Bobcat Treasure: Jade ... Candles ... and Auld Lang Syne ....

Carved Lavender and Green Jadeite Lidded Vase with Flowers and Birds

Jade ("yu" in Chinese) refers to a fine, lustrous stone, produced over eons by the natural force of rivers running through and over mountains. It exists in a variety of warm, rich colors, and is usually skillfully carved by masters to enhance its luster and increase its beauty and value. For more than 6000 years it has been considered among the most valuable of all precious stones, and is revered as sacred throughout Chinese society. It is also prized by other diverse cultures, including but not limited to Mesoamerican (Maya, Inca, Aztec), Korean, Burmese (Khmer), Brazilian, Canadian, Japanese, Indian and Scandinavian. It is extraordinarily tough and generally impervious to breakage, disintegration or decay.

The ancient Chinese believed jade embodied the qualities of nobility, perfection, constancy and immortality, and represented a symbolic link between man and the spiritual world ... the essence of heaven and earth, and a tangible manifestation of the Chinese belief in eternal life after death.

Thus it seems that jade is a perfect symbol of our enduring link with former classmates and others no longer of this world who touched us or affected our lives in our youth ... an appropriate touchstone as we remember and honor their lives here on the blog. And so I give you jade ....

Julia Ann Stamps Cole - Engaged, Senior play. Julia married Wayne Cole. She was a homemaker and had two children. She was 42 when she died of a heart attack. (Information obtained from Julia's mother, Katherine Stamps.)

Billy Sarrels - DE student. Billy lived in Amarillo, where he worked for Baldwin Trucking Company. He was married with two sons, and now has two grandsons. He died of a heart attack at age 44. (Information obtained from Billy's mother, Mrs. Dalton Sarrels.) Billy and I attended the same Sunday School and church for years. I last saw him in Denver, Colorado in the late 1960s when he recognized me on the street and we had a brief "catch-up" conversation. (For other "Close Encounters of the Bobcat Kind ...", see post dated September 13, 2007.)

Tommy Catherall - Sense of humor, good bookkeeper. Died January 9, 2006. Tommy lived in Wichita Falls for many years. I am awaiting more information from Raenell and will update when it is received.

Paula Leach Schubarth - Only solitaire in CHS, gymnastics team. September 1, 1945 - May 2002, age 57. Paula had three children and numerous grandchildren. She was raising her granddaughter Riley at the time of her death. I last saw Paula the weekend before she died, and many times over the months following diagnosis of the cancer which took her life. (For other memories of Paula see the blog post and comments under Joyeaux Anniversaire, Cher Paula, September 2, 2007 and Judy Smith Johnson's comment under The Spirit of the Season, December 6, 2007.)

Frances Martin Wadley - Broken leg, DE. September 2, 1944 - April 6, 2007, age 62. Frances (sometimes "Franny") worked at the old Childress Hospital during high school, and later at Childress Regional Medical Center for 23 years. She was living in Amarillo and working at Baptist St. Anthony's Hospital until her final illness. She had one son, one daughter and four grandchildren. (Information obtained from Johnson Funeral Home website.) I remember Frances at our Junior-Senior Banquet (Senior year) in her beautiful dress, cast and wheelchair.

James Roy Austin - President of Junior Hereford Breeders Association. February 8, 1945 - May 5, 2007, age 62, of cancer. James Roy remained in Childress after graduation. His obituary noted he was "a cowboy who farmed and was appreciated for his laid-back disposition and dry sense of humor." (Information obtained from Johnson Funeral Home website.) To our knowledge, James Roy never married and had no children. James Roy and his sister Mary Ann and I sometimes played together as children ... always cowboys and Indians, and JR was always the cowboy, so Mary Ann and I bit the dust a lot.

Johnny McConnell - Golf team and blue ford. December 31, 1944 - October 1, 2007, age 63, of cancer. Johnny lived in Spring, Texas and worked in the Houston area for many years. He was married to Jackie (whom he met at Texas Tech) for 40 years, and had two sons and two grandsons. Johnny was actually the first boy outside my family who ever kissed me, chastely on the cheek, as a result of playing "Spin the Bottle" at a wiener roast for the gang held at his house when we were in fifth grade. (See the blog post and comments under John(ny) R. McConnell, October 2, 2007.)

Although they did not graduate with us, we also want to remember former classmates who were in our class for a while, of whose deaths we have been informed.

Dewayne Barber - Worked for the railroad and was a federal Inspector when he died May 11, 2000 in Weatherford, Texas. (Information obtained from Roland Bruce, CHS Class of 1962.)

Evelyn Trent Griffin - Married to "Dub" Griffin, five children. Evelyn worked for a time at Childress Hospital. (Information from JoAnn Neel Lathram. I have attempted to contact those members of Evelyn's family who still reside in Childress, thus far without success.) I remember starting first grade with Evelyn at the Kirkland School, where Lorena Hollomon taught us that year. (Many of us also remember the wonderful Mrs. Hollomon when she taught third grade at Childress Elementary School.) Later, Evelyn's mother Thelma sponsored our Camp Fire Girls troop one year, for which I am sure she deserved a medal, if not sainthood.

Clifton Stewart - Died November 21, 1966. Raenell has told me that she has seen a headstone for Clifton at Childress Cemetery, and it appears there is a military insignia on it, but there is no indication as to whether his death was service-related, and I did not find his name among those listed on the Vietnam War Memorial Wall.

Roy Wilks and Troy Wilks - The Wilks brothers were with us at least until Junior year at CHS. Roy died in Canada many years ago, and Troy in August 2000 in Fort Worth. Troy had two children. (Information from their father, Milton Wilks.)

There are educators we remember as well who no longer stand at the head of their longtime classrooms or walk the halls looking for mischief (sometimes I think our class generated more than its share). Unfortunately, I have less information about them than I do about classmates, and we certainly don't want to "bury" anyone who is still alive and kicking. Nevertheless, we do want to acknowledge Lorena Hollomon, Julia Pryor, Charlotte Sally and Ethyl Biggerstaff, all teachers at Childress Elementary School (3rd, 4th, 5th and 6th grades, respectively); Garland Terrell, junior high school coach and Principal at CHS beginning the year we started as Freshmen; A.B. Shaw, math and algebra teacher, who saved me more than once in his algebra class; Nellie Agnes Kennedy, Senior English and speech, many of whose poetry assignments I remember to this day; Frances Long and Agnes Hughes, home economics teachers; Clarence Darter, social studies and my put-upon but ultimately effective driver's ed teacher (see blog posts "Well Durn ... I'm Thankful..., November 17, 2007 and "The Zen of Studebaker Maintenance and the Tao of Tuffy Maddox...", August 30, 2007); Z.J. Harmon, distributive education; Charlene Reeves and LeRoy Reeves, English, and history and physical education, respectively; Mary Jane Heath, mathematics; Mary Maude Denny, typing; and Martha Wallin, commercial studies and The Bobcat annual staff sponsor. And this year we found an obituary notice for one of our well-remembered junior high school teachers:

Brownie Mitchell Kimbrough, Ph.D. - 92, of Siloam Springs, Arkansas, died Friday, May 4, 2007. Dr. Kimbrough was born in Childress on February 25, 1915 to William Brown and Annie May Handley Mitchell. Married Wade Kimbrough June 6, 1942.

