Subtitled: Are you from Childress, or are you just inordinately glad to see me?
I have found over the years that one of the nicest ways to reconnect (even briefly) with people we went to school with ... or just Childress people in general ... is to suddenly encounter them in unexpected ... not to say strange ... places and times and circumstances. I have had a few such experiences, and feel that many of you may have, too. So, I am hopeful that after you read this post, some of you will be prompted to share your own tales.
My favorite such encounter, which has become a cherished family story (for reasons which may become obvious ... hee, hee), occurred during the holiday period between Thanksgiving and Christmas 1967, in Colorado Springs. My husband Yahn and I had only met a few months before; at the time, I was living in Denver and he lived in Colorado Springs. Since I had a car and he didn't then, we had a "standing date" that every Saturday, I would drive down, we would go out for dinner and dancing, or to a movie, I would spend the night in my little '67 Mustang (NOT an easy thing to do when you're as tall as I am) and then get together for part of Sunday before I headed back to Denver.
On this particular weekend, I picked Yahn up from his residence hall as usual, and we headed to Guiseppe's, a funky little hole-in-the-wall-type college hang-out, which also doubled as a bar/restaurant. Best pizza in the world (next to Little Italy, across from the Tech campus in Lubbock) and frosty pitchers of draft. Guiseppe's juke box WAS the best in the world, running the gamut from '60s pop, folk, Beatles, Stones and Motown to Dave Brubeck, John Coltrane, Chuck Mangione, "The Warsaw Concerto" and "Chopin's Polonaise."
We settled into our booth and ordered ... and then Yahn somewhat casually (I thought) informed me that we wouldn't have our usual date that night. It seems he had run into some old friends on campus the night before, they were having a party (no females, just guys) that night, and so he would be going "out with the boys" instead. That I was not a "camper happy" about this is an understatement. He did point out that he had tried to call me (no cell phones then, and I could be difficult to reach) but, nevertheless, despite my trek, he would be "out with the boys," and if I wanted to stay over we could get together the next day.
We were involved in a rather heated argument when, suddenly, something caused me to turn around and look over my shoulder ... and there I saw, in his full-dress, Air Force Academy uniform, Franklin Martin (would have been CHS 1962), who I had not seen since about 1961, when his family moved to Illinois from Childress. Franklin and some of his AFA buddies were exiting the bar, but when I called his name, he came over to the table, recognized me, and we became intensely engaged in a rapid-fire game of catch-up. Franklin told me he was a Senior at the Academy, on the swim team (swimmers look VERY good in uniform, and Franklin certainly supported that theory!), and some of what had happened to him since leaving Childress. At a certain point (rather swiftly, I must say), I became aware that steam was rising from Yahn ....
The cadets with Franklin were hurrying him along, but as he was leaving he said: "I would really love to get together later and talk with you some more ... there's so much to catch up on ... but I've got to go now, and I can see you have plans for later." To which I responded: "No, it happens that I'm free this evening." Franklin and I quickly made a date to meet back at Guiseppe's later, and then he left ... at which point Yahn looked at me with considerable consternation and said: "Well, just where does that leave me?" I smiled and (sweetly?) replied: "Out with the boys?"
It was really one of those serendipitous moments ... Hollywood couldn't have scripted or timed it any better. Instant karma!!! Franklin and I had a great date, going to dinner, attending a couple of Christmas parties, and reminiscing and filling in blanks in the past and hopes for the future. Yahn told me the next day that his evening was TOTALLY miserable!!!! Poor baby .... Yahn never canceled a date with me again, and we still laugh about it and tell the story to friends to this day, forty years later. Yahn says that one of the reasons he married me was that he knew I would never bore him ... and I have done my best to live up to that expectation!
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13 comments:
ok,,...here we go...talking about meeting childressites in wierd places......
...in 1973 I was involved in oil exploration in a swamp in Northern Colombia. The supervisor was a guy about 15 years older than me......he had lived in South America for many years. I asked him where he was from. He started ranting and raving that he no longer told people where he was from....because......dadblame it!!!!...nobody every heard of the dern place......and in fact....no one had even heard of any town 150 miles from it.........so.....he just wasn't going to waste his time explaining it!!!.........Whew!!!....so after a cigarette..and a break......and calming down........he asked me......So Sprad....where are you from?........."Childress, Texas!" I proudly replied.......He looked at me and exclaimed...."Hell Boy....that's where I used to say!"
Mike,
Congratulations on getting your comment through! Hooray and keep up the good work. Your story is great!
Now, I am having a hard time wrapping my mind around your being in a swamp in Northern Colombia!!!
