Season's Eatings

It's that time of year again, Co75ers: the one where we former and current Risonians start our diet plans. Actually, some of us started right after Halloween ... in preparation for eating like pigs at Thanksgiving and Christmas, only to return to dieting after the New Year.

In deference to the Season, I joined an "exercise club" recently (funny, but "club" used to mean something entirely different). This is the one that you've seen advertised as the "ten dollar fitness club." It's true, for what it's worth. For only 10 bucks and some change each month, I can take my iPod, don my dingy, red Titleist golf cap and, with way-too-white legs, go about a block from my house and pretend to get a workout. For $5 more, I can even pretend to get a tan. Believe me, tanned, shiny legs on a fat 51 year-old doesn't help.

My thoughts about exercising always seem to increase in frequency around the holidays. Yours? I mean, I start eating stuff around Halloween and the rampage doesn't end until a week after New Year's Day. And each time I come out of my sugar coma, I awake to see Eva Mendez or Brad Pitt or Angela Jolie or Hugh Jackman on the 'tube and think (ridiculously) that "I could look like that again..." Sugar overdose does funny things to your mind.

I have to admit, however, that Thanksgiving has long been my favorite holiday. Halloween? Take a hike! The last time I cared about this "pseudo-holiday" was in the 1970s when we actually did fun things on Halloween night. (Okay, it was fun for some of us...you gotta admit flaming bags of poop does have a humorous side). Christmas? Forget about it. We've lost the meaning long ago - thanks in large part to Target, Wal-Mart, Home Depot, etc, etc. Try as I might to put meaning back into Christ-mas, the Spirit of Consumerism is always there to remind me to buy more stuff. I am, however, using this holiday to do more meaningful things each year - so maybe some of the real meaning will eventually return...

But, Thanksgiving? Absolutely! Family, Food, Fellowship, Friends! The Big Four! Isn't that what the holidays are supposed to be about? We used to return home to Rison from college or work to see old friends and family, to feast on turkey or ham or other family favorites, to catch up on the latest, answer the same questions from the same family members and fall asleep on the same favorite couches in the same favorite positions. It was a "drool-tide" favorite!

Thanksgiving always seemed to be the "purest" of the holidays, one where our intentions were more honest. Besides, you can't get more honest that a big 'ole fat Butterball turkey.

At any rate, Season's Greetings to you all...and I'm curious to hear your favorite holiday memories!

-Ken

Identity Crisis!

A current issue in our Web 2.0 world today is identity theft - obviously a serious problem and one which I hope none of you have experienced. I personally take extra precautions on my laptop and desktop to guard against the various trojans and viruses that tend invade computers.

But, regarding identity theft, aren't there some "identities" out there that frankly aren't worth stealing? Poor joke, I realize, but we all know people that never seemed to grasp a clear understanding of their worth - and the origin of that confusion seemed to have started in childhood and just worsened over the years. In fact, we all know people that frankly never grew up.

I never had kids, unfortunately. But, seems to me that one of the most invaluable gifts we could give our children is a solid sense of belonging, a foundational and bullet-proof belief that at the end of the day, enabled them to absolutely know that they "belong." They'd always remember and act on the fact that they are forever a member of the Smith, Jones (or your) family and they'd always know their place in life. Seriously, help me out with this concept: wouldn't an undying understanding of one's identity be the one thing that could get a person through the toughest decisions and lowest times in life? Wouldn't that simple truth be the one free thing that we could all give our children that would last forever? (I'll skip the theological implications, but suffice it to say that I know the discussion goes well beyond us and points to Someone much greater. I'll leave it at that for now).

So, have we done that? I assume that most of your kids are grown now - but its not too late to spend some time having this level of discussion. This is such a simple idea, but it is mind-blowing in it its profoundness! There's no time like the present to talk it up - especially if your kids are in college (the time when all things formerly sacred and sane inexplicably suddenly come under intense scrutiny).

So, why bring this up now? And, why from me? I've got no children, remember? I guess I'm in one of those weird, reflective moods. I think back on decisions that I've made over the years since (and during) our time together at RHS. And I realize now that many of those decisions - and the outcomes - were a direct result of who I did (or didn't) think that I was. My sense of identity (or lack thereof) made the difference. Obviously, during a few of those times, I must've experienced amnesia.

By the way, no one and nothing can ever really "steal your identity"...unless YOU allow it.

Cheers,

Ken

Response: "50+"

All,
I just had to post this hilarious response from "Midnight:"

" Turning fifty didn't bother me at all... Maybe for several reasons...

First of all, the little whippersnapper check out people at Kroger have been giving me the "senior" discount for some time. I've thought about asking them "just how OLD do you think I am" but, being a mature person in my fifties, I just smile sweetly and thank the little snits for my discount. Plus, it would probably cause a bit of a scene if I jumped over the counter stuffed my Kroger card down their little juvenile throats. At that point, paper or plastic wouldn't even be an option...

Second reason 50 wasn't so bad, my sweet husband surprised my with a piece of very nice jewelry. I don't care what folks may say, giving a woman jewelry is nothing but a win/win situation...

Third reason. I know, but, apparently other people don't know, I'm really only 27. Why the general public can't see that is beyond me. And it's usually people that appear to be in their 30s or 40s that don't realize or notice my "27ness". Some even feel obligated to say "yes ma'am and no ma'am" and naturally, I turn around to see to whom they're speaking...

Being in my fifties doesn't bother me. I really do feel wiser and think that my decisions make more sense. And although I've had multiple opportunities, not a single Kroger employee has been injured. Proof right there that some good things do come with age..."

Thanks Midnight for your keen insight and humor!

-Ken

50+

I'm over 50. So what?

So, that means that the pressure's off! I don't have to be concerned with "turning 50" anymore! How about you? Have you found this stage of life to be a remarkable breath of fresh air?

In my 20s, I was concerned with a lot of things that seem far away and distant now. In my early 20s, I was in the "explorer" phase of life. Everything was new and different - and an adventure. I couldn't stay in one place for longer than 6 months to a year. I wanted to do more, earn more, know more and experience more. Late 20s came and suddenly I felt the pressure to marry (a big mistake for me, as it ended in divorce). In my case (not speaking for others with successful marriages) I quickly found that I was ill-prepared for a married life. As those of you know that have maintained your marriages, it takes work and much compromise (as it should).

In my 30s, as a divorcee, I returned (for a bit) to the foolishness of my early 20s, trying desperately to recapture youth that was so quickly fleeting. Meanwhile, I still retained the wander-lust of the "next big thing." So, again, I moved. And, again, I found that the "green, green grass of home" was even sweeter than that of other pastures.