Nicki and I have tried diligently to obtain as much information as we can for this post, but the passage of time has left many gaps and we would be most appreciative if any of you can supply more information in the form of comments to the blog or e-mails to us. If we have missed anyone who should be remembered here, we sincerely apologize. We will update this post as necessary. And we would likewise appreciate comments and memories ... and stories ... about these classmates or educators from you.

Give light and the darkness will disappear of itself. - Erasmus

The lighting of a candle to commemorate the death of a loved one or a friend is cross-cultural. It is seen as a sacred ritual in diverse religions and is incorporated in secular traditions as well. It can ease the path for healing and may represent hope for the future. It is also a potent symbol of the human spirit. The ritual of lighting a candle and watching the flickering flame may be soothing and bring peaceful reverie and contemplation. Rabbi Yehuda Halevi (in his book Kuzari) explains that when a Jew sways back and forth in prayer (daven), the constant swaying motion is a reflection of the candle of his soul, which has been kindled and burns independently. In Eastern Orthodox church rituals, a candle symbolizes the individual soul which each person holds in his own hand. The extinguishing (or giving up) of the candle at the end of the service reminds that each person will have to surrender his soul to eternity at the end of his life.

In The Hundred Secret Senses, her bittersweet novel of the meaning of loyalty, sisterhood, fate, friendship, the supernatural and extraordinary love, Amy Tan wrote: "If people we love die, then they are lost only to our ordinary senses. If we remember, we can find them anytime with our hundred secret senses ... memory, seeing, hearing, feeling, all come together...." The book's protagonist, Olivia, learns "the world is not a place but the vastness of the soul. And the soul is nothing more than love, limitless, endless, all that moves us toward knowing what is true." The ability to use our secret senses to "connect" with those who have gone before us allows us to realize the infinite quality of time.

As 2007 ends and we begin what Nicki and I hope will be a bright and wonderful 2008, many of us will hear once again the haunting music and words of "Auld Lang Syne" (generally credited to Robert Burns, but having roots in older poems and folk songs):

Should auld acquaintance be forgot

and never brought to mind?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot

and auld lang syne?

"Auld" means "old" and "auld lang syne" translates literally from Scots as "old long since" ... or idiomatically as "long long ago", or "days gone by". Our answer to the questions posed in the song is an emphatic "No" ... we should not forget who we once were, where we came from, and those who touched our lives so long ago, even as we move inexorably from past through present into future. So, we hope you will take a bit of time to reflect, and to light a literal or figurative candle for remembrance and "connection" ... and that you all will have a VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR.

)O(

Joe Don Hopkins: Confessions From the Locker Room ....

I remember growing up and wanting to be a Bobcat from the time I knew what one was. I also knew that as part of that tradition, I would drink beer and raise as much hell as posible, when the time was right. I did learn a valuable lesson my Junior year, which was the only time I remember breaking training and drinking the night before the game. As I recall, I could not find my you know what with both hands. We were playing Vernon and every time they lined up with the wingback on my side, I was getting knocked down at least two times each play (rather than the one time I was usually knocked down while playing defense). It got so bad that when they lined up in that formation, Coach Warren would yell for me and Michie King to switch sides. Fortunately we won the game and I vowed never again!

We had many heroes that we admired ahead of us, including Hugh Gayle Frith, Jimmy Holeman, Moose Meek, John Danner, Jerry Norman and my brother Teddy (Roy), to name only a very few. Teammates we admired were Michie King, Norman Naron, Keith Fanning, Jimmy Joe Clifton and John Bragg, all one year ahead of us, and again only to name a few. Classmates that played from Junior High through High School were Wayne Havens, Doug Greer, Charles Mitchell, Bob Huff, Harold Simmons, Ron Kindle, Barry Wakefield, Jack Petty and John Wilson. I am doing this sans 1963 year book so if I overlooked someone, blame it on my crs syndrome!

We went through several coaches, changing head coaches after our freshman year in football and basketball. We endured one year of being locked up in Wilson school for two-a-days as freshmen. I think I have that right. It was like being in jail as I recall and made you question just how badly you wanted to be a football player.

We did not live up to our potential as seniors and our best year was our Junior year when we went 8-1-1. Most of the credit for that record goes to Charles Mitchell, Norman Naron, John Bragg, Michie King, Glen Beal, Ray Hamilton,Wayne Havens, John Wilson, Jack Petty, Jimmy Hamm and Bob Huff, in my opinion. Don't mean to slight anyone but please remember I am playing with half a deck at best!

Our Senior year we were rated 2nd in the state, based on our previous record and number of returning starters. We sucked like a giant ant eater, went 6-4, losing to 3 teams we should have beaten. We weren't in very good shape and I remember the second game was at home against Hamlin. Each time we had a time out and the team managers brought out water, we kept moving closer to the sideline in order to make sure we got water. The regular procedure was to wait on one knee and the manager would bring the water to you. This night they were being met shortly after they cleared the sideline. Normally when you are in shape, you take a swig, swallow, take another swig and spit it out and your are good to go. This night players were chug-a-lugging entire bottles of water and I think a few fights may have broken out. Not a good example or role model for the Bobcats to be.

Charles Mitchell sweeps end against Quanah


We did have some great players younger than us who did a great job, including Bobby Meason, Mike Reeves, Phil Self, Ricky Hamm, Johnny Hall, Ted Poling and Jimmy Don Wilson to name a few. A disappointing season for sure, because we did not play to our potential. I used to wish we had made the playoffs until I realized that it would have delayed the start of basketball season, which is another story. Some of us celebrated the end of football by partying at one of the old motels on 287 after the final game of the season. The only problem was that basketball started at 9:00 am on Saturday. Not a fun time!

The Unexpected: The Miracle of the Blog

IF A FAT GUY GRABS YOU AND PUTS YOU IN A BAG, DON'T WORRY, I TOLD SANTA I WANTED A GOOD FRIEND FOR CHRISTMAS!

Sometimes at Christmas it takes only the smallest gesture to touch our hearts in very unexpected ways, a special Christmas card, a gift of cookies, or a phone call. In this case the unexpected came in the form of an email with a funny message of friendship from a treasured classmate and his wife in the class of 1963. Jennifer and I, both feel very blessed to have received this affirmation that old friendships are being rekindled perhaps with a little help from our blog. Jennifer calls it "The Miracle of the Blog" and I agree. I am sharing this message with all of you. I hope you, too, will find your hearts touched in simple and unexpected ways throughout the coming year. A very heartfelt thank you to Harold and Donna.

Yahn Smith: Razor Shards of Rat Puke ... Ho, Ho, Ho ....

