MacArthur High SchoolRSS feed for all messages.RE: Becoming MAC Septuagenarians!<p>Janice</p>
<p> Well said! And since I will turn 70 on Sunday, this hits home. Besides, I AM a rockstar (or at least I tried to be). Thanks for the thoughts and have a good 70th birthday, whenever it comes.</p>
<p> Jim</p>
<p>ps Septu-what?</p>
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2023-04-20T06:49:50-04:00Becoming MAC Septuagenarians!Becoming MAC Septuagenarians!<p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif, Arial, Verdana, "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 13px;"><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">April 2023</span></p>
<p style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif, Arial, Verdana, "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 13px;"><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">Dear MAC friends,</span></p>
<div style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif, Arial, Verdana, "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 13px;"> </div>
<div style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif, Arial, Verdana, "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 13px;"><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">There are always firsts in life, and by this time, most of us have experienced almost everything. But one thing that's sure is that we're becoming <strong>'septuagenarians'</strong> for the first time. Yes, I said the unusual word <em>"sep-tu-a-ge-nar-i-an!" </em></span></div>
<div style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif, Arial, Verdana, "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 13px;"> </div>
<div style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif, Arial, Verdana, "Trebuchet MS"; font-size: 13px;"><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">Many of you in our 1971 class have already turned 70 years old, but there are many who haven't. </span><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">This birthday is a reflective time for us "1952-53" babies! We've been a part of the 'Baby Boomer" generation, which began immediately after World War II in 1946 and ended in 1964. We've experienced all the different stages of life by now and can confidently say, <strong>"Been there - Done that!"</strong> We still think of ourselves as being the 'Me Generation' and 'young-ish,' but the reality is we are closer to witnessing another century pass!</span>
<div style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </div>
<div style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> As you reach your birthday milestone of completing 70 years, I hope you celebrate your birthday like a Rockstar, exactly like you’ve celebrated your whole eventful youth — with ENTHUSIASM, EXCITEMENT, and THRILL! I personally wish you lots of happiness, joy, love, and good health, and that these gifts lead you into your happiest moments of life in the coming years ahead. </div>
<div style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </div>
<div style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Happy Birthday to the Mac Class of 1971! </div>
<div style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">- Your lifelong friend, </div>
<div style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Jenice Grahan Benedict</div>
</div>
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2023-04-19T20:56:41-04:00Becoming MAC Septuagenarians!The Corpus Christi adventure of Wes ...<p>And it wasn't even Spring Break ...</p>
<p><br />
Some of you know that I am the younger sister of Wes Burleson of the class of 69. It is an understatement to say we were quite different people. I was the church-going straight as an arrow goody two shoes. Wes was the charismatic good looking renegade who didn't give a s*#t about anything. There was never a mean bone in his body, but he was a person who always went his way and did what he wanted, including during his school years. His intellect was prodigious, far beyond any of his teachers who were as hard pressed to control him as his family. School especially (and life in general) was a cosmic joke. Our poor parents did their best to control his more adventurous impulses, but it was an uphill battle all the way. When a 17 year old grows to 6 feet 4 inches and weighs over 200 pounds and has wrested control of his own destiny, there is not much a parent can do.</p>
<p>I admired Wes to the moon, but it was not easy being his younger sister. Girls at Macarthur tended to push their school pictures into my hands to take home and show him, in the hopes that he might get interested in asking them out. Others, when they found out that I was his younger sister were incredulous: "YOU'RE Wes Burleson's SISTER????? I can't believe that. He's so cool!!!"</p>
<p>And I certainly was not. Thanks, sweetie. Picture a little black storm cloud over my head with lightning coming out of it. Lord knows I tried, but I couldn't even come close to his Aquarian appeal.</p>
<p>Anyway, many of his adventures are not shareable, but I was remembering one of the more amusing and less harmful of them. And it was so typical of him.</p>
<p>It all started with the HAIRCUT. Many of our fathers were ex-military and nothing bothered them more than to see their sons trying to grow their locks over their ears and collars and into their eyes. They just couldn't stand it. By God, when they were 17 they were milking the cows, slopping the pigs, and then walking five miles in the snow to school. No son of theirs was going to go around looking like one of those long hair freak hippies driving around in psychedelic VW beetles!!! And so they fulminated.</p>
<p>Now Wes had the added disadvantage of being the son of a barber (and a WW2 vet)! Around the age of 14, that hair was getting a little bit too long, and Wes was resisting the upcoming haircut a little bit too much. It had gone on for a couple of weeks with my father's insisting on giving him that needed haircut, and Wes managing to weasel out of it.</p>
<p>On a Saturday afternoon, my father had had enough. He announced that he was going to take Wes to our barber shop on Sunday morning and whack off that hair whether he liked it or not. End of conversation.</p>
<p>Well ...Wes was not going to have any of that. When my father finally opened his mouth like that, there was no turning back and Wes knew it. So he started hatching his plan.</p>
<p>Years back, my parents had made the mistake of buying him a Vespa motor scooter in which he buzzed all over San Antonio looking for sources of amusement. We were accustomed to his often being gone until 9 or 10 at night. He was usually visiting friends or taking in a movie or a game of putt putt golf and the Coolcrest mini golf park. But on this Saturday night at 9:00, the phone rings with a collect call from none other than Wes himself. And he was at the Corpus Christi airport.<br />
He had gathered all his cash, buzzed over to the airport on his Vespa, and bought a one-way ticket to the coast. That would show them! After he wandered around the airport awhile, basking in his cleverness, his adrenaline ran out. What the heck was he going to do now? </p>
<p>My mother of course accepted the charges and Wes began the conversation by insisting that he wasn't going to get that haircut and would stay in Corpus Christi forever if necessary ... (living on the beach?) Now Mom was a pretty cool customer and not prone to going into hysterics over anything, even her 14 year old son who had bought a one-way plane ticket and was now stuck in another city on a Saturday night. She told him if that was what he wanted, that was what he would get, and best of luck by the way. Then she rang off.</p>
<p>It took less than 15 minutes for him to call again (collect) and acquiesce. He was pretty surly. Mom and I had to go to the airport at 10:00 p.m. to the Continental Airlines desk and purchase another one way ticket for him to get home. The ticket agent probably thought (correctly) we were one loony family. The ticket cost us $49 which we really couldn't afford. These were the days before online booking and Visa to take care of such troublesome matters ... Wes arrived back in S.A. around midnight and returned home on his Vespa, not wanting to talk to anyone. No one wanted to talk to him either. </p>
<p>On Sunday morning, a surly 14 year old sat in his father's barber chair in an empty barber shop, and got "peeled". This was the term we used when some hapless boy showed up at school with a buzz cut or white sidewalls. Wes was a skinhead.</p>
<p>My father did get Wes back a couple of years later. Again, it was over a HAIRCUT. Wes had matured and tired somewhat of the sloppy long hair (much more limited now) and had expressed a desire for something different. But no way did he want Dad peeling him again! My father knew of a hair stylist for men. This was something rather new, having hair styled rather than the plain old haircut. Like a beauty operator, but for the guys! Wes agreed to the appointment, but the day before, my father made it a point to call the stylist and tell him to give the boy a nice haircut, but make sure it was nice and SHORT. It was one of the shortest haircuts Wes ever got (even shorter than my father could have cut it), and he hated it even though it was a rather nice looking cut.</p>
<p>Did he deserve it? I think so.</p>
<p> </p>
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2017-07-04T14:33:23-04:00The Corpus Christi adventure of Wes ...To Buffet or Not To Buffet<p>Thanks! Since I no longer play with my food (well mostly), I have resigned myself to playing with written food scenarios instead. And you are right about a masculine perspective (I had not thought of that actually) but am happy to still have it that way. </p>
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2017-06-26T17:13:31-04:00To Buffet or Not To BuffetRE: To Buffet or Not To Buffet<p>HA, HA, HA! Love it. Very witty and clever, and so typical of male eating patterns. Stuffaterias indeed.</p>
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2017-06-26T14:28:58-04:00To Buffet or Not To BuffetTo Buffet or Not To Buffet<p>I have enjoyed dabbling in the critiquing of local food purveyors for some years now. I wrote the following on a whim after grazing at one of the better stuffaterias and thought one of you might find it amusing..</p>
<p> </p>
<p align="center"><span style="font-size:14px;"><strong>THE CULINARY BOMB</strong></span></p>
<p align="center"><span style="font-size:14px;">Or</span></p>
<p align="center"><span style="font-size:14px;"> How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Buffet</span></p>
<p align="center"><img alt="" src="http://s3images.classcreator.com/17553/002/3790697/buffet.jpg" /></p>
<p style="margin-left:.25in;"> </p>
<p style="margin-left:.25in;"><span style="font-size:14px;">You mention a restaurant that is in business to serve food buffet style and the all too common reaction is, “Ugh! No thanks.”. It’s an understandable response, however, from diners that just do not understand the subtleties of buffet dining. In a restaurant that serves nearly one hundred individual dishes, you are bound to be able to find at least a couple of items or more that you like. If that’s not the case, you might as well stay home and let mama cook all your meals. There is some skill and a certain finesse that the average diner does not subscribe to or is unaware of thereby causing the uninformed to denigrate such food purveyors. Nevertheless, if you pay attention to the following seventeen simple tenets of buffet dining, I know it will change your mind and eliminate any reluctance to set foot into the land of steam tables and unlimited food cornucopias.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<ol>
<li><span style="font-size:14px;"> <strong><em>Cheap Trick</em></strong> - Always check for discount coupons or web site membership / email sign ups. This one little tip can reduce your diner bill by at least 10% and even get you a free meal on your birthday or anniversary (<em>hint:</em> <em>you don’t have to use your real event date</em>).</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size:14px;"> <strong><em>Know Before You Go</em> - </strong>Check to see if there are different prices for breakfast vs. lunch vs. supper. Typically prices increase for each meal according to the aforementioned order. The savvy diner will go 20 minutes or so before the time the menu changes from one to the next so as to take advantage of a lower price and be able to sample from two different menus.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size:14px;"><strong><em>Boy Scout Time – </em></strong>Go prepared. If you are one of those tender tummy types, take your Nexium, Milk of Magnesia, Pepto Bismol, etc. in advance or have that roll of Tums in your purse or pocket ready to go.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size:14px;"><strong><em>Spandex Ballet </em></strong>– Be sure to wear some loose fitting clothes, preferably some with an elastic waist band. And Ms. Manners says it’s perfectly all right to excuse yourself to the bathroom to remove your belt.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size:14px;"> <strong><em>Location, Location, Location</em></strong> - When being seated in the dining room, quickly survey your surroundings. You will want to ask for a table that is midway between the farthest seating area In the restaurant and that which is immediately adjacent to the food service tables. The closer you sit to the food the more hustle and bustle you are going to have to put up with. The farther away, the more you have to walk for every subsequent “course”. Midway is perfect.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size:14px;"> <strong><em>Tip for the Wise</em></strong> – When the waiter comes to take your drink order, give him/her a small tip right then. Let him/her know that if he/she does a good job keeping your drinks filled and dirty plates cleared that there will be more forthcoming. This will only cost you a couple of dollars more than normal and you will be getting some very attentive service.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size:14px;"><strong><em>Walkabout Is De Rigueur</em></strong> – Before you ever grab a plate, walk around the area to see what foods are located where; main entrees, veggies, salads, desserts, etc. Then zero in on the more expensive section of entrees to get an idea of what looks good to you and what does not.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size:14px;"> <strong><em>Nix the Urge to Splurge</em></strong> – When you grab your first empty plate, do not fill it with large helpings of the items you think you want. You will get full way too early and probably miss out on some items that you might really enjoy. Instead, fill your plate with many small helpings of items you want to taste. Then return to harvest larger portions of what floats your boat.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size:14px;"><strong><em> Single Dip </em></strong>(an Alternative to “Nix the Urge to Splurge”) – Place a small portion of a food item on your plate and sample it. This little dining peccadillo will save you time in making up your mind about what you like and what you don’t.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size:14px;"><strong><em>Just Say No</em></strong> – Forget the salads unless you just have to have one. Some of the salads are good, but they are real room stealers. You will have a lot less room for the more expensive protein items if you load up on salads.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size:14px;"><strong><em> Man Cannot Live on Bread Alone</em></strong> – I thought this was important enough to list separately, but it is the same logic here as for salads. They may have some very good rolls, biscuits, garlic bread, etc., But do not succumb to this robber baron of room.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size:14px;"><strong><em>Wait For It </em></strong>– If you see a warming tray that appears as though it has been sitting there for a while or is getting low on serving quantity, ask one of the servers when the food will be replaced with fresh. You will be much happier with a fresh product than one that has been drying out under the heat lamps.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size:14px;"> <strong><em>Eye Spy</em></strong> - Hawk the specialties such as steak, shrimp, crab, etc. These popular items tend to be in shorter supply and /or may disappear quickly when restocked. Keep a weather eye on servers coming from the kitchen with trays to see if the one they are bringing out is the one you are waiting for. Swift action may be called for here for first dibs.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size:14px;"><strong><em>Tempus Fugit </em></strong>- [Masters of Buffet (MOB); not for the novice] Don’t dilly dally between plate refills. Save your conversation for post consumption inactivity on the couch later. Time is not your friend and will steal your resolve to have that one last plate of food or dessert the longer you wait. Be resolute in returning to the food tables just as soon as you empty a plate to maximize your price to quantity ratio.</span>