The 40-years came and went more quickly than I expected. I've spent most of those here in Little Rock, enjoying the comforts of being around long time friends in a state and city that I've come to love. We Arkansans enjoy a quality of life here that, frankly, most people outside the state don't seem to understand. To that end, so be it! We can just keep the secret to ourselves, eh?

And then, more than a year ago, the half-century mark lit painlessly on me, light as a feather, with no guilt, no remorse, no looking back. I guess I'm still surprised at not only the ease with which I slid into "middle age" but also with the unbridled relief that I feel - now that I'm here!

At 51, I know more now. Not as much as I want, but a heck of a bunch more than the average 24 year-old that I engage at the coffee pot or water fountain. I don't mean intellectually, of course. The kids today are bright, no doubt, and much brighter than me. But, I'd rather have the wisdom that comes with hard-knocks and experience. At 51, I take time to enjoy the little things. I don't miss the ambiguities and painful inexperience of my early 20s. In fact, I most certainly wouldn't want to return to that post-adolescent age with today's challenges. I get the distinct impression that a lot of today's young folks just don't know which way to turn or to whom (or what) to listen.

So, is it just me? Or is 50+ a great time to be alive?

God bless ya'll!

-Ken

Do-Overs

The scene unfolding in front of us was grisly, yet we sat catatonic, frozen in dreadful expectation of what was about to happen. The year was 1998 and I had asked a friend to join me in watching the new Tom Hanks movie, “Saving Private Ryan.” We’d been sitting motionless for well over two hours, with each new plot development drawing us deeper into the movie. And the one we were currently viewing engulfed us even more.

At this point, American Soldiers were stumbling through another bombed-out building when German soldiers sneaked up a shaky staircase to attempt a surprise attack. When the creaking boards gave away the attackers, the Americans opened fire, killing most of the Germans, save one. The American's defense manuver depleted their ammunition and allowed the surviving German soldier to charge into the room.

After an agonizingly long hand-to-hand battle, a lone Jewish-American soldier (played by Adam Goldberg) wound up beneath the German assailant, the sharp point of the German's long bayonet now bearing down on the American's chest. In the end, the American lost his life. And in those last fleeting seconds, the American pleaded, "WAIT, WAIT, WAIT!", as if to somehow change his attacker's mind.

There was no going back. There were no second chances. That young, American soldier, regardless of how sincerely he begged for another chance, another try, received none. The end came all too soon. The moment was gone - and so was the soldier’s life.

Wow! How breathtakingly poignant was that scene! How much would the soldier have given for another few seconds, another chance? Much less tragic, but no less absolute, was the time that we invested in our formative years in Rison. The time that we had seemed endless, but now it's gone - long gone. Hopefully, none of us experienced anything like that awful scene in "Saving Private Ryan." But, there were times that, given the chance, we might rework. Personally, there were a few times that I would "do-over," a few moments to re-think given the chance - some private and some public. Only this time, I’m pretty sure - in some cases - that I'd make different decisions. And, I’m sure the outcomes would be dramatically more purposeful.

For one, I would have told my parents how much I appreciated their hard work and the efforts they expended to provide a good home for my brother and me. I don't ever recall telling them that I was aware that money was short. I would have helped if I'd at least acknowledged it. I never said that I appreciated having a warm, loving family. There were hundreds of kids then and even more now that would die for such a home, or at least a two-parent household. And, some did die. Some still do today - every day. I wish I had a do-over for those moments.

I'd love to have shown my Grandparents much more love and appreciation than I did. How can we convince teens how important this is? Sometimes I see the pain in Mom's face when she misses her grandchildren and I distinctly remember being "too busy" to visit Granny and Pa. They always welcomed my brother and me, cherishing the few minutes that we’d spend and dreading the moment we’d announce that we were leaving. But their lonliness and requests always fell on our deaf, adolescent ears. I wish I could get a do-over with my Granny and Pa.

I'd tell the teachers at RHS that they were wonderful, even if sometimes they weren’t. How much would they have appreciated a simple "you’re doing a great job of teaching.” How hard would it have been to say “thanks for spending the extra time grading tests and preparing lessons, because I know you don't get paid much - certainly not enough to put up with a slacker like me." I'd volunteer to help them somehow, some way of showing appreciation. That'd be a great do-over.

Admittedly, I'd also probably skip the whole athletic scene. Well, maybe. I don't really know for sure, but I look back now with the admission that I just wasn't much of an athlete and, frankly, I'm not sure the effort was worth the outcome. I probably could have spent that time more wisely. I often wish now that I'd taken band. I liked music, but I guess I foolishly thought that band wasn't cool enough. Today, instead of a deteriorating football jacket (10 sizes too small), I'd have something really tangible to show for my efforts, like perhaps an aging trumpet that I could still play. So, yes, come to think of it, I'd probably do that memory over too.

Finally, the biggest do-over: Love, or at least my foolhardy attempt at it. Gratefully, I spent little time chasing the “love of a lifetime” while in school. Sure, I had "crushes" or infatuations, didn’t we all? It actually wasn’t until after high school that I ran head-long into a serious relationship, one that had life-altering consequences.

We thought nothing of dating relationships at the time. Most young people dated then. It was the norm. But, was it safe? Not necessarily. Like daring to trek across a frozen lake, I could hear the ice cracking beneath my feet, but foolishly forged ahead. I followed my youthful heart and ignored my head and the results of investing in something I had no chance of finishing. Eventually, I fell in.

It's scary to realize now how little we knew about relationships, how to manage emotions, how to evaluate the realities of serious dating. I think I’d use a “do over” to forego that level of dating – at least until I had a better idea of what serious dating looked life, felt like and resulted in. For that kind of investment, I think I would save it and savor it for the "me that would come to be."

But, do-overs don’t happen often. And, even if they did, would we have the guts to change things? Because we can't re-do our past, the best that we can do is to learn from it and move forward. I love the years we spent together at RHS. There were some times that I’d re-do, it’s true. But, I wouldn’t omit those years, good or bad, for anything in the world. They formed the fabric of our future lives and the legacy that we leave behind.

Rock on, Wildcats!

A Tall Drink of Water

He may have been “Fuzzy” while at RHS, but today Mickey Coats is better known as “Dr. James Coats” of Coats Chiropractic Clinic in Harrison, AR. It seems to me a crazy, ironic thing that the tallest guy in our class of 1975 now owns and operates a clinic wherein the focus is on “bones” more or less (realizing of course that I know nothing of chiropractics). But, I do know that there was much more to Mickey than met the eye in ‘75!

