Announcing a new Facebook Group and a new Blog


We have created a new Facebook Group called

The Childress (Texas) High School Classes of 1960-1966

Created for anyone from the Childress (Texas) High School classes of 1960-1966 who is looking to reconnect or connect with former friends and classmates.

If you are currently a member of Facebook or if you are planning to become a member of Facebook, we invite you to join the group. Contact either Nicki or Jennifer for information.

You are also invited to visit our new blog, Voices From the Class of '63,

Thursday, January 31, 2008

Lynn Purcell Durham: The Times of Our Lives: August 29, 2005 ... Mississippi Rising

BLOG NOTE: Our friend Lynn Purcell Durham wrote this moving account of the things she and her family and the people of Mississippi experienced during and in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. We thank her for sharing her story with us. Lynn presently lives in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

For seven long and lonely hours I watched and listened as the wrath of Mother Nature wreaked havoc on the Southern Mississippi Gulf Coast. Hour after hour, hearing the continuous sound of the wind blowing and whipping non-stop at unimaginable speeds as the mighty oak trees snapped like twigs. Each massive, broken limb sounding like a random gunshot and then hearing the loud sucking sound the trunks made as they fell only to be left suspended in the air with car size craters underneath. The massive but shallow rooted pines fell first, sounding like cannons as they landed on and caved in many neighbor's roofs, smashing cars and RV's and tearing down power lines that whipped and sparked like a Fourth of July fireworks show. The rain blew so hard that it sounded like a hail storm hitting the house.

The constant noise stretched nerves to their breaking point. It's as if God's wrath was wreaked on our Mississippi Coast in all His fury ­- frightening and glorious, intimidating and exhilarating -- all at the same time. The nearest thing that I can compare it to would be the Book of Revelations in the Bible when fire, wind, rain and pestilence would rain down from the heavens. Here on the Gulf Coast of Mississippi, it did. I held on to a porch pillar and watched all hell breaking loose around me. Would our house stand? Would the roof hold? Would the trees continue to miss us? Would we survive?

The shingles were ripped from my neighbor¹s house and became lethal weapons sailing through the air at 150 mph. My grandchildren's swing set was twisted and broken like silly putty in a child's hands. Lawn mowers sailed weightlessly through the air like Frisbees. Yard sheds were picked up intact and blown blocks down the street, before collapsing into rubble. Roofs were plucked from their buildings, many landing intact several streets over from where they belonged. A child's tricycle was carried in the air on the wind, its wheels spinning furiously as if it was being ridden by a ghost child ­- so eerie to watch. I prayed that its owner was unharmed.

Finally, there was silence. It was as deafening in a way, as the rage of the storm. I watched as the Gulfshore water rose up our street, covering cars and houses halfway to their roofs. Our house was the last one to get water inside and again, we were lucky. It only got ankle deep and it receded back down almost as fast as it came. We stacked our furniture as fast as we could and lost nothing. I watched the water rise halfway up the doors of my son's 1986 Cadillac, destroying what he'd been so carefully restoring. My car was on slightly higher ground and the water only got to the top of my wheels. Salt water fish were jumping in the air as the water flowed inland. Ice chests, furniture, toys, clothing, dead animals and so much more floated by, left to litter the yards and streets as the water receded.

********


August 29, 2005 ­- the day the Gulf Coast was changed forever, is a day of infamy that will never be forgotten by any of us that went through it. The hurricane is over and we have survived unharmed. So many others were not as lucky. It will be months before a death count will be completed and it will only be an approximate count because many were washed out to sea. Lives were lost and new lives were started when young moms gave birth during the storm, many under horrible unsanitary conditions. One baby was born on a rooftop in the raging storm.

You've all seen the pictures of destruction on all the news channels. But what you can't see or imagine watching television is the smell of rotting food, sewage, and the terrible odor of death that is in the air. You can tell who stayed behind to ride out the storm by looking in people's eyes. The ones who stayed have blank stares with no emotion. These are the people who lost everything and are still so overwhelmed that their minds have literally shut down.

So many tales of courage will never be told because the reporters miss the smaller picture as they concentrate on the larger overall stories. For example, my friend's grandparents who are age 90, were from Gulf Hills -- a neighborhood of fine homes that were completely flooded by the 26 foot storm surge. He is a victim of Alzheimers disease and she a tiny woman, who by some miracle, was able to get him to swim with her to the safety of their neighbor's roof. He hasn't spoken since the storm and he refuses to leave. So she camps with him in a tent, eating the military rations and meals that the family brings daily. Her love and loyalty to her lifetime mate survives their tragedy. She tells her daughter to leave them be, because he is quiet there as long as no one tries to force him to leave. I fear their time left is short but they are together and that's all that matters to her. A 7 year old child was found five days after the storm -- in an attic, alive with her dog, with only scratches and dehydration to show for her ordeal. However, no one knows anything about her parents who put her in the attic and told her to stay there. Her mental and emotional scars will run deep. A man swam back for his dog, after swimming his family to safety, because his children were hysterical over their pet. He managed to swim back to his family with the dog paddling in his arms and both were safe. When asked why he went back he says the dog was a part of his family and he intended to save ALL of his family. Another friend lived in a mobile home and spent hours on his knees, praying to God, as his home's tie downs came loose and his home floated for miles before finally coming to gently rest against someone's porch pillar. His mobile home was undamaged.

Many churches were destroyed except for the crosses and statues of Mary and the baby, Jesus. They still stand unharmed. I've seen three houses in a row numerous times with only the middle home destroyed and the other two untouched. I cannot understand how that happened over and over again. Down on our back beach, where so many mansions are flattened or left to stand as empty shells, a modest bungalow stands completely intact. Because those mansions stood relatively unharmed through Camille, many chose to stay, never realizing that a 26 foot storm surge would come with this hurricane. One of the survivors stated, "Camille was a lady, Katrina was a real bitch." All that is left of many of the homes are the ornate wrought iron stairways leading to no where. An elderly man was found near the top of a Magnolia tree where he clung to life during the seven hours of hell. His wife has yet to be found. He said he held on to her as long as he could but the storm took her.

