Moon River

It's Thanksgiving...and I'm thankful.  Much like many families around the country, we are anticipating the joy of sharing time together, sitting around the dinner table with bountiful meal before us, and telling stories of times past and those no longer in our presence.  The conversation is sure to be flooded by a river of memories.

This weekend Kathryn and I are looking forward to all four of our girls and all four of our grandchildren gathering together at our home for some serious laughter.  It doesn't take much to trigger a giggle in this gaggle of girls and grands.

In the midst of this laughter, I am confident my mind will drift to another place in space occupied by faces of people my children and grandchildren have not known other than through pictures and stories that are told over and over again.  From personal experience, I know that the younger grandchildren will only 'recall' this Thanksgiving day through the photos we take and the folklore we share with them as they grow.  Such is life...

The river that runs below the bluff where our house sits is the transport for my mind's periodic 'magical mystery' tours.  I can't resist its stimulating charm.  The fact that the river flowing below the bluff is the same river on which I grew up fascinates me even more.  Of course, this river is the White River with origin in Arkansas.  The river that served as Johnny Mercer's muse when he penned the lyrics to "Moon River" was the Black River near his home in Savannah, Georgia (Chatham County, Georgia officials changed the name of the Black River to "Moon River" in 1962 to acknowledge the success of Mercer's song).

Moon River, wider than a mile

I'm crossing you in style some day

Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker,

Wherever you're going, I'm going your way 

During the fall of the year, I sense that the moon's reflection in the river is brighter.  The moonlight seems to dance more fervently upon the ripples in the water as it passes over the shoals in the stream.  Maybe it is the cool of the night.  Maybe more light makes its way through the tree tops as they shed their leaves.  Maybe it is just my imagination.  Whatever the reason, the river seems more alive...  And when the river is alive in my heart, my memories are stirred.

Certainly, the river's influence is "wider than a mile."  River towns seem to have an 'attitude' and that 'attitude' is embodied by the people who reside in and hail from those river towns.  I can think of no place where such statement is more true than Newport.  But before the river gets to Newport downstream from my present home, it dances through the little town of Norfork. 

The river is reflective of life...it goes on.  One of my pals, Barton Conley, passed from this life early this morning at 83 years young.  Kathryn and I attend church with Bart and his wife, Betty, at the Norfork United Methodist Church.  What a joyous couple!  Bart and Betty share our love of blues music.  Bart also appreciates a couple of fingers of good single malt scotch, just as I do.  Bart loves the river and it was the river that brought him back home to Norfork following retirement.  Norfork rewarded Betty and Bart for their commitment to the town this past May in selecting them as Grand Marshals in the Pioneer Day parade.  In my conversation with Betty this morning after receiving the news that Bart had gone on to heavenly reward, she acknowledged the busy world that must be attended to even in times of sorrow.  I will miss Bart's presence as will all others who knew and loved him, but his spirit will live on in my heart.  His spirit directs me to speak of Bart in present tense even though I know it will be some time before we renew acquaintance.  Life goes on.  The river flows... 

Others who have lost loved one's to Heaven's call during these past few months know the drill.  Life is hectic.  Life is busy.  Life is crazy.  Life goes on...

The river's ebb and flow in my part of the world is subject to man-made decisions relative to flood control, water supply, and hydroelectric power generation.  These decisions all flow downstream.  When man and Mother Nature find themselves at odds, some interesting hands are played at the river's poker table.  One time that I remember the White River being "wider than a mile" was in December 1982.  Viewing the river from the levee on the outskirts of Newport, the scene was more reminiscent of Lake Michigan than it was of a meandering delta stream.

As a kid I often swam in the river.  I learned to water ski in the cut-off near Jacksonport.  I camped out many times with my Boy Scout troop near Guion in Izard County and Allison in Stone County where Sylamore Creek meets the White.  The river is a "dream maker" for a young boy.  In an instant it can also be a "heart breaker."  Childhood friend Walter Bundy losing his life in the river comes quickly to mind.  Yes, the river floods my mind with memories...  It takes me where it wants me to go.

Once I enter your magical stream, "wherever you're going, I'm going your way."

Two drifters off to see the world

There's such a lot of world to see

With these two lines I can't help but think about my friends, Bart and Betty.  These two, married for 59 years, did quite a bit of traveling and saw "a lot of world" along the way.  Bart is now on a heavenly journey discovering new dance steps.  Betty will be in the accompaniment of family and friends with precious memories of her fellow 'drifter' tied up neatly by her heartstrings.  Toward the end of their journey, they returned to the river's edge where Bart's boyhood dreams were fired up.  They knew 'home is where the heart is.'