<ol style="list-style-type:lower-alpha;">
<li><span style="font-size:14px;">Chewing each bite 30 times is overrated and a time waster. <em>Caveat</em>: Having at least one person in your group that knows the Heimlich maneuver should not be discounted.</span></li>
</ol>
</li>
<li><span style="font-size:14px;"><strong><em> Hold What Ya Got </em></strong>- You may over-eat to the point of having to be rolled out the door, but don’t do the bulimia thing. It’s just wrong!</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size:14px;"><strong><em> Be A Stand Up Guy </em></strong>(or Gal)<strong><em> – </em></strong>Do not bend over for several hours after your buffet meal. In doing so you may risk the early release of all or part of the food cache you spent the time and effort to consume.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size:14px;"><strong><em>There’s a Kind of Hush </em></strong>– Do not attempt to talk about food preparation, consumption, or digestion for several hours after visiting a buffet. Doing so may precipitate repetitive occurrences of the same sort as stated in “There’s a Kind of a Hush”, ad nauseam.</span></li>
</ol>
<p style="margin-left:.25in;"><span style="font-size:14px;">Buffet novices and MoBs alike following these simple tenets should greatly enhance their enjoyment of the buffet dining experience. Like any other activity of any worth, practice makes perfect. </span></p>
<p style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-align: center;"><strong><span style="font-size:14px;">Bon apetit ya’ll!</span></strong></p>
<p style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><strong><span style="font-size:14px;">SBC</span></strong></span></p>
class_forums_messages.cfm?mid=262965&r=6
2017-06-09T11:54:50-04:00To Buffet or Not To BuffetRetiirement looms ....<p>Many of us are already retired (hooray!) and many of us are soon to retire. In 2016, I will retire from public education. I took my present job in 1997, with intentions of staying for a few years until my daughter graduated high school and then going back into corporate libraries where I belonged. I have always been honest with myself and others that I went into the field of education for the summers off to spend with my young daughter. Somewhere along the way, things shifted and changed and I wound up spending nineteen wild years in a barrio school. Early along the way I realized that I was devoted to and protective of these meddlesome, demanding but sweet little kids.</p>
<p>It is not easy to work in the field of public education, and it is especially hard to work in a title school where 95 percent of the population lives in poverty. I quickly realized that not just anyone could do this.</p>
<p>I could, and I did.</p>
<p>But I am tired now, and I am ready to start the next phase of my life. However, I will miss a few things about working in this field, but some things I will NOT. Here’s the rundown:</p>
<p><strong>What I won’t miss:</strong></p>
<p>Lunch duty every day and having first graders tug on my sleeve to inform me that Jose has tossed his cookies all over the lunch table</p>
<p>Being chastised for overloading the lunch trash bags</p>
<p>Peeling Kindergartners off their parents on the first day of school. Worse than an octopus!</p>
<p>Having to glimpse plumber’s butt when the hefty students bend over</p>
<p>Nosebleeds like Niagara Falls</p>
<p>Saul, who tried to kill his mother with a knife, and then later set fire to his apartment complex (don’t worry, his mother shipped him back to Mexico. He’s probably a junior recruit for M13 now)</p>
<p>Reporting to work at 7:30 a.m. and they already have too much energy</p>
<p>Dealing with a crying kindergartner when they misbehave and I give them the consequence</p>
<p><strong>Reading</strong> the STAAR <strong>reading</strong> test questions and answer choices to the slow ones. Did that make sense?</p>
<p>Playing a paper rock scissors tournament during professional development sessions. Then following that up with an adult relay race in the gym</p>
<p>Bipolar principals (it’s an epidemic ….)</p>
<p>Faculty meetings and the new superintendent’s 90 slide power point show (Oh, God …) about whipping the school district back into shape</p>
<p>Filings with Children’s Protective Services (it’s the law, folks)</p>
<p>Standing by and having to watch 5<sup>th</sup> graders having new and inexperienced teachers for lunch (it’s the only way the fledglings can learn how to manage a class ….)</p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>What I will miss</strong></p>
<p>The humor of my teacher colleagues (it’s what kept us all sane) and drunken debaucheries hosted at my home</p>
<p>Coming to work every day in jeans and keds</p>
<p>Somewhere to go every day where I know that I am making a difference</p>
<p>The money (I’m so crass ….)</p>
<p>An entire summer off on full salary (I just said I was crass …)</p>
<p>Finding out about all the awesome things my fellow librarians are accomplishing at their schools, and sometimes imitating them</p>
<p>Pulling together with fellow school librarians to help a high school student living in a trailer without electricity (and seeing her become an honors student accepted at community college …)</p>
<p>Getting to go home every day at 3:30</p>
<p>Playing the game of Life with gifted first graders who had never played a board game. After that, it was all they wanted to do …</p>
<p>Letting my 5<sup>th</sup> grade TV team plan the food for their own farewell party, going out and buying it all for them, and partying down in the science lab</p>
<p>Doing the 911 presentation every September on our in house morning broadcast</p>
<p>Making my required training presentation on copyright law for teachers into stand up comedy (it was just too deadly boring otherwise)</p>
<p>Watching the superintendent’s face when the music teacher fell asleep right in front of him as he presented at one of our faculty meetings. We didn’t wake her up. She falls asleep at all our faculty meetings</p>
<p>Watching the amazed faces of 4<sup>th</sup> and 5<sup>th</sup> graders when I teach them google docs for the first time</p>
<p>Eating the homemade tamales still hot from the steamer that the mamacitas would bring up to school</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s been a ride.</p>
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2015-12-04T12:17:58-04:00Retiirement looms ....Road Trips<p>What follows is something a little different from what I usually contribute and much longer. Most of my posts I try to make of interest to everyone, and I have steered away from the purely autobiographical. This selection is definitely autobiographical. I have been putting together of lot of this stuff, and have close to 200 pages written up so far. This is one of my favorite chapters. I hope everyone will enjoy it. It is called ....</p>
<p>Road Trips</p>
<p>We did not often leave San Antonio or even Texas, but each and every summer we made a road trip back to the childhood home of my mother in the Ozarks of southwestern Missouri. It was a great chance to get away, and it was cheap. The only real costs were gasoline and what little food we bought on the road. Hotels were not necessary since my grandfather’s farm house was fairly large and could accommodate all of us and it was a one day drive, albeit a long one. My grandparents owned 40 acres of property in southwestern Missouri, with a spring fed creek and a farm house dating back to the civil war.</p>
<p>Road trips were becoming a tradition for many. In the post war prosperity, everyone now had a car. Gasoline was cheap and plentiful, and roadside parks were built everywhere for travelers to stop and rest. President Eisenhauer was beefing up the national highway system into an infrastructure that was one of the best in the world. The roads were there, and the cars to travel them. So off we went.</p>
<p>Missouri was more than just a convenient place to get away. It was a frame of mind. My mother loved and never stopped longing for her childhood home and passed on that excitement to us. For weeks before our big trip, we would dance with excitement! MISSOURI was only two weeks away! MISSOURI was only one week away! MISSOURI was tomorrow!!! The night before we left was often a sleepless one.</p>
<p>My parents were clever travelers. When we were very small, they left about 7:00 in the evening and drove all night up through Dallas and Oklahoma, and into Arkansas and finally, Missouri. Our national highway system was still developing, and we were forced to drive through the middle of every town, including Dallas. Those early trips took about 18 hours. They packed food and made few stops. We slept through at least half the trip, but at the crack of dawn we came awake.</p>
<p>How many hours until we get there?</p>
<p>How many minutes to the next town? What is the next town? How many minutes until the town after that?</p>
<p>When we were older, we made more frequent stops at roadside establishments. We especially liked the Stuckey’s stores, which featured not only hamburgers and fries, but magazines, toys and activities and other ways to get road weary parents to spend their money on their children. Each gas station was an opportunity to have a soda, which floated in ice water in an outside bin. You fished out the flavor you wanted with your bare hand. Sodas were served in reuseable glass bottles and if you took the bottle with you in the car, you had to pay a deposit. My father was not fond of paying that deposit, so we always had to chug it. That could be challenging if your soda was carbonated, so we often selected Delaware punch, which came non-carbonated and we could drink it quickly.</p>
<p>Even in later years, the Missouri trip never took less than ten hours. When we were older we often rose at 3:00 or 4:00 a.m. and got on the road. It was still close to suppertime before we got there. </p>
<p> Most of the route was rural and on two lane highways, especially once we left Texas. It was not uncommon to get stuck in a long line behind an Oklahoma or Arkansas local, who insisted on hugging that center line and driving about 20-30 mph under the speed limit. Each car would have to wait its turn to come up behind the dawdler, watch for a clear highway and then speed quickly around him, trying to make up time before getting stuck behind the next one. There were often trains of cars ten to twelve deep waiting to get around. My father was usually livid.</p>
<p>In that last mile before we reached our grandfather’s farm, my mother would twist around in the front seat and comb our hair. We went down three huge dips (our stomachs already in knots with anticipation) to the bottom of a valley and turned onto the dirt road and pull up by the rock retaining wall, across from the spring fed creek. The house sat up the hill about 20 yards. Before the car had even stopped, my grandfather and grandmother were spilling down the porch stairs, with my aunt and our cousins right behind them. They were all sitting there waiting for us, as my mother’s homecoming was a big event. After many hugs in the front yard, we settled into the house, but not for long for the children. We noticed yet again the high ceilings, the huge old kitchen with a wood burning stove, and the storm porch full of my grandmother’s African violets. Shortly, all of us cousins would make their way up the winding, steep staircase to the second floor which was mainly used for storage. Our parents, grandparents, and aunts and uncles were too busy talking to even notice. It was a grand play area for children. Soon we would race back down the stairs and slam out the back door to chase my grandmother’s chickens, returning to the house with our feathery, disgruntled prizes tucked under our arms.</p>
<p>The main part of the farm house was over 100 years old, with high vaulted ceilings and plenty of tall windows to catch the breezes. The original house was a salt box with living quarters downstairs, and sleeping quarters upstairs. The stairway was steep and dangerous, but we respected it and never tumbled down. At some point a huge kitchen wing had been added onto the back of the house. It was bigger than the original living room. Here, a wood burning stove stood even into my childhood, when it served as the backup to an electrical range. Off of the kitchen was the storm porch where as a girl, my mother had watched basketball sized orbs of electricity float through the air whenever there was a particularly bad thunderstorm. Missouri, part of Tornado Alley, could produce whoppers of thunderstorms where lightning would run into houses and knock electrical clocks off the wall as well as burn out expensive electrical appliances.</p>