********

I drove around yesterday and am amazed at the difference a week makes. The streets are cleared of debris, bulldozed to the curbs waiting for pickup and the clean up is well underway. Some areas are condemned due to disease hazards from the dead bodies, rotting fish, pork and chicken that came from broken storage containers on the docks. But the authorities are letting people salvage what few possessions they can before bulldozing everything to the ground. Cholera and typhoid are a real and present danger. So are the presence of poisonous snakes and alligators that have washed inland. Triage tent hospitals and clinics are set up in vacant parking lots. People are directed to various tents according to their ills and injuries. Emergency surgery is being done there daily. One man had the stitches removed from his stomach from a cancer surgery he'd had before Katrina. Everyone is encouraged to get tetanus shots. These triages are being run by volunteer physicians that have come from all over the states bringing their own supplies, surgical instruments, medicines, etc. They, too, are unsung heroes.

Driving through the mass destruction in the family neighborhoods, we saw signs of humor that survive undaunted. A hand painted sign points towards the beach saying "waterfront property for sale." Another says, "You got my home but I'm still standing." Another says, "You destroyed my home but not my spirit." Yes, we've had some looters out plying their trade. One hundred have been arrested and will serve fifteen years each for their crimes. Of all things to steal in these circumstances, electronic equipment, digital TVs and computers, seem to be high on their lists of priorities. These things were covered by the flood water. They will never work again so I'm baffled at the stupidity in stealing them. I understand people taking what groceries they can find to survive, but the other is just "stuff" that won't operate. It makes you wonder at the mentality of these lowlifes.

Pets are displaced, injured and lost, starving on a daily basis and only now are some of the shelters opening to try to reunite them with their owners or to get them adopted. I've fed and shared our water with all the strays that have come to my yard because I cannot bear to see them suffer so. The veterinarians are swamped with dying animals that drank the water and ate contaminated food. Injuries abound from broken limbs to massive cuts. I do what I can to help them, and my vet takes all with no questions asked. He treats their injuries and will house them in his kennels free of charge until homes are found. These men and women are more of the unsung heroes.

Neighbors that never met before are now fast friends and we all share all that we have. I make a daily run to the Ocean Springs Middle School and drive through the National Guard line with my trunk up. They ask how many people I'm supplying and then put in cases of bottled water, cases of military rations and last, but not least, sixty pound bags of ice. I bring it all home and distribute it to others in the neighborhood that lost their vehicles and have no way to get supplies. Out of state family members have loaded trucks with supplies and brought them to my neighbors and they share with the rest of us. Today, my next door neighbor brought me tomatoes, sliced cheese, a bag of chocolate cookies, and apples. Things that we've always taken for granted have now become luxuries to us. We all say, "Thank you God" a dozen times a day for the little things that come our way.

I slept on my driveway for five nights and was just as comfortable as if I was in my bed. I was asked if I wasn't afraid of looters and had to laugh. My dog, Sister, slept at my head and protected me. Looters don't go where there are barking dogs, especially big barking dogs. I got up with the sunrise and went to bed at sunset totally exhausted. If my bed was hard, I never noticed. It has taken a week to get all the debris and huge limbs cleaned up and to the curb. We have an 8 foot high pile of debris that runs completely across our front property line. We also had to pull up all of the wet stinking carpet and pad and drag it to the curb, then sweep out the water left in the house. We had to mop over and over with Clorox and finally got the smell out by mopping with pure vinegar. It was a mess, but again, we were lucky -­ we had a house to clean. Thousands do not.

I cooked on our grill every evening. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were our breakfast and lunch. Because I've been through several hurricanes before, we were well prepared with ample water and supplies. Both freezers were packed tight with ice so we were able to cook and eat most of the meat. I had loaded two large ice chests in advance so our spoilage was minimal and had stored 12 gallons of water so we had enough to share with friends and the neighbors until emergency supplies arrived. I have power now and with that came air-conditioning, a blessed relief from the heat and humidity. You can call in on our phone, but we can't call out. The water is not drinkable but we can flush our toilets and if we pour bleach in a tub of water and let it stand for thirty minutes we can actually have a bath. If we shower we are warned to rinse completely with bleach water because of the flesh eating diseases that flourish in these conditions.

I've been telling my son how lucky we were and he was griping because he lost his car and his job. The Magic Casino where he worked was destroyed and will have to be rebuilt. He went with some friends to our back bay to help salvage what they could from his friend's destroyed home. The house was two blocks from the Gulf and normally you couldn't see the water from there because of the many oaks and pine trees. When Corey came home he was gray and I could see the stress in his face and eyes. He said, "You were right, Mom, we are lucky." He told me that you could now see the Gulf from his friend's house and that it was filled with floaters. I asked what floaters were and was told that it was dead bodies. That has put scars on his soul that will never heal.

********

I have not been able to cry in front of anyone, but often when I'm in my car alone, the tears come out of nowhere. Not for myself, but for the devastation of so many others. The day after the hurricane, I was driving alone and was about to break down. An SUV turned in front of me and printed on its wheel cover were three words. LIFE IS GOOD. You bet it is! I was able to burst into laughter instead of tears. Another "Thank you God" moment. People are already planning to rebuild -­ bigger, better, stronger. Some plan to leave here and never look back, but the majority plan to stay. Mississippi is filled with courageous people that refuse to be whipped by man or nature. They are a tough bunch -- proud and too stubborn and obstinate to lay down and quit. They truly believe that whatever doesn't kill you will make you stronger. MISSISSIPPI IS RISING in all her glory! She's already started, and for now, my family has chosen to be a part of it.






Lynn Purcell Durham at Purcell Castle, County Tipperary, Ireland
... on vacation with Jennifer and Yahn, June 2003

Sunday, January 27, 2008

Linda Kay Bridges Cook: Friday Night Lights ... The Sound ... and the Flurries...?

Wherever in Texas there is a high school football game being played, there surely will be a high school band to play the team onto the field. This is the Friday Night Ritual.

Band was the best part of my high school experience. Loved the band trips to games, contests, and anyplace else we had to show up. Some of it was due to one of the great Directors we had: Norman Hemphill would probably be voted #1 by every musician he ever led. Remember the band’s collective groan, “Ohhhhh, DURN!” when there was a play gone bad on the field? Uncle Norm. When we wore a uniform, he wore a uniform. Mrs. Hemphill would occasionally drive the twirlers home from out-of-town games, bless her, and she was just as much fun as Mr. Hemphill.