Yahn Smith, Bossier High School 1964

As I read through the blog, I am constantly struck by the depth of friendship all of you share. As a "City Boy" I really liked the fact that my father moved around the country with the Civil Service. I was born in 1946 in Greenville, Texas but we moved every few years to another assignment. In 1951, when I was five, we moved to Galveston, where I went to elementary and junior high school. I grew up there on the beach. That was cool. The two friends that I was closest to in Galveston are now both dead.

We moved in 1960 to Bossier City, Louisiana when my father was attached to Barksdale Air Force Base. Bossier High School was primarily an Air Force school. We were not only segregated by race then, but by our father's rank as well. My father's civil service rank consigned me to the group of officers' kids, and officers' kids just didn't run around with NCO or enlisted men's kids. Families were transferring in and out all the time. I had a group that I hung out with in our subdivision, and I often crossed the "invisible line" and had friends in both groups. These kids were a pretty worldly bunch of teenagers, used to being uprooted with little notice and sent off to Japan or Germany or any other base where their father's services were needed. I think to some degree we all knew that it wasn't a real good idea to get too close to each other. None of us were ever as close as I think you guys were and are.

When I read about you guys knowing each other from pre-school and earlier, it's a bond that goes beyond simple friendship. You were part of a community, your parents knew each other, you all had certain shared experiences, and now even those of you who did not know each other very well way back then have a common bond. I cannot help but be a little envious.

In 1974, Jennifer and I were living in Dallas and we drove over to Bossier City to attend my ten year high school reunion. Even though Jennifer and I are the same age, I didn't get to skip grades as Jennifer did. I graduated in 1964. It was interesting to see some of the people. Mostly I went to see if any of the bad things I had wished on some of the "A Group" had come true. High school had not been one of the better experiences in my life, and many of my wishes actually had come true. The star football player, BMOC, was already a fat, balding used car salesman. The snobby cheerleader/homecoming queen had married badly, seemed to drink quite a lot, and was aging rapidly. Almost none of the people I had run around with were there. I've never tried to get in contact with any of them since. I guess I was sort of a loner and I knew that all any of us really had in common was a short lived physical proximity to each other.

That I was an artist (see above picture) also seemed to set me apart from a lot of people. I was unhappy and, within certain limits, rebellious in high school, so I was never going to be voted "Most Popular" or "Best Team Spirit". If you've ever seen the Kathleen Turner movie Peggy Sue Got Married, I was the teenage biker poet writing truly awful poetry: "Razor shards of rat puke raining down ...", etc. By 16, I thought that I was a "serious" beatnik. I went to Fellini films and stage productions of Shakespeare and Shaw over at Centenary College. Some of my friends and I staged spontaneous "Happenings" that maybe ten people would show up for. I ached to dress all in black (black turtleneck and black jeans, like "real" beatniks on TV and in the movies ... see picture below ... with goatee ... under "Season's Greetings from Glitter City") ... except my parents would never have permitted me to dress like that. Imagine a time when teenagers actually answered to their parents' wishes!

Oh, but I so wanted to be "cool". If we'd only had a coffee house in Bossier City for bad poetry readings and bongo rhythms. Not that I was "affected" or anything like that. I remember that I tore a picture of Lawrence Olivier as Hamlet out of TV Guide and took it to my barber. I wanted my hair cut just like his. I was already blond ... just short, little bangs, nothing over the ears or collar or, you know "weird" like that. I was 16 or 17 and he told me I would need a written note from my parents before he would cut anything as extreme as that. Remember, this was still pre-Beatles.

Your group's recollections seem so "American Graffiti" to me. Even though I was "the bad boy" that nice girls were forbidden to invite to their parties (they had to sneak me in the back door or hide me in a closet), we probably didn't get into any worse trouble than you guys did. A little beer, a little kissy-face, cruising around the Kokomo Drive-In (read your Dairy Mart) and up and down the Bossier City Strip which was lined with a pretty mean group of neon-covered nightclubs for the servicemen from Barksdale. We listened to KOMA out of OK City just like you guys, but somehow the atmosphere was very different. There was a security to Childress that was absent in my world. Jennifer had some less than wonderful memories of Childress ... I guess everyone had a lot to deal with growing up ... but she has come to appreciate growing up where she did. The Good,The Bad, and The Ugly ( I think there is a movie in there somewhere) ... it is still one of the things all of you should probably be grateful for, even if it wasn't always sunshine and roses.

Happy Holidays (again) to all ....

Good Tidings ... Great Joy ....

Today we heard from Mike Spradley, who has been absent from the blog recently for health reasons, but who is doing better now. So, in the season's spirit of sharing, and with Mike's permission, we are delighted to post his e-mails for all his friends who care for him and love his stories ....


Hey there Jenn ... tomorrow I go in for my last treatment ...... it always knocks me out for two weeks ... so just give me a couple of weeks and I will contribute to the blog again.... But I will be fine again soon enough ... we got it under control ....

Good news is that during hallucinations which accompany the chemo .....I often come up with good stories........I will tell a quickie before I have to go get poisoned tomorrow...... Warm holiday wishes to all ...............

Struck Dumb by Lightning Bolts from Space

I think I have mentioned that.........because I sadly left Childress in 1960 at 14 years old......I always tell people that my childhood still lives in Childress. I mean......I have nothing but wonderful wonderful memories of Childress...... It was truly a Huckleberry Finn upraising.....

In my oil exploration industry.........I have worked....traveled.....visited about 40 or 50 countries......and I have gained a worldwide reputation for being a joke teller and story teller. I want you to know......that I have never exaggerated a story in my entire life!!!! Many of the stories are about my childhood in Childress.

I also want to say, before I start this story........that I have been blessed to be married to my high school sweetheart for 45 years...... She's the only gal for me.

Anyway, the story..........

As I mentioned to Jennifer once, I was scared witless when it came to girls. Big-time shy.......turned legless whenever one of the Childress gals came anywhere near me.

In the 7th grade, I once got dressed up in a tie for a church event and off I go. Once I got to the church, the vivacious June Prince came up to me and told me that I was "debonair". I assumed that was a French word for "ugly as a toad"......so I was devastated....destroyed.....crushed....shot through the head... tortured..... I left the church and went home....upset........ My Mom asked me why I was home so early...... I told her that June Prince had called me some weird French word and I was outta there..... I was leaving town forever....... Once my Mom told me what the word meant, I walked around with my jaw about half cocked for two days. But my new found arrogance was temporary.

At one time or another, I was secretly in love with every girl in Childress. Don Seal's big sister, Paula, was 4 years older than us. I used to calculate over and over.......lemme see......when I am 14....Paula is 18..... when I am 18......Paula will be 22........ Great!!! That's when we can be married.........all I have to do is screw up the courage to tell her...... I can get a job picking rags to support us....... I was studying hypnosis at the time and for her graduation I bought her this little trinket on a necklace........ I practiced hypnotizing her with the bauble to make her think I was a 14 year old Elvis........but that did not work either....alas..... She went off to college and married some Neanderthal from Phillips....... 'Twas one of my many heartbreaks.......