<p>Directly in front of the house, and across the dirt road, ran Greasy Creek, with a natural spring bubbling up about every 100 yards. Spring water was clear, cool and entirely safe to drink. It had served the farm house inhabitants for drinking water until a private well had been dug. In my grandfather’s milking days, his spring was the perfect place to keep his tall cans of fresh milk cool until it was picked up for market. Greasy Creek was surrounded by a rock wall which had been built by the CCC. The workmen had conveniently left hand hewn stone steps leading down into the creek. There, we waded, turned over rocks and examined water beetles skittering across the water surface. There were also tiny crawdads to be captured. They would pinch us fiercely, but their pincers were too small and soft to really hurt us. </p>
<p>Phone service and electrical service were recent newcomers to the farm. As of the early 50s, there was still no indoor plumbing and everyone used the outhouse or slop jar, which was kept upstairs for nightly relief. No one wanted to trek to the outhouse in the middle of the night. My mother had been in high school before electrical service came to the Ozarks. When the phones arrived, there was only one line which ran for miles down Greasy Creek road. Everyone had to share it. Whenever the phone rang, no one knew who was getting the call, so everyone on the line picked up and listened anxiously, hungry for the new technology. Then they wouldn’t hang up and listened in, even if the call was not for them. </p>
<p>After a much needed night’s sleep at the side of one of our grandparents, we were up at dawn to live the farm life for the next five days. The first big event of the day was the milking of the cows and the release of the hens from the chicken house. The hens would emerge at a run in search of unfortunate insects still out in the open. We could help our grandmother feed her cats. There were upwards of 30 of them at times, depending on how many litters of kittens were born. Most of the cats were semi-feral but there were always a few who were glad for our attentions. Barn cats were a vital part of the farm ecosystem. My grandfather kept grain and shelled corn for his stock, which attracted rats. Barn cats were kept to dispatch them. Almost every rural Missouri farmer kept barn cats. If one farmer had too many litters of kittens one spring, another farmer could usually be found to pick them all up and install them in his barn. Most of my grandmother’s barn cats headed for the hills when our car pulled up and we spilled out of it. They were not seen again until we disappeared a week later. But there were always a few who were friendly, and we could depend on some kittens to play with and watch as they rolled around on their shoulders in the front yard and stalked one another. When my grandmother found a new litter, she would try to handle and gentle them for us so we could enjoy them.</p>
<p>At least once a day, a trip would be made to the corn crib to gather a can full of shelled field corn for the hens. Using my grandfather’s hand cranked corn sheller, we shelled as many ears as we needed and collected the kernels in a can. As we scattered the kernels, the hens would come running. There was a white magnificent rooster we could never catch, though we tried. We coveted his beautiful, curling tail feathers. When we finally tired of chasing him, he would strut and crow his victory, just out of our reach.</p>
<p>After a breakfast of fresh farm eggs, we were off to try to catch grasshoppers in the pasture or enormous, green slick bullfrogs in the stock tanks, or ponds. The bullfrogs, about the size of a kitten, would squat in the mud by the side of the little ponds, seemingly totally unaware of us. We would inch closer and closer, certain that we would soon have a fine fat bullfrog in our grasp. At the very last second, the frogs would catapult themselves almost two feet off into the pond with a huge and angry croak. They knew we were there all the time. Soon, only their heads and eyes would emerge from the green water as they stared balefully at us. We promised them we would be back. My grandfather had thrown small perch into the stock tanks for us to fish out with our bamboo poles, so we would take up another hour or so at that. Up the hill was the haybarn, stacked to the rafters with fresh bales of hay. My grandfather had built a shed attached to the haybarn for cattle to gather in case of bad weather. Often, we rounded the corner to the shed and came face to face with a startled heifer who beat a quick retreat from these troublesome children. Inside the bar, we leaped from corner to corner, falling in the straw and never getting hurt. Then there was the jenny, my grandfather’s ancient plow mule, to be chased down and ridden, usually two at a time. Then back into the kitchen for a lunch of beans and potatoes, my grandfather’s favorite meal. It was served for both lunch and dinner, every day. Many days we would follow my grandmother in her bonnet out to her huge garden for vegetables to supplement the beans. Or we might help our grandfather pitchfork new potatoes right out of the ground. By the end of the day, it was time to milk the cows again and gather the eggs. Often there was a clever black snake who stole eggs before we could reach them. Laying hens often squawk loudly when they have produced their daily egg. The black snake knew to respond to the sound, but so did we. Sometimes we beat him to the laying box and collected the still warm egg. But sometimes he beat us. A hen would trumpet her accomplishment, but we never got the egg.</p>
<p>Up at the very top of the hill and at the edge of the property was a cemetery with graves over one hundred years old. If we were feeling brave, we would hop the fence and walk around reading the names and dates. The cemetery property technically belonged to my grandfather, but he had deeded it over to the county for that purpose. </p>
<p>If we got up early enough we could help my grandfather milk his cows. He always promised me he would wait for me and I would help him. But I had no understanding of farm ways. Cows must be milked at dawn, not when city children finally wake up. When I did wake up, I rushed to the upstairs window and looked out, hoping to find him on his way up to the barn, walking in his slow, loping way. But he was already finished and apologetic. But, we would try again for the next morning. We did manage to join him for the late afternoon milking. Milking barns are full of the distinct clean but animal smell of the heifers and the raw milk and the feed grain my grandfather pour into stanchions to encourage his girls to get on in the milk barn for their business. They lined up outside the door and even pushed trying to get in and rush to the first available stanchion. Out came the electric milking machines which churned and hummed until the udder was almost empty. The best part followed when my grandfather grabbed his little milking stool and stripped the rest of the milk by hand into a bucket. The farm dog Laddie was always standing by, knowing what to expect. Expertly, grandpa would take careful aim with the teat and, in mid air, fill Laddie’s open mouth with fresh milk. After milking, my grandfather would pour out a ration for the household, including the cats, and pour the rest in tall steel cans to be picked up by the milk truck. My grandparents never bought milk at the grocery. They drank it fresh, after my grandmother had pasteurized it of course. For Wes and I, the fresh milk tasted far too gamey and we refused to drink it. </p>
<p>About 20 miles on into the mountains was Blue Bend, a true paradise of a swimming hole. It was on private property, but it was such a destination that the property owners had no problem with everyone using it. Full respect was shown to the property and it was never trashed or abused. We came, swam, and left, giddy and blue from the cold water. There were so many of us cousins that we had to ride up and down the hills in the back of my grandfather’s pickup truck. Blue Bend was over 20 feet wide in some places and up to ten feet deep. It was a rock and gravel lined creek and not the most comfortable for wading on tender city feet. We cared little, plunging and paddling into the icy depths. And it was cold, extremely cold. Missouri’s climate was not warm like Texas and bodies of water never got over 80 degrees, even in high summer. There were snakes in Blue Bend, but we cared not a twit. They swam at the bottom and we swam at the top, and never came near each other.</p>
<p>After such a day, we fell into an exhausted sleep with a grandparent, only to wake up the next morning and do it all again until the day we had to leave.</p>
<p>We cried buckets on the morning we had to go, and then piled into the car for the long trip back to Texas. We were glad to be home, and as we settled back into our house, Missouri was like a dream, and a pleasant one, that we would soon be having again.</p>
<p>We had only one Missouri trip which was unpleasant. Wes and I had talked our parents into letting us stay on by ourselves with our grandmother for a couple of weeks. We brought a lot of extra things with us, including a desk, a Vespa motor scooter and the family cat and Skippy, the dog. Upon arrival, Skippy fought non-stop with Hector, the farm dog. Later, Skippy escaped from the barn where we had attempted to confine him for the night. We looked out the window and saw him energetically exploring the barn yard by moonlight. He was having quite the grand time. </p>
<p>What were we thinking? My parents departed for Texas, then after a couple of weeks, they returned for us. The troubles began in New Braunfels, Texas, where the family car broke down with radiator problems. My parents limped back to San Antonio and got in the reserve car, which was a VW beetle, with no air conditioning. The month was July. Even with the late start, they headed North. In Arkansas, the VW broke down with fuel pump problems. Fortunately, they were able to find a mechanic to fix it on the road. After this final delay, they pulled into Washburn about 9:00 p.m., totally exhausted.</p>
<p>We rose the next morning at 6:00 to return to Texas. Four people loaded into the beetle with a cat and dog. We were pulling a U-haul filled with the Vespa and desk. About 60 miles into the trip, the family cat forgot himself and urinated all over a pillow in my mother’s lap, where he had been relaxing. We threw the pillow into the nearest trash can, but it had soaked through to her lap. We had to feed her lunch in the car. She smelled too bad to leave it. We drove the next 500 plus miles with cat urine permeating everything. The higher the sun rose, the worst the smell became. </p>
<p>By 3:00 p.m., we had made it to Dallas. We were hot, exhausted and enclosed in a small car which reeked of cat urine. We never drove straight through Dallas because of the traffic. We always took Loop 12 which circled the city. But on this trip of trips, my father missed the Loop 12 exit, even with my mother shouting at him to not miss it! My mother lost it and a yelling match ensued as she attempted to back-seat drive and my father dug his heels in and resisted. We went round and round a Dallas cloverleaf, not knowing where we were going or how to get out of it, with parents shouting every yard of the way.</p>
<p>Somehow we found our way through and made it on in the San Antonio in the dark. It was a trip never to be forgotten.</p>
<p>Other smaller day trips were made out to the Uvalde region, where two of my father’s sisters lived. Aunt Zeni lived right outside of Knippa, Texas, on some mesquite covered acreage. She was pretty grouchy and ill-tempered so we had a tendency to get out the back door quickly and avoid the house. Knippa was no Missouri. It was hot, dry and nothing but dirt and dead-looking trees in every direction. But then Wes and I were ever skillful at finding activities to entertain ourselves. Outside the house, we could find and follow huge snakes and overturn most anything and find a huge rat colony and watch them scatter in panic. Often, we would hear the whistle of a freight train. The I-10 corridor and railroad tracks ran less than 30 feet from my aunt’s house (and bedroom …), and we would rush to the side of the road and count how many railroad cars were in the train. The highlight was the caboose. They always waved at us. If we tired of that, there was always Gaucho, my uncle’s pinto stock horse, and a vicious beast. We were too smart to try to ride him. He had already come close to killing me as a younger child by running out of control down Highway 90 while I clung in desperation to his back. That evil horse knew exactly what he was doing. Of course that didn’t stop us from entering his pasture, where he would charge us. He made straight for us through the mesquite and brush at full gallop, always turning off at the latest minute. He could have easily killed us. If we made our way on through Gaucho’s territory, there was an old and dilapidated house in the back of my aunt’s acreage. It had belonged to her prosperous in-laws, long gone. They had lost everything in the Knippa bank failure in 1929. It had been a sizeable two-story house, but had deteriorated into grey and weathered clapboard. We never went inside, certain that it was haunted. Then it was usually back in my aunt’s house to read the funny papers until time to return home after a good lunch. Aunt Zeni was a good cook, and the meals never lasted very long (mercifully). We were of course on our top behavior, in fear of her wrath, or my father’s if we dared to offend his sister. </p>
<p>On the Knippa trips, we often went on into Uvalde to see my father’s other sister, Aunt Lorene. Aunt Lorene was nothing like Aunt Zeni. Aunt Zeni had married well into the Knippa family, hard working and prosperous Germans who had established Knippa, Texas. Every time we visited Aunt Lorene, she was living in a different run-down house. But we loved this, a new place to see and explore. She had had two husbands, both of whom had split, but had left behind a whole bunch of little cousins for us to play with. At her home, the atmosphere was chaotic, relaxed and carefree. The whole family was just good natured. Lorene, despite her sad and challenging life, was always smiling and good company. She worked as a waitress and never made enough to support her five children. She passed on her cheerful attitude to her kids. They lived on the edge of financial desperation but it never seemed to bother them. They moved from house to house, dodging rent collectors. My father sometimes had to lend her grocery money for her children. But those trips came to a sad end when Lorene was murdered by her son-in-law who had lost his mind. Lorene was the black sheep of the family, but of all my father’s sister, she was the one my mother cared for the most. After her death, the family banded together and provided for her children until they could get back on their feet.</p>
<p>The other major road trip we made was to Deming, New Mexico, via El Paso, Texas. Grandmother Ella had become a widow before my parents ever met, and had remarried and settled in Deming. Aunt Faye Doll, my father’s youngest sister, was married and living nearby in El Paso. If my father, or “Son,” as she called him, was the apple of his mother’s eye, Faye Doll ran a close second. She was spoilt, and willful.</p>
