the dance. “
“Oh, uh sure. That’d be cool.” 
“Good. Here’s my number. Give me a call and we can work out what kind of costumes we’re gonna wear.” 
A scrap of paper with a phone number was thrust into my hands. 
And with that Sara Connolly walked away. 
The Guys watched her walkway and then looked at me. 
I stood there thunderstruck. Clutching the piece of paper as if I had been handed a detention slip. 
Catcalls and declarations of praise came thundering at me from the group. 
“Bucklin!!!!”
“Way to go Stud!” 
“Buckmin! And I don’t mean Bucklin!” 
“Ha! Ha! Bucklin got nailed!”
“What is going to go as?” Alice Cooper?!”
“Haw! Haw! Haw! Bucklin has to wear  “costume! ” 
“Go as” Alice” – it would be Bitchin’! “
“What is going to wear Chuck?” 
Damned if I knew? I began to walk away with the paper stuffed in my Levi jeans. 
The catcalls and razzing followed me as I left the school quad. 
“Oh” Costume Boy! Don’t leave us! “
“Don’t go, Chuck!” 
“Shut up Parducci. No one asked you to the dance!” 
“You shut up Stevenson! I got plenty of offers!” 
“Oh yeah. Who asked you – your Mom or your baby sister?” 
“Go as” Alice” Chuck!” 
“Don’t go, Chuck! Connolly is a dog!” 
“Chuck I’ll loan you one my Mom’s Bathrobes and Wig. You can go as one of Parducci’s sisters” 
“SHUT UP STEVENSON!” Parducci gives Stevenson the middle finger.
“Haw! Haw! Haw!” 
“Oh, Chuck… Take me to the dance. Please???! 
“Ha! Ha! Ha! “

Sigh. I needed a cigarette. And there was the only place I could enjoy one. 
Since smoking was banned on Campus. “Smokers” and “Burn Outs” were able to smoke pretty much repercussion free in the student parking lot. 
As I walked past a brightly yellow colored van with flowers and peace symbol stickers. I could distinctly smell the aroma of “Weed.” 
The van belonged to one of my teachers at Farmstead High School who was a reputed to be a big pothead.  
Mr. McCain came to teach History Class stoned every day and in between classes sat out in his van usually toking a joint. 
If not in his van or in class – he’d be out roaming the halls smiling in a benign cannabis haze at students who said “Hello” to him. 
Most students thought he was cool because he had long hair and smoked pot. I thought he was a lousy History teacher but a heck of a nice guy. 
I soon spotted Tyler Sasaki sitting on the hood of his old beat up 1969 Dodge Charger smoking a butt. He waved and I walked on over to him. 
Tyler was cool.  He was half American and half Japanese.
He was short with brown eyes, a chip toothed smile, black kinky hair which he tied in a short ponytail, and a splash of freckles on his nose. 
He could be spotted on campus wearing the same blue and white OP t-shirt every day. I often wondered if he owned 7 shirts of the same color or if he ever changed his t-shirt at all for that matter? 
He was the kind of guy who looked like he should be selling surfboards on Venice Beach. Not stuck up in Nowhere Prunevale California in a school that resembled a penitentiary. 
Tyler was like me. He wasn’t a Jock, Stoner or Nerd. He didn’t belong to any Cliques, School Clubs or Groups. He was just like many of us at Ol’ Farmstead High School – just waiting for it to All be Over. 
Tyler and I bonded because we basically liked the same things – Coffee, Cigarettes, Cool Cars and Chicks. (Code Name – The 4 “C” s). 
The only difference was I knew I had to get good grades so I could go away to college. I was going to Blow this Taco Stand Big Time. Tyler on the other opted to join the Navy later upon graduation. 
“So did Connolly ask you to go to the dance?” he cheerfully asked tossing me a pack of Camels Unfiltered. 
“Yeah. How’d you find out?”  I said taking a cigarette and a light from Terry’s zippo lighter. Ah, the Camel tasted good. A Real Man’s smoke. 
“My sister has homeroom with Jensen and Connolly.  And They told her – Sara was gonna ask you to go to the thing. So?” 
“So. What?” 
“Are you gonna go?” 
“Yeah.” 
We smoked for a few minutes in silence. 
“Connolly is nice. She isn’t a dog but she sure ain’t a fox. You could do worse. You gonna wear a costume?” 
“I guess so,” I said tossing my butt to the ground and grinding it out with my foot. 
“Thanks for the smoke Tyler. Later.” 
“Later Dude. Hey Cheer up – You might have fun.” He said giving me a knowing leer that indicated what he meant by the word “Fun.” 
Now things were starting to feel complicated again. Sitting on the hood of Tyler’s car I had started to come to terms with the situation at hand. 
OK, I was asked out by a girl who I knew nothing about. I was just invited to the Sadie Hawkins dance at school. And I had to wear a costume. Check, check and check. All the above doable. 
However, Tyler’s comment about “Fun” put a spin on things I had trouble resolving in my head or heart for that matter. 
Numero Uno – Sara Connolly was not unattractive – that is if you thought flat chested athletic-looking girls who wore glasses and had a bookish air about them were hot! So no. She wasn’t my Dream Girl. 
Numero Two-O – The Sadie Hawkins Dance was the lamest dance of the year. Only Nerds, Goof Balls, and Social Rejects went to the silly thing. 
It was basically a “Girl’s Dance.” A dance where girls asked the guys to go. Hence, every year as the Sadie Hawkins Dance approached Young Men lived in paranoia and terror.
Mostly because they’d be asked to go out with a girl they didn’t like. Too chicken to say “No” – most guys were destined to have a very uncomfortable evening. 