I love to travel.  Just recently Kathryn and I took a happy trip to Chicago.  We viewed the world from high atop the Willis Tower (formerly the Sears Tower) and stepped out on the ledge 103 floors above the city sidewalks.  Breathtaking!  We enjoyed lunch at the Signature Lounge on the 96th floor of the John Hancock Building overlooking the Navy Pier and Lake Michigan.  Views far different from what we have here at home.  The nightlife in the jazz and blues clubs lit me up and the cityscapes are a real change of pace for a country boy.  We attended church at the First United Methodist Church at the Chicago Temple, the oldest church in Chicago being founded in 1831.  The Gospel Choir on that Sunday morning ignited my spirit.  Yet when we return to the serenity of our river view from atop the bluff in Baxter County, I am content.  I know why Bart came back to this place.  There is no better vantage point from which "to see the world."

We're after the same rainbow's end...

Waiting 'round the bend

My huckleberry friend

Moon River and me

I'm pretty sure we are all chasing "the same rainbow's end."  I'm equally sure that our expectations are different.  After all, I'm chasing my dreams, not yours.

Those of us from Newport are familiar with this river.  I'm thinking others know the river's flow regardless of the river's name.  From its headwaters to its mouth, the river tells a story.  I believe it appropriate that the story begins as an idea in the river's mind, its 'headwaters,' and the end of the story exudes from its mouth.

Along the river's route, we find interesting characters who make life worth living.  'Round every bend in the river there can be a surprise.  During this year, on more than one occasion, I jumped off my imaginary raft onto the banks of the river at Newport to reminisce a bit in the company of friends.

In May I attended the 80th birthday party of my dear friend and subsitute mom, Elteaser "Eltea" Balentine.  Her children (Ernest, Jr., Sewana, Gloria, Kay, Sherman, and Tanja) and grandchildren hosted a wonderful get together for family and friends at the train depot in downtown Newport.  Abundant stories of love for Eltea were being told in every corner of the room.  Eltea came to work for my family when she was 19 and I was an infant.  Of course, I was oblivious to the world around me and Eltea's circumstances during those early years.  Much later did I realize the sacrifices she made to support her own family and to aid my family when she was a young woman.  She has a tireless work ethic.  I will always remember her attentive and loving care.  She made special effort to attend the Jackson County Historical Association's Storyteller event in October 2011 when I was a participant.  I love Eltea and her family and cherish the friendship we share.

In July I once again stumbled onto the golf course at the Newport Country Club to laugh a lot among friends.  Playing golf in the annual Invitational tournament is secondary to the laughter.  High school friends and college pals return from points around the globe to enjoy one another's company using golf as an excuse.  I have missed this fun event only once since 1983.  Sign me up for 2013!

In August I witnessed the induction of Sonny Burgess (NHS Class of '48), Dr. Charles Donaldson (BHS Class of '65), Charles Ray (NHS Class of '77), and the late Justin Brown (NHS Class of '95) into the Newport School District's Hall of Fame.  This event is a genuine 'feather in the cap' for Newport.  

When I was a youngster, Sonny Burgess was one of my baseball coaches.  Later, in my teen years, was I surprised to discover that he was a recording star who would become a Rock-a-billy Hall of Famer and legendary rock star.  Sonny and his band, the Pacers, made a trip to Mountain Home in September to play at the Sheid, a fabulous music venue.  I spent a good part of the afternoon before their performance visiting with Sonny, Bobby Crafford, Kern Kennedy, Jim Aldridge, and Fred Douglas.  They brought the house down!

Dr. Charles Donaldson is the older brother of high school pal Robert Donaldson and has enjoyed a distinguished career in education. He is a Vice-Chancellor at UALR.  Dr. Donaldson is the first inductee into the Newport School District Hall of Fame who is a graduate of W. F. Branch High School.  I enjoyed a good visit with his brother Robert at Eltea's birthday bash.

Rear Admiral Charles Ray has had a long career with the U. S. Coast Guard and is currently overseeing operations in Hawaii.  Interestingly enough, Kathryn and I found ourselves seated adjacent to the Admiral's aide at a luau on the island of Oahu last January.  A friendly conversation led to the discovery of the fewer than six degrees of separation we both had with Newport's Charles Ray. 

Justin Brown departed this life at a very early age, but he left a legacy of good deeds and outstanding accomplishments.  I have enjoyed a long standing friendship with Justin's family.  His grandparents, Ruth and Cleveland Brown, were and are wonderful folks.  I worked with Justin's mom, Regina, at Merchants & Planters Bank during the late '80s, and his stepfather, Robert Lake, is a fast friend and high school classmate.