Anyway, that is not the story.........

In 1958.......we are in the 8th grade....... I am standing in front of the Old Fashion Freeze......just ordered a rainbow snowcone that can't be beat......and I am looking at the street jist a'slurpin' it down......

Coming from North to South......at that corner.......at the stop sign......is a brown '58 Ford...... It's being driven by Bettye Shahan......she is driving her Mother and Grandmother around......

She accelerates........and drives right past me.....looks up......sees me..... She takes her right hand off the steering wheel.......and OHMIGAWD!!!........ She waved that hand in a circular motion at me.....!!!!!

Immediately!!!!!.......who is Paula Seal?.......I am in LOVE!!!!!

She had driven two blocks before I got my jaw back in place.....my right hand was frozen in the open position where my rainbow snowcone had slipped thru and fallen to the pavement to be slurped up by my dog Max. I worked my way back up to the bench where some illegal immigrants helped me sit down to gain my breath........they flapped towels in my face to get my body temperature down......

After several minutes......I regained some composure......and got onto my bike to ride home. I ran off into several ditches.......my dog kept me from riding out in front of the trucks on the highway.....and somehow.... I made it home.......

My brother had to flagellate my body with thorned bushes to get me to return to Earth.

So to Bettye I say......"One never knows upon what shorelines your ripples fall."

Season's Greetings from Glitter City ....

... to all of you from all of us (including Calamity, Gaius Maximus, Antonio and Noah), with this contribution from Guinevere the Druid Goddess (and with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore) ....

'Twas the night before Solstice, and through Caesar's Palace

Strange creatures were stirring, some laughing, some callous.

The casino glistened and hummed with the prayer

That fair Lady Luck would soon visit some there.

The children were scattered, the pets home abed,

While visions of jackpots danced in our heads.

And Yahn with his Scotch, and me with champagne

Were just settling in to enjoy a game

When from the roulette wheel arose such a clatter

We sprang from our seats to see what was the matter.

We flew to the wheel, we moved in a flash ...

Saw Bubba from Texas walk off with his cash.

The lights and the tinsel put on quite a show

And gave bright luster to rooms all aglow.

Then what to our wondering eyes should appear

But Caesar, and Cleo and tribunes ... so near!

A little old lady, so lively and charming

Was stuffing her bills in slots so disarming.

More rapid than eagles the slot reels all turned,

Just chiming and flashing while money was burned.

"Now Double, Now Triple" ... her play quite excessive ...

"Now Ten Times the jackpot ... Now hit the Progressive!"

First stroke the machine, now slap it and hit it ...

Now quit with the winnings and cash in the ticket.

Dancing as fireflies on warm summer nights

The players cavorted, and reached for new heights.

From table to table, to slot and to wheel ...

Some winning, some losing ...the scene so unreal.

And then in a twinkling I heard in the din

"Omigod, Megabucks!!! Oh, man, did I win???"

As I craned my head and was turning around

Down the aisle the floor super came with a bound.

Dressed in his tux, from his neck to his shoe,

Color-coordinated, three shades of blue.

A bundle of money arrayed in his hand,

Form 1099 ... the crowd started to stand.

His eyes how they twinkled ... the gleam of his teeth!

With goatee and mustache, suggesting a wreath!

His tight little mouth was pursed in a bow

Framed in his whiskers, white as new snow.

Red-faced with glasses and wide eyes to boot.

He looked like an owl getting ready to hoot.

Professionally jolly, a surrogate elf ...

I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.

Cocking his eyebrow he checked the machine ...

A tight little laugh, between funny and mean.

With a roll of his eyes and a clearing of throat,

He turned to the player and straightened his coat.

"Sir, don't you know that when playing the slots

Only "Maximum Bet" wins "Progressive" jackpots?"

He paid out some hundreds, then left with the money ....

It could have been millions ... so NOT even funny ....

But I heard him exclaim, as he flew up the aisle

"Amateurs! Amateurs!" Then he started to smile ....

)O(

The Spirit of the Season

Tis the season to have some fun! We want to give everyone an opportunity to wish classmates and friends season's greetings. Please send me a recent Christmas picture or recent photo of you and/or your family along with a short greeting of your choice. If you don't have a digital picture, I will be happy to scan it. It is my intent to create a slide show on our blog of these pictures. These photos can be sent to my email nickiw@suddenlink.net You can also email me for my home address.

In the spirit of having fun, please allow Jim and me along with our two grandsons to inspire you and get you in the holiday mood. Click on the link below

http://www.elfyourself.com/?id=1148979196
This elfin' greeting brought to you by OfficeMax®.

And Then, Scheherazade TOTALLY Lost Her Head ....

A Tale of 1001 Nights, by Boulanger

Once upon a time there was a Persian king, Shahryar, whose first wife was unfaithful to him. So, in a classic case of overreaction, and to ensure he would never again be cuckolded, Shahryar became a practitioner of serial matrimony (no illicit relationships for him when murder was an option!), ordering each new bride beheaded on the morning following their wedding night ... thus also avoiding the messiness of PMS, Peter Pan syndrome, divorce, alimony and child support ... but I digress.

After dispatching 3000 or so wives (and probably running out of virginal candidates), Shahryar wed the beautiful and intelligent proto-feminist Scheherazade. And Scheherazade, who had enhanced her education by extensively studying history and folklore, proved a seductive spinner of fantastic and wonderful (yet ethically- and morally-instructive) tales such as Aladdin and his magic lamp, Sinbad and Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves (whose connection to Shahryar's government is as yet undocumented but still under investigation). It is written that Scheherazade thereby changed her fate, utterly enchanting Shahryar with stories, and stories within stories, woven into a tapestry over 1001 nights, ultimately saving herself and others who would have followed her, from the previously implacable vengeance of Shahryar.

It is generally believed that after such captivating nights of spell-binding tales, Shahryar saw the error of his ways, settled down with Scheherazade and lived happily ever after. Unfortunately, recent research (and extrapolation) indicates to the discerning mind two other possible scenarios: (1) that on the morning after the 1001st night, Shahryar neglected to mention to his sycophants whether or not he had enjoyed the latest tale, or to engage in any discussion thereof, so said sycophants assumed that Scheherazade had failed to entertain the king and dragged her off to her long-delayed appointment with the scimitar; or (2) that Scheherazade, driven to despair after striving mightily to engage the king, but failing to elicit any reciprocal response(s), ran off with the more simpatico sycophant-in-chief and became a Hollywood screenwriter, currently walking picket lines in Los Angeles.

But enough speculation about matters of limited interest ... back to the blog! By now, we all should have roused from our Thanksgiving stupor in eager anticipation of the year-end festivities to come: Chanukah, Christmas, Kwanzaa, the Winter Solstice marking the "rebirth" of the sun, the dawning of a new year (Western or Asian, or both), Boxing Day ... whatever wraps your particular package ....