We were led our Freshman and Sophomore years by the cold director Don Davis. No fun, but that’s the only time in our four years that we got a #1 rating at UIL marching contest. So….if you have to give up a fun time to get a “1” rating, include me out.

But the largest part of the good times came from being part of a real team of kids. You don’t find many band members who are there because they need another class credit. They’re all there ON PURPOSE. If you don’t have a good time in band, it’s YOUR fault! I marched with the band Freshman and Sophomore years in the beautiful blue uniform, playing clarinet. About that uniform…it was wool, mostly. I roasted alive until the cold weather started, and froze to death thereafter. It was heavy and so was the hat. But when that drum cadence started and we filled the street on the way to the stadium, it was exhilarating! We had a mean drum section that could get your heart pumping. Did you ever hear Gale Sisco on a drum solo? For that matter, even though she was twirling more than playing, Sheila Davis was a heck of a drummer, too.

There is an adrenaline rush standing in the end zone with nervous anticipation, the crowd in the stands is completely silent, then the drum major’s whistle blows, the fanfare of the trumpets begins (Larry Harris, Gary Dorman, and Eddie Huddleston were terrific!), and you step out to a well-drilled routine. That’s where you get the REAL feel of performing—among the troops marching 8/5 (eight steps to 5 yards). I think it was Uncle Norm who changed it to 6/5. That’ll make your muscles scream! It’s harder than it looks, folks: take the exact number and size steps, remember which direction to turn on what note, play the CORRECT note, and hit your marks and notes all on time, in tune, and on location. Because if you don’t…EVERYbody in the stadium sees you!!! The Director HEARS you, and your comrades will snarl if you run into them. No pressure.

Practice, practice, practice. Up at o’dawn thirty during the school year to practice before class and after school until all hours sometimes. We had two-a-days in the pre-season just as the football team did. Up and down that 100 yards a million times a day. Oh, to be in that physical condition again!

I made twirler Junior year. A life-long dream! I had cousins preceding me, one a twirler and one a cheerleader in the '50s that I admired and wanted to be just like them. Clara mentioned the camp we went to at SMU. Man, was that fun! Bright lights, big city! I remember seeing the Packers get off the bus at the stadium where we had a twirling class. They were some of the biggest people I had ever seen, and so OLD! But the strangest thing that happened was that one of our instructors, a beautiful girl who was one of the Texas Stars (twirlers) at UT turned up later as my shorthand instructor at a refresher course I took at secretarial school in Dallas in the '70s. Small World Dept.

Neither rain, nor snow,….I have a vague memory of marching in Spearman (?) where it was bitterly cold, wind blowing 90 miles an hour, and snow flurries began. Fortunately, we were wearing the long pants to our white twirler uniforms, but there were many times we had the short-pants on in freezing weather…. Ever been in a West Texas norther in your skivvies? Not to be missed!

Practice, practice, practice. In addition to all that marching practice, the twirlers had to practice our show routines. We twirled fire, two batons, did dance routines, march routines, and won individual honors at UIL as a result of our hard work. In high school, it mattered a lot to us. We were pretty darned good, if I say so myself.

I was once a victim of my own football heroes. At the Olney game (don’t remember the year) we were setting up for half-time on the sidelines, rather than our usual entrance in the end zone. It was a preview of our performance we were taking to Amarillo for the upcoming UIL contest. Since the twirlers were entering the field last, we were lined up behind the band several rows deep. The last play before the buzzer began and the crowd was on its feet screaming. As usual, being of the short persuasion, I couldn’t see what’s happening. I have a vague memory of blue band uniforms and horns parting and a great scrambling going on, and then there were about three football players charging full steam in tackle mode. One of them got me with a shoulder pad and helmet, right in the mid-section and slammed me to the ground. The next thing I know, the doctor on call was waving smelling salts under my nose. A couple of people helped me up and found my hat. The show must go on! I managed to hobble through that half-time, but I think I was retired for the rest of the evening. This is the only game my parents missed while I was in school.

Marsha, Pat, Sheila, Donna, Tanya, and Brenda were great partners in the fun and work, and I wish I could see them all again. (I also wish that uniform still fit!)

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Guinevere the Druid Goddess: Festivals ... Fire ... and Bear Fat .....

Guinevere the Druid Goddess and Lucan, mural painting by Yahn Smith

Guinevere the Druid Goddess here ... roused from winter hibernation and preparing to greet and celebrate Imbolc ... as I know you all are, too....

However, I must first confess the Winter Solstice almost got me as I went into a trance around the fire and got the bear fat too close to the flames.... Something from one of your poets comes to mind about a candle burning at both ends ... although I do think I would have made a lovely light.... But I digress....

Imbolc is generally observed February 1 or February 2 in the northern hemisphere and is linked to the concepts of purification, prophetic poetry, healing and recovery. It is one of the four major Celtic/Druid fire festivals and is considered a herald of spring. As with the recent Solstice, the use of fire for purification is an integral part of the celebration and ceremony. Symbols of renewal are prevalent, too: "among agrarian peoples, Imbolc has been traditionally associated with the onset of lactation of ewes (eeewwwww!), soon to give birth to the spring lambs." It may also be known in Christian cultures as St. Brigid's Day ... or more ingloriously, Groundhog Day.

During breaks in my preparations for the festival, I have been fairly enchanted ... one might say enthralled ... to read accounts on this blog (somehow the name reminds me of a troll I once knew) of the early lives of your presently and temporarily earth-bound spirits. And it could not help but remind me of my own days as a young(er) goddess in training.... The lessons, the lessons ... eye of newt, toe of frog, dissecting the toe of frog (not an easy task), runes, divining the bones ... "answering the calling of the tides' eternal tune, the phases of the moon, the chambers of the heart, the ebb and dart, a small gray spider spinning in the dark in spite of all the times the web is torn apart" (with a nod to my airborne mystical companions the Eagles).... So much to learn ... so many enchantments ... so little time ... even when one has infinity....