All in all, four individuals most deserving of the recognition bestowed upon them by the Newport School District Charitable Foundation.  Go Hounds!  And Go Pirates!  'Round every bend in the river, the unexpected awaits.

I am thankful for the characters in my life.  I am thankful for the life experiences we shared together and apart...pursuing and fulfilling our own dreams.  I remember those whose journeys were cut short.  I think of those whose journeys have been interrupted and delayed by hardship.

I am thankful for those who first introduced me to the magic of the river and the experiences of Mason's Bend, Budweiser Beach, the Cut-off.  Crossing the river "in style" on a ferry with my dad.  Watching a deer swim the river at Guion in the company of fellow scouts.  Canoeing the river with friends.  Observing the art of a fly fisherman's cast.

Two years ago Kathryn and I attended the Andy Williams' Christmas Show at the Moon River Theater in Branson.  Just as you would picture Andy Williams, there he was in a colorful sweater shuffling through the show and singing Christmas carols at the age of 82.  It wasn't much different than watching him on television so many years ago.  His distinctive voice was the same as I have always known.  Andy Williams departed this life in September, but "Moon River" fills my heart waves.

In my mother's record collection, I have the soundtrack from "Breakfast at Tiffany's."  She liked Henry Mancini's music and particularly enjoyed the soundtrack from this iconic film.  My mom liked good music...and "Moon River" is good music.  It is one of those songs on the soundtrack of my life.  It is difficult to embrace the fact that 51 years have passed since Johnny Mercer put lyrics to Mancini's melody and Audrey Hepburn brought the song to us on screen.  It has been 50 years since Andy Williams covered the song and made it his own. 

As I look downstream, I can 'see' those family members and my "huckleberry friends" who have paddled 'round the bend and out of sight from present day.  The current carries me closer.

The river's path between Norfork and Newport is dotted with safe havens and connections to home.  Long time friend Marcus Jones can be found 'down by the riva' at Mountain View, good friends Cindy and Gene Sweat have a place near Melbourne, and sweet friend Alannette Hare is smack dab on the river's edge at Oil Trough.  I'm sure there are others camped out on the river between here and there.  Think I'll plan a float trip... 

But before I do that I have a Thanksgiving meal awaiting me that is sure to be much fun with children and grandchildren all around. I can already hear the laughter!  I am thankful for my wife and fellow 'drifter,' Kathryn, who captains a 'tight' ship.  I am thankful for all the many blessings that brighten my life, but most importantly for those I know as family and friends.  Some have been paddling alongside me on the river of life for quite a long time, others have just recently pushed their canoes into the stream.

I'm paddlin'...  I'm just upstream from Newport about 90 miles... Yet I remain Miles from Nowhere...

"Wherever you're going, I'm going your way..."

Happy Thanksgiving!!!

joe

  

      

Ruination Day (Revisited)

"Time is the school in which we learn, Time is the fire in which we burn." (Delmore Schwartz)

Anticipation causes the hands of a clock to move more slowly.  Anxiety desires things to 'hurry up' to a conclusion.  Pleasure whispers for a moment to never end.  Friendship has no time restrictions.

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven."  (Ecclesiastes 3:1)

The matter of time has been on my mind of late.  Possibly this 'matter of time' is resting in my mind due to my most recent birthday.  I reached sixty (60) years of age on April 14, 2012.  Yeah, I know, that was weeks ago.  Seventy-seven days ago if you are counting.  It takes a while for things to 'sink in' with me.  As a matter of fact, some of the things I think I learned in high school are just now 'sinking in' with me.

But back to this '60 thing...'  Time belongs to the individual.  Our temporal existence is unique.  Some moments on our personal timelines are shared with others.  And it is these moments with others that we embrace as memories as we grow older.  I have enjoyed many such moments in the company of those I love over the past sixty years.

Years before Gillian Welch penned the lyrics to a couple of songs entitled "April the 14th Part I" and "Ruination Day Part II," my father offered me birthday greetings with these words, "Son, on this day, Lincoln met a bullet, the Titanic met an iceberg, and I met you.  What a day!"  The significance of that greeting can be found in history books and in the lyrics of the two Gillian Welch songs cited above.  I realize that this 'significance' is of little interest to anyone except me, but then I am the only one who experienced those moments with my dad.  The album on which the songs "April the 14th Part I" and "Ruination Day Part II" appear was released in 2001 and is titled "Time (The Revelator)."