That sounds like another story for sure.
Nicki
I forgot to mention in my previous comment that Jim is in the other room laughing about your story.
Nicki
ok....here's another about Childressites.....In my career I did several projects in and around Africa. There was a case history of several people with Texaco and Tenneco that were captured by guerillas in Ethiopia.....matter of fact they murdered one or two Dutch nurses. These peoples' release was negotiated by a famous private eye from Houston......I think his name was Clyde Wilson(Jennifer will know)...anyway....about 1978 I am flying to Tokyo to talk to Japex about a program in Abu Dhabi. (Japex had hired a bunch of gringos).......in the flight magazine to Japan they had a story about Clyde Wilson and the hostages. The story tells that one of the Texaco hostages was from Childress, Texas....where his family operated a lumber yard. I kept the magazine.......the next day.....I am trying to tell a room of 100 Japanese how to work on coral reefs....not one of them spoke English.....so one of them said......"Oh So solly Mr. Spladrey....we no unnerstan engrish.....so we go get our Amelican to twansrate.".....In comes this American.....guess who.......its the Rogers guy from Childress that had been a captive in Ethiopia!!!!!...Jeez!.....I gave him my magazine..
GREAT story, Mike ... but then I knew it would be, because I have been a happy listener to many of your tales. Welcome aboard the blog again ... and keep them comments a'comin'. BTW, it was wonderful to talk with you today as we vanquished the Blog Beast together!!! Have a great weekend at the Bradford family reunion in Childress.
Actually they are BOTH wonderful stories. Yes, the PI in Houston was Clyde Wilson ... a very colorful, no-nonsense type with whom I was privileged to work on a couple of cases. He retired in 1997, at age 74, after a 30-year career, with many milestones ... including freeing the hostages.
Again, keep it up!!!! The commenting, that is!!! Your voice is a most welcome and sui generis addition to the blog.
Nikki....your husband, Willy, taught me to play golf. He also taught me how to compute batting averages at his kitchen table in his house about 1955. Since that time...and over these past 50 years.....I have had entire floors of computing power available to me......including a liquid cooled Cray supercomputer........and to this day ....with all that power....I have not been able to figure out why my lifetime batting average was zero. Maybe Willi's math was wrong?....
Mike
Chances are if you never put wood on leather, zero is correct!
Willy
Wow!!! I've received some fabulous news via jungle drums-grapevine and other e-thereal connections. It appears some CONGRATULATIONS are in order for our friend Mike. He has recently been named "A Living Legend" by the Society of Exploration Geophysicists (SEG), a worldwide organization composed of those in the oil exploration business. In addition, it appears our Mike is one of only 93 people in the WORLD to be so designated, which is a tremendous honor! And of course he owes it all to Childress ... well, maybe just a little ....
I know Mike's family is SO proud, and I am thrilled for him. Truly, it could not have happened to a nicer or more deserving guy.
As is his nature, Mike would likely never have mentioned this to us himself ... but that is why I tune in to jungle drums and grapevines, and hang out in the ether, among other shady venues .... You never know what will turn up ....
In June 1991, Yahn and I were in Rome ... Italy, not Georgia. We were staying at the Hotel Excelsior on the Via Veneto, right across the street from the Cafe de Paris (yes, in Rome), where parts of the (at the time scandalous) film "La Dolce Vita were filmed. After a long day of seeing the Colosseum, and the Spanish Steps (Yahn had a sharp tether on me as we went by all the fabulous designer stores) and the Borghese Gardens, we decided to stop at Cafe de Paris' sidewalk cafe for a cool drink or two and some people-watching before returning to the hotel to prepare for dinner.
For some reason (probably having at least something to do with all the potassium which our bodies had shed that day), the thought of a "red beer" (beer mixed with tomato juice, for the uninitiated) popped into my mind. My Italian not being sufficient to communicate to the waiter just exactly what I wanted, I finally just asked him to bring me a glass of beer and a glass of tomato juice. When I had consumed enough of the beer to make space, I then poured the tomato juice into the glass. As I took my first sip, a long, tall dude stood up from a table slightly across from ours, walked up to me, and said (let's seek if I can do this in Sprad-speak): "Ma'am, whut part of Texas are y'all from?" I gulped my swallow down before I could choke on it and answered that I had grown up in the Texas Panhandle. He persisted: "But where?" I said that he'd probably never heard of the place, but it was Childress. He grinned, stuck out his hand, and said that he was from Shamrock.