The contests on the fields of honor ... Joe Don, Jim, Charles ("Chicken" sounds more like a sacrifice, of which there seems to be a notable lack in your world), Moose (see "Chicken"); the warriors on the field of Mars ... Darryl and Mike and Walter and others; the vestals and keepers of the flame ... Clara and Pat; the performers ... Linda Kay, Sheila and the other Pat; the musicians ... who I'll bet have never tried to march a straight line or form symbols, much less play music, while carrying bodhrans (Irish drums, pronounced "BO-rans") or uilleann pipes (pronounced "pipes"... small grin); the audience (and sometimes the Greek chorus) giving voice to each play, each act, each maneuver. It takes me back, I tell you.

I am particularly fond of my incarnation/sojourn in the days of the Arthurian legend ... the Round Table, knights, damsels, chivalry, Excalibur and Avalon (my home then ... until the arrival of that nouveau WYCHE ... rhymes with bitch ... Morgan Le Fay) ... in the persona of one of my alter egos, The Lady of the Lake. (You really didn't think I was that Guinevere, did you? Puh-leeze!!! She was ONLY a QUEEN! And I am not only a goddess, but a Triple Goddess!!!! Nevertheless, we must be humble about these things....

My mentor Lucan (a/k/a Merlin once upon a time) divined and bestowed the name I am known by now (although some I have are older), which many believe originates in Celtic/Druid/Welsh myth and mist ... "Gwenhwyfar can be translated as The White Fay or White Ghost ... the white phantom or white fairy [in some translations, "white wave"].... Additionally, the name may derive from Gwenhwy-mawr or Gwenhwy the Great...." [I like that!!!!!] In a more pedestrian form, modern English, the name is rendered as "Jennifer". (Not too fond of this "pedestrian" stuff....) But all this is another story, and I digress....

Still, even a goddess may be impressed with the capacity of humans to grow and learn within each of their lifetimes. And it is good to return in mind and heart to memory and remembrance ... to recall where you came from ... and reflect on how you came to be the altogether human beings you are today ... sometimes wise, sometimes foolish, sometimes less than noble, sometimes capable of great nobility of spirit ... but generally progressing through this life of learning, as you must. And it is good to tell the stories ... like the Irish Shanachie (sha-na-kee), or storyteller, or the File (FE-lay), the poet. Your stories ... all of them ... help remind you of your past, so that you may live the present, and honor and prepare for the future.

Nearly full moon in the daytime sky ... signs and portents ... runes to read, bones to throw ... a goddess's work is never done.... Ah! Here! I see planning ... for your own celebrations, your festivals ... something called a "reunion".... It sounds intriguing to me.... Pooof!! It shall be so!

You will be pleased to know the goddess will be in attendance for your revelries. I have just two questions ... where do we put the fire pit and who's bringing the flame-retardant bear fat????

)O(

My Photo


Sunday, January 20, 2008

Clara A. R. Meek: Cheerleading-----A Comparative Study (Today and the Dark Ages)

Cheerleading today begins pre womb. There is a potential mommy out there with big plans. Preparation begins with the first sonogram verifying the gentler gender. Mantras to the womb----"You are a CHEERLEADER, You are a CHEERLEADER, You are a CHEERLEADER"
whilst giant pom poms wave seductively over the growing fetus. Soon after birth it's Mommy & Me tumbling classes, toddler gymnastics, preschool "movement" classes, elementary school dance----ballet for grace, jazz for expression, tap for spunk AND the ongoing gymnastics and tumbling classes----THEN actual cheerleading academies, with team experience and local, state, and national competitions-------strength and conditioning classes----nutritional consultants----hair & makeup consultants----a life coach---and by the time high school tryouts come along, a therapist on call. I forgot about the dermatologist and the orthodontist and the style consultant.

Let's fastback to 1960-61. Here's what I remember:
"Hey! They're having cheerleader tryouts next week. Why don't you try out?"
"Okay. I guess I could do that."

The tryouts were on the STAGE in the AUDITORIUM--------very scary-----in front of the whole school! What was I thinking? I don't remember what we wore, but I'm guessing it was jeans, maybe a sweatshirt, and "tennis" shoes, either from J.C.Penney's or Montgomery Ward's because that was all there was. I think most of us trying out did the same yell, TWO BITS, FOUR BITS!

I wish I had Jennifer and Mike's ability to remember the details. I do remember that I was totally surprised to be chosen. When I told my mom she said "That's nice." (No bouquet of roses or limo ride home to a confetti strewn path, as you might find today)
I do remember that as a group we had a great time together. Our squad consisted of Judy Rutledge, Joy Schaefer, Marilyn Harp, Celia Farha, Sue Sims, Pat Harmon, DeeDee Arrington and myself. As far as I know, none of us had been groomed to do anything but go to school, stay out of trouble, and have fun.

We went to a cheerleading camp at SMU that summer. I think it was the first trip for CHS cheerleaders. It was definitely eye opening for us. We had seen the city and there was no turning back. We had eaten PIZZA----we learned to TEASE our hair----we stayed in a DORM----we actually learned new yells-----we found out we were no competition in our field. Our collective jaws dropped as we watched big squads from city schools flip, split, tumble, and spring in perfect unison wearing factory made-to-order uniforms We couldn't go home empty handed, so we plotted to win the best spirit stick, which we did by being overly friendly and peppy and gushing over everyone else's performances.

We vowed to improve-----we practiced------we tried our hardest------but most memorable is the fun we had. I remember lots of giggles. If we had any squabbles among us, I don't remember them. I thought leading students through the halls to the pep rally was the coolest thing we did-----getting to make all that noise in the halls! We probably thought we were pretty special to be on the football field and the basketball court trying to get the crowd motivated.

Cheerleaders our junior year were Judy Rutledge, Sue Sims, Joy Schaefer, Pat Harmon, Gay Morris and myself. Our senior year: Pat Harmon, head cheerleader, Gay Morris, Judy Wilson, Arlyna Caradine, Linda DeArmond and myself. Fondest thoughts go to Mr. & Mrs. Harmon for hauling us around cheerfully on SO many occasions.





SMU cheerleading school, summer of 1960. Judy Rutledge doing a backbend, Marilyn Harp doing splits, on left Sue Sims, on right Celia Farha, DeeDee Arrington behind Celia, Pat Harmon peeking through legs, the legs in the air are Joy Schaefer and myself----don't know which is which-----I'm guessing I'm on the right.