Take for example the fact that Mickey “DJ’d” his way through college, frequently putting together musical programs for college fraternities and sororities at UCA in Conway, AR. At first, it seemed that his “side job” might have only helped tide him over during the lean years of college, but according to Mickey, he was putting back some serious cash with his “hobby” while finishing school. Picturing Mickey as DJ isn’t hard; Mickey was always a bit of a cut-up. Thinking just now, I remember that crazy picture of Mickey in our 1975 yearbook, with his head turned at a 90 degree angle and some clownish look on his face. And there were all those times with Mickey mimicking lines from Cheech and Chong albums (along with chums Ronnie Word, Gary Brewer and Freddy Terry).

Another surprise: Mickey passed up the sports scholarships he was offered while at Rison. There’s no doubt that sports was central to Mickey’s identity while at Rison. We all remember him lumbering down the courts when it was “hoops” season. In fact, sports was “the only thing that really kept me in school” according to Mickey. “I’d tolerate anything in school just to play sports!” I asked him to remind me of where he participated (did I mention that my memory is over 50 as well?): “Well, in football, it was Tight End, Defensive End and Punter, with Gary Brewer doing the snapping.” I had completely forgotten that Mickey punted for our team. “I had a number of chances to play college sports after high school, but I passed them all up,” said Mickey. I asked why. He chuckled, “I didn’t know any better, man!” I laughed and added that none of us received much career counseling while in high school and that I could only vaguely remember our counselor. ‘Yeah, it was some cowboy-looking dude, but I never talked to him. I just had no idea.”

Here’s another twist: I didn’t remember Mickey as a hunter or a fisherman while we were in school – but he was! Mickey hunted a lot. “Anytime there was a season, I was hunting, he said with a laugh. In fact, when I asked what Mickey did on the weekends in Rison, he said “Well…hunting and fishing!”

I was leading Mickey into a discussion of his dating life while at Rison, so he obliged me: “I dated this girl from Pine Bluff for a while during my senior year and then a Woodlawn Girl for some of the time (see what I mean about Woodlawn Girls?) "I remember that me and the guys had our 'triple dates.' Three in one vehicle was crazy - it was hilarious. It was bad enough for the three of us to get together by ourselves (Ronnie, Freddy and Mickey), but with dates? It was just crazy.” Considering dating, I asked about any movie memories. “Na…none that I recall…if it wasn’t sports, I didn’t watch it!”

But, Mickey did comment about the Pine Drive-Inn. Long gone now, Pine Bluff was home to a real drive-in movie theater, the Pines Drive-Inn, near Dollarway. I remember groups of us making our way to the Pines on weekends. And, yes, Mickey (as well others) attempted to sneak a friend or two into the drive-in to save a couple of bucks.

Career wise, Mickey’s path was a little, shall we say, curvy. He found work as a welder in Houston right after high school, then returned to the Rison area when he secured a job at Varco- Pruden in Pine Bluff. After the Varco job, Mickey struck out for UCA to play basketball for the Bears, completing his degree in 1983 with a BS in Education. He coached until 1990, then returned to school at Henderson State as a Graduate Assistant while completing his Masters in Secondary Administration. Mickey enrolled in school again in 1992, but this time at Palmer College of Chiropractic in Davenport, IA, gaining his Doctors of Chiropractic medicine. In 1998, he and his wife opened their clinic (Coats Chiropractic) in Harrison, AR.

Mickey met his lovely wife Terri McConnaughhay at UCA. “What attracted you to her?” I asked. “I guess it was her stalking me.” I laughed and Mickey continued wryly: “I was DJing at UCA and had bought equipment and tapes and had sort of put things on auto-pilot. Terri wanted to meet “Fuzz” as I was called. So, she came up in the middle of a record, but I needed to do my job so I spoke to her only briefly and then immediately went back to work. She was not impressed. A couple of weeks later, we met again at the Student Union and she had, by then, softened-up. Then she started stalking me again.” It would appear that Mickey hasn’t lost his sense of humor.

Mickey continued to say that he and Terri got married in 1980 and have been happily married ever sense. “I didn’t chase her…I just finally gave up” he quipped. Seems that Terri’s Mom and Dad took a shine to Mickey almost immediately. However, Mickey did mention that Mr. McConnaughhay’s first words after meeting Mickey were something like “Oh Lord!” Maybe the Fuzz was too fuzzy?

It would seem that Terri’s “stalking” paid off handsomely, as Mickey and Terri have been blessed with three great kids (who are no longer “kids”). There’s Jonathon, 24, a Marine reservist and police officer in Bolivar MO. Next there’s Janeice who’s 22 and an actress in West Palm Beach, Florida. Finally, there’s Jeremy, 21 who's planning to attend seminary in Dallas next fall, in pursuit of a career as a church Youth Pastor. (Let’s all remember to pray for Jeremy!).

I never realized how much fun it would be to locate my old classmates, but if the next interviews are half as much fun as the one I just finished with Dr. James “Mickey” Coats, we’re all in for a treat!

-Ken

The "Comments" Link Works!

Ha! I received a "comment" today, so all you nay-sayers need to check out Suzy's words on the article below.

To add a comment, click the word "comments" embedded in the link that footnotes each posting, shown as:

"Posted by Ken Tillman at 8:28 PM 1 comments"

Once you click the link, a "pop-up" box should appear. Then, you'll be required to "sign in" but it's easy. Give it a try!

Later taters,

- Ken

What about Mary?

I feel like I’ve made a new friend this week: I “met” Mary Harlow Oleary again for the first time!

We all remember the Mary Harlow of our high school years: studious, serious and focused, right? Well, maybe in 1975, but nowadays Mary Harlow Oleary is witty, funny and even downright giddy at times!

Mary and I talked by phone for a good while the other night, catching up and reminiscing about the old days in Rison. But, the funny thing is this: I learned so much about Mary that I never knew. For instance, I had no idea that Mary didn’t drive when we were in high school. In fact, Mary tells me that she didn’t own a driver’s license until she was well into her freshman year at UAM. Mary laughed about the fact that her Mom “drove her to college” until Christmas break of her first year, at which point Mom made an executive decision that Mary was going to learn to drive – or else hitch a ride the rest of her college career! It must’ve been the right amount of motivation – Mary got her license and started driving (even though, as she’ll tell you, she still doesn’t enjoy it very much!)

I learned that Mary and her husband, Kleeman, have been married for 29 years! I’m always fascinated by folks with successful marriages, so I asked Mary if she felt that she and Kleeman really knew each other. She replied, “Oh yes! He even knows what I’m talking about when I’m not exactly sure!” Now, although Mary referred to him jokingly as “Old Grumpy,” I got the distinct feeling that she and her husband are very close. In fact, as Mary would say, “I guess that's because it's been just the two of us all these years.” To that end, Mary admitted that she almost “missed out” on her husband because she was a little, shall we say, “non-committal” at first. (I interpreted that confession to mean that Mary was too busy “dating around” during her last semester at UAM and didn’t recognize a “good thing,” if you get my drift!) Mary feared that Kleeman had given up on her, but luckily for her (and him), he didn’t.