April 14, 1952 marks the beginning of my time...

And the great boat sank, and the Okies fled

And the great emancipator took a bullet in his head

It was not December and it was not May

It was the 14th of April, and his ruination day

Each year on my birthday my dad would go on to jokingly explain his greeting to me by making me aware that April 14 was a date famous for 'disasters' and that my birth fit in perfectly with other historical events that had occurred on this notorious date.  My dad thoroughly enjoyed the subject of history and seized every opportunity to share this interest with me when we were together. 

Gillian Welch's lyrics reveal three salient stories from the past.  President Abraham Lincoln was shot on the evening of April 14, 1865 just weeks into his second term.  The "great emancipator" died the next day.  The 'unsinkable' Titanic struck an iceberg late night April 14, 1912 on its maiden voyage across the Atlantic.  The "great boat" plunged beneath the surface of the waters with 1,517 of the 2,223 passengers and crew losing their lives.  April 14, 1935 became known as "Black Sunday" when severe dust storms turned the day to night during the worst day of the Dust Bowl era and many "Okies fled" their homeland to escape the extreme drought conditions.  Ironically, John Steinbeck's "The Grapes of Wrath" written about an Oklahoma family's Dust Bowl experience was published on April 14, 1939. 

Another 'happening' on April 14 I want to mention...Apollo 13 established the "absolute altitude record" for a manned spacecraft after astronaut John Swigert uttered the words, "Houston, we've had a problem" in notifying NASA mission control of a major malfunction in the space module's electrical system.  The problem was reported on April 14, 1970 and the "successful failure," as Commander Jim Lovell called the mission, returned to Earth on April 17.  A near disaster eluded.

And a more personal happenstance...on the very same day I was born, April 14, 1952, my great uncle, Clinton Anderson Meacham (my maternal grandfather Charles Meacham's youngest brother), died in the very same hospital in Newport, Arkansas in which I was born.  My mother often reminded me of this coincidence as an example of the 'circle of life.'  "A time to be born, and a time to die." (Ecclesiastes 3:2) 

Being a baseball fanatic and a music lover, I must make note of three of the more 'famous' people born on this same day as I.  From the music world of my time there is the "Coalminer's Daughter," Loretta Lynn, and the soulful preacher, Al Green.  And from the baseball diamond, one of my all time favorite players, Pete Rose.  We can talk about Pete's hall of fame credentials and the indiscretions banning him from hall of fame induction at another time.

Time, yes time...  What is time?  Quite truthfully I've not paid a lot of attention.  Until now...  Reaching this milestone age of 60 feels pretty good.  I have a loving family comprised of a gorgeous and talented wife, four beautiful daughters, four adorable grandchildren, an angelic sister, two spirited aunts (my mother's two youngest sisters), caring in-laws, a host of cousins, two dogs and a cat.  And I have friends...genuine friends.  My dad also used to tell me that I would be a "lucky man" if the number of 'real friends' I have could be counted on the fingers of one hand.  If he were here today, I know he would call me "Lucky" (among a few other affectionate nicknames he had for me) and he would smile.

I've heard love defined as friendship caught afire.  And if "time is the fire in which we burn" as Delmore Schwartz vividly described it in his poem "Calmly We Walk Through This April's Day,"  then my time is being braised in the slow, simmering heat of friendship's embers.

Every 'milestone' birthday I have experienced has been celebrated among family and friends in different Arkansas communities.  I blew out ten candles on my cake surrounded by childhood friends in my hometown of Newport. I marked twenty years old with beer in hand in Jonesboro alongside jubilant college pals. At thirty I was a family man in the company of a one year old daughter in Little Rock.  Forty knocked on my door while working as president of a bank for the first time in Arkadelphia.  When in transition with a new bank in Russellville, fifty rose up on life's horizon.  And then, just a few weeks ago, I arrived at this magical age of sixty years young with a quiet dinner at our home overlooking the White River south of Mountain Home, wife Kathryn by my side. 

I'm having the time of my life.  Certainly some 'historic' events that took place on April 14 had elements of disaster and "ruination," but I know fun and excitement have dotted that day on the calendar for many people throughout 'time.'  As a matter of fact, I recall April 14, 1984 being one of those delightful and memorable days.  Sitting at the Newport Country Club with my fab friend Mike Brand and having a drink or three after a day's work, Mike received a phone call informing him that Kay was in labor at Harris Hospital.  What is a friend to do, but pick up drinks and head to the hospital to keep friend company.  I stayed, we talked into the night, and Michelle arrived in the world on my birthday.  Still wondering why her name isn't Jo...  Anyway, on March 31 of this year I was able to watch my friend Mike walk his little girl, Michelle, down the aisle on her wedding day.  Many emotional elements present that day...anticipation, anxiety, great pleasure, lots of love.  Elements at odds with the clock...some wanting to hold back time, others wishing it would rush forward.  Friendship...the passage of time is immaterial to its being.

