SHE STILL WEARS THE PANTS
LLOYD AND WYLA HEADLEY, 1939.
Anything You Can Do —IRVING BERLIN, 1946
Lloyd Headley knows a good thing when he sees it. More than 70 years ago, at a Sunday school picnic, he glimpsed a pretty girl. While there were several attractive girls at the picnic that day, one stood out from the rest because of what she wore—white pants. “I saw her across the crick,” he said. “In those days a girl wearing slacks was something!” Though only a freshman in high school, Lloyd made up his mind—Wyla was the one for him. “I knew she had everything I wanted.” He grinned and added. “And I knew she’d wear the pants in the family.”
He finagled his way into giving her a ride home from the picnic. And he eventually finagled his way into her heart. As winter sunlight seeped through the windows of their home, Wyla said after that picnic, “He never went with anybody else.”
“See how I’ve suffered?” Lloyd retorted, shaking his head in mock despair. But he just didn’t see any point in dating other girls when he already knew exactly who he wanted. A shared sense of humor is just one of the things that has made this couple’s marriage enduring. Wyla chuckled. “Yes, we’ve been married 70 years and we’re still speaking—occasionally.”
But the road to true love wasn’t without a bump or two. “He wanted to get serious right away,” she said. “But I was having fun. We never really went steady.” Lloyd disagreed. He cleared his throat and explained, “I went steady—she didn’t. She was dating everyone who asked!”
They saw each other on and off for five years. Wyla admitted Lloyd had grown on her, and the last two years before they married, she said, “We dated pretty steady.” This was because Lloyd understood the value of persistence, and he also knew how to make a memorable impression. He drove by Wyla’s house on the way to school each day, and one day he saw her brother waiting for the school bus and decided to stop and give him a ride. He slammed on the brakes and the car skidded on the loose gravel. “I flipped my dad’s car,” he recalled. “Right in front of her house.” As the car settled on its side, the first face he saw through the window was Wyla’s mother’s. “I said, ‘Oh no! They’ll never let me go out with Wyla again.’” Fortunately, they allowed him to continue to see her, but from then on, Wyla’s brother refused to ride with him.
After relentlessly pursuing his prize, on December 30, 1939, Lloyd and Wyla married. Or as Wyla said, “We came to a mutual agreement.”
“I finally wore her down,” said Lloyd. They chose that date because they both had a three-day holiday from work. Lloyd, 24, worked at Inland Chevrolet, and Wyla, 21, became a beautician. They bought a little house and in 1940, Wyla gave birth to a daughter. Their cozy domestic bliss was interrupted by the advent of World War II.
Wanting to do his part, Lloyd enlisted in the Air Force in 1942, hoping to become a pilot. However, he said, “I washed out of pilot school and ended up being an airplane mechanic. I worked on B-17’s and later B-26s.” At the ripe old age of 27, he didn’t have a lot in common with many of the guys. “They called me Dad,” he said. “Everybody else was 17, 18 and 19!”
LLOYD HEADLEY, 1942.
His initial disappointment about not being able to fly waned when he discovered his assignments were all stateside, allowing Wyla and their daughter to join him. Even so, he wasn’t disappointed when his enlistment ended. “I served three years and three months and couldn’t get out soon enough,” he said. In 1945, they made it home in time for Christmas.
Their family grew with the addition of two sons, and busy years followed. Like most couples they had their share of disagreements, and one in particular stands out. The issue that sparked the argument?
Plants.
According to Lloyd, his wife’s green thumb had gotten out of control. “I love plants,” Wyla admitted. One day he teased her once too often about the plants hanging in the kitchen, and his ribbing didn’t go over well. Chuckling, he recalled, “She grabbed plants and started throwing them out in the yard. She threw them everywhere!” Later, she went out and salvaged what she could. Perhaps that’s one reason Lloyd said the secret to a happy marriage is to “never hold a grudge. If you get mad, get over it as soon as possible.”
While they may not share a love of plants, the couple found mutual pleasure in the lake cabin they purchased in 1965. The cabin became a focal point for fun and memories. Scrapbooks and albums filled with pictures document summer barbecues and family gatherings. “We have a big grill down on the beach and fixed the most delicious pancakes,” Lloyd said. Each year the couple hosted an open house on the Fourth of July, taking pleasure in watching new generations create their own memories. “We thoroughly enjoyed it as parents,” Wyla said. “Our kids enjoyed it when they came along and now our grandkids and great-grandkids are enjoying it.”
In addition to time at the lake, the couple loves dancing, playing cards and bowling. “I didn’t start bowling until I was 85,” Lloyd said. Due to macular degeneration, Wyla is legally blind, so she has to trust her husband’s direction when it’s time to pick up a spare. “If I don’t do well, it’s all Lloyd’s fault,” she said. According to Lloyd, she needn’t worry. “I’ve been blessed with good eyes and good reflexes,” he said. But he does wish she wouldn’t beat him so often.
Lloyd’s dogged pursuit of the girl he first saw at a long-ago picnic has paid off in a lifetime of happiness. “It’s been wonderful,” Wyla said. “I would do it over again.”
LOVE LESSON
“Sometimes I wanted to kill him, but never divorce him.”—Wyla Headley
LLOYD AND WYLA HEADLEY, 2010. Photo courtesy Ralph Bartholdt
Wyla Headley died June 18, 2011
Lloyd Headley died November 5, 2011