Mary and Kleeman made their home in McGehee, AR around 27 years ago; McGehee is a close commute to Dumas, where Mary teaches 4th graders. (Husband Kleeman jokes that they can “see the city limit sign,” but that after 25 years Mary finally made it back to living on a gravel road). Mary, as everyone recalls, was very “bright” in school, (that means “dang smart”) I seem to recall that Mary was especially gifted in math, so it’s no surprise that she’s in charge of the science lab at her school, even if she still has a penchant for math. I asked Mary if she’d ever taught any other grade levels and her answer came as a polite “no, not really.” She really favors the 4th grade age range. Her teaching goals shouldn’t come as a surprise either: Mary determined early in life that she wanted a career as a teacher. (How is it that some kids are so mature? I could barely dress myself when I graduated!)

Being a “science aficionado,” Mary can’t imagine working in her field without the aid of computer technology. In fact, her classroom is outfitted with the latest gee-whiz stuff, including a “smart board,” whatever the heck that is! However, as we contrasted today’s latest technology with what was available when she began teaching, Mary began to chuckle. The first time the school (Dermott I think, where she taught for a few years) presented Mary with a “portable computer on wheels” Mary demanded that they “get that thing outta here!” I guess she overcame her distaste for high-tech.

Mary recalled many fond memories while at Rison High. I asked who she “buddied” with in high school and she quickly remembered Debbie Cox, Susan Cash, Kathy Smoot, Elizabeth Leopard and Gwen Roberts. “I guess there was such a small number of us girls that we were all pretty close,” Mary commented. But then Mary reminded me that she didn’t have the luxury of doing a lot of “running around” anyway, because she lived 17 miles away from Rison (in a suburb named “Herbine”).

Some of you may remember the other members of the Harlow clan: There’s Steve, who still lives in Rison, James (now deceased), Barry (who lives in Louisiana) and Rebecca that lives in the old family home in Herbine and teaches at Rison.

But, mostly we ‘75ers remember Mary; I’m grateful that I had the chance to “remember her again” in such a fun way!

Cheers!

Ken

Comments from Midnight

It was nice to hear from a former Risonian just the other day:


"Well, I can't believe you wrote about the concession stand...that was the only place I ate lunch my senior year. Always the same thing-Coke and a bag of chips-I think a total of about 25 cents. It was the Wildcat version of Starbucks. Do you get the feeling that small town school kids were too easily entertained? Probably a good thing and too bad that's not the case today... Am I the only one that makes comments on your blog? Naturally you would expect to hear from me since putting my two cents worth in is something I can't control...

- Keep on blogging! LGGD"

I'm grateful to LGGD (Midnight) for her comical comments. How about you? Care to comment? It should be easily accomplished, but LGGD tells me there's a problem. Someone give it a try and let me know if I need to get the tool kit out!

Rock on!

-Ken

The Dating Game

"Oh, she's not in love, she's just in love with an idea."

That was typical of the profound wisdom that we often shared with one another at Rison High, remember? And, it was all part of growing up in Rison: teenage angst, pimples, tests, the right clothes... and being in love.

I never fell in love in high school. Oh, there might have been an infatuation or two: I thought our art teacher, Judy McCarley, was charming. Sue Graves was the cutest math teacher I'd seen in a while ('course, my previous math teacher was Mike Leamons, so go figure). The cheerleaders were absolute dolls. But in love? What did we really know about that?

We dated around, of course. For some reason - maybe the challenge of it - we guys used to think it cool to date girls from Woodlawn. Looking back, I wonder why we didn't expand our explorations to Monticello, Star City, Fordyce or Pine Bluff. Why Woodlawn? I wonder too: did the Woodlawn guys come calling on the Rison girls?

As I remember it now, a date - at least in a formal sense - consisted of the dater picking up the datee and driving to maybe Big Banjo Pizza in Pine Bluff, taking in a movie and then returning to Rison. Of course, there was always the "parking issue." Now, truth be told, we guys never really knew if parking was in the offing. And, I don't really recall how we brought up the subject, but I'm sure that if parking was part of the evening's agenda, then the movie component of the date was probably scrubbed (because that would take far too much time, right?).

I remember a particularly embarrasing event that occurred after a night out with a "Woodlawn Girl" that, luckily for me, involved a "parking opportunity." (Thinking just now, I realize how ridiculously uncomfortable parking must have been and why it's probably only interesting to minors). Somehow (perhaps with a bit of luck or a tip from a friend) I located a dirt lane not far from the datee's house. My strategy was that the location would allow us to park much longer; consequently, I would not have far to go in order to deliver my date (or myself for that matter) home on time.

To my chagrin, I was not quite able to navigate the family Dodge out of the narrow dirt lane quite as easily as I had gotten it in there. Come to think of it, I probably couldn't see very well - on a good day I only stood around 5' 5" tall. So, there we were: 11:59pm on a Friday night, the middle of nowhere, my Dad's car is stuck, my date needs to get home and any thoughts about ending the evening like a scene out of Grease were completely out of the question.

So, we walked. Not much talking - just a lot of walking. Fast walking in fact: it's amazing how spooky Highway 35 can be after midnight. When we arrived, I remember my date's Mom remarking that she "didn't hear us drive up." Imagine her glee when I explained that we'd just walked about 2 miles from where we'd been smooching like I was going off to war the next day.

It's not a proud moment in a young man's life when your date's Mom has to fire up the farm truck after midnight only to jerk your Dad's car out of the ditch, where moments before you'd been wrasslin' with her only daughter! Afterward, I endured a much deserved lecture regarding the perils of parking, complete with a stern warning about any future ideas along those lines. Too, I discovered that a peace offering of Sweetarts to your date's Mom doesn't really smooth things over. Also, I found that after such an event, expecting a goodnight kiss is pushing one's luck!

I don't know for sure, but maybe that's why we were infatuated with Woodlawn Girls: there was always some kind of high drama involved with those "foreign chicks."

Yours,

Ken

Hair!

I used to have lots of hair. Or, better said, I had a bunch more than I do today. Thinking of that fact, I found the old picture (on the left) somewhere on my computer as I was scratching around tonight for more thoughts about our years at RHS.

Hair was such a big deal is the '70s wasn't it? We guys and girls, black and white, spent hours and hours on our hair. My friend and yours, Lisa Garner Douglas (aka "Midnight") had lots of hair...tons of it. I think without her hair she would have weighed maybe 50 pounds or so. James Mickey "Fuzzy" Coats had hair. The Brady Bunch could have taken a vacation in Fuzzy's hair. Gary Brewer had hair. Ronnie Word, Freddy Terry, Steve Davis, Ronnie Tillman...the list goes on...we all had long, long hair!