Billie Janice Harp (Jennifer's mother)

This photo of Jennifer's mother makes a great addition to Clara A. R. Meek: Cheerleading-----A Comparative Study (Today and the Dark Ages)

Childress High School cheerleader, ca. 1942


Friday, January 18, 2008

Fantastic Facts About the Class of 1963

In August of 2007, I published a post entitled Where in the World is......The Class of '63. This question was asked totally out of my curiosity about where my former classmates were living and what had happened to all of us since we last met. For the most part Jim and I, except for a couple of past reunions, have lost contact with most of the people we had known so well in our school days. Over the last few months, Jennifer and I with the help of others have spent a lot of time trying to locate as many of us as possible, first just to re-establish communication via the blog and more recently to generate interest in attending a 45th reunion for our class. For you data driven folks and for those of you who are just curious as I was, I have some Fantastic Facts about the Class of 63’ that go a long way in answering the question of where we are today.

Fantastic Fact # 1: According to the 1963 school annual there were 86 of us who graduated that year.

Fantastic Fact # 2: According to the research that we have done, sadly, there have been 8 deaths in our class since we graduated. (that we know of) See the Post Bobcat Treasure: Jade ... Candles ... and Auld Lang Syne .... for more information.

Fantastic Fact # 3: After our research we have been unable to locate 11 of our classmates. This means we don’t have an address, an email address, or a telephone number for these people.

Fantastic Fact # 4: We have been able to locate 67 of our class members.

Fantastic Fact # 5: 51 of our classmates still live in Texas and 16 live in “foreign” states outside of Texas.

Fantastic Fact # 6: I am able to give you a breakdown of where we are living by cities, towns, or areas (just for fun)

In Texas: 11 still live in Childress, 1 in Quanah, 1 in Vernon, 1 in Lake Graham, 1 in Woodway, 3 in the Houston Area, 6 in Amarillo, 2 in Austin, 4 in the San Antonio area, 10 in the Dallas/Ft. Worth area, 5 in Lubbock, 2 in Midland, 1 in Longview, 1 in Shamrock, 1 in Abilene, and 1 in Dumas Total of 51

Outside of Texas: 4 are lucky enough to live in beautiful Colorado, 2 in the great state of Washington, and 1 each in the following states: Louisiana, Florida, Michigan, Nevada, Oklahoma, Arizona, New Mexico, Arkansas, California, and South Carolina for a total of 16

Fantastic Fact #7: Another interesting bit of information about the Graduating Class of 1963 concerns the decline of the number in the class from 1960 to 1963. These numbers would be a major source of concern in education today! Each of the missing students would have to be tracked to see if they would be dropouts or if they graduated from another school or if they received a GED.

In 1960 as freshmen there were 120 in the class.
In 1961 as sophomores there were 107 in the class.
In 1962 as juniors there were 100 in the class
In 1963 as seniors there were 86 who graduated.

Fantastic Fact #8: The Class of 1963 will celebrate its 45th class reunion in Las Vegas, Nevada, October 17-19, 2008. Each of you has been sent a "save the date" card so you can add the dates to your calendar. If you have not received this card by the end of next week, please email Nicki or Jennifer so your address can be checked for accuracy on our part.

Fantastic Fact #9: Jennifer has been working very hard to find the best hotel deals for us in Las Vegas, as well a place for our social events and other entertainment. She has published this information in on our reunion blog. The Best Reunion Ever for the Class of 1963

Fantastic Fact #10: We are looking forward to seeing each of you in Las Vegas. We know that by now you are considering whether or not you will be able to come. We hope you will give serious thought to coming and that you will soon give us and your other classmates a postive response.


Fantastic Fact #11: We are very interested in getting to know each of you as you are today. We hope you will consider giving us an overview of your life since 1963 so we can publish this information on the blog Getting to Know You: Show and Tell along with your 1963 graduation picture. We want to make this very easy for you, so send your bio to either Jennifer or Nicki and we will publish it as a post featuring you and your family. We do love to hear those stories about how you met your spouse and we love grandchildren, too.

Friday, January 11, 2008

The Times of Our Lives: November 22, 1963 ... the day of the bells....

Painting by Yahn Smith

Today the blog begins a new, intermittent series of posts (and we hope comments) on "The Times of Our Lives" ... discussions and memories of the events and experiences which shaped our lives after our graduation from CHS, which along with the seminal personalities and sensibilities we had developed by May 1963, caused us to become the sui generis, yet "connected" individuals we are today.

There are many such events ... the war in Vietnam; all the trauma of 1968 (the Tet offensive, the assassinations of Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy, the chaos at the Democratic Convention in Chicago, the violent explosion of the first major rift in American society itself since the Civil War); the manned landing, and Neil Armstrong's first walk on the moon in 1969 (fulfilling John F. Kennedy's "vision") and subsequent space exploration; the first OPEC power play (from which we unfortunately did not learn, and haven't yet); the "Yom Kippur War" (instigated by Arab countries, won by Israel, and certainly a huge influence on the dynamics of the Middle East even today); the first Palestinian intifada (1987, while Yahn and I were just "next door" in Egypt); the first bombing of the World Trade Center in 1993; the rise and entrenchment of extremely partisan and divisive politics, and more.

I had been turning this idea over in my mind, as well as pondering the specific subject for the first post, when just a few days ago, in the newly-inaugurated "Quote of the Day", there was this from John Fitzgerald Kennedy: A man may die, nations may rise and fall, but an idea lives on. I'm not sure if there was some psychic vibe going (which might open up a whole new topic), but I immediately called Nicki and broached the idea, which she received with gratifying enthusiasm. Or else she was too polite to tell me if she did have negative thoughts....

Nevertheless, I think that arguably the most shocking, life-changing and perspective-altering event to collectively befall our generation ... at least in our still formative years and until the terrible day of September 11, 2001 ... was the assassination of John F. Kennedy on November 22, 1963. I have heard our parents and grandparents say many times over the years that they would never ever forget what happened on December 7, 1941 ... where they were, what they were doing, who they were with, how they felt ... when the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor hurtled the U.S. into World War II. But it was not until I was barely 17, not long out of a small high school in a small town, and in my freshman year at Texas Tech, that I had any personal frame of reference for the type of occurrence ... catastrophe ... our elders had faced, leading to the genesis of "The Greatest Generation" as Tom Brokaw has called them.