My thoughts of time are centered on relationships with family and friends.  Looking forward to a time when plans are in place to be in the company of certain friends, like this coming Tuesday when childhood friend Ruth Johnston becomes a certified member of Club 60.  Thinking back in remembrance of old friends...

Recently on the streets of Facebookland I happened upon a photo from the late 1980s picturing a ragamuffin T-ball team that looked as if they had just left the field due to a rainout.  The faces of all these 5-6 year old kids on that team brought a smile.  A few stood out...Mary Julian Scoggins, Kara Morehart, Emily Miles...all fast friends to this day.  And there kneeling next to one of the players was my fellow coach and fine friend on that team...James Morehart, Kara's dad, who lost his life in an auto accident at age 50 a decade ago.  I remember James with joy in my heart.  I glance at the photo again...and think of my life long friend, Terry Scoggins, Mary Julian's dad, who left this life just three months ago.  I remember Terry with a smile.  My memories...ingredients in the recipe for everlasting life amongst the living.  My time...marked by happiness and sadness. "A time to weep, and a time to laugh.  A time to mourn, and a time to dance. "  (Ecclesiastes 3:4)

As one now past the point  of 'middle age,' I really appreciate the connectivity provided by Facebook. I've been introduced to new friends who share a common bond, such as Jackson County folk who lived there either before or after 'my time' there.  Of course, Jackson County is never far from my heart.

I find the history of a place and its people fascinating.  When my daughters were very young, I initiated a family research project because I wanted them to be aware of their history.  Then work got in the way and the genealogy search was set aside.  I have now taken up the reins to the search again in effort to fill the gap between 'my time' and that of my ancestors.  Tracing the various family lines for both Kathryn's family and mine is a treasure hunt.  Frustrations turn to elation with each acquaintance to the past made.  The website Ancestry.com is a cool resource as are other family members who share the same interest.  My cousin, Sandra Meacham Floberg, is a seasoned genealogist and another cousin through marriage, Jo Ann Cooper, is the current Regent for the Arkansas Chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution.  In my search I have discovered direct connection to American Patriots...Farlin Ball on my maternal ancestral line and Shadrack Pinkston on my paternal ancestral line.  I also am aware that my ancestors are Arkansas Pioneers having arrived here well before statehood.

We are at that time of year when we Americans are in celebration of our independence.  The freedoms we enjoy as a nation are grounded in a Declaration unanimously adopted by the thirteen United States of America on July 4, 1776.  Those who fought for our freedoms were friends of the nation and friends with one another.  The signers of the Declaration supported it by mutually pledging to each other "our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor."  Some lost their lives, some lost their fortunes, none surrendered their honor.  May you all have a safe and jubilant Fourth of July as we acknowledge the 236th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence.  In your celebration, I ask that you give homage to those Patriots who first defended our freedoms.

Since that date in history, many other conflicts have found their way to the battlefield. Our freedoms have been defended time and time again.  I ask that you remember all who have valiantly served our nation in the name of Freedom, especially those women and men presently in service to our country.  "A time for war, and a time for peace."  (Ecclesiastes 3:8)

Gillian Welch's songs "April the 14th Part I" and "Ruination Day Part II" are a history lesson pointing out instances that shared a coincidental date on time's calendar.  Intuitively I know ruinous 'things' can occur in the lives of all good people on any date in time, just as salubrious 'things' can come to pass.  It just happens that I was born on "Ruination Day."  My time...

Ruination day,

And the sky was red,

I went back to work,

And back to bed.

Regardless of the brand a songwriter puts on a date, I find that our daily routines must still be pursued.  Even on my birthday, work must be attended and sleep is required.  Although I must admit I tested those 'requirements' during my college years. 

As Delmore Schwartz so ably called it, "Time is the school in which we learn, Time is the fire in which we burn."  It does require a bit of time for 'things' to really 'sink in' with me, but I learn something new and exciting almost every day and my heart burns with love for my family and friends.  Love...freindship caught afire indeed.

What is time?  It is witness to warmth turning cold.  It is witness to youth growing old.  Don't mark time.  Live in it.  Love in it...

I'm Miles from Nowhere........guess I'll take