When you are 16 years old with a drivers license, but no car, life can be tedious. At least, it seemed that way to me. My parents would let me use their 1954 Chevrolet sparingly. They weren’t too enthused about me using their car for dating for some reason, so most of my early “dates” were limited to going out to Howard Johnson’s for ice cream on Sunday nights after church with one of the parents driving.

One of the girls in my Sunday School class was Sharon Bourne, whose father’s farm was what is now the Royal Palm Housing Development at the corner of the Hillsboro River, Federal Highway and the Intra-
coastal Waterway in north Boca Raton. After our ice cream, we would often drive around their farm with the lights on in her father’s truck, looking for rabbits to shoot with my “pumped air” pellet gun. We never killed one that I remember, but we had lots of fun trying.

We also sometimes played a game at their house after church called “three minutes of heaven.” Boys’ and girls’ names were put on different colored paper cards and put in a bowl. The girl drew a card, and if she agreed to ... went into the closet with the boy whose name she drew for three minutes. She didn’t have to, and nothing beyond a little hugging and some kissing (primarily on the cheek) was expected. It was mostly just whispering in the closet with occasional giggling and guttural sounds, which in our innocence we thought was funny.

My Sunday School Bible teacher was Mr. Joel Horne. His parents had moved to Deerfield in 1903 (see Historical Article No. 46). He was a very sincere teacher and encouraged us to pray for other people and for ourselves last. I remember asking him one time if he thought it would be alright if I prayed to God to somehow have my own car. He looked at me seriously and then replied tenderly, “As long as you’re not going to use your church tithing money to buy it.” I agreed and started praying real hard. 

A few weeks later he asked me, “Are you still praying for a car?” I, of course, answered in the affirmative. He smiled real big and said “I’ve already talked to your Mom and Dad, and they say it would be alright with them if you would like to buy my car. It’s a 1949 Ford and needs a paint job and some new tires, but I’d be willing to sell it to you for $100!” I didn’t hesitate because I knew I had the hundred dollars in my bedroom drawer. Dad spoke up then and said, “If you don’t have enough for new tires, I’ll throw those in for you!”  I gave Joel a big hug, Dad a big hug and Mom a kiss on her cheek – as it was obvious they had all conspired to make this happen. Life was good.

David Eller, Publisher