Although there may be diverse conclusions to be drawn, and many opinions as to the sociological and psychological effects the assassination had on our generation, and on our country as a whole, I am going to avoid speculation and conjecture at this juncture and only share with you what happened to me on that awful day, and in the days immediately following. And I hope others will share memories and thoughts as well.


That beautiful fall at Texas Tech, I counted myself fortunate to be the only freshman who was then allowed to actually work as part of the staff of The Daily Toreador, the Tech student newspaper. In accordance with my avocation and following my declared major in journalism, I had deliberately gotten both my freshman English requirements out of the way that summer, a prerequisite, and I had then been given a waiver to join Toreador while simultaneously taking the first required journalism course. I recall I loved working with the upperclassmen who ran the paper, and was absolutely delighted to be assigned to cover even quotidian things such as student government meetings, dorm councils, Panhellenic activities, etc.

On the Friday before the Thanksgiving holidays, during the noon hour (CST), my roommate Susie Willingham and I were just coming out of the cafeteria at Knapp Hall when we saw a large group gathered around the television in the reception room. Curious, we wandered in, just in time to hear the announcer (I think it was either Walter Cronkite or Dan Rather, but I am not sure) intone: "... reports that a shot has been fired at the Presidential motorcade in downtown Dallas. No word yet as to the condition of the President and Mrs. Kennedy, whose car sped from the scene...."

Absolute and utter shock!!!! That someone could actually shoot at the President of the United States!!! It took just a minute, and then my journalistic instincts kicked in ... and I began running as fast as I could, Susie unthinkingly running behind me, toward the offices of the Toreador.

I remember we barreled through the central Administration Building, almost knocking two professors off their feet in our mad scramble. As one of them began to remonstrate, I gabbled out "Haven't you heard!!!! Someone shot at the President!!" before taking flight again and leaving them standing there open-mouthed. When we arrived at the Toreador office, Susie shrugged helplessly and opted to return to the dorm, since she didn't work on the paper. And then I walked into the outer office and saw ... about six people, including Artie Shaw, the Sports Editor ... and heard the bells and clatter of the UPI and AP wire services in the background. I looked at Artie, and at my five fellow lower-tier staffers (a/k/a grunts and/or go-fers) and asked in a rush, "Have you heard? What's happening on the wires? Where is everyone? What are we going to do???"

I remembered vaguely as I stood there that there was an out-of-town football game between the Tech Red Raiders and the UT Longhorns the next day ... BIG game!!! ... but it was Friday, and the game was Saturday ... and where was everyone??? Artie quieted me, and the others, and explained that all the masthead (core) staff of the Toreador had already left for pre-game partying in Austin, having "put to bed" (sent to to be published) the last paper of the week the preceding night. Artie was the exception, and he had not planned to leave Lubbock until early Saturday morning.

As we absorbed this, we heard the AP and UPI bells start again ... ding, ding, ding, ding, ding.... In those days, whenever an important story came across the wire services, it was preceded by a series of bells, the number of bells denoting the importance of the story. I'd first learned about this when I worked at The Childress Index during the summer of 1962 ... the summer Marilyn Monroe died, and Roger Maris and Mickey Mantle were dueling it out in the baseball stats ... and I had of course become reaccustomed to it on Toreador. But I had never heard a story come across the wire with more than three bells max ... until I heard those bells, so insistent, so loud ... and I began mentally, silently counting, as I'm sure everyone in the room was doing: "One, two, three, four, five, six...." Oh my God! Six bells!!!!" We all ran to gather around the wire and saw as the teletype clanked out, in its own dull yet urgent signature language, with typical spare phraseology: "Confirmed...President Kennedy shot...Taken to Parkland Hospital in Dallas....Condition unknown." Then the wire fell silent ... the passage of time seemed huge (though it was only seconds) before any of us could speak. And then there was a babble of "Oh my god! He was hit!!!" "He'll be all right, they got him to the hospital...." "What in hell...." "How could this happen...."

But no sooner did we begin to find coherent speech and thought than the bells started again ... and we all began our silent count.... ding, ding, ding ... one, two, three ... ten (10!!) bells ... and the chunk-a-chunk staccato of the wire service machines: "Kennedy's injuries reported serious." Then silence, fear, an attempt to comfort and reassure each other.... And we waited ... until: ding, ding, ding ... one two three ... fourteen (14!!!) bells: "Kennedy's condition grave." Stunned silence, and creeping dread. Then: ding, ding, ding ... "One, two three (we were all counting now in low, but audible whispers) ... eighteen ... EIGHTEEN (18!!!) bells." And the teletype: "CBS News reports that a priest has been called to Parkland Hospital ...." And silence ... one of the longest silences I can remember, both actually and metaphorically ... as we looked around at each with horror and shock and dawning grief flashing from face to face. We waited ... and waited ... so loooong.....so looong.... We found ourselves wanting the bells to start again, just to break the tension ... but dreading that they would.

Finally... the bells...ding, ding, ding...TWENTY-TWO (Oh my God! 22 BELLS!!) ... then a profound, resonating silence... and then the short rat-a-tat burst of the teletype, with two terse words: "Kennedy Dead." And silence again ... until some minutes later the machines jarringly and almost insultingly sprang to life, as reporters rushed to file their stories on the incident, and background material ... the bells now back to a reasonable level of three or four ... but I think we were beyond hearing them by then....

Finally Artie, the seasoned reporter, the solid upperclassman in our midst, said: "Well, we're not much of a staff ... but we've got to get an "Extra" out tonight." And somehow, we did ... all of us ripping (from the wire services), and reading, and writing, and proofing ... Artie pulling the issue together, and holding us together. We put the "Extra" to bed around 10:30 or 11:00 that night ... and then, after all the mercifully thought-dulling activity of the afternoon and evening, we left the office to confront the reality of what had happened, and try to put ourselves to bed, in a dark, haunted, sleepless night.

The next few days are still a blur. Watching television with friends at a boyfriend's apartment ... Oswald being transferred from the Dallas jail, being shot LIVE ON TELEVISION by Jack Ruby ... the mind almost refused to comprehend and process ... the absolute cessation of normal activity and commerce, shuttered movie theaters, no televison broadcasts of anything except as they related to John F. Kennedy, and his presidency, the assassination ... that unspeakable, evil word, "assassination", hanging heavy in the air.... And then ... the funeral, the riderless horse, the stricken and stoic Mrs. Kennedy ... and just when we knew it could not be worse, or more tragically beautiful, that our hearts could not break more than they already had ... John-John saluted his father's casket....