Winter Solstice

Chestnuts roasting, Jack Frost nipping, Yule logs burning, halls decked, eggs a-nogging, lords a-leaping ... arguably, we have arrived at the best time of year for remembrance and reconnection, for family and friends to gather close once more, for sharing memories and stories and personal thoughts and perspectives ....

Nicki and I hope that in the spirit of the season you will join us here ... that those of you who have already "spoken" will continue to do so, and those who haven't yet will add your own unique voices. Inquiring minds want to know: What do you enjoy most about this season? What are your plans for the holidays? Describe your favorite holiday tradition(s). Tell us about some special gift(s) you have given or received. We really are interested and want to hear from you.

And speaking of unique voices, Guinevere the Druid Goddess is gleefully anticipating the Winter Solstice and scurrying madly hither and yon, gathering wood for a bit of nude dancing around the celebratory bonfire. Perhaps not as thrilling a sight as it might have been once upon a time ... but we won't tell her that ....

)O(

Well, Durn ... I'm Thankful ...

Taken from our small boat on Loch Lein, Killarney, County Kerry, Ireland

… said my Papa, W.C. Harp, when asked if he wanted to say grace before the last Thanksgiving meal I would ever share with him and my grandmother. That was the entirety of the thanks he offered, before beginning to eat. We didn’t generally say grace before meals, and I’m sure my grandmother’s somewhat anomalous, pro forma request caught him a bit off guard. Nevertheless, it is the “grace” I remember … simple, meaningful, and in essence, profound in the depth and breadth of meaning conveyed in those two words … a sweet coda to years of family Thanksgivings in my grandparents’ house.

Most of us are thankful, I hope, not only at Thanksgiving but all through the days and years, for some “universals“ … family, friends, our homes, health, the fact that life doesn’t “end” at high school (at least for most of us … ). But, as we approach another Thanksgiving and other end of year holidays, I want to share with you some "small moments" for which I am thankful, “grace notes” added as embellishment to the magnum opus of my life, across the trajectory of time. It may not surprise those who know me, or have read the blog, that many of my “grace notes” involve travel. I am hopeful that some of you will share your own small moments, of whatever type, those moments only incidental to the whole of your lives, yet cherished and returned to in memory, time after time, for a smile, or a laugh, a wry grin, or simply a fond reflection.

I am thankful that I very carefully and purposefully (and initially, with much dropped food) taught myself when I was nine years old to eat with chopsticks, because somehow I just knew in my soul that someday I would get to see Japan and China, and I didn’t want to be embarrassed by my inability (or lack of table manners) to use chopsticks when I got there. I have been complimented in those countries on how well I use them, so the effort was not wasted.

As much as I always knew that someday I would see Asian countries which have fascinated me from childhood (and still do), never in my wildest imaginings could I have conjured that one "enchanted" evening I would be sitting in the lounge of the Great Wall Sheraton in Beijing, China, sipping Irish coffee and listening to a Chinese string quartet play, lentissimo (very slowly), a familiar melody, which after careful listening, turned out to be “Turkey in the Straw.” Serendipity.

I was so thankful to spot a Shakey’s Pizza parlor (yes, Shakey’s, with all its quotidian drabness) on the Ginza in Tokyo, after the girls had become mutinous over eating nothing but Japanese food for the days we had been there. Of course, the pizzas on the buffet were topped with baby corn, shitake mushrooms, seaweed, octopus and other Japanese staples … but we did find one that had pepperoni, so the incipient crisis was averted.

I am thankful that when Yahn and I were in Venice, we arranged for a private gondola, with champagne included, to take us on the Grand Canal, under the Rialto Bridge, and then into smaller, more mysterious and romantic canals, as the sun was setting, and the songs of the gondoliers drifted on the air. Bellissimo! We still laugh about the couple that passed in their gondola, going the other way, and watching the woman crane her neck to look at us, and then hearing in shrill, nasal tones as the gondolas parted: “Milton, they have champagne, Mill-ton!” I suspect that Milton’s memory of his sunset gondola ride past that point is not nearly so wonderful as ours.

I am thankful that Yahn didn’t take the deal when he was offered five camels and multiple goats for me by a man who approached us as we walked through Khan el-Khalili bazaar in Cairo. Yahn said it was obvious that I was at least a seven-camel woman!!!

I am thankful that I was able to fulfill a dream (or at least a desire) to go whitewater rafting, on the Ayung River in Bali, for my 58th birthday. I was less thankful about having to walk 600 steps down to get to the raft, and then 600 steps back UP, to get back to Yahn. The hotel very kindly sent a massage therapist (gratis) to our room that evening … and yes, the experience was worth it!!!

I am thankful that we made our last trip to Paris over New Year, when the lights are at their loveliest and most profuse, and the excitement of that wonderful city is most electrifying. And it was pure loveliness, late that night, as we sipped champagne in our room and watched it begin to snow … huge, fat flakes of snow, falling in the streets of Paris, with the subdued lights on the side street glimmering a pale, soft yellow when we ran onto the balcony to see the wonder. Quelle romantique!!!!

I am thankful for the Christmas Eve we spent on the night train from Cairo to Luxor, much of it in the club car, with a large group of German and French tourists, with American oldies playing on tape, and the bartenders coming out to serve the ordered drinks somehow balanced on their heads on a wildly shaking and swerving train, pulling many of the travelers (including me) out of our chairs to engage in impromptu belly dancing, with those drinks balanced perfectly on their heads the whole time. I was not as thrilled with the dinner we were served in our sleeper, and think I may now know what happens to old camels when they are too decrepit to carry tourists for the obligatory photos at many sites.

I am thankful that I got to see the Pyramids at Giza, and Karnak Temple in Luxor, not only by daylight, but bathed in the silver light of a full, or nearly full, moon.

I am thankful that I got to see the Anne Frank House (and more specifically, the secret annex), where Anne and her family hid from the Nazis in Amsterdam before they were betrayed. I could see through the small window the chestnut tree that Anne saw as she wrote in her diary and dreamed of a world without war and hatred, before she died at Bergen-Belsen such an achingly short time before the camp was liberated. There was such a feeling of presence in that room, and I believe that it is the essence of Anne’s indomitable spirit which still pervades that place.

I am thankful that I once skied in Aspen, and Vail and other places, before my knees totally checked out, and I remember apres-ski in the lodges, with hot-buttered rum, and Irish coffee, and mulled wine, and huge fireplaces and music and laughter.

I am thankful that Franklin Martin magically appeared at Giuseppe’s in Colorado Springs at just the perfect time. (See “Close Encounters of the Bobcat Kind” further back on this blog.)

I am thankful to have seen the Acropolis in Athens by moonlight, and to have watched the sunset from our cruise ship in the caldera of the volcano at the beautiful Greek island of Santorini, and to have marveled at the "clothing optional" beaches on Mykonos and at Lindos (on Rhodes), and to have seen the ancient and colorful Minoan ruins on Crete.

I am thankful to have walked the ruins of Ephesus, and to have seen the Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque in Istanbul, and to have crossed from one continent to another (Europe/Asia) and back over the Bosporus.