<p>My mother never cared for Faye Doll, or for her mother in law. Being a no nonsense Midwesterner, she had no sympathy for anyone who put their children on pedestals. Ella returned the scorn. Sonny Boy had definitely chosen the wrong heifer, but he was stuck, especially now that there were two calves at her side.</p>
<p>As children, we immediately picked up on the tension. There was little warmth between us. Grandmother Gertie made us peanut butter sandwiches and attempted to spoil us. She made up part of our beloved Missouri.</p>
<p>Grandmother Ella called Wes “fat boy” and called me “mama’s girl.” We had a name for her as well: the grandma with the black spit, and there was a reason for that. Like many women of her generation, she had started dipping snuff, the female version of chewing tobacco. She had the ghastly habit of leaning over and spitting it out of her mouth into a coffee can. It was a long drop. Both horrified and fascinated, we would watch its slow and thick travel out of the side of her mouth down to the can in slow motion. We ran when she tried to kiss us, which did not happen very often. Could we be blamed? But it only made her dislike us even more.</p>
<p>As with Aunt Zeni, we beat it out of her house as quickly as possible or stayed to ourselves in the living room for most of our visit. Grandmother Ella lived on a sheep station just outside of Deming. She did have a respectable collection of old 40s big band records which we would play incessantly, while lip synching or singing along.</p>
<p>Later on, the sheep station got sold and Ella moved into town. At least there, when we visited, there were two friendly little boys next door: Tommy and Ricky. They willingly played with us in the loft of our step-grandfather’s garage (where we accidentally sat in some shellac), and told us tales of the wild mustangs which lived nearby Deming. Again, we stayed outside of the house most of the time. Time had not improved our relationship with Grandmother Ella. </p>
<p>My mother would get us out of the Deming house for brief day trips. We crossed the border (within 20 minutes) and entered a dismal little town in Mexico. In a store buying sodas, we saw Superman comics in Spanish. Outside were Mexican urchins who accosted us. Have you a penny? Have you chiclets? Assimilating other cultures was not in our repertoire, and we were happy to leave. Juarez would probably have been a lot more entertaining.</p>
<p>There were also tourist attractions close by which we always visited: the City of Rocks. This was a set of large boulders in the middle of the desert, probably left by a glacier. It was a great climbing area for energetic children. If you fell, you didn’t fall far. </p>
<p>Also close by was White Sands missile range, and Carlsbad Caverns which we also visited.</p>
<p>At some point during the west Texas trip, we stopped and stayed with Faye Doll, who we liked a lot better than our grandmother. She provided us with three cousins, a little older and on the mean side, but definitely great fun. Faye Doll and her family lived in a miserable part of town, almost within walking distance of the Rio Grande. We never witnessed it, but it was not unusual for illegal immigrants from Mexico to come running through her yard, with the Border Patrol in hot pursuit. El Paso must surely be one of the most hideous cities in the United States, but it was still a road trip and we were always ready to go.</p>
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2015-09-17T14:39:10-04:00Road TripsRE: The tale of the house on Olney Drive<p>As we discussed before, our childhood home had a lot of similarities. I had forgotten about our one bathroom that had an open gas heater as well. It may have been dangerous, but it was certainly a welcome feature on cold winter mornings. I couldn't wait for Dad to light the fire. Also amazing to remember that water was free and everyone had beautiful thick lawns and gardens. We always had tomatoes or some kind of vegetable growing in our backyard garden along with peach, plum and pecan trees. I'm surprised that I did not have warts all over with as many toads as we caught during the summer in the alley water meters.</p>
<p>I have driven past that old house many times in my adulthood and it seems so small now. The whole neighborhood that loomed so large and full of places to explore from a child's perspective is seemingly so diminished in size and the houses so small as an adult. I guess the old bromide is true that one can never go back home, literally and figuratively in this case. With all your stories of bygone places and memory evoking events, maybe we ought to name this "The Memory Exchange" instead of User Forum!</p>
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2015-01-20T14:14:49-04:00The tale of the house on Olney DriveThe tale of the house on Olney Drive<p>I form extreme attachments to homes. It’s probably because I lived in only one home for 23 years, from birth until moving full-time to Austin in 1976. We bought our present home in Houston in 1986 and we’re still in it almost 30 years later. I put down long roots in the only two homes where I have lived. I never really totally disconnected from the home on Olney Drive where I grew up. </p>
<p>In 1950, the Sumner Development Corporation built a little pie shaped neighborhood of houses bordered by the Austin Highway, Harry Wurzbach and Rittiman Road known as Wilshire Terrace. The main streets were Olney Drive, Sumner Drive, Karen Lane, Byrnes and Blakeley. This was a very modest neighborhood and my parents’ humble little place cost them $8300. They had indigestion as to how they would possibly cover those payments: $72 a month. Real estate taxes and insurance were so low they were hardly noticed. These were quick build tract homes, thrown together for the influx of families who were involved with Fort Sam Houston and also wanting to move into the excellent North East Independent School District. It was the school district that lured my parents up that way. Their ticket into the house on Olney Drive was the GI bill which financed with no down payment. They had managed to save $800 to buy furniture.</p>
<p>Those houses were basic. About every 5<sup>th</sup> or 6<sup>th</sup> house was the exact same floor plan, with perhaps a different porch design and maybe some variation in siding. That siding, by the way, was asbestos, which is a huge no no today. It was cheap and durable. Windows were steel casement style, cranking out to catch the summer breezes. One nice feature inside were solid oak hardwood floors. But no one liked them and usually covered them up with carpeting. We always kept our wood floors and they really took a beating. Most houses had two bedrooms and one bathroom. There was no air conditioning or central heating. Gas jets stuck out of the baseboards in every room, so you could purchase gas heaters and use that. On really cold mornings, we turned on the kitchen gas range for a little while. For cooling, there was an attic fan in the hallway, which did a fairly credible job of cooling the place down, especially at night. My parents also invested in an evaporative cooler, or swamp cooler as described by Steve Clark. It was absolutely great because the air that blew in was water cooled.</p>
<p>In the back beyond the chain link fence was a cool grass-lined alleyway, great for exploring. Every house had a water meter and it was usually inhabited by something slimy, which we would catch, pass around, and then release. </p>
<p>Right outside the kitchen was a carport, which was actually fairly handy. It had a huge storeroom in the back that held the constantly expanding family junk collection.</p>
<p>My poor mother made do with about eight square feet of counter space in one of the smallest kitchens imaginable. The kitchen sink was big enough to bathe a kid in and occupied about a third of the counter space. There was no dishwasher. Eventually she did manage to find a portable dishwasher that rolled around on wheels. We would roll it out of the corner, fill it up, attach it to the sink faucet and run it daily. There was no laundry room and a washing machine sat right in the corner of the kitchen. We hung our laundry on a clothes line, in full view of the neighbors through the chain link fences. It was so embarrassing to be hanging my father’s tighty whiteys out to dry. When it rained, we waited until it stopped to do our laundry. It we made a mistake and it rained after we had hung everything out on the clothes line, we just let it dry out again for an extra day: two rinsings instead of one. </p>
<p>With only one bathroom, you learned to plan your strategy well and get to the door ahead of your siblings. Baths and showers were only taken at night since there was no way all of us could run through one bathroom on a school or work morning. I learned to beat Wes to the bathroom door pretty early so I could have the required time to fix myself up before school. If he got there first, it was hopeless. He would hog it until about five minutes before the bus arrived. Howling and pounding on the door was useless. The bathroom sink had exposed plumbing on the bottom and a small but efficient gas wall heater. The only tile was on the floor. The bathtub was surrounded by stick on plastic tiles. That gas heater was extremely dangerous. It would have been easy to be asphyxiated and it was down on floor level with open flames. It could easily have ignited clothing if you got too close. </p>
<p>Our homes were pretty humble, but we all had pride in ownership. Everyone kept up their houses and yards. Watering was cheap, so our lawns got all the water needed and grew lush and thick. Lawns were kept mowed and edged, and houses were painted and fixed as needed. Everyone planted trees and shrubs. We had juniper, boxwood and ligustrums which grew into huge trees where we played Tarzan. We also had mesquite trees which the builder had left. The thorns crippled us regularly. In the backyard was a chinaberry tree which bloomed each spring with the most fragrant and lovely tiny lavender blooms. Unfortunately, this was followed in the fall by a crop of nasty marble-sized yellow berries which dropped everywhere and decomposed. But the blossoms were worth putting up with the stinking berries. You rarely see chinaberry trees anymore. Years later in Austin, we found a blooming one on South Congress in a restaurant parking lot. I smelled it before I even saw it. I stood under it and oohed and aahed for about five minutes while my daughter stood by questioning my sanity. I was just so happy to see one again.</p>
<p>By 1960 we started outgrowing the place but could not afford a step up to Northwood or Terrell Hills. So we added on another 200 square feet room in the back with knotted pine paneling, an acoustic tile ceiling, red linoleum floors and wall to wall aluminum windows which gave us much pride. The addition served as my parents’ bedroom so Wes and I could occupy the original two bedrooms. Because of the configuration, my parents’ door opened directly into the kitchen. It was pretty bizarre, but we got used to it. We could now boast that we had three bedrooms, but still only one bathroom. We also closed in the carport and made a garage. At least now when it rained, we could string our laundry up on a line inside the garage.</p>
<p>My parents kept the house until 1976, when it was sold. Sadly, it went into foreclosure within a couple of years and became a HUD home. Soon it became one of a collection of about 30-40 rent homes owned by a woman who was a real slumlord. Every time I returned to San Antonio we would drive by and it was sadder and sadder looking. My father’s beautiful lawn had turned to dirt and weeds and even the weeds were usually dead. Our thick boxwood hedge in the front disappeared along with the ligustrums and the chinaberry. The asbestos siding became worn and chipped. The owner barely maintained the place, renting it out cheap to tenants who took dismal care of it. It almost reached the point where I dreaded driving by it and seeing how much worse it could get.</p>
<p>In April 2014, I was nosing around in Realtor.com and found my old home was for sale! It was in such bad condition that there were no interior pictures posted. The price was rock bottom, half of its market worth. It was in that bad of shape. By the time I got a request in to see it, there were so many offers that the seller was accepting no more and showings had stopped. </p>
<p>In August we drove by it again, curious as to what might have happened. I was absolutely thrilled to see a pile of construction debris out front! Someone was remodeling and it was major. It was on a Saturday, and there was no crew in sight so we stopped and walked all around the exterior. The siding had been replaced in some places and repaired and painted a cheerful blue. All of the windows and the roof had been replaced. We peeked in the front window and saw granite countertops! My little house was getting granite countertops! When it finally went back onto the rental market in September, we made an appointment to see it. It was a surreal experience to walk back into it after almost 40 years. It was a different house. I longed to see anything that was leftover from when I lived there, but those details were few and far between. The kitchen was expanded and beautiful. The garage had been closed in to make an extra bedroom. The storeroom had become a laundry room. The new owner slash landlord went on and on about how a washing machine had sat in the kitchen!! I kept very quiet. The original wood floors had been lost because the foundation had cracked down the middle and a giant hole had to be cut in the middle of the house to pour a pier. But they had replaced it with some nice laminate. The bathroom was beautiful. I looked in all the nooks and crannies and found a few places where it was original, such as inside the closet of my old bedroom, and the huge floor to ceiling cabinet in the old bathroom. The door moldings were still there, though well painted. The foundation of the back add-on bedroom had separated six inches from the main foundation. How had the tenants lived there? The new owner had it jack hammered out and replaced with a nice deck and ceiling fans.</p>
<p>This little house has started its second life and should be good family home for another 40-50 years. I am happy for it and wish it the best. It’s the nicest little place on the block and the rent is expensive, so it should be well taken care of. I am no longer sad.</p>
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2015-01-20T08:39:52-04:00The tale of the house on Olney DriveRE: Oak Grove Elementary School Memories - by Jenice Graham Benedict<p><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial; font-size: small; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">Robbert, Bobby, Carla, and Debbie, and MAC friends....</span></p>