My brother and I were once the owners of a Remington Hot Comb..remember those? We were so proud of it, too! I think Dad frowned on our constant use of the 'ole Hot Comb - he thought we burned too much electricity! But bless his heart, he let us use it as long as we wanted. (He had lots of hair too, but Vaseline Hair Tonic kept his in place without the aid of electrical devices).

Mark Cathey's hair was always immaculate. Mark Trucks' hair never moved - it stayed perfect all the time. Mine blew around a lot, like everytime the wind came along. (Only sissies used hairspray). I always figured that when Mark and Mark got up in the morning, their hair looked perfect. And, to make matters worse, Mark Cathey's Mom was his barber! He didn't even leave the house for a trim! (Life is no more fair today than it was in 1975).

The funny thing is that every once in a while, I still get some crazy idea about growing my hair back to the length it was when I was 18. Then, the pain killers wear off and I realize I was hallucinating again :-) When it gets the least bit long, I remember how much of a pain it was to keep. They don't make Hot Combs any more anyway and my arms get tired when I hold them up that long.

Lisa Garner Douglas and her buddies had long, straight hair...like "down to the waist" hair. You girls used to sit on your hair a bunch...I know because...well, I used to sit behind you and I noticed your...uh...hair. I've always wanted to know, so now's the time to ask: did you wash your hair every night? I mean, come on! How many Hot Combs did you go though in a year?

David Urquehart, John Roshell, William Miller...all my African American buds had Afros. And after every ball game, William and the gang would stand for hours, using probably the only mirror in the locker room, grooming those Afros back into a perfectly round shape. By the way, what I'd give for a "pick!" Not one of those cheap knock-offs, but the original ones that were probably everywhere in the 70's. I don't know if you can even buy them today, but then again, "fros" are coming back, so maybe they're on the street again?

Speaking of which, isn't it funny to see the old hair styles come around again? I don't even know what the names of the styles are today, so you guys with kids will have to help me: what's with the "shaggy" look that the boys are wearing? And are the "new" Afros still called Afros? The new "shaggys" called "Shags?" What about the girls with long, straight hair, like Peggy Lipton from Mod Squad? It reminds me so much of the look that we had (or some of us) in our days.

I guess longer hair is for the young folks anyway. That's way too much trouble for a 50 year old. I have couple keeping fresh coffee in the fridge.

I'm just glad the skin-head look finally went out of style. Or did it?

Rock on,

Ken

Of Chalk Dust and Mimeographs

I have a confession: I once loved the smell of mimeographed tests. It's true; I think I may have well been a mimeograph junkie by the time I graduated from Rison High in 1975.

In the 70's, you may well recall that we had no Xerox machines, at least not in Rison. And, if we did, we certainly didn't use them for tests papers. Tests, if you remember, came on (sometimes damp) mimeographed paper.

The mimeograph machines (sometimes called stencil duplicators) were used for a variety of things in our years: office work, church bulletins and certainly classroom materials. The stencils, I'm told, could be produced in a variety of ways. But the approaches that I recall used by our faculty was either by typewriter or by using a special stylus pen that cut an impression in the mimeograph paper, which was subsequently run through the machine to produce copies of the master.

Evidently, our teachers would often run the masters through the office mimeograph machine at the last minute, because I certainly remember getting test papers that were still wet when they were passed out. The smell was always intoxicating too: kind of a sweet, aromatic fragrance that made the test-taking almost bearable.

Coach James Hendricks used to create his tests by hand - and he was always late, so the tests were always damp. Others (I can't recall which) would typewrite their tests ahead of time - thus no dampness. But, thank goodness the aroma was still intact. Mrs. Sandra Wright (our typing teacher) would have typewritten hers I'm sure - but hardly any of her tests were written if I remember correctly. We mostly had the joy of producing our own typewritten results in Mrs. Wright's class. (Funny story: Sandra Wright was also my Sunday School teacher, which always put me in a tough spot! I mean, how many of us made it through typing classes without letting a swear-word slip out? Well, I couldn't - and then had to face Mrs. Wright each Sunday morning! Thanks goodness she was as gracious in class as she always was as my Sunday School teacher! Besides, Larry Hurst was in my typing class and Sunday School class and he was a better cusser than me!)

Seems odd now that we didn't have the luxury of copy machines. How did we survive? And, how did we produce a Rison High School paper? We did have one didn't we? (Please remind me of the name of our school paper).

Thinking back just now, I remember that we didn't have white boards either. We had "chalk boards" that, in our case, were dark green. And, to our chagrin, some were painted, such that in some places on the board it became difficult to write or print legibly because of the rough surface produced by the poor paint job. We never were fancy at RHS anyway.

I suppose kids today don't know what they're missing. I'm certain that no one "dusts the erasers" anymore, because you don't have to dust off whiteboard erasers do you? And, what copy machine gives off a delicious fragrance? Copy ink doesn't elicit much charm!

We lived in a simpler time in the 1970s, it's true. But, I'm sure when we were 17 and 18, the world seemed like a difficult place. The Vietnam War was coming to a close, gasoline was sometimes as high as 40 cents per gallon, Elton John was turning gay and Olivia Newton-John was far too young and beautiful for adolescent boys to imagine.

But, by golly, we had a Country Club complete with a golf course and swimming pool. What did we have to worry about?

Right on!

- Ken

Fashion Statements

Every generation of teenagers must think that they are the first to come up with fashion ideas. So, I'm sure that we probably thought that blue jeans came from us. They didn't, obviously.

The denim jean has been around a while. In fact, it was in 1873 when Jacob Davis approached Levi Strauss about an idea he had regarding the installation of rivets on what was known as "waist jeans" that Strauss was making, subsequently patenting that idea on May 20th of the same year. Thus Levi jeans got off to a roaring start.

However, it was OUR generation that first came up with the idea of "Super Bells" wasn't it? Seems that way at least. Kids today thinks that it's original to wear jeans that drag the ground and get a little "frazzled" at the hem. Heck, we pulled the hems out, remember? Thread by thread, we'd sit at home (what else was there to do?) and re-design the bottoms of our bell-bottomed jeans until there was at least an inch or two of "fray" at the bottom of our pants. And, of course, we wanted them a little worn and weathered as well.

When did the "patches" come into vouge? I vaugely remember having a "peace sign" sewn on the back pocket of my favorite Levis - those that had the bottom hems pulled out. Seems like we used to go to a place in Pine Bluff called "The Jean Joint" or something similar to buy Levis. K-Mart jeans would never suffice; our jeans had to say "Levi" on that brown, leather-like patch in the belt loop. Shamefully, I wouldn't wear what were otherwise great pants that Mom bought.

