Page 50 of Courting Danger

“Unfortunately,” Pope replied. “Lots of smaller outfits went out of business when they took the creameries away. It wasn’t cost effective to truck milk clear across the state or further when you only had a dozen cows in your herd.”

“I bet not,” Roan muttered. “Was there ever a time when gas prices didn’t suck?”

The bark of laughter Danger let out turned several heads in their direction. “You ask the old fellas out here that question, and I guarantee they’ll tell you no, even when the price was twenty-nine cents a gallon.”

Ocean whistled. “That’s cheaper than the sixty-nine cent cheeseburgers Pops used to talk about.”

“Come on, you boys want a real history lesson; let’s go inside,” Pope said, leading the way.

A collection of people were gathered at the far end of the room, but what drew Ocean’s attention was the display on the wall to the left. He wandered that way, which meant Roan followed, luring Danger and Pope over too.

“Fourth of July 1969,” Ocean said, reading the writing underneath it.

“One month before Woodstock,” Pope said. “The world was really changing back then. You should hear my pops and grandfather talk about those days.”

“Yeah, they should,” Danger said.

“I’ll see about having them out to the house one night for a cookout,” Pope said. “They’d get a kick out of sharing their stories with folks who have never heard them before.”

“I can tell,” Ocean replied, gesturing towards the gathering of people. “Looks like your grandfather and Mark’s old man are happily holding court over there.”

“It does, doesn’t it,” Pope said, chuckling.

“Look at downtown,” Roan said, pointing to one of the black and white photos. “I don’t even recognize it.”

“Because only a handful of buildings are left,” Danger explained. “In 1959 a hurricane tore through here that lay waste to the place. See, right here, you can see the devastation that followed, as well as how the town pulled together to rebuild.”

Ocean turned his attention to the photo Danger indicated, showing piles of rubble where buildings used to be.

“Holy crap,” Ocean muttered once he’d taken it all in.

“It was one of the worst disasters in town history,” Pope explained.

“It sure was,” Sunshine said. “But if you’ll look right here, you’ll see the townsfolks gathered in the VFW. Somehow, it managed to escape being damaged, save for a couple of windows. Folks boarded them up and assembled cots, rolled out sleeping bags, and stocked the kitchen with everything they could salvage to keep everyone fed.”

Tables lined the wall, laden with sandwiches piled on platters. A woman held a small piece, offering it to the toddler on her lap. Beside her, one woman was doing another’s hair, half still a tangled mess, the rest in braids. Men sat around a length of paper, various drawings taking shape. When Ocean looked closer at the image, he saw drawings that resembled the way the town looked today.

“The city council held a meeting, right there in that room, about whether or not to rebuild,” Sunshine explained, drawing their attention to one of the other photos in the display. “The decision was unanimous. There’s a collection of articles in the archives detailing the things they discussed that day. The man who took the photos, Stanley Wheatgrass, worked for the local paper. Their building was demolished, but they never stopped working to get the news out. It was because of them that donations started pouring in from across the country, and not just monetary ones either. Trucks of lumber and supplies started arriving, and many of the folks who brought them stayed to help with rebuilding. This was long before the creation of a federal disaster relief program.”

There were so many photos to look at, fascinating images of them breaking a champagne bottle against the cornerstone of a newly rebuilt structure or cutting a huge red ribbon stretched out in front of a door. In another, teenagers were dancing in what looked like a high school gym; only one thing stood out that made him lean closer.

“Why isn’t anyone wearing shoes?” Ocean asked.

“To keep from damaging the wood floor,” Sunshine explained. “People started calling them sock hops. See, right here, at the edge of the picture, you can see everyone’s shoes lined up against the wall.”

“Poodles must have been super popular,” Roan said. “Half the girls have them on their skirts.”

“They were called Poodle Skirts,” Sunshine explained patiently, without snickering at the question or making Roan feel bad about asking it. “We have a collection of patterns, from back when people used to make their own clothes. If you look closer at the picture, you’ll see that none of them are wearing the same one.”

“This place is seriously cool,” Roan said. “Feels like I’ve learned more history in fifteen minutes than I ever did in school.”

“Could be you had the wrong teachers,” Sunshine said. “Which is sad, because history is where everything begins.”

“Would it be okay if I came here sometimes to learn more?” Roan asked.

A brilliant smile illuminated her face. “You are welcome to drop in anytime you’d like and ask as many questions as you want to. It’s why we’re here. To make sure people don’t forget what it took to get us to where we are today.”

“Thanks.”