I was sooo thankful in Ireland that Clarence Darter had taken so much time and patience with me, to teach the proper use of a clutch in a standard shift automobile. I had to figure out driving on the “wrong” side of the road, and stick-shifting with my left hand on my own. Lynn (Purcell Durham) and Yahn left the driving to me (the former hell-driver of the Childress Park lake), but I am sure they were uttering various prayers and incantations sotto voce the entire time.

I am thankful that Lynn went with us on that trip, where we ultimately “found” the Purcell castle in County Tipperary after our stays in Tralee, and Cashel, and “our” little cottage overlooking Bantry Bay in Glengarriff. The rental car was a challenge to drive, but it certainly facilitated our roaming all over the southwest of Ireland, dodging trucks and buses and other cars coming at us at breakneck speeds on the narrow Irish roads. We only blew three tires (two at once) as we desperately sought to hug the left side and had some close encounters of the large roadside rock kind. Fortunately we were smart (or prescient) enough to take full coverage on the car, so we didn’t have to pay for the tires, although I am sure Dan Dooley Car Rental began to rethink its package on “full coverage”.

I am thankful that when I was standing on the stage at Cirque du Soleil's Zumanity here in Las Vegas, with the MC Joey Arias and “Antonio the Gigolo”, and Antonio blurted out, “Why, Jen-ni-fer! You’re not wearing a bra!”, I had the presence of mind (and the lack of inhibition?) to answer into the microphone, “I burned it in the ‘60s!”, and brought down the house of about 1500 people. There were some other ad-libs I was proud of, but this is a family blog ….

There are more tales to share, of other adventures in other (and some of the same) places, but I sense your eyes beginning to glaze, if you have not already given up this rambling reminiscence. But I must also express thanks to our special teacher at CHS (you and we know who you are!), who helped me (and others of us) believe that wishes and dreams can and do come true, if we want them enough, and are willing to work to attain them.

Even though I usually enjoy preparing Thanksgiving dinner, whether or not our children and grandchildren are with us, I have rebelled this year, with dear Yahn’s acquiescence, and plan to celebrate the day by chowing down with him (just the two of us!) on the signature dishes at Joe's Seafood, Prime Steak and Stone Crab in the Forum Shops at Caesars. I wish you all a glorious and meaningful Thanksgiving.

)O(

Mike Spradley: Cheerleader ... I Thought You Wanted to be a Lumberjack!!!

Our friend Mike Spradley has (at last!) provided us with this long-promised story ... and I assure you it is worth the wait ....

This narrative is based on a true story..... including the bits I have grossly exaggerated.

Back in September 2007, my wife Ada and I traveled to Childress to visit her sister Fern. While there I asked Ada if she would like to go visit the Eternal Flame. She expressed surprise that Childress even had an Eternal Flame……but “Absolutely,” she says…….she sure did not want to come this far and miss seeing the Eternal Flame. So.…. off we go…..to the site that is forever embedded into my brain with billions and billions and billions of convolutions.

I drove right to it. If one is standing in the street looking at the exact center of old Childress High School…..and look to the right…..to the end of the building…..you can see “the Spot.” In front of the last window to the south is the sidewalk where it makes a 90 degree turn… four feet away from both legs of the sidewalk………is where I naturally assumed the Mayor of Childress would have placed the Eternal Flame.

But Jeeez……noting its absence…….I wondered where it was……had those pukes from Quanah stolen it?........had the gas company not received payment for the natural gas that fueled it?.....Had Hurricane Katrina extinguished it?......

Ada told me she was pretty sure there had never been an Eternal Flame there.

But how could that be?!!!!!……..that this place of our darkest hour would not be commemorated with some kinda monument that could be seen from outer space!!!............I mean……this was rat-down nary on the gol’ durned, dad-blamed SPOT where Don Seal talked two normal, levi-wear’n, boot-strapp’n, snuff dipp’n, snake-catch’n, frog-gig’n boys into trying out for Cheerleaders for Pete’s sake !!!!!!!......

This is like a Nam’ flashback…..just count backwards from 100…99…98….97…..calm….calm…..calm….chill….chill
…hmmmmm…hmmmm..hmmm…..chant …chant…

Jimmy Czewski and I had been great buds since the 1st grade. Don Seal had become the 3rd attachment in the 7th grade. Now……It was early September..1959….we were freshmen at CHS…….before the morning bell went off.

Czewski and I were standing at the SPOT…..watching all the freshmen girl babes drive by……..sitting right next to their Aliens-from-Mars Senior boyfriends…in their 1951 hot rod Fords………right after our Moms had dropped us off for school…….Alas…none of the Freshmen Babes returned our eager little geeky waves.

About that time Don Seal comes bounding up to us…….just a’ quiver’n with enthusiasm and excitement!!!...........little did I know……this moment was H hour and counting…..the day that will live in infamy…..yada yada yada….. He had just read on the bulletin board that there were to be tryouts for freshmen cheerleaders. Czewski and I looked at this nut….our buddy…our pal……shrugged our shoulders…..and asked him, “So?....whad tha heck does that have to do with us?”.......

So…..he tells us that his brothers, Darrell and David, had been CHS cheerleaders. And they had had more gals chasing them than Jerry Lee Lewis. And!!!.....he continued…….he thought that the 3 of us ought to go try out for cheerleaders..... Folks…..I am telling you…….that even today…..48 years later……as I am writing this narrative…….it still causes chills to flow up and down my spine…..just remembering that incredibly loony suggestion.

Our response was exactly what you would expect. Don had about as much chance of convincing Czewski and I of doing this as convincing us to slide down a 50 foot razor blade into a vat of alcohol. But Don was relentless. He begged and pleaded and argued and cajoled and threatened and promised and gestured and waved and waggled until he wore us down. So….we said……of course we would have several days to think about it, huh?…….hoping that Don would come to his senses over time…ya know?.......act in haste….repent at leisure kind of thing.

But……he says…….tis not the case……the dad-gumed tryouts are today. It’s now or never!!! ....pressure…pressure…pressure!!!!....gotta move….gotta act….

Aha!!!!....we responded……but we’ve got no routine…..we don’t even know a cheer….or a chant…….I mean…I don’t even know a poem clean enough to recite. Do you think that posed an obstacle to Don’s incessant argument?......Nope. He tells us not to worry. Czewski and I don’t have to do a thing. All we have to do is walk out onto the stage with him and do some whooping and hollering…..and he would do a cheer that his brother David had taught him.

Weeeeeeeeellllllllllllllll………I am starting to feel a little bit better now. I mean…..I know that Imogene Pannell is a serious minded person. She “jist hain’t” the kinda woman thaz gonna let 3 bozos come out and make a mockery of her tryouts by-golly by-jeez!! Imogene was all woman and she could whoop all three of us with one hand tied behind her back.