Do you guys remember your shoes from high school? For a while, it seemed that we all tried to wear Adidas - those that could afford them. I had to wait until I worked during the summer to afford a pair - otherwise my brother and I wore the K-Mart knock-offs. Funny thing, today I'll wear anything that feels comfortable (because now I'm the one paying the bills). And, not to forget, "platform" shoes came along sometime near our junior or senior year, because I remember losing a heel at one of our dances! Trust me: it is very diffcult to look cool when one leg is 3" shorter than the other!

Somewhere during our last couple of years, we boys started wearing those ugly black soccer-style shoes...Vikings was the brand it seems. How those crude things made the fashion top-ten I'll never know. I think they also doubled as our football shoes...go figure!

Shirts? Help me out here: did we rip the sleeves out of our button-down shirts - or was that a bad dream? I guess Larry-the-Cable Guy stole our idea. Some of us attemped that fashion trend for a while. I know I did, at least until Kelly Cathey Smith announced one day in class that I looked kinda "slouchy" (which broke my heart because I had a crush on her for an eternity). I do recall the tie-dyed craze, another fashion idea that the latest generation of kids think they invented. My brother and I bought several boxes of Rit Dye and armed with a bag of rubber bands and our best white tees, made our own brand of tie-dyed t-shirts. (I'm not sure how Kelley rated my work, but I'll bet I was hoping she'd notice!).

It's amazing to realize though that blue jeans have been a part of every generation since the 1950s - perhaps even earlier. Wikipedia tells me that the James Dean era teens started emulating Hollywood with straight-legged jeans in the 50's, then the Hippy bunch took over in the 60's. I guess our gang latched on to the Super Bells in the 70's and the 80's saw the introduction of "designer jeans" that took old man Strauss' ideas of jean-making to new levels.

Truth be told, in 2008 I still love jeans - but not bell-bottoms. And, I don't try to rip them up anymore...I buy them as "relaxed fit" and allow them to self destruct on their own!

Peace,
Ken

Our Favorite Teachers

Some of our class members have gone on to become public and private school teachers. My hat is off to you! I look back at our years at RHS and realize that we had some pretty darn good teachers – ones that actually cared that we learned and were changed in that process. Others, it seems now, used the opportunity at Rison to figure out what they wanted to do with their lives – and not much else!

We have different recollections, I’m sure, but the following are some that, in hindsight, seemed to put forth an extra effort to instill something tangible in us:

Mr. and Mrs. Roshell: I remember Mrs. Roshell as “the Librarian” but I’m sure she did much more. She was always kind, but direct as I recall. The same can be said for her husband, Andrew. Mr. Roshell had a sense of humor, but wanted us to take Geography seriously. He managed to tell a few stories along the way that made his class engaging. And, he put up with a lot of junk from our rambunctious behavior.

Mrs. Scarborough: If I could only re-take some of her classes. Goodness knows, she was serious about English – as she should have been. If she could only see the level of writing (I’m being generous) at my place of business. Do today’s graduates not worry about professional writing? I guess if it’s beyond text-messaging, it doesn’t matter anymore!

Mrs. Sadler: Again, I could use a few more of her Home Economics classes. I eat at Waffle House most of the time, partly because I didn’t pay attention to Mrs. Sadler. She seemed to know how to handle barbarians – and always did it with a twinkle in her eye!

Mr. Jones: I enjoyed Civics and the other classes the Mr. Jones taught. He had a way with the stories and wasn’t a bad bus driver either. I think we used to get under his skin sometimes, too!

Mr. Peek: I think Alan Peek still teaches in Benton or Bryant perhaps. He was a smart guy – almost too smart for his own good. Seems like the girls liked him a lot, can’t imagine why. I guess I enjoyed his classes, since I took both Biology and Advanced Biology. Or perhaps I just liked dead frogs and fetal pigs? (It sure was fun catching our own bullfrogs – do you remember those adventures?).

Mrs. Harvill: What a sweetheart! We gave Mrs. Harvill a hard time, probably because she was so kind. I wish we could take it all back. We were idiots most of the time.

There were lots of others. Who were your favorites? You can “comment” by clicking the comment link and adding your words. Please do – I’d like to know who’s reading this thing!

God Bless,
Ken

Cars

I was reminiscing recently with my brother about our times in Rison and suddenly realized how much of a role that automobiles played in our lives. What would life in Rison have been like if we'd not had a personal car, family car or friend's car in which to ride around?

In 1973, a period movie was released entitled "American Graffiti." Anyone see that? I sure did. The theme of the movie was based mostly around teenage angst but, interestingly, it also depicted the importance of relationships...and cars! (Funny, but in looking up the movie information on the web, I noted that George Lucas of Starwars fame was the director. Too, even though I remembered a few name from the cast, I failed to realize that so many stars were in American Grafitti: Harrison Ford, Richard Dreyfuss, Cindy Williams, Ron Howard, Wolfman Jack and even a very short cameo by Suzanne Somers - the mysterious blond that Richard Dreyfuss chased throughout the movie).

We had our own version of American Grafitti in Rison, though we didn't have as many places to "cruise." As I recall, our opportunities were limited to Highway 35 in front of the Dairy Dip or the Car Wash.

On any given night of any given weekend, we'd see Phil Green whiz by in a Mustang (he had a couple I think). Mickey Coats drove a Chevy "Goodtimes" Van it seems; rumor has it that some "good times" were had therein. Ronnie Word drove his dad's blue Dodge truck forever and Mark Trucks had a Ford Torino (wasn't it?). Mark Cathey had this green Ford Maverick as I remember and it seems that sister Kelley wound up with a white Chevy Vega in our senior year.

The Herbine-Macedonia-Pansy crowd would make it through town occasionally. Joe Rauls was a Chevy guy; seems like a Malibu? Freddy Terry...I can't remember. Nor can I remember what Joanie Lunsford or Mary Cummings Vallance or Steve Edwards drove during those years - so I expect some feedback please!

Suzy Pate Lunsford breezed around in a Mercedes. Yes, a diesel Mercedes! (By the way, Suzy, I NEVER got invited to ride in your car!). Typically, you'd see Suzy, Jeannie Phillips...and a third member of their standard trio (but my memory fails). And Jennifer Bell Sipes' car? Help me out...what was it?

Who am I forgetting? Upper classmen had some very cool wheels: Butch Lunsford with a Chevy SS, Steve Pate drove a Dodge Challenger for a while and Ricky Rauls a Pontiac GTO (which Roy Phillips inherited and subsequently drove into the ground). Terry Sipes had a Pontiac Grand Prix that was amazingly fast - too fast for my family-style Dodge Charger that I borrowed when I could afford the gas.