Or too heartless to say “Yes” – many a Young Girl was “crushed” to find out that their perceived “crushes” were not reciprocated by Guys who were just Assholes anyway. 
So, all in all, there was a lot of crying on both sides this time of year. And for different reasons right before the dance. 
The costume part added to the misery of the whole soiree. Who wanted to dress up anyway? Only Kids or Freaks in the Drama Department did that kind of stuff. Just plain dumb! 
Numero – Three-O – I was kind of hoping that Candy Benson was going to ask me. Hope is putting it mildly. Let’s say praying – Daily. 
The day I had seen her at the Communal pool at our Apartment Complex – I had been totally smitten. She had worn a Bikini. Or the Bikini had worn Her. Either way, I was hooked. 
So hooked – that in a fever pitch I had written a poem about my feelings regarding this Aphrodite.  It was short doggerel of badly written poetry entitled “Love is…” By Chuck Bucklin. 
If memory serves me correctly one of the  lines went:
“I can see her standing across me, 
Like a Giantess in the Quad, 
She is one Foxy Lady, With a hot smokin’ Bod!” 

God help me but I wrote that tripe. 

Worse so confident that my Byronic Testimony would impress a certain Lady. I actually submitted it to the “The Plow” – the school paper. 
“It’ll probably get buried or not printed at all,” I thought. 
Buried? Really? How do “Bury” any story in a newspaper that is a two-sided piece of paper!  
Answer: You don’t. 
Since I made some published comments before in the “The Plow,” the “Editor” decided to do me a “Favor” of printing this mess on the front page – as opposed to putting it on the back page where it belonged or not at all. 
You can imagine my horror as I was handed the latest paper with the words in large banner print – BUCKLIN RETURNS! LOVE IS! A LOVE POEM BY CHARLES “CHUCK” BUCKLIN!!! Right smack at the top of page one. 
For weeks after. And I mean weeks. My very footsteps were hounded by taunts and teasing. 
“Oh, Lover Boy!” 
“Chuck, do you Love Me?” 
“Write me a poem, Chuck!”
“Am I your secret LOVER Chuck!”
“Yoohoo, I Love you too Chuck!” 
“Autograph my paper, Chuck!”

Anyway… 

Candy was a Goddess in human form. She was the kind of woman who would have made Greek Statuary feel shoddy and insecure. 
Anyway enough said. You get the picture. 
Sara compared to Candy was like comparing the Cartoon Olive Oil to the Venus Di Milo. It was just a No Brainer on who I wanted to go with to the dance with. 
The problem was I had Yes to Sara and Candy hadn’t even asked me. Nor would She. 
Candy was dating this Huge Hulking Quarterback named Robert Cattleman. Who the Farmstead Farmers Football Team referred to on the Field as “Bob Beef” or “Beef” for short. 
Due to his immense size “Beef” would be almost impossible to tackle during a game. Unless the entire defensive line of the opposing team jumped on him – “Beef” would carry the ball down the field for a touch down every time – knocking other players down like they were nine pins. 
Off the Field, you called him “Bob” or “Sir.” 
Two years ago – one poor Freshman made the fatal mistake of quoting the TV Commercial line – “Where’s The Beef?” to Bob. 
Now Bob not the brightest bulb on the tree – took dire umbrage to this perceived mockery.  
To the extent that He slugged the kid so hard in the jaw – teeth are still being found all over campus to this day. Sometimes in the oddest places.  I once found one in my Slurpee during lunch at the nearby 7/11. I promptly returned it to the former owner. 
The upshot: Bob got suspended for a week. While the Freshman got a new set of dentures courtesy of Bob’s Dad – Mr. Cattleman. 