Of course we asked him to join us for another red beer, and during the conversation we determined that he had graduated from Shamrock HS in 1963. He then volunteered (after all that time) that the Bobcats had really "whupped" the Shamrock Irish in 1962 (our last football season at CHS). (When we returned home after that trip, I looked at the yearbook, and sure enough, the 'Cats beat Shamrock 38-8!)
We also talked about the Shamrock St. Patrick's Day celebrations, the Greenbelt Bowl (he played in it that year), and other regional things, and then went our separate ways. For the life of me, I can't remember the guy's name, but the experience left us feeling all "warm and fuzzy" ... or perhaps it was the red beers ...?
We had experienced a similar thing in 1989, when we were on a Greek Cruise ship, cruising the Aegean, stopping at many of the Greek Islands and sailing through the Sea of Marmara and the Bosphorus Straits to Istanbul. That guy turned out to be from Amarillo ... and also came to speak to us after I had gotten a "red beer".
We've also had it happen in two or three parts of the U.S. So, I guess the lesson is: if you are far from home, and feeling a bit homesick or bored, order a red beer, and if there is a Texan anywhere around, he'll likely come by to say "Howdy."
Over the years, Jim and I have had many Close Encounters of the Bobcat Kind. Most of our unexpected encounters have taken place in such mundane places as Randall High School and United Supermarket (Jimmie Ruth Weir Smith), Hillside Christian Church (JR Bell), Ball Games (James Self),
(Joan and Norman Naron) who lived in our neighborhood, in various restaurants (Jerry and Sue Norman)(Tony and Skip Crone)(Tom and Brenda Higley), in various businesses (Ronnie Kindle), and the list probably goes on. Each time we have seen these people it has been an unexpectedly nice surprise even though the meeting has lacked the elements of romance and beauty as do Rome, Columbia, or even Denver. In other words they rarely rate the status of an entertaining story.
Jim and I do have a game we play where we look for people we know when we are on trips. Sometimes we don't see anyone, but often we do. Our daughter, Kim, swears that her Dad knows everyone because it is not uncommon for him to see acquaintances no matter where we go outside of Amarillo, especially in Dallas.
To be in a foreign country or a "foreign" state and to meet a fellow Texan can induce the warm fuzzies because only a Texan can truly understand another Texan both in a shared sense of pride and a shared language as Jennifer and Mike have pointed out. No matter where I have traveled--Missouri, Arkansas, California, New York City, Florida--only seconds after I have opened my mouth I have been asked if I am from Texas. I admit it! My accent can be a bit Texan and no matter how I have tried I often find to my horror "fixin to do it" and ya'll popping out of my mouth. As Jim says, we are what we are because we were what we were!
Ya'll come back soon, ya hear!
Nicki
Good comment, as always, Nicki ... particularly the part about looking for people you may know when you travel.
Once when we were passing through Childress and were meeting Paula and Rae and Jimmy at K-Bob's for a visit over lunch, I began scrutinizing the other patrons to see if there was anyone that I recognized. I was really disappointed, because while I felt that some of the people did look familiar, I decided it was probably because they were friends of my grandparents. They looked ... and walked ... SO OLD! Slowly, as I began to do the "math" in my head, I realized that most of my grandparents' friends would have been pushing or past 100 ... and I was even more confused. Finally ... slowly ... incredibly ... it began to dawn on me. These weren't my grandparents' friends ... they were MY friends and acquaintances from school, who were now as old as my grandparents' friends had been when I was at CHS. The following thought, of course, was that meant that I was THAT old! Ouch!
Maybe I should share with you my story of John Larned,while living and working in Wimberley Texas.
I won't go into how we, me and my three youngest children ended up in Wimberley, but I will tell you about how life comes at your real fast sometimes.
My youngest daughter, Kayte, kept bringing her friend, Sean,home from school. Everyday when I looked at him, with a rather disgruntled look, I saw someone familiar. I didn't know that I was working with his father, John, at the only restaurant in town.
As time, and life would have it, John invited a few friends to his home for dinner one evening. During the conversation, he mentioned that he had been a DJ for a Vernon radio station. Of course, I rebutted what he had said, telling him that I grew up in Childress and knew all of the DJs in Childress, Quanah, Vernon, Amarillo, and New Orleans(pushing my luck on that one.)and that I had never heard of him. Then He pulled out his yearbook, showed me a picture of himself when he was in HS. I said, laughingly, "This is the picture of the kid who keeps coming home with my daughter every afternoon". He said, Is your daughter Kayte. I said Yes...We both just about died laughing. He said, that is my son, Sean. They looked identical. It took us back to our Childress roots. Good basis for a friendship.
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