One quick story which should get a laugh: my first attempt at dating was a disaster. I had asked Susan Cash Wentz to "meet me after the game" at the school gym. I think I was maybe 15 at the time (not legal to drive) and all of 4' 10" tall. Susan was at least a head taller that me. Despite the law, I somehow convinced my Dad to allow me to borrow the family car (at that time a Dodge Coronet). I could barely see over the steering wheel, but I drove around and around the school until I thought Susan had arrived (it was an "away" game and she was to be delivered via the Band Bus). During the process of looping the school, I saw the local Barney Fife (whoever that was at the time) and frantically backed all the way down the back drive of the school campus, turning the corner and ducking into Suzy Pate Lunsford's driveway (which would have been a great time to ask for a ride in the Mercedes, by the way).

Despite my best effort, erratic driving and lots of Aqua Velva, I missed Susan somehow and went home discouraged (sniff!). But, to my credit, I dodged the police and made it home without any calamities.

Besides, picking up Susan would have been embarrassing anyway. Taking your first date home while driving on a pillow isn't cool - in any generation!

Cheers,
Ken

William Miller: Our Own Darren McFadden

That's not a racial comment, in case you were wondering. William Miller ("Duck") could just as well have been a Matt Jones or Tom Brady. It's just more convenient to compare him to McFadden, since DMac has been in the news so much this year for the Razorbacks. "Duck" Miller won games for us in 1974-75 that were otherwise going down in the "L" column. I'm sure you remember some of those.

We had good talent among our 1975 football squad, especially considering that our school drew from a pretty shallow talent pool. William, like most of our upper classmen with a modicum of athleticism, played most of the game. By "most of the game" I mean he rarely rested during the entire 4 quarters each Friday night. We didn't have a lot of depth - and the "extras" on the sidelines unfortunately played at a simliar level as me. We "sideliners" should have started a bridge club; at least we would have been productive!

I'll leave it up to ya'll to recount the many moments when we said under our breath, "Lord, just give Duck the ball!" When William touched the football, good things usually happened.

William played other sports as well. He was fast; that meant he saw action on the hardwood as well as the track and on the gridiron. We were lucky to have him. But, we were lucky to have others that we had as well. There are too many to mention, but as a team, we fared pretty well. After all, for a team that went 0-9 in 9th grade (wasn't it?), we sure turned things around the next few years.

I always joke about my time on the football team. I was lucky to weigh more than 100 pounds soaking wet (something has gone horribly wrong since then, however). But, from the vantage point of the sidelines, I could catch all of the action. Too, I was able to chit-chat with the cheerleaders - but they typically were dating real football players that actually got dirty during the game. (Trust me - I asked!). In retrospect, the band might have been a better place for me - and I would have gotten far more exercise than I did standing on the sidelines.

Regardless, I wouldn't trade anything for the friendships and experiences that I had during my high school years calling myself a football player. I was able collaborate with a group of guys that displayed real talent, leadership and athleticism long before there were any Darren Mcfaddens hogging up the sports news.

Like I said, William Miller was the first Darren McFadden that I ever knew - and I'd of voted William for the Heisman, if that were only possible.

-Ken

Rolling on the River

Traditionally, towns across the US were established near bodies of water for various reasons. Rison, no doubt, enjoyed the access provided by the Lower Saline River and the other benefits it brought. Like most of us, the availability of Saline River and the opportunity for fun and mischief is certainly part of my fond memories of Rison.

Saline River isn't exactly a recreational treasure by standards that you see posted in vacation propaganda, but it did provide our class of '75 with ample opportunities to gather, fish, swim and an assortment of other activities that I'll skip for the sake of brevity (or for politeness!).

My first real attempt at swimming came via the Saline; I would never recommend the approach my brother and I took. Neither Spiderman or I could 'swim a lick,' yet we agreed to pile into someone's car and bump our way down to the Mt. Elba access point on Saline River to take our chances. Only by the grace of God do we still breath today! It scares me to think that in our great wisdom, we dove into the murky waters of Saline on a dare! At 15 (or whatever age it was) the last thing we wanted was to be labled "chicken." If the water had been running fast, which I assume it wasn't, my brother and I wouldn't be here today. (Naturally, there were no adults around). But, somehow we "dog paddled" our way back to the river's edge multiple times that day, only to turn around and dive in again and again. I wasn't the smart one in our class, remember?

Later in life, the Saline provided what we then called "fellowship opportunities." I mean, we could either hang out at the car wash, or drive down to the river. Often, the river sounded more appealing. These events were typically held at night, as a rule. Looking back from the vantage point of age 50, those nocturnal explorations just don't hold quite the charm that they did back then -but I would hope that I've learned a few things since 1975.

I seem to recall actually fishing the Saline a few times, but don't remember catching anything but a few boney Perch or whatever. I'm sure that there were better places in Cleveland county that I could have fished, but then, fishing wasn't really the point, now was it?

During the hot summer months, there were some places along the Saline that were actually pretty crowded. I guess that was due mostly to the fact that these river access points were free of charge and because they were convenient. And also because we stay bored most of the time during summer months. Again, I fail to see the appeal today - but, in fact, I'm still not much of a swimmer!

Funny thing: looking at the map, you'd think that some adventureous class member would have suggested a float trip. Maybe none of us had a canoe? Or...maybe I just wasn't invited? Hmmm....

-Ken

More Hits from 1975!

Hey guys!
I've stumbled across another gold mine! The link below takes you to all of the Top 100 hits (by month) of 1975!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hot_100_number-one_hits_of_1975_%28USA%29

Do you remember how our departed classmate, Jack Greenway, just loved Elton John? I didn't at first, but really started loving his music before year's end. And, Mark Cathey was crazy about ZZ Top and Led Zeplin. (Who new that Mark was into heavy metal?) And Mickey Coats, Ronnie Word, Freddy Terry, Gary Brewer and others used to listen for hours to Cheech and Chong! Remember them?

Music, I guess, is a vital part of all generations. It's a good thing we didn't have iPods!

-Ken

What was the 'Dill' with Pickles?

Everyone remembers the Concession Stand, right? Gosh, the stories we could tell...

Nobody remembers this now, but I was President of the Student Council during my Senior year at RHS. (Yeah, I know, it doesn't mean anything 30+ years later, but it did get me a free pass to work the concession stand at lunch time each day. And, I did get offer Mr. Cash a Frito / Coke peace offering every now and then...a small but effective price to pay for all the crap that Mr. Cash had to tolerate from me and the rest of my heathen brothers! (Susan, if you read this, please tell your Dad that we're sorry!).

But, back to the Concession Stand (I capitalize the name because we always thought of the Stand as some kind of Holy Shrine, right?): why did we start eating so many dill pickles and, especially perplexing, why did we DRINK THE JUICE??? Do you guys remember that little bit of history?