<p><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial; font-size: small; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">Those were some great Oak Grove Elementary and school memory posts that were added by Bob Abel and Bob Cuddy. Of course we Texans said <strong>"icehouse"</strong> for the convenience stores! Same thing goes for <strong>'icebox'</strong> for the refrigerator. We understand perfectly what you were talking about and still use those words today in Texas.</span></p>
<p><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial; font-size: small; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">Bobby, sorry if I pinched you in 3rd grade. I don't really remember but please except my appoligies if I really did. </span></p>
<p><span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial; font-size: small; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">Cuddy, I didn't know you lived in South Dakota for a while. Gosh,.... Burrrrr!</span></p>
<div style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Carla Thrasher Daws and Debbie Self Norris's comments about Coker and Serna are good ones, too. - I have some cute old photos of Carla Thrasher, Ricki Ison, and I in 4th grade in front of Frost Bros. store and the fountain. They were taken of us at my 'Shopping Day- Birthday Party' and also a photo of us at my 3rd grade 'Dress-up Lady Birthday Party' at my home. </div>
<div style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial; font-size: small;"> </div>
<div style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Hugs,</div>
<div style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial; font-size: small;">Jenice :)</div>
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2014-11-25T11:34:02-04:00-1'RE: Oak Grove Elementary School Memories - by Jenice Graham Benedict<table border="1" bordercolor="#0000CC" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);" width="100%">
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<p class="proftitles" style="font-family: Arial, Verdana; font-size: 15px; font-weight: bold;"><a href="http://www.macarthur71.com/class_profile.cfm?member_id=3787439" style="outline: 0px; color: rgb(74, 133, 223); text-decoration: none;"><u>Robert Cuddy</u></a></p>
<h1 style="color: rgb(0, 0, 204); letter-spacing: 0.02em; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 1.5em; margin: 20px 0px 0px; padding: 20px 0px 0px;"><font face="arial, helvetica, sans-serif" size="4">Thanks for the kind words Bob,but you need to really thank Jenice Graham Benedict. She was having a hard time getting the pictures loaded so she sent them to me, & I was able to get them on the site. But, w/o Jenice they would not be here at all!</font></h1>
<h1 style="color: rgb(0, 0, 204); letter-spacing: 0.02em; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 1.5em; margin: 20px 0px 0px; padding: 20px 0px 0px;"><font face="arial, helvetica, sans-serif" size="4"> I remember the "under the desk exercises" also. </font><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 1.2em;">However from 3rd thought 7th grade I went to a catholic school on the south side of town. </span></h1>
<h1 style="color: rgb(0, 0, 204); letter-spacing: 0.02em; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 1.5em; margin: 20px 0px 0px; padding: 20px 0px 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 1.2em;">Before that my family lived off of Vance Jackson, & what I thought was a very cool place to go was the "Lone Star Icehouse"! I loved that place. I still called them icehouses till sometime in the late 70's when I lived in South Dakota. No one there knew what the hell I was talking about when I said I was "going to the icehouse"! Plus is WAS South Dakota, it was almost always cold there so who would want or need an "icehouse". Ha ha! </span></h1>
<h1 style="color: rgb(0, 0, 204); letter-spacing: 0.02em; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 1.5em; margin: 20px 0px 0px; padding: 20px 0px 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 1.2em;">Thanks, the icehouse brings back great memories and I agree with you 100%.</span></h1>
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<td bgcolor="#0000CC" class="proftitles" style="font-family: Arial, Verdana; font-size: 15px; font-weight: bold;" width="50%"><font color="#ffffff">11/23/14 12:48 PM</font></td>
<td align="right" bgcolor="#0000CC" class="proftitles" style="font-family: Arial, Verdana; font-size: 15px; font-weight: bold;" width="50%"><font color="#ffffff"><u>#33</u> <a href="http://www.macarthur71.com/class_response_form.cfm?forum_id=2131799&whattodo=Edit" style="outline: 0px; color: rgb(74, 133, 223); text-decoration: none;"><font color="#ffffff"><u>EDIT</u></font></a><font color="#ffffff"> <a href="http://www.macarthur71.com/class_response_post.cfm?forum_id=2131799&whattodo=Delete" style="outline: 0px; color: rgb(74, 133, 223); text-decoration: none;"><font color="#ffffff"><u>DELETE</u></font></a></font></font></td>
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<p class="proftitles" style="font-family: Arial, Verdana; font-size: 15px; font-weight: bold;"><a href="http://www.macarthur71.com/class_profile.cfm?member_id=3790615" style="outline: 0px; color: rgb(74, 133, 223); text-decoration: none;"><u>Bob Abel</u></a></p>
<p><strong>Thanks Robert Cuddy... great to hear from you! So special thanks to Janice Graham Benedict!!! You both, as well as many others, do so much for the reunion & contacts! I wish I had more time to help & visit, etc., but owning my masonry construction business is a 7 days/70 hours per week baby to take care of. Don't want it to get any bigger & hire more people...just want to have a life before I sell it & retire one day, haha.</strong></p>
<p><strong style="line-height: 1.6em;">I hear San Antonio is about the only place, even in Texas, that calls em' "Icehouses"...I hear it all started from Lone Star Icehouse chain's name. You are right about that Lone Star Ice House & also the Texas Icehouse ...they're still there I believe. When we were slightly under-aged & in Mac, we would buy a quart each of Lone Star beer at another hidden icehouse on a seedier part of town...will not mention names!! hehe.</strong></p>
<p><strong>I just saw a message from Janice about the user-forum that I had never checked out before...hi Janice! Thanks for the old pics & just skimmed thru your Oak Grove stories...great!! I remember Principal Potts & remember your Mom & all. I'm sorry I pulled your hair on the playground in 3rd grade or so....only if you are sorry you pinched me. Hahahahaha. You were/are a good person to be around. Like your Mom, my Mom would walk us to school many times, until she got her Citizenship(she was from England) & learned to drive...walked uphill both ways as the old folks said...in the snow. LOL I do remember walking to school with it being so cold we would run to those old heaters until we thawed out. Then, like you said, had to open windows when too hot as no air cond.</strong></p>
<p><strong>I'll never forget at Mac, while taking a difficult science finals test one May, from teacher Mr. Dawson, it seemed like 100 degrees in the class even with all windows open...so Mr. Dawson turned off the lights saying "light makes heat". That's all the science I ever remember, hehe.</strong></p>
<p><strong>Gotta run finish job estimates...greetings & good blessings to all!"</strong></p>
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2014-11-23T20:29:49-04:00-1'RE: Oak Grove Elementary School Memories - by Jenice Graham Benedict<p>Great job Jenice & Shirley & all !!! I just posted this on the message board, but Jenice had suggested to also use this board & to copy & paste it here, which I agree is good to add to the thread of memories ...before we are all too senile to remember! hehe.</p>
<p><span style="line-height: 1.6em;">In a hurry now, but will look for old photois & add more when can! Also putting a reply post by Robert & myself:</span></p>
<p style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px;"><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: rgb(47, 79, 79);"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><strong>"Hi all! Thank you Robert Cuddy, for posting the old pics of Oak Grove Elementary! The Oak Grove Acorns we were titled. Good work Robert.</strong></span></span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px;"><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: rgb(47, 79, 79);"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><strong>The first thing came to mind when I saw those old desks was the Air Raid Shelter practice drills during the Cuban Missle Crisis & threat of nuclear attack. So in case of an incoming nuclear misslie, we were to crawl under those little desks & we would be perfectly safe. Yeah...right, LOL. Kind of like holding your breath & closing your eyes & not even an atomic bomb would bother us. hehe.</strong></span></span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px;"><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: rgb(47, 79, 79);"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><strong>I showed my wife the pics (I was in one of them) & told her that story. I also remember playing football in the dirt & rock-filled new football field...missing the grass. Who needed grass on a football field when we had great brown dirt, flint rocks everywhere, cactus, & stickers patches all over(thorns). We all did great in football because we were so darned scared of getting tackled in a cactus patch, or on a sharp flint rock, or a sticker patch...or on a rattlesnake. haha</strong></span></span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px;"><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: rgb(47, 79, 79);"><strong style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.6em;">I also remember us boys poking the cactus apples with a stick & flinging em' on other kids in the field & each other. At times there were all-out crowded "cactus apple wars".</strong></span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px;"><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: rgb(47, 79, 79);"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;"><b>My good friend Ben (Biff) Young & I were in hog heaven when we had enough money from the Coke bottles we collected(from the new houses under construction down on Wahada Dr. & Regency Place), & cashing them in at the Mr. M Icehouse...got enough money to buy 2 Frostie Root Beers & sunflower seeds. Ahh that was the rich life. hehe</b></span></span></span></p>
<p style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px;"><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: rgb(47, 79, 79);"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><strong>"Too many other memories & good people to mention...thanks to all there for your part in the fun! Oh, for everyone still here: tell the new people to central Texas that the correct language is not "convenience store"...it is an "ICEHOUSE". Ok, got it? LOL Bob"</strong></span></span></span></p>
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2014-11-23T20:26:35-04:00-1'RE: Another Mac Dating Story<div> </div>
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<div style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:14px;">Steve,</span></div>
<div style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"> </div>
<div style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:14px;">That was a funny story that you wrote about in your recent post. I had not thought about us participating in that contest for a long time until I read your post, and then it all came tumbling back. Yes, thanks to you and your wonderful 'talent' we won a great free meal ! You were hilarious and always fun. </span></div>
<div style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"> </div>
<div style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:14px;">There is a humorous and sage quote which comes to mind when I ponder the days of our comedic high school years at that age: </span></div>
<div style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"> </div>
<div style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:14px;"><span style="color:#FF0000;"><strong>"We are only young once.... </strong></span></span></div>
<div style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:14px;"><span style="color:#FF0000;"><strong>That is all society can stand."</strong></span> <span style="font-size:11px;">~Bob Bowen</span></span></div>
<div style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"> </div>
<div style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:14px;"><span style="font-size:16px;"><strong><span style="color:#FF0000;">:)) </span></strong></span> Keep writing and sharing,</span></div>
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<div style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size:14px;"> - Jenice Graham Benedict</span></div>
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2014-11-22T15:29:25-04:00More Mac Dating StoriesElementary My Dear Madison OR A Long Way for A Garner Bound Longfellowan<p>My pre-MacArthur edification and early formative years were similar to Shirley's and Jenice's, though I grew up in a different part of the city. My parents, two brothers and I lived in a small 2 bedroom house on the near west side. Walking north just a few blocks from the house, one could look west on Cincinnati St. and see the spires of St.Mary's University where my father received his law degree and later, my second oldest brother did the same. Go the other direction and it was a mile or so to Woodlawn Lake and a bit further, Jefferson High School where I was destined to follow in the footsteps of my brothers, or so I thought.</p>
<p>Life back then was trusting and simple with front doors that remained open at night and only a screen door to keep out the bugs and assist with air circulation, postmen who delivered mail door to door, and milk deliveries made right to the front door step. We had no central a/c, just a swamp cooler in my parent’s bedroom. A window a/c unit was later added to the second bedroom and what a big deal that was. A large indoor porch with jalousie panes all the way across was also added later for quite a bit more room. I still remember the smell of my mother's prized gardenia bushes and the perfume from the big white flowers that filled the night air and the little bedroom from having the windows open.</p>
<p>As a result of all of this fresh air exposure, a fan was a must to help cool the air to make it comfortable enough to sleep during the summer. I blame my parents now for the current addiction I have to white noise and air circulation from a portable fan. I gotta have it or I have a hard time falling asleep to this day, even in the winter. I remember going to an out-of-town football game in college and staying with a friend at his grandmother's place. There was no fan but my friend was just crazy enough to hum for about 20 minutes until I fell asleep. Really! That was true friendship. My brother Chris is the same way about fans and both our wives just hate it. Back to the school story.</p>
