Well-Spent Youth

by Frederick Rowell

When I was a teenager, America’s Junior Miss pageant was a big deal for our city. High school contestants from every state descended upon Mobile after being selected in local competitions. Once contestants arrived in Mobile, they participated in a full week of activities by day and competed in various talent competitions by night. Daily events were widely publicized in newspapers, news reports, and radio. Everyone was tuned in. The final event was televised nationally in prime time and shined a bright light on our area.  

The event is sponsored by the Mobile Junior Chamber of Commerce, and In 2011, the name was changed to Distinguished Young Women with a focus on scholarship. One tradition that has not changed was a visit to Bellingrath Gardens and Home during the week’s competition. Bellingrath Gardens is a beautiful home renowned for its spectacular gardens. It sits on property fronting Fowl River, with a dock and gazebo on the river. It is open to the public and worth going to almost any time of year.

My family has had a compound upriver from the Bellingrath home for as long as I can remember. Once, when I was 15, the Junior Miss ladies were having their afternoon at Bellingrath Gardens. My buddy and I decided it would be a good idea to water ski by as they congregated on the dock. We made sure to pass by the Gardens several times by boat that afternoon. 

The Fowl River uniform at the time was cut-off blue jeans, no shirt, no shoes, and unkempt hair. I pulled my friend starting from my dock and headed downriver.  The Bellingrath Gardens dock was full of young contestants as we passed. My friend hammed it up on the ski and received applause from the young ladies.  We turned back upriver and, passing the dock again, we received shouts to come ashore.  

I must admit, my friend garnered most of the attention from the contestants.  The girls encouraged us to join them on the dock, so we beached the boat and followed their instructions.   The local aspect of us, only wearing cutoffs and barefoot, must have been very appealing to the not-so-southern girls.  It was like we were the local urchins to be studied.  Everyone else was dressed casually and we were causing a stir.  Pictures were taken and more girls kept requesting pictures, so we pushed up to the patio beside the main home.  

I was behind my friends, towards the rear of the group when I felt a tap on my shoulder.  I turned around and looked up to see a 6’ 4” tall, very beefy security guard glaring down at me.  He growled in a thick southern drawl, ”I think it’s time for you boys to leave.”  Stunned, I tapped my friend on his shoulder and when he glanced back at me, I hissed, “I think it’s time for us to be going,” pointing back and up to the guard.  He immediately concurred and we beat a hasty retreat.

Still, it was a red-letter day!

‍