Every weekday, without fail, we would sell mountains of Cracker Jack carmel popcorn, dozens of Milk Duds, boxes of Bit 'O Honeys, bags of Funyuns, Fritos, dozens of cups of Coke, Sprite, Mr. Pibb...and pickle juice! Pickle juice? So, when exactly did we develop an addiction to vinegar?

But, I loved those times! Mark Trucks (who wasn't a Council member) would often accompany me out to the Stand and help out where needed. Yet, I would pitch a fit if anybody else wanted to come into the Stand during lunch. I guess I showed preferential treatment. Sorry about that! I think Mark must've preferred junk food to lunch room-brand food, and I guess I can't blame him. Soy-burgers were not exactly a 'taste treat' if you'll recall.

We had funny eating habits that by today's standards are not healthful. I don' t know about you guys, but I NEVER ate in the school cafeteria. And, too, back then, the campus was closed as I remember. So, we couldn't leave - at least, not legally. 'Course, we skipped on occasion, but that is another story to tell.

The Concession Stand, then, was our Starbucks. It was a place of fellowship that still holds fond memories for all of us, I'm certain. There were romances that were started there - and many that were ended. Fights broke out between boys and sometimes between boys and girls. And, if you'll remember, there wasn't a chair to be found...we all stood around and laughed and talked - or maybe sat on the sidewalk. There were some that walked down to the bleachers and sat..then there were others that sneaked off under the bleachers and did whatever (kissed, smoked, or chewed..or all the above).

So, the Stand was a part of our culture, a gathering place where we relaxed, gossiped, swooned, fought and otherwise "chilled" or whatever we called it then. It was part of the fabric of our lives then - and frankly, I miss those moments.

-Ken

PS: I drank pickle juice too!

Innocence Lost

Somewhere around 32 years ago, I could never have envisioned me sitting at a computer writing the words "I miss Rison." But, something happened on New Year's day that made me realize I'd lost something that I could never get back.

Mom and I had finished watching that wretched Cotton Bowl game - or most of it anyway. We moved to her den where I turned on Mom's computer to check out Mom's latest "its just not working right" complaint. (Mom actually commands a very good understanding of her Dell and the Internet, which turns out to be quite a blessing for retired parents).

During the random conversation that we were having between mouse clicks, something came up about the neighborhood and a few of the children that lived nearby. Mom is blessed with great neighbors: Sheriff Joe Paul lives across the yard, the Methodist minister and his wife live across the street and people that Mom have known for years live within a stone's throw. But, then she mentioned Ty, a second-grader that pops in occasionally and his best buddy, a big, strapping 3rd grader whose name I've forgotten - again!

I was amused at some of the stories Mom told: Ty frequently comes knocking soon after Mom gets home from church on Sunday afternoons; Ty's buddy stops in to say "the stray dog has gotten into your garbage, Mrs. Tillman, but don't worry, I'll pick it up" etc, etc. Both of these boys sounded like a story out of a Norman Rockellian painting. I could just picture them with their little camo-caps on, roaming the neighborhood without a care in the world, picking up free cookies and cocoa from every house on the block...so I asked Mom to give them a ring. I wanted to meet them first hand.

They came over immediately. I mean, there was no "I'm watching TV" excuses or "I don't want to" kind of backtalk. Just, "Yes Ma'am" and "we'll be right over, Mrs. Tillman." And they did. And I was amazed.

I guess I was a little mystified that this day and time, kids that age actually would want to come over and say hello to a 50 year old guy that wanted to meet them. And, it wasn't obligatory...they were actually willing to drop their "fireworks shooting" to spend a few minutes with Mrs. Tillman and her son.

And, so, I'm amazed. I'd forgotten that some towns still exist today where children are polite and actually look out for older folks - and still treat them with the greatest care. I thanked the boys for looking after Mom. They acted like it was nothing. But, it was something, it was really, really something. Way to go, Rison! You're a cool town after all - and I wish I could go back an relive the times when I could ride my bike, go to baseball games, stop by and talk to the neighbors and be known around town. That doesn't happen near enough anymore!

God Bless ya'll,

Ken

PEP Bus Blues

Before our "more serious academic years," I remember riding the Pep Bus to football games. Do you remember what you did on the Pep Bus? (Please use some discretion when commenting back!).

Ronnie Word and I rode the Pep Bus occasionally when we were in junior high. Now, Ronnie was the kind of kid back then that had sideburns in the 7th grade (and I do hope he reads this). I mean, really, sideburns! To this day, I'd settle for a beard of any kind!

I always thought Ronnie was cool. He had sideburns and long hair! I'd usually do about anything Ronnie suggested, which at times wound up getting me in trouble - but I'll save those recollections for another post. So, during out pre-trip planning, Ronnie dared me to "get some lip" during the bus ride, with someone of my choosing. (That's what we called it in those days - "getting lip." We didn't use words like "kiss." I only wish our kids today were that innocent). We actually planned this, mind you. Instead of paying attention - like we should have been - in Mrs. Scarborough's junior high English class, we were scheming as to the best method for stealing a kiss from our favorite sweetie.

I'm not sure who Ronnie saddled up to ('cause with sideburns, you could play the field) but I think I wound up sitting next to Gina Houston. (Thank you, Gina.) I'm certain that I either won her over with my school boy charms, or else she felt like baby sitting. (At 14 or so, I looked probably 9). You know, Gina was a cheerleader and nothing could be hotter than trying to kiss a cheerleader. In fact, when I think about it...sorry, I digress...back to the bus...

Gina allowed me to sit with her, for which I am eternally grateful. It was either on the way to the game, or the way back...can't remember. But, the following was my "plan" to steal her affections (Ronnie was a mastermind at this, all the credit goes to Sideburn Boy): I was to pretend that I wanted to tell her a secret, see? I'd put my arm around her, have her lean over so that nobody could hear "the secret" then, BAM, lay one on her!

And, it worked...sort of. I was able to execute "the plan" but I think I made her ear bleed! If you'll recall, the roads to wherever we were going were NEVER smooth and the busses were NEVER new and about the time I was ready to unload an "Elvis Presley" style smooch, the bus lurched - and I think I plunged my tooth into her little ear.

It wasn't my best move, to say the least. Ronnie got four kisses, I got ear flesh. But, it sure beat riding with my parents.

That's okay though...I always leaned a bit to the dramatic side. Not everyone got to bite off part of a girl's ear on a Pep Bus.

So, what did you do on the Pep Bus trips (beside singing to the strains of "...nah, nah, nah-nah, nah, nah, nah-nah, hey, hey, hey...goodbye")?

-Ken