<p>Pre-school days were spent riding bikes, hunting for toads in the alley water meters, playing hide and seek on warm summer nights, trekking over to University Heights Pharmacy for a soda from the fountain, stealing honeysuckle blossoms from bee covered vines and enjoying the sweet nectar, catching fireflys and using them to write our names on our shirts in glowing letters, jumping out of trees and off roofs pretending to be superman, and collecting pop bottles and returning them for the deposit which was used to buy candy and sodas, of course, from the local 5 and 10 cent store called Winn's. Life was good and I have wonderful memories of my childhood there.</p>
<p>My brothers and I went to James Madison Elementary which was a 30 minute walk from the house. I enjoyed the walk during good weather, but winning a balloon-tired bike from the local grocery store (Model Market; a new competitor then for Handy Andy and Piggly Wiggly) was better than any wish I could have made. Having my own wheels (no longer having to borrow my brother's bike) opened up all sorts of new exploration possibilities such as covering a wider area to collect more pop bottles. I was going to be rich!</p>
<p>My 6th birthday seemed to creep up suddenly with the advent of public school looming large in my future. The first day of school was a real experience, for my mother anyway. I climbed a large Chinese Tallow tree in our front yard and doggedly refused to come down. Not until threats of corporal punishment did I acquiesce and descend crying all the way to school. How traumatic for a 6 year old used to wearing shorts, going barefooted and playing all day long! It was tantamount to a jail sentence! However, once there it wasn't long until I was immersed in putting together a wooden puzzle of a car and did not even notice when my mother finally snuck away. </p>
<p>The school building was an arrangement of long hallways and connecting breezeways with a cafeteria / auditorium on one end. This was rather a typical layout for schools from that era similar to the old MacArthur layout in general. Creaky ceiling fans, no a/c, push-out windows, cloak rooms for storage of coats, lunches, and misbehaving students, and space heaters for winter; a real hot box when summer approached. </p>
<p>During early fall and late spring months, everyone looked forward to recess to escape the heat inside. Once outside tether ball and baseball reigned supreme. There were the usual slides, merry-go-rounds, bars and the like as well. Playgrounds were outfitted with long narrow concrete water fountains with two parallel pipes of 12 feet in length positioned over a catch basin with drains. These pipes were drilled every foot and a half or so to produce water streams for drinking. I actually saw one that had been salvaged on Craigslist the other day and was sorely tempted to buy it. I can just hear what my wife would have said to that purchase!! I also remember that these fountains were always on during school hours - water was free back then - but turned off on the weekends One summer I happened upon a key at the local hardware store that looked like it would fit those fountains and it did. I became very popular that summer with those wanting to play baseball or other team sports on the school grounds.</p>
<p>Back inside from recess we were required to have a cool down period. That's when everyone put their head down on their desk over folded arms. 15 minutes later as class began again, one had to lift up the arms slowly to free them from the sweat soaked varnish that had become a sticky quagmire or risk losing some flesh. Peggy Wolf also went to Madison for a very short time and probably remembers some of the details of the shcool that are mentioned in my story. As serendipidity would have it, we both had Mrs. Penrod for second grade before she moved.</p>
<p>The cafeteria food there was actually pretty good. All the cooks were hispanic and the nicest ladies you would want to meet calling all the kids honey and "meho" (spanish contraction for "mi hijo" or my child). 2 cent cinnamon toast served on that translucent paper with a 5 cent 1/2 pint carton of milk was perfect for breakfast. But, everyone looked forward to Wednesdays which, as eveyone knows that went to public school in south Texas, was Mexican food day. Enchiladas, rice, beans and corn bread . . . it was all good. SAISD was one of the poorer districts though and it was not uncommon to see someone at school wearing a flour or potato sack that had been made into a shirt. This was well before the days of Banana Republic and people paying a good price for the same thing. </p>
<p>School field trips on the yellow banana were not uncommon then and I can remember going to the Municipal auditorium for concerts, roller skating at a now defunct roller rink on St. Mary's street and the one on Recoletta, and to ButterKrust Bakery which I missed on a rare sick day. The best part of the school year though was at the end (the school year ended the first part of May back then) when "May-Day Play-Day" was held. It was an all day affair outside with popcorn, sodas and all types of races with ribbons for the winners. Back then I could not be beat for any of the foot races. I usually took first place for my grade and could beat many upper classmen. I loved to run especially when I got new shoes particularly if they were Cross Countries, a thin soled running shoe that was very popular back then along with PF Flyers for basketball.</p>
<p>Getting to be a patrol crossing guard was also a big deal at Madison with vest, shiny new whistle on a lanyard and big red stop sign on a pole. In fifth grade, however, they decided to turn over the duties of raising and lowering the flag just outside the administration building to the students. My teacher that year recommended me for the duty and I got it along with another classmate. I will never forget the year, 1963, being called over the PA system to report to the principal's office and receiving instructions to lower the flag to half staff for Kennedy's assassination.</p>
<p>James Madison funneled into Longfellow Jr. High where both my brothers had gone before me. That was both good and bad. The teachers just loved my brothers and the first day of class I was usually greeted with "Ah! I see we have another one of the Clark boys . . . I just adored your brothers Chris and Chuck!" Talk about pressure and great expectations! I played most sports for the school with the exception of football which Coach Schweeney vowed I was going to do the following year. Then, at age 13, we moved. Feeling a little yanked up by the roots, leaving all my friends and favorite haunts behind, I found that I would be attending Garner Middle School then MacArthur. We had moved to Hollywood Park during a time when they were still re-drawing school district lines. Though Churchill was some 5 miles away and MacArthur at least twice that, we were bused over to Garner and Mac.</p>
<p>I began to make new friends at Garner that I would see again at Mac. The most indelible memory from that time though was of a major injury I sustained to my right knee in sports during a broad jump attempt. I had signed up for football and other sports at Mac for the coming freshman year and all that had to be cancelled. It was a real set back for me and I struggled to overcome the mental and physical effects for some time. Fortunately I was able to rehabilitate to the point where I would never be able to participate in contact sports or risk never walking again on that knee, but strong enough to find an outlet for athletics in gymnastics which would prove to be fortuitous in the coming years. So those of you that might have noticed a limp when I walked now know I was not practicing for a part as Festus on Gunsmoke. The knee plagues me more as of late such that one of these days I will quit fighting the pain and get a full knee replacement.</p>
<p>The rest of the year at Garner went by with a flash. Other than the aforementioned incident, the remainder of the year was a bit of a blur. Next up . . . ready for a bite out of Big Mac.</p>
<p>That's my story and I am sticking to it. </p>
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2014-11-19T19:13:36-04:00Elementary My Dear Madison OR A Long Way for A Garner Bound LongfellowanAnother Mac Dating Story<p><strong><span style="line-height: 1.6em;">Want To Make A Good Impression On Your Date, Belch Like A Bull Frog</span></strong></p>
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<p><span style="line-height: 1.6em;">I used to love attending the Youth for Christ meetings (I believe that was the name) with my fellow Brahmas. The topics delivered and discussed were usually contemporary and poignant without being overbearing and there was always some type of entertaining activity involved that encouraged christian camaraderie. I distinctly remember two such meetings. One was held at Loyce's house and her father was gracious enough to supply the whole crowd with Whopper Burgers. Nice guy! </span><span style="line-height: 1.6em;">The other was over on a street in Oak Park, I believe, where a contest was held at the end of the meeting and contestants for a then unnamed activity were required to clambor up a flat bed trailer strung with lights where there were four or five metal chairs waiting for the contestants. Boy-girl partners were requested so on a whim, I grabbed Jenice and we made our way up onto the plartform.</span></p>
<p><span style="line-height: 1.6em;">Digressing just a little, I always loved Jenice's company and we dated sporadically our senior year. I knew I could always count on a fun time and the presence of her sparkling personality I liked so much whether it was off to dinner, a movie, or just sharing some lively conversation over sundaes at Jim's.</span></p>
<p>Anyway, returning to the event, the MC called out the rules over a small PA system and indicated that the girls should sit in a chair with their partner on their lap. At a solid 185 lbs, I was not exactly a light weight and am sure Jenice was hoping this event would be over quickly before I put her legs to sleep. Next the guys were instructed to put their hands behind their backs and that the girls were going to feed the guys a half full bottle of hot Coke through a nipple on the end of the bottle. I liked feeding from nipples as well as the next guy, but I was about ready to call it after hearing that. Further, we were told that the first one to finish the Coke and burp into the microphone would win a dinner for two at Naples on San Pedro (now defunct). That was just enough enticement to make me forget about embarrassing myself in front of a small crowd and the MC gave the GO signal.</p>
<p>Up went the bottle in Jenice's hand and down went the hot Coke through the tiny hole in the nipple. I thought I was going to either cause the skin to separate from the roof of my mouth by sucking so hard or gag from the CO2 and foamy bubbles starting to come out of my nose. Hilarious? At least most of the crowd thought so including Jenice. Determined to come in first I sucked down the last gaseous ounce of that hot frothy soda while the MC scurried over with the microphone. At first I thought that a storm cloud had moved over us as I heard a mighty clap of thunder. No such thing. It was actually me as I expelled a five second blast of CO2 that was electronically amplified 10 times normal so that the whole neighborhood must have heard it. Pretty crude but I never knew a burp could feel so good. I was blessed with instant relief that brought tears to my eyes probably from the escaping CO2 cloud.</p>
<p>The crowd was roaring with laughter as I practically fell from Jenice's lap from the embarrassment but mostly hilarity of the moment and we both laughed unabated at the ridiculous sound I had just generated. Needles to say, we won the contest and had fun laughing some more about my jocular performance on our ensuing date to Naples the following week. Jenice had been such a good sport about the whole thing as was her way. </p>
<p><span style="line-height: 1.6em;">As an aside, I think I worried unduly back then about other people's perception of me. There were certainly remnants of shyness and a newly burgeoning confidence there that began to grow as I made my way through some personal achievements and confidence builders our last year at Mac. A bit of a late bloomer I guess you would say and, to some extent, I regretted not having become more active and ambitious in those early days. </span></p>
<p><span style="line-height: 1.6em;">I remember Jenice and I having clams oreganato at the restaurant which were terrific. Naples was a popular restaurant back then but, like so many things, is now gone with the advancement of time.</span></p>
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2014-11-18T13:14:03-04:00More Mac Dating StoriesOak Grove Elementary School Memories - by Jenice Graham Benedict<p><u><strong>Oak Grove Elementary School Memories - by Jenice Graham Benedict</strong></u></p>
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<p>I enjoyed reading Shirley Burleson Espinosa's posts about her activities at Wilshire. The experiences she wrote about were remarkably very similar and parallel to those of us who attended Oak Grove Elementary in NEISD. Reading her detailed entries helped me recall other grade school experiences, so I thought I would add some extra topics following her great entry. - So here it goes…</p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>Oak Grove: 1961-65</strong></p>
<p>In 1961, Oak Grove Elementary was one of the newest schools in NEISD. Students were pulled from Wilshire, Coker, and Serna for it's enrollment. I entered into third grade not knowing one soul in the whole school other than my older brother, because my dad had been transferred from Texas, to New Jersey, back to Texas following promotions within AT&T. The school district must not have projected its enrollment very well the year Oak Grove opened, because our classes were already bursting at the seams with about 34 kids in each class. Portable buildings were brought onto campus within a year to relieve the growth numbers of the classrooms. - No wonder why most the teachers were grouchy! How could anyone teach effectively with that class size enrollment?</p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>The Principal:</strong></p>
<p>Our principal's name was Mr. Pots. He wore a suit every day to work and was the nicest man… the kind of man we would run up and hug every day. I liked going to the school office. His office was the only place that had a full-time air conditioner. It was fun to be picked to go to the school office in the mornings to make the school announcements over the intercom to lead our classmates in the pledge of allegiance, prayer, or recite a poem.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>The Teachers:</strong></p>
<p>If I recall correctly, there was only one man who taught in the classroom at Oak Grove. He taught 6th grade for several years and later became a principal in the district. All the rest of the teaching staff was female. The female teachers were allowed to wear dresses or skirts and blouses to work. They could not wear pants, other than the exception of Mrs. Johnson, the P.E. teacher. She could wear pants and Bermuda shorts. Lucky lady!</p>