So there you have it. 
I was going to the Sadie Hawkins Dance with Sara Connolly period. 
Now I know that some you Readers out there might think – “Well couldn’t he have said” No” or couldn’t he just pretend he was sick at the last minute?” 
And the Answer technically is “Yes.” Yes, I could have taken any of those options. 
But one didn’t do that. It just wasn’t done. 
If I refused the invitation or blew off the Sadie Hawkins dance at the last minute – I would be effectively sentencing myself to be labeled forevermore as a  “Social Pariah.” 
For the remainder of my days at Farmstead High, I would be known as “BUCKLIN THE CREEP!” 
I would be publicly Shunned. Not only at Farmstead – but including all Neighboring High Schools throughout the area. 
Forevermore I would be viewed as Persona Non-Grata by All Members of the opposite sex in the County School System. 
So. No Thanks. I had just survived a similar shunning experience the year before and I did not want to repeat it. 
Let me explain. I was a transfer student from an All-Boys Private  School located further up on the Peninsula. 
I had entered a fat screwed up Kid in 7th grade and by 9th grade, I exited a skinnier version of myself
I was still kind of screwed up because living with my Crazy Mom and my Annoying Younger Brother had that kind of effect on me. 
I was hoping to stay in the Private School System but, Mom’s ex-husband Rick basically sucked her finances dry before departing for parts unknown. 
Due to Rick’s departure, we lost our house, two sets of pets, furniture, everything. To economize we had to move into a smallish apartment in Prunedale. 
After the move, I  was unceremoniously dumped into the local High School – Farmstead. So it was a Public School education or me. 
Or I should say a “Mediocre” Public School Education – Farmstead was more known for its Athletic Department rather than its Scholastics. 
Well at least, THERE WERE GIRLS THERE! Something sorely lacking in an All-Boys Academy. 
Because of my prior education at The Academy, I could basically sleepwalk through most of my classes at Farmstead giving me plenty of time to focus my attention on the opposite sex. The problem was I was a Social Dunce when it came to girls. 
There were unspoken codes of interaction between the two sexes that I seem to have missed during these formative years of being away in Private School. 
What had almost tanked my social status occurred earlier last year. Of course, it involved a Woman. But I should clarify as it was several “Women” involved in this debacle. 
It seems at two separate Football Games I had been seen making out with two different Girls from the Freshman Class. 
At Game One it was Jackie Schwartz. At Game Two it had been with Christy Hines. Two different women, two different moments of holding hands and kissing. No big deal, so I thought. 
The match that lit the powder keg was in the form of fellow classmate Felicia Chatterley. 
Felicia was a Big Girl. Everything on Felicia was BIG!  Her Mouth had the dimensions of a pie plate. No surprise when one’s last name is Chatterley”! And no, I am not kidding! Check out Farmstead’s 1974 yearbook page 63, top middle column if you don’t believe me. On that page, you’ll see Felicia beaming away for the camera. 
It would have been nice if someone clued me in and told me that Felicia was The Unofficial Town Cryer of Farmstead. But nooooo! She was the FOUNT OF GOSSIP, PROCURER OF WHISPERED SECRETS, THE ORACLE OF DOOM. If you told Felicia ANYTHING you could expect the entire Student Body to know about it before the final bell rang for dismissal. 
Since I sat in front of Felicia Chatterley in homeroom I was just a sitting duck for all kinds of trouble. 
After Game Number One this little scenario played out in Homeroom :
Felicia: “Histtttt… Chuck?! Chuck?!” 
Me:?!! 
Felicia: “Chuck?! Oh, Chuck?!” Hey You! “
Felicia pokes me in the back with a sharpened Number 2 pencil. 

Me:” Gahhh! Damn Chatterley stop poking me. “
Felicia:” Sorry… Hey Chuck, rumor has it that you’re “Going” with Jackie Schwartz.”
Me::” What?”
Felicia: sigh” Are you “Going” with Jackie Schwartz? “
Me:” I don’t know! 
Felicia: “Well Rumor has it that..” 
Me: “Yeah, Yeah. Fine. It’s True. Now leave me alone. Geez!” 
Felicia: “OK, OK! THANKS!” 