No matter your politics ... if any of us really had many political beliefs of our own that were not just generally reflections of our parents' thinking (for the record, my family was Republican then and didn't think very much of JFK ... except for some unexplained maverick liberal tendencies on my grandmother's part) ... I think it is likely that the assassination affected all of us deeply, in our core beings, our sense of security and who we were as a nation... and that day remains burned in our memories these long years later.

We would be honored to hear your recollections of that time.


Footnote:
Texas Tech had canceled classes until after the Thanksgiving weekend, so I went with Susie to Dallas earlier than we had originally planned. In Dallas, she introduced me to her friend and former Highland Park High School classmate Kirk Wade, then at UT Austin ... and at Kirk's house one afternoon, watching Texas play Texas A&M, I met Henry Wade ... Dallas District Attorney for many, many years and Kirk's uncle (and for those who have missed it previously, the "Wade" in the landmark case Roe v. Wade in 1973). And Uncle Henry, perhaps feeling the effects of a long schmooze with his friend "J.D. Black", let drop to me in conversation that despite wild speculation to the contrary, he and the Dallas Police were convinced that, improbable as it might seem, both Lee Harvey Oswald and Jack Ruby had acted alone and independently of each other. Uncle Henry didn't tell me that our conversation was "off the record" ... it probably didn't occur to him that he needed to ... after all, I was just a college girl friend of his nephew Kirk. Nevertheless, perhaps he should have thought twice ... because I duly reported the remark to the Toreador when I returned, where it appeared in a story a good two or three days before Uncle Henry gave his press conference to make a formal announcement of that determination to the country and the world. Never got credit for the scoop ... but I (and Kirk and Uncle Henry, wherever he may be) know....

My Photo


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Tuesday, January 8, 2008

Mike Spradley: The Great Watergun Massacre ....

Funny Picture
Mike in a candid shot soon after the massacre....

Hokee Dokee .... On this day it's Don Seal and myself ... 7th grade ... 1957 ... Gawd knows where Czewski was ... because the three of us were seldom apart from 7th grade 'til 9th grade.....
Regardless ... and as I said before….It was all Don Seal’s fault…….

Don and I are walking……..and you know?.....'tis truly amazing….because the 3 of us used to walk everywhere… miles and miles per day…… on weekends I’ll bet we would walk 50 to 75 miles……we could cover more territory on foot than Apache Indians……we would literally be all over the town on foot…

….Jennifer…..that's what we were doing that night we ran into you guys……we was jist’ a’ walkin'……looked up…..and EUREKA!!!!.....it's a house full of girls dancing with each other……. and there are none of the hated Seniors here!!!!..... It was like stumbling across the harem while the eunuchs were on coffee break or something!!!!!!

Anyway….I think we were walking from my house on Ave M…..across from Jimmy and Jerry Gay’s house….cause we stopped at Coats' grocery store on the highway……whilst there……we saw and purchased two of those 10 cent waterguns that looked like little Martian ray guns.

And of course…….we are shooting each other and whatnot…shooting at dogs…….and walking. We were proceeding down Clara’s street…..what street did Clara live on…..it was like Ave “C”….or “D”…..anyway...

As we got one house past Clara’s house……she…….by coincidence…..happened to walk out of her house….I am sure it had steps on the front of the house …?

We see her…….she sees us…….and we walked back to the edge of her front yard…….she seemed genuinely happy to see us…walks over…..…and the conversation begins……..”how are you doing……nice to see you…….how is school…….how are your grades…….yaddie yaddie yadda”……..

Remember those cute little glasses Clara used to wear?........they were like cat's eyes with wings……..and Clara made those glasses look so good…..

Sooooooooooooooooooooo…………here we are……talking to one of the most gorgeous girls in Childress County…….and it is a wonderful…..nice…..casual conversation….amongst two dorks and a babe………

I was just to the point of asking Clara to marry me.... when… tragedy beyond reason befell us!!!!!!!!!

What do young boys do when they wish to indicate to a girl how much they like them…? Well .....they torment them…..hit them on the arm……say bad things to them….pull their hair…… and……SOB!!!!......OH!!....the Humanity of it!!!!!......they shoot them with waterguns!!!!!!!!!

I mean…..one minute we are having this nice conversation with The Clara Ann Robinson……and the next instance……….Don Seal shoots Clara with this little bitty itsy bitsy weenie tiny, insignificant, amount of water out of that pathetic little water gun.

If the water had been gasoline……it would not have been enough to power a pissant’s motor scooter to ride around a baseball!!!!!

WELLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!.......it may as well have been a gallon of gasoline thrown onto a raging inferno……..I mean……..I once was flying from Alaska to San Francisco on the day Mt. St. Helens blew up……..we were 100 miles away at 36,000 feet…….and it rocked the 737 I was in….like we were struck by a missile (which almost happened to me once)……'twas of that magnitude…..

Clara’s eyes got as big as saucers behind those cute little glasses…her face clouds over……her eyes then went into a squint……a glare…one eyebrow goes way up…….smoke is starting to pour from her ears…she takes a couple of steps back……and says….something on the order of….”I’ll be back"…….kind of like that Arnold Schwarzenegger Terminator movie…..”I’ll be back!”……now that I am remembering it…….it was very much like that…..

The only thing that kept us from being afraid was ignorance and stupidity.

So….she runs into her house……..and we are standing there like D.A.s……and thinking… well….after all….what can she do?......Heck…..she’s only a girl.

Heah com da revenge part……..

We hear the front porch screen door shut……..we look up……and here she comes……..

Remember in football…when the coach had you run up the bleachers…..and then you would come down….with your knees just a’ pump’n…like pistons…..down those bleachers…….making all kinds of racket….

Well…..that was Clara coming down from the porch....flames following behind her…...her legs were jist’ a’pounding down those steps… If you looked up the word intensity…..Clara’s face would be there….and she had something in one hand……and a few very similar thingamabobs clutched to her chest. So ….with military precision…….like a British skirmish line……Don and I raise arms……and prepare to fire (our water pistols)

As Clara got closer….we were finally able to eye spy exactly what Clara was a’carry’n… Gasp!... Holy Cow Kimo Sabe!!!!!!.......she had one baby bottle in her hand……and was clutching three more to her chest….all full of water…….