<p>The classrooms were not built with central air-conditioning in the 60's. In the hot months, (which is ten full months in Texas) the classroom’s windows would be open all day. There was only one large room fan that circulated the air to keep all the kids growing bodies cool in the classroom. The fan was turned toward the teacher's desk most of the time. If we were lucky we got to sit close to the teacher's desk to feel the breeze. We looked out those windows and daydreamed a lot.</p>
<p>There were no female principles in the 60's. Teachers were not supposed to get pregnant while they taught school. If a married teacher became pregnant during the school year, she could remain on the job until she started showing the baby bulge. Once she started showing a bump she was expected to resign her job, and then a substitute would be hired to take her class for the rest of the teaching year. We missed our teachers who had to leave their jobs in the middle of the year, and it was confusing to us why their pregnancy was treated in that manner.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>The Students in Our Class Level (1961-65):</strong></p>
<p>I can still picture these people in my mind: Brian Hastings, Jimmy Berry, Sandy Bielstein, Karen Johnson, James Sikes, Beth Childress, Helen Luker, Victor Meinkoth, June Bunger, Steven Elmendorf, Steve Flowers, Donnie Flowers, Roxie Anderson, Carla Thrasher, Jodie Collins, Bobby Able, Liz Doyle, Brian Hangen, Paul Hodges, Trey Nelson, Doug Pautz, Nolan Schubert, Dan Shipley, Frances Swearingen, Josh Hiller, Patrick Rudloff, Missy Molberg, Diane Berry, Bobby Swanagon, Carol Carnes, Bernie Johnson, Simone Childs, Cathy Pope, Terry Sulser, Pam Woods, Tom Leas, Keith Anderson, Linda Duckworth, Mike Ramsey, Tom Reel, Tom Gee, Vickie Mayfield, Keith Valone, Keith Mullins, Ricky Ison, Axel Borg, Carla McAninch, Michael Boger, Margaret Eagan, Melinda Roland, Vincent S.(?), Bill Edminston, Mary Menke, Mike Saling, James Hetherington, Linda Smith, Bob Bailey, Danny Coon, Debbie Parker, Jimmy Stinson, Biff Young, Chuck Kenworthey, Timmy Touchstone, Bob Olson, Mike Markey,<span style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"> Sandy Gray,</span> Mike McWhirter, and many others as they were in 1965. ( Forgive me if I have left anyone off this roll call list; Not intentional. I know there are others, but I am doing good to remember what I have! ) </p>
<p>Do you remember we had class officers? They were: President- Jimmy Berry; Vice President- Bernie Johnson; Secretary- Debbie Parker; and Parliamentarian- Danny Coon.</p>
<p>I can barely remember that we had a 6<sup>th</sup> grade talent show. I recall some singers, dancers, tumblers, jokers, and someone played a guitar (who? Tom Leas?) and we all thought he was really cool like he was a rock star. It was so “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious”!</p>
<p>Yes, by 6<sup>th</sup> grade we used our own generational words to describe things amongst ourselves like: “Groovy, Neato, Far Out! Can You Dig It? Way Out! Hip! Spiffy ! What's your bag, Man? Cool Man! Freak-out! Groovy Baby! Heavy! Outta Sight!, Peace Out, Don't have a Cow, Hang Ten, Uptight and Outta Sight, That’s Boss!”. We understood what these meant in our conversations with each other, and we felt pretty HIP for using them. </p>
<p>We affectionately called each other “IT”, “Rat Fink”, "Spaz", and “Fang” (All silly names we learned from watching the TV show, The Adams Family.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>Travel To and From the School:</strong></p>
<p>Since there wasn't school bus service for our neighborhood area, my mother would take my brother Joe and I to our elementary school in the family car on cold days. Our car was a chunky 1957 red and white Buick Special with lots of shiny chrome on it. My mom would start the car and let it idle for a while, then pile us in with the family dog and a blanket. We would travel through our neighborhood's curvy streets (no seat belts then) for about a mile until we arrived at Oak Grove.</p>
<p>Sometimes Joe and I just walked to our school in the mornings, but on most days we rode our bikes. (Yes, we had the Peewee Herman style heavy bikes.) Joe's bike was red; My bike was white and purple. We had the one mile walk and bike ride timed just perfect. All our books, lunch, and things went into our bike baskets that were located either on the front of Joe's bike or the side-saddle baskets behind my bike's seat. When we arrived at school, we parked our bikes in the school's bike racks or lawn area. We left them there without worrying about locking them, because we knew they would be there waiting for us when school was over. No one would think of stealing from a little kid at school in the 60’s on our side of town.</p>
<p>In the mornings, we had to be careful what clothes we chose to wear while riding our bikes to school. In Texas, sometimes it was chilly in the morning, but then the day would get warm in the afternoon. If we didn't layer our clothing right, we would burn up while riding our bike home in the afternoons and become really hot and thirsty.</p>
<p>After we got home from school we did not have to go anywhere for lessons or organized sports, until my brother and I were older. My mom would have cookies, apples, or some snack waiting for us. Then it was time to play outside in the front yard or street with the neighborhood kids of all ages. Most of the time, we played Panther-Antelope, a type of chase. We usually did not go inside our friend's houses because their mothers were busy, getting things done in the house, just like our mother. It was more fun to play outside anyways. There were no rules to abide outside, no parental adults telling us how to play ‘nice', and there was no fear of the ‘boogie-man' lurking to get us. Sometimes we played whiffle ball or skated on the bumpy streets with the medal type skates that cranked down tight onto our shoes. We would tighten the skates with skate keys and fastened the straps around our ankles. When we were thirsty, we drank water from the garden hoses outside. My puppy and the neighborhood dogs ran with us with their long tongues hanging out, showing their dog smiles. They wagged their tails with glee while playing with us. We collected rocks, caught lizards, horny toads, butterflies, and lighting bugs.</p>
<p>We knew to return home when it was almost dark. Our mom would have a home cooked meal ready for us. (No pre-bought fast food entered our doors for dinner at home.) Our dad got home from work at about the same time every single day. At 6:00pm is when we would sit down for a family dinner together, say a prayer holding hands, and discuss our school day. While eating, we had a conversation together and we looked at our father and mother respectfully at the dinner table, and they did the same to us. After dinner, we did our homework and were allowed to watch just one TV show a night… if we were not in trouble and our grades were good. </p>
<p>Some of these shows we watched were: Flipper, Mr. Ed, The Addams Family, I Dream of Jeannie, Gommer Pyle, Bewitched, Hogan’s Heroes, The Ed Sullivan Show, Batman, Gilligan’s Island, McHales Navy, Rawhide, My Favorite Martian, The Rifleman…and the list goes on. During our years in elementary school, our televisions shows began to convert from black and white to show in color.</p>
<p>Those were the most carefree, fun days of my childhood, and I was so blessed to have experience them. I am sure you feel like that about your 60's childhood, too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>My Loyal School Dog:</strong></p>
<p>Sometimes Bootsie, our black 20 pound mixed-dachshund, would follow us to school. There were no leash laws and everybody's family pet was allowed to roam and be free. Our Bootsie loved children, and consequently, he looked forward to attending Oak Grove School more than Joe, and I did! Any time he could, he would follow us to school or make a dash on his own accord. When Bootsie completed his morning jog to school, I would have to telephone my mother from the school's black office phone, to come get him and take him home. There wasn't any ‘call-waiting' back then, so if I missed Mom with the phone calls Bootsie would then be free to run after all the children on the playground. Meanwhile, I had to go to my classroom to learn. He would be just fine and happy about that scenario until the school janitor would catch him and chunk him into the utility boiler closet at school for doggie-jail confinement. I would hear him barking and yipping all day long while I was in school. After the school day was over, I would find the janitor to open the door of his prison cell, and Bootsie would obediently follow me while I rode my bike back home.</p>
<p>When you are a kid, you don't know to appreciate the gift of loyalty and a free loving heart. But today, I miss that happy-go-lucky, Heinz-57 dachshund and all the tricks he would gladly perform, just for me. He lived his cheerful life for 18 years, and he loved me till his last tail-wag. He died when I was away in college, but I was able to come home to help my parents bury him under the shade tree in our backyard.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>The School Cafeteria:</strong></p>
<p>There was no central air in the school. The school cafeteria was an echoic, multi-purposed large room with big fans perched high to circulate the hot humid breeze around, along with some houseflies that constantly buzzed the lunch tables. When it was time for lunch, we came into the cafeteria one grade level at a time and sat in our designated class areas. The people who brought their sack lunch would get to sit down at the tables first. For those of us buying our lunch, we either paid real money for our lunch, or we used a pre-paid paper ticket for a month's worth of lunch meals. The cafeteria lady would punch a hole with her hole-puncher through the card, indicating each meal we consumed. These paper tickets got pretty flimsy and dirty being held daily in our sweaty little hands while standing in line for our food…..which meant we probably didn't wash our hands before we ate. (Don't want to think about that…)</p>
<p>The school food was...well.... just school food served on a divided, one-piece, light green, plastic tray. There were some favorite meals that we all looked forward to every week, but none of it was considered very healthy or ‘green' in today's standards. On Wednesdays the cafeteria served cheese enchiladas with beans and a huge block of buttery corn bread; on Fridays it was Fish-Day so all the Catholics could have their fried fish intake that day; another favorite of ours was the peanut butter cookies for dessert or an ice cream sandwich; and our very favorite was good 'ol Frito Pie smothered with greasy yellow cheese and Frito corn chips. Yum-Yum! These delectables were all washed down with either whole white milk or chocolate milk. Milk initially was served to us in little milk bottles with cardboard stoppers, but a few years later the milk was served to us in the waxed-paper mini cartons. Sometimes we were disappointed because the milk tasted curdled. There were no snack machines, soda dispensers, or any conveniences for the students to choose from.</p>
<p>While eating our lunch, we could talk to our friends and compare what they were eating with the sack lunch kids. We socialized and sometimes we could sit next to our latest boyfriend at the time. In 5th grade, I had a crush on a 6th-grade boy for a couple of weeks. I thought he was perfect in every way. He was handsome, smart, good at sports, funny, and he actually talked to me! And did I say he was handsome? – Anyway, I saw him in the cafeteria line getting his lunch tray and I watched him sit down to eat his meal. I was so mesmerized with him….until…until…. I saw him eating his food. Yuck!! He ate like a caveman with his hands, talked with his mouth full, and the food was falling out of his mouth. He even stabbed at his food with his utensils. Oh my my!…What a disappointment. I decided right then and there that I did not like him anymore. My crush was over. On to finding a civilized man!</p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>Square Dancing Fridays:</strong></p>
<p>We Oak Grove Acorns got to perform square dancing indoors on Fridays, lead by the music and P.E. teachers. The students looked forward to square dancing to the old-style fiddle or Texas country music, even though it wasn't the latest Beatles or Beach Boys' rock and roll tunes. We usually wore nicer clothes and shoes that day to be more festive for the occasion. At square dancing, the girls would stand at their dance spots in the middle of the cafeteria room, and the boys were told to pick a partner.... but a different partner for each dance. The boys were also told, "NOT TO RUN" to their female selection, so the boys 'sped-walked' to their girl choice. Learning the dance involved twirling, skipping, clapping, and footwork, while doing ‘the promenade' to music. Many of the dances required the boy and girl partners to hold hands or lock arms, which always resulted in nervous giggles and BIG goofy smiles. It was a very innocent social experience for our age, and it still brings laughter to my heart.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>Recess:</strong></p>
<p>Since Oak Grove was newly constructed, there was lots of undeveloped raw land and woods around the school. We had running trails through these woods that were great for hiding and chase. Tetherball, four-square, jump ropes, hula hoops, and spring baseball was important to us at recess at Oak Grove. (I don't remember soccer being played.) The boys would play flag football. The girls would wear shorts under our pretty 60's style dresses, so we could be active in a modest way. If we forgot our shorts, we couldn't do as much activity and we knew it wasn't going to be a very fun recess or P.E. day. </p>
<p>Many of us played 'horses' and chased each other at recess time. I wore my hair in a high ponytail for that very reason. The boys would try to catch us and 'round us up', but I was so fast that it rarely happened for me. I had an elderly 3rd-grade teacher who wore lots of white powder, old perfume, and red lipstick. She told me "girls do not run", and disapproved if I ran and sweated (glowed). She wanted me to hula hoop or just chat with the girls. She would stop me when she saw me playing horses and tell me, "ladies don't run like that!". I would respond, "Yes Ma'am", in my Texas accent, blink my big blue eyes, walk away from her, and then go ahead a run despite her opinion. No one was going to tell me to not play 'horses'.... my favorite animal of all!</p>
<p>We also played the game 'King On The Mountain', unsanctioned by the teachers. Since Oak Grove was a brand-new school, with lots of raw dirt hills piled up in mountains for reserve landscaping usage. We would climb up those hills and then we would shove/sling our classmates off the top of the dirt mountain, watching as our friend tumbled down to the bottom becoming filthy dirty, but they were laughing all the way. Lots of shirts were torn during this game.</p>