After Game NUMBER TWO this little scenario occurred in Homeroom :

Felicia: “Histtttt… Chuck?! Chuck?!” 
Me:?!! 
Felicia: “Chuck?! Oh, Chuck?!” Hey You! “
Felicia pokes me in the back with a sharpened Number 2 pencil. 
Me:” Gahhh! Now What?!! Chatterley stop poking me with that damn pencil. “
Felicia:” Sorry… Hey Chuck, rumor has it that you’re  NOW “Going” with Christy Hines. “
Me::” What?! “
Felicia: sigh” Are you NOW “Going” with Christy Hines? “
Me:” I don’t know! 
Felicia: “Well Rumor has it that..” 
Me: “Yeah, Yeah. Sure. It’s True alright. Now leave me alone Chatterley. For Pete’s Sake! And stop poking me!” 
Felicia: “OK, OK! THANKS!” 
Well, I had no clue what the term “GOING WITH” meant in either instance. But being the New Kid  I figured a Little Press wouldn’t hurt my status at school. Hey Kids! Look at me. I’m The New Playboy of The Western World. Call me Hugh Hefner Jr.!! 
However, Unbeknownst to me…
The three parties (Jackie, Christy, and Felicia) soon converged and little conference took place.
The result was – TWO VERY PISSED OFF CHICKS FROM THE FRESHMAN CLASS! TWO FEROCIOUSLY, MORALLY OUTRAGED TEENAGE GIRLS WHO WOULD BE SATISFIED WITH NOTHING LESS – THAN SEEING MY HEAD ON A PLATE!
“Whatdaya mean he says is going with YOU? He said he was going with ME! WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS – GOD’S GIFT TO MANHOOD? HA! HE’S AN ARROGANT ASSHOLE! WHO CARES WHAT HE THINKS ANYWAY?! IF I WAS A GUY I’D KICK HIS ASS! HE’S A SCHMUCK! HE’S A…WHAT?! Ya know Christy, a guy’s… Girls whisper. Ohhhhh??? YEAH! CHUCK’S A SMUCK ALRIGHT! HE’S A USER! HE’S A DOUBLE USER! HE’S A CREEP! HE’S A DOUBLE CREEP! I HATE HIM! ME TOO! I HOPE THE JERK DROPS DEAD! ME TOO!!” Their self-righteous rage was volcanic, it burned like lava. They were now out for blood.

At the Third High School Football game, I was accosted by two outraged Girls who proceeded to rip me a New One in front of the whole stadium. 
Their umbrage and vocal dress down caused The Game to be momentarily halted. As both teams stood respectfully, warily and safely away as the Girls gave me an Epic Verbal Thrashing. 

Year’s later on Parris Island in the USMC, Marine DI’s did the same kind of thing to me. But their cuss word filled haranguing paled in comparison to the name-calling and mental harassment I received on the football field that day.

They called me every name in the book and then some. The upshot was for the rest of the SEMESTER MY PERSONAL MONICKERS WERE; “CHUCK THE CREEP! BUCKLIN THE USER!” And my own Personal Favorite Sobriquet “ARROGANT ASSHOLE CHUCK!” – which had a certain “Je ne sais quo” flavor to it. 
The Semester finally ended and with it the ire of the offended Freshman Class. 
With the end of one term, a Christmas break and a new Semester beginning my Sins were soon partially forgiven – but not forgotten. 
So that was my dilemma. I was now again perched on The Razors Edge. Either way, I jumped off would probably spell some sort of disaster. 
If I blew off the Dance I’d be would be socially ostracized – A disaster. If I went to the Dance I’d probably screw it up – another disaster.
Rick – my former Step Father would have probably commented “Buffboy,” (he always called me that.) Buffboy,  if you go – you’re gonna get Screwed and Tattooed!”
So I didn’t call Sara Connolly.  I knew I should but I just couldn’t. 
I was hoping for some kind of Divine Intervention to take place – like maybe the dance would get cancelled, or maybe Sara would cancel or maybe I’d come down with a strange case of “Bonga Bonga” and be unable to attend. But, no such luck – and soon it was just days to Dance. 

And that’s when I GOT THE CALL! 
But I’ll pause my story here. 

End of Part One 
To be continued…