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

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