<p>Even though I was a little, tiny thing I was pretty good at this King On The Mountain game, despite my size. If my cat-eye glasses weren't already bent and crooked from playing tetherball, then they surely got misshaped after I was launched down the dirt pile a few times. The boys were especially good at this mountain activity and very celebratory when victorious. We would do this rough activity until the teachers yelled at us and told us to "get down", but somehow we would sneak back up the dirt pile, and it would start all over again. - The fun did stop one day after some kid broke his arm while falling. Recess was never as much fun for us after that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>Becoming a School Patrol:</strong></p>
<p><span style="line-height: 1.6em;">Becoming a school patrol was a big deal for the older student in school. First we had to be on the Honor Roll and behave well in class. Then we could be selected to be a patrol. When we got selected to be a patrol, we were entrusted to wear a red sash and a shiny badge, indicating we were similar to the policemen of the school. It was awesome power for a kid! We used traffic signs at crosswalks, telling drivers to slow down or stop. Little kids minded us and even big adults did. It was fun to officially ‘boss people around' yelling, “STOP, GO, or YIELD”. Great fun!</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>The Permission To Watch 'THE FILM':</strong></p>
<p>About the permission to watch the first film..... All the girls were asked to return the parental permission paper in a sealed envelope to watch the secretive film about females and their changing bodies. It was really special that we got to be in a private meeting with just girls. No boys were allowed, because this film was supposed to enlighten us about the biological functions of our delicate womanly bodies. While watching the film, I was so confused about the diagrams and information. Becoming a grown-up woman was not something I had spent too much time thinking about or wanting to do. I was a calendar year younger than everyone in my class, rather small for my age, and happy to stay in my 'Peter Pan-ish, never-ending, Neverland childhood frame of mind'.</p>
<p><span style="line-height: 1.6em;">I don't think I learned much from ‘The Film', but I do know that our rapport was different with our friendships with the boys after that film. When we 'Little Women' got back into our classrooms, the boys had foolish looking grins on their faces and I thought it was hard to look the boys in their eyes without getting red-cheeked and embarrassed… at least for a couple of days afterwards. </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><strong>P.E. Class and My Most Favorite Teacher:</strong></p>
<p>At Oak Grove we had a fantastic P.E. teacher named Mrs. Betty Johnson, who was a real promoter of good health, sports, gymnastics, and zealously supported females participating in physical activity events. She was a positive mentor for me and my kind of active lady! Mrs. Johnson could expertly execute anything she asked of us to do in sports being small and very athletic herself. Many times she used me as the 'example' whenever she wanted to show the class how to do chin-ups, sit-ups, high jumping, tumbling, running long jump, etc. She raced me against the older boys in school to give me competition because no Oak Grove girl could beat me in track & field. She encouraged me to participate in the summer NEISD track & field camps. There I met and competed against girls from Coker - Loyce Bates, Pam Merkin, Penni Mobley, and Cindy Nobles. We won many track activities at those camps…. but that stopped for all girls in junior high.</p>
<p><span style="line-height: 1.6em;">There wasn't an official junior high or high school women's volleyball, track, soccer, softball, and basketball teams for girls in NEISD in 1960-1971. (There was only tennis and swim/dive teams for the girls later when we were at MAC.) Because of this, Mrs. Johnson was thinking ahead for me and held a special conference with my parents. She talked with them about the possibility of hiring a track & field trainer to train me for track events and to eventually compete in the Junior Olympics. After hearing what Mrs. Johnson suggested, my parents just looked blank at her in silence… (Sounds of crickets could be heard, I am sure.).....because she might as well have told them that they should send me to the moon! Needless to say, my parents did NOT follow up with that suggestion. They could not imagine driving me all the way to Houston for training, and for all the track & field trials on the weekends. Thus ended my budding track career and a plausible pursuit of a track scholarship in college! </span></p>
<p><span style="line-height: 1.6em;"> A couple of side notes: I did understand my parent's frame of reference in the 60's. The track training idea was an unheard of financial and logistic challenge for parents to do for one child in that day in time. Later, my mother told me (when I was much older) that my dad was very opinionated about me not training for the Junior Olympics. He was an avid reader about science, politics, world events, and about communistic Russia. He was quoted saying, "Jean, we need to get that daughter of ours into some other sport. No daughter of mine is going to run braless in track and field events, looking like those brawny soviet girls on growth hormones." - I always thought he was kind of irrational for thinking like that, but today the public is very aware of professional sports pressure to use performance enhancing drugs. It is still in controversy today. So my dad had a lot of foresight to be concerned for me.</span></p>
<p>To my parent's credit, they did sign me up for tennis lessons in San Antonio, so I did get to play tennis starting in 5th grade. Later I earned a varsity spot at MacArthur ....one of the few female sports that NEISD offered in 1969. <em>(*The rest of my story is in the General Forum, Topic 1 Woman's Rights in 1971.)</em></p>
<p>M<span style="line-height: 1.6em;">any years later Mrs. Betty Johnson became a vice-principal at MacArthur. I had heard that she was working at MAC, so I made an appointment to visit her. It was nice to visit and connect adult to adult, and I told her thank you for being a passionate teacher who had a caring, positive influence on my life. </span></p>
<p> ***********************</p>
<p>Well, MAC Friends…..There are more sagas to tell, but it is your turn to tell your unique stories. Shirley, Cuddy, Steve, and Jenice can't be the only brave ones to initiate a MAC User Forum discussion board… Right? Come on and give it a try! We are getting to that stage in life that Father Time will pay us a visit to dull our memories someday, and we are going to wish we could write a story about our life but not be able to recall enough of it anymore.</p>
<p>Remember friends.... we will never be this young again in our lives…..so ‘GO FOR IT' in everything we do from now on! Enter every race. It does not matter if we win or lose…..No holding back for us at this stage of the game!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hugs to all,</p>
<p>Jenice Graham Benedict <span style="line-height: 1.6em;">11-17-14</span></p>
<p><span style="line-height: 1.6em;"> </span></p>
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2014-11-17T16:46:59-04:00-1'RE: Wilshire and elementary memories, part 1<p>Things at public schools are SO different than when we sat at our little desks, did our lessons, and gave it our best shot. Now, it is teachers who are willing to go the extra mile like you did, Jenice, that make the system work. There is unbelievable stress in the schools and I don't see how people make it. My poor little niece teaches special ed up in Dallas and is assaulted on a daily basis by one of her more troubled students.</p>
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2014-11-11T08:28:33-04:00-1'That first year out ... and the Austin years<p><span style="font-size:12px;">Shirley, what great stories! I visited Austin many times while at Lamar, but mostly in the spring time. My time at Lamar is now fondly remembered, but sometimes it was not that great, at the time. I went to Lamar of a sports scholarship, and I'm sure eveyone knows who my offensive line coach was, but the <u>only</u> reason I went to Lamar was because, they were willing to pay my way through school. I had never even heard of Lamar until I was recruited there. Hu Rhodes, John Snider & I all went to visit one time, and I was not that impressed. The school seemed small (compared to UT and TAMU), it was HOT, it was HUMID, and there was a chemical plant within 1/2 mile of the football stadium that made everything smell.</span></p>
<p>Football, was football...... I showed up in early August, when the morning temps for our early practice during two-a-days was 87 degrees or higher, with about 95% humidity. Two-a-days lasted between 10 days and 2 weeks before school started. I hated it. Wake up, eat a small breakfast, go to practice, eat lunch, go back to the dorm to catch a couple hours of sleep. Go to afternoon practice, eat dinner, than back to the dorm to get hazed by all the upperclassmen. After about a week, I had just about had my fill of all of it. I called my mom, and told her that I was missing her and that I hated it at Lamar and wanted to come home! My mother in her infiite wisdom would have no part of it. She flat out told me that if I showed up at the house, ALL of my clothes would be at the front door. She said "ride it out, it will get better". And she was right of course, once two-a-days ended and school started up, life became tolerable again. However the hazing continued until the end of the football season.</p>
<p>The president of Lamar back then was Dr. Gray, he was a former football player also, but he did not believe that the players were any different than other students, so the scholarship athletes had no benefits that you hear about at the major schoolss. We had no "Training Table" for athletes. We just ate right along with everyone else at the cafateria, trying to figure out the "mistery meat" of the day! No easy classes (look at my GPA) Ha ha! no tutors.</p>
<p>Money was always tight, I recieved $10 a month for Laundry money from the athletic department. Anything else was a gift from the parents or older siblings. I learned pretty quickly that Pizza Hut would alternate their weekly ads between the Beaumont and Lamar school papers. With the ad you buy one pizza no matter what size, you get an additional pizza the next smaller size for free. So I ordered a lot of "GIANT" pizza's and enjoyed the Large pizza right along with it. Needless to say, I ate a lot of pizza!</p>
<p>Lamar was a commuters school, we had about 11,000 students that attended and during the week it was always a busy place. But once the weekend hit, it was a ghost town! Most of the dorms were even empty on weekends. San Antonio was a 4 hour drive for me, so I did not get to go back that often at all. Once the season was over I was bored out of my mind. I ran into an odd fellow one day that kind of reminded me of Grocho Marx, His name was John Gentry, but he said everyone calls him "Frito", so I met him we talked and he was an interesting funny guy. He told me about a group of guys who were trying to form up a local Fraternity, he asked me to just come meet them and see if I might be interested. The fraternity was named Alpha Upsilon MU or "AYM", I did not know why but the joke between the guys was that it stood for "ASK YOUR MOTHER". We had numerous Lamar golfers in the group, a couple of engineering students, and a small assortment of other students, but they all seemed like nice guys. Their friendship got me out of the dorms on weekends, so I was happy. Shortly after joining.. A "Kappa Sigma" alum from another school was in town and was looking to see if any local fraternities were interested in going "National". After some discussions we decided to join Kappa Sigma. Since the fraternity was not established on campus we really had no pledge week to go thru, no Upperclassmen and their pranks to deal with. All we had to do was basically learn the history of the fraternity, & go through initiation! That was it. Once we were recognized by the school we received a floor or two of a dorrm builing that wasn't being used and that became our Frat house! Many a party was held there, and many good memories took place there with my fraternity brothers. Of course a lot of great friendships were made there also and almost all of them still exist to this day.</p>
<p>Lamar has gotten moderetly bigger now with about 16,000 students. Most of the dorm buildings that existed during my time there are all gone. Replaced by nicer, newer dorms, more centrally located and not spread all around the campus. They even tail-gate the football games now. That was unheard of duing my time there. They have made many improvments to the stadium and it looks completely different. HOWEVER, The chemical plant is still there! It is still HOT, still HUMID, and the smell is still there! Wouldn't trade it now for a million dollars. :-)</p>
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2014-11-11T07:59:30-04:00-1'Wilshire and elementary memories, part 1<p style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><font color="#333333" face="sans-serif, Arial, Verdana, Trebuchet MS"><span style="line-height: 20.7999992370605px;">Shirley,</span></font></p>
<p style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><font color="#333333" face="sans-serif, Arial, Verdana, Trebuchet MS"><span style="line-height: 20.7999992370605px;">When I began teaching elementary school after college, my first job was at Wilshire Elementary, NEISD. In 1975 things had changed a lot since you were there! It was a strange mixture of neighborhood civilians , transient military, all economic levels of people top to bottom, and bused-in kids from the north. I had a large class enrollment with non-English speaking children from </span></font><span style="line-height: 20.7999992370605px;">Vietnam, Korea, Mexico, Germany, South America, etc. who could not speak a word of English in first grade, and the schools had no bi-lingual funding to help educate these kids unless they were Hispanic. I had to tutor and teach them English vocabulary first (making up my own curriculum to do this feat), before they could learn anything else in first grade. Needless to say, WE all learned a lot together by trial and error! One of my Korean students later became</span><span style="line-height: 20.7999992370605px;"> a valedictorian at Roosevelt H.S., which was really rewarding to me to know that I had a part in getting him off to a good start in English speaking America. </span></p>
<p style="font-size: 13px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif, Arial, Verdana, 'Trebuchet MS'; line-height: 20.7999992370605px;"><span style="line-height: 20.7999992370605px;">Jenice</span></p>
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2014-11-10T07:22:56-04:00-1'