I am having trouble typing the words…..b b b b b’but….we…uh….kinda agreed to do it….just because we were the 3 musketeers…..and we couldn’t let our buddy down……and more importantly….Czewski and I knew there was not a snowball’s chance that we would be selected. So…….sometime in the afternoon…..off we go to the auditorium. I can’t remember how many…. but there was a ton of girls there and they all had great choreographed routines. Miss Pannell was sitting in the front row with the upper class cheerleaders. After each group of girls tried out….they sat down around Miss Pannell to watch the next group.

It was…gulp….our turn…

I want you to know…..in 1966….off Hainan Island….the Chinese shot a SAM missile at my patrol plane. It blew up just off our left wing. Of 12 people on board, I was by far, the calmest, coolest person on that airplane………How is that you ask?....how could that possibly be?

Because in 1959….at 14 years old……I walked out onto a stage with two other guys without a single thought of what I was a’gonna do in front of all those females…..girls who had spent their entire summer practicing their routines for this very event…..It would have taken a lot more than missiles to generate the same pressure that I faced that day……on that stage……………

Fear?.....After that tryout…..I spit in the face of fear !!

Don, Czewski and I proceeded to jump up and down and do some hollerin’……..then Don commenced his cheer. Paraphrased…as I remember it……..it went something like……

..”Bobcats…..Yea Bobcats!!!!”.......”we beseech you to transport the leather-covered air-pressurized oblong device across the line of demarcation that signifies the rendering of 6 points and grant us victory over the opposing forces!!!”…..”Yea Bobcats!”……..”Yea Bobcats!!!”

Now by golly…..that was funny!!!!....I blew out my lunch thru my nose!! Then the three of us whooped and hollered some more……..…an’ from the audience?…….there was no sound…….no movement……no sight of teeth enclosed within all those closed, down-turned lips…..

I have no memory of how we escaped. That had to be on Friday because we spent an exhilarating evening driving up and down the highway. Later I dropped off Don and Czewski and drove home. My parents were having a dinner party at our house that very night…..and one of the cars parked in front of my house was this great 1958 Ford Crown Victoria with a 351 cubic inch, 300 horsepower, police interceptor engine with a Holley four-barrel carburetor and dual pipes………I knew that car………I loved that car………..b-b-b-b but….Gasp!!... That’s Imogene Pannell’s car!!!…..at my house!!……She must be inside, explaining to my parents all the logical reasons why I should be sent to reform school.

When I walked into the house all the adults were just a laugh’n and a”gaggle’n. I tried to sneak back to my room but sho enuf”…….Miss Pannell stopped me. She told me our routine today was pretty silly………but…….she thought it would really be great to have 3 boys and 3 girls as cheerleaders……..and, she goes on…..she was selecting us because we were good on that trampoline…..and,…the three of us had better not let her down….she threatened…….

But I had only heard the 1st and 2nd sentence. I had been struck deaf, blind and speechless after the word “cheerleaders.” I was walking around in a daze…..bumping into the furniture…the walls….trying to conceive how many methods I could devise to strangle Don Seal….I did not want anything too quick.

All our Mothers were soooooooooooo happy. My brothers disowned me. Our Mothers actually drove to Wichita Falls to buy these white pants, white shoes and white turtleneck sweaters. The turtle necks were so thick they could close off your breathing passages till you became lightheaded. The 3 of us were so scrawny we looked like bulimic Pillsbury Doughboys whenever we were cocooned into them.

I really don't remember Czewski's reaction, but Don was happy as a lark. His primary motivation had been to get to ride around West Texas in Miss Pannell's hot rod Ford with some of the best looking gals in Childress...like that was gonna help us.

Besides the three of us guys…as I remember it…there was Pat Harmon, Pat Davenport and June Prince. The alternates were Raenell Wynn and Linda Kay Bridges. And I must say…..the girls were great. They seemed to accept us like normal people. We had great times practicing in front of Pat Harmon’s house. And the road trips were great fun.

But a long term future for me as a cheerleader was not in the cards. After a few games I just quit going and so did the other two. Without a word said……we guys were fired/retired/runoff and our places given to the alternates who really deserved to be cheerleaders. That was fine with me.

As a postscript, I will mention that my own daughter, Chalyse, became a cheerleader at Cy-Fair High School during the late '80s. Many times they practiced in our front yard in Cypress, Texas. One day I came home after having a client meeting. I was in a three piece suit and I was at least 25 pounds overweight. As I got out of my car…….all the Cy-Fair cheerleading squad was practicing in our front yard…..and they had a mini-trampoline in the middle of our yard.

For some reason, that mini-tramp triggered a dormant sense of mischief in me. I placed my briefcase onto the ground…..I ran across the yard in street shoes…..hit that trampoline perfectly….and did a forward flip!!!!!.......That cheerleading squad….including my daughter…..was stunned!!.......and impressed……WOW!!! They couldn’t believe their eyes!!!

High fives were forthcoming all around.

Then….without limping, I picked up my briefcase, walked into the house and secretly iced down my right knee that I had sprained during that ridiculous front flip.

Jim Spradley, Sr. and wife Lornadee, Mike's parents

We're Not Getting Older; We're Getting Better.

A sure cure for a bad day or a bad mood is to visit your nearest greeting card shop and spend time reading the cards. It is impossible to not find your spirits lifted a bit when most of the cards lend themselves to laughter. We often spend much of our time laughing at the cards that in some way deal with the subject of aging, after all many of our friends are now hitting 60 and above, and we want to find just the right card to emphasize that they will soon be the recipient of many of the "ravages of time." You know the ones I mean, loss of memory, loss of hair, loss of one's sexual urges, loss of energy, loss of one's teeth, loss of hearing and the list goes on. While we laugh, it is also hard to not feel a twinge or two when some cliche or another hits home. The truth is, as the bumper sticker says, "getting old is not for sissies." The expression carries more truth than fiction. In many ways aging does hurts. All of us carry with us more aches, more pains, more health conditions and more pills and medicines. Additionally, aging in our society often results in loss of self esteem and a loss of self worth brought on by among other things the media. If we are not seeking out nips and tucks for every part of our bodies, we are led to believe that there is no way we can ever be considered beautiful or desirable again.

Recently my son-in-law and daughter commented after a trip to St. Kitts that the people who seemed to be having the most fun were a large group of "blue hairs" who invaded the swimming pool with little or no regard as to how they looked in bathing suits (even bikinis). Apparently their raucous comments which included the word, Viagra, were accompanied by merriment and loud laughter! Obviously these people had found a way to live long enough to become an "embarrassment to their children" as they lived life to the fullest.

So where are you today my fellow aging classmates from the class of 1963? Are you going to take this aging thing lying down by giving in or giving up, or hiding your head in the sand hoping it will all go away. I say a resounding NO to that. It is time to take back our lives to assert ourselves as being vital, important , and fun. Will you say "bring it on" like Linda Kay and Jennifer? Will you adopt the philosophies of crabby, cranky,Maxine from those Hallmark Cards and join her in "snarkiness?" Will you spend your time wishing you were 16 or 20 again or will you admit that 60 is sexy and as some say now that 60 is the old 40?