I want you folks to know……..go look at a world map or a globe…..look North to South……East to West… it is rare if you can find an ocean…..or a sea…..or a river…….or any large body of water that I have not been on the past 45 years. I have sunk many boats……..I had a boat sink right out from under me in the Beaufort Sea offshore Tuktoyaktuk, mouth of the Mackenzie River, Northern Canada. I fell overboard in the Cook Inlet…….I was marooned on a rock for 12 hours offshore Balikpappan, Indonesia for 12 hours……etc….etc…etc.....

But the closest I ever came to drowning……was the instant Clara cut loose with those baby bottles!!!!!!!!!

So…the exchange went like this……squirt squirt squirt…… WHHHHoooooooosh…. squirt…… WHHHHooooooooosh…… WHHHHoooooosh…. WHHHHoooooooosh… ……and by now we are drenched like drowning rats…….and Clara is laughing like a wild banshee..and shooting….. she is without mercy………..

So now……retreat!!!....retreat!!!!... but we are idiots aren’t we?........we don’t have enough sense to separate and go in opposite directions……we are like drenched Robotons……not capable of independent thought……..i.e.……we are in full headless chicken mode….panicked beyond comprehension……

So we are like running…together….in circles…..with this crazy woman on our trail….upon occasion we would turn…..like the bad guys shooing at Roy Rogers…and shoot back over our shoulder…… again……..it was……squirt….squirt………. WHHHHHHooooooooosh……

Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeezzzz……..well Thank God……….Clara finally ran out of baby bottles and water……I think we may have thrown down our weapons and thrown ourselves to the ground with our arms outstretched…..

I actually don’t remember much after that…..I just remember Clara laughing…….when I told her this story in Wimberley in 2001?…….she, thankfully, could not remember it………but I am blessed with this detailed memory and a residual fear of water.

Later, in the 9th grade competition……Czewski, Don Seal and I won the $5.00 reward for selling the most cans of peanuts (that we used to buy a bottle of whiskey……and promptly broke, never drank)

Whilst in the downtown hardware store selling peanuts…..in comes Clara Ann Robinson…….She was joining that freshman girls club and she was running around town in this clown’s wig………wild makeup….blacked out teeth……and carrying a bucket…….She looked ridiculous!!!!

I came so close to laughing at her out loud....but...I was afraid she would whup out that baby bottle from that bucket and send me down the river again....I kept my mouth shut except to say .... "Hi Clara!!! Looking good!!!!"

Friday, January 4, 2008

Life is a game; Basketball is Serious: Jim Wilcoxson

I, like Joe, grew up wanting to be a Bobcat. I had an uncle, James Henry Hankins, who died while playing football for the Bobcats in 1938. My grandfather, Henry Hankins, watched nearly every practice and every game Childress played in all sports. He started taking me with him to practices when I was in the third grade. My first heroes were not Superman, Roy Rogers, or Gene Autry, but Bobcat ball players—Lindley Davis, LaNoel Castleberry, Derrell Nippert, F.A. Davis, and Tom Higley.

My first year to play youth basketball which was called Kids Inc. in Childress, Tom Higley was my coach. I was in the second grade and all of the boys on the team were two to three years older than I was. Some of my teammates were Hugh Gayle Frith, LeRoy Black, and Brian and Gary McBrayer. I was clueless! My dad told me I would stand in one spot and just jump up and down. The next year Tom was still my coach, but my teammates were my age. It was the third grade that started the friendship with teammates Joe Don Hopkins, and Bobby Huff that lasted through our senior year. We had a great time playing ball, and I remember our Shetland League team, the Fabulous Robins, was undefeated and in our minds the greatest team of all time

My sophomore year we tied Spearman for the district championship and had a playoff with them at Shamrock. We had a big team so Spearman played a zone and just packed it in. Coach Warren started me in the playoff game because I was supposed to be able to shoot from the perimeter. Sure enough on the first possession, I brought the ball down and Spearman didn’t have a player much higher than the free throw line. Naturally, I shot. I air balled it! I mean it hit nothing! I glanced at the bench on the way back down on defense and Coach Warren had his head in his hands, like, “what have I done.” Fortunately, we went on and won the game—no thanks to me, I might add. Bob Foard, Jerry Harmon, Homer McGaugh, and John Manual were seniors on that team. Juniors were Travis McCain, James Self, and Jim Hamm.

Our junior year we had a really talented team with the potential to be a factor at the state level, but we had some key injuries. I missed nearly every district game because of an Achilles tendon injury. It was the most disappointing thing that happened to me in all my athletic career. James Self, Glen Beal, Michie King, Jim Hamm,and Travis McCain were the seniors on the team, and the juniors were Bob Huff, Darrell Manuel, Johnny Thornton, Ronnie Lawrence, Joe Hopkins, and myself.

Our senior year, we won 19 games and lost 6. We finished second in district to Seymour who had a truly big talented team. Joe Don, Bobby , Johnny Thornton, Ronnie Lawrence, Reed Lockhoof, Phil Tudor, and I were the seniors on the team, and even though we had a good team, we lacked the height that was needed to beat Seymour.

I have a hard time remembering many games or scores, but I do remember the relationships that were built. I was blessed to have many fine friends and teammates while playing basketball. Joe Don and Bobby were close to me during that time. We had played together since the third grade. We spent many an hour after practice just getting in a little extra shooting practice and hanging out as the kids would say today.

Joe Don and I were talking a couple of days before Christmas. We remember that one of the great things about Childress was that we were all the same. We didn’t notice what we wore, where we lived, what we drove, and nobody had a clue or cared how much your daddy had. I feel like God really blessed me to let me live in Childress, be a Bobcat and have friends and teammates like Joe Don and Bobby.

I feel blessed to have had Joe Warren as a coach. Coach wasn’t much older than his team, but he did a great job of coaching us and we won more games than our talent would indicate. But what I really appreciated about Coach Warren was that he made basketball fun. I enjoyed going to the gym whether it was a game or practice. He treated us with respect and my decision to become a coach was due in large part to the positive experience I had playing high school basketball. I have re-established contact with Coach over the last few years. We have had a great time playing golf and visiting—usually telling Childress stories.