As for myself, I am really really glad to be my age.
I would hate being young and naive, or facing life again without the experience and hindsight that I have today. I would hate not being a grandma.

Let me share with you my 10 commandments for the aging me!

1. I will never let my health issues and ailments be
my main topic of conversation, EVER!
2. I will be active everyday.
3. I will remember that I am not 30 or 40 anymore
so I won't hurt myself trying to act as if I am.
4. I will try not be become a burden to my children.
5. If I must become a burden to my children, I will do it with style and finesse.
6. I will learn to do something new everyday.
7. I will never lose my enthusiasm for experiencing new things
unless that new thing could put me in the hospital.
8. I will never use expressions like "in my day" or
"that's not the way we've always done it."
9. I will remember that wrinkles and lines really are a sign of experience and hopefully wisdom so I can be reminded to be grateful to be who I am, myself!
10. I will never let Jim wear black socks and dress shoes
with shorts and a tee shirt in public. (This commandment was initiated by Jim!)

Now in light of the above, it is my pleasure to share with you photos
that Darryl Morris has shared. While he is no longer the young man in the white jacket
that we see in our annuals, he definitely exemplifies the statement that "We are not getting older; We are getting better." Thank you Darryl for being brave enough to share with us in hopes that some of the others will do the same.

Here's "Papa" with granddaughter Louisa Claire Morris-Uebel. I'm wearing my typical "farmer's uniform." (I should get a big discount on haircuts, shouldn't I? )

And here's Sharon (on the right) with her sister and dearest friend Janell who died of cancer a year ago this past August.

The daughters of Darryl and Sharon.The three sisters during an amusing
moment: L-R: Debbie, Nicki, and Sharyl.
The reunion was held at the Wellington VFW hall, thus all the stars and stripes.

Darryl refers to their home as a Little Slice of Paradise

The Meadowlands

Seven acres that offer,among other things, wonderful peace of mind.

Darryl Morris: Musings and Memories ....

We received this missive to the blog from Darryl Morris, written before the "Noah" post, but only received afterward, and wanted to share it with all of you.

Dear Nicki,

Despite my very busy retirement life (Ha!), I’ve been checking your class blog occasionally and have thoroughly enjoyed reading all the posts and comments. You’ve done a really good thing by setting all this up to provide a venue for your classmates to relive fond memories and to keep in touch. I wish my own Quail High School Class of 1956 had done such a thing, but it’s too late for us to attempt it now. First of all, only a few of the remaining 17 members (from a class of 22) even have computers. Secondly, primarily due to health considerations, none would have the time or energy to maintain the project at the high level you’ve established in your own blog.

Although I am reluctant to “horn in” on the Class of 1963’s very special and very personal space, I have wanted for quite some time to express my gratitude for the nice remarks that you, Jennifer, Sheila Davis-Martinez, and Betty Smith Merritt have made about me. Despite my gratitude, however, I find it so very hard to believe that in my bumbling first efforts at teaching, I had the personal impact expressed in the aforementioned comments; and I find myself wondering what on earth I must have done to warrant such nice remarks. When I was teaching at CHS, I was, to tell the truth, very insecure about my qualifications; and I didn’t think I was doing anything out of the ordinary—I was just hoping I could find some way for my students to come to enjoy poetry, literature, and just learning things as much as I did. I generally went home every afternoon hoping I hadn’t made a fool of myself and hoping as well that I hadn’t somehow led some student astray. Regardless, I am most appreciative—and most humbled—by all that I have read.

Several names have come up in the various posts and comments that have triggered memories of my own, and I would like to touch upon them here. First, I saw the name of Bettye Shahan. During my senior year at Quail, we played baseball against Childress; and if I recall correctly, the Childress pitcher—and a good one he was—was named Bill Shahan. Is this her brother? I also remember that a fellow named F. A. Davis was a member of the Childress baseball team, but I think F. A. was probably in the class of ’56 or thereabouts.

I also noted Shirley Neel’s name. I remember that on one of my Army leaves, I visited my old high school buddy Dean Maxwell in Childress, and we had a night out at the Country Club. Two or three of my former students were there (I wish I could remember who they were), and we had a nice visit. One of them was Shirley Neel. And, if I remember correctly, someone talked Shirley into singing with the band that was playing that night. I think she sang a country song, although I can’t say for sure. What I do remember very clearly, however, is that I thought Shirley had a very, very good voice.

I’ve seen the names of Don Seal and Jimmy “Atlas” Czewski come up in the blog on a couple of occasions. I really enjoyed knowing those two characters. I remember that I used to pronounce Jimmy’s name as “C-zoosky” to see if I could get a rise out of him, but he took it very well. On one occasion he and Don Seal took me on a spelunking adventure through some gypsum caves in someone’s cow pasture. I thoroughly enjoyed the outing with those two fun-loving guys. I recalled the cave adventure when I was in Vietnam and performed one stint as a tunnel rat—which was not enjoyable.

I remember Barry Wakefield as an excellent speaker; and I also remember a couple of other “wild thangs” in my class: Chicken Mitchell and Doug Greer.

In his picture, Wayne Havens looks like he’s feeling great. Obviously he’s doing great as an educator. One of my graduating classmates from Quail was Bob Havens, who now lives in Clarendon. I wonder if they are relatives.

I’ve seen references to the Saieds in a couple of comments. Another group of the Saieds also lived in Wellington. Mack and Fred Saied owned and operated the Leader clothing store there in town. Mack has long been retired, but he and his wife Lam are both still very active in the community, with Mack being particularly active in the VFW. Fred Saied married Barbara Farha from Childress, and they moved to Kansas where Fred also had a clothing store until he passed away some years ago. Barbara went to North Texas State College, and I saw her quite often when I would travel from SMU to Denton to visit with a Wellington buddy named Don Rayburn. We spent a lot of time in the commons area of Barbara’s dormitory, just visiting and joking around with her and two or three of her college friends. I recently saw Barbara at a Wellington High School reunion, and she was still as lively and fun-loving as ever. I remember that I taught Barbara’s little sister (whose name I’m ashamed to say has just escaped me) during my last year at CHS.

I also coached the freshman boys basketball team during my last year there. I don’t think we won a game that season, but the blame rests on bad coaching alone since the young men on the team were definitely a talented bunch.

Congratulations to Jim on his induction into the Panhandle Sports Hall of Fame. One of our athletes from Quail High School is also a recent inductee. Her name is Jo Helen White Cabbell. She was an outstanding basketball player in high school, and she played with a team called Dowell’s Dolls when she was in college. Additionally, she was on the women’s basketball team which took gold in the 2^nd Pan American Games in 1955. I had the pleasure (and honor) of writing a letter of recommendation for her induction into the PSHF.

I’ve rambled on far too long, so I’ll bring this to a close. I just wanted to tell you how much I have enjoyed your blog and to congratulate you for the wonderful job you have done in setting it up and maintaining it. Jennifer’s posts and all other comments have also been a delight to read, and I hope that more and more members of your class will soon start making their own contributions.

Sincerely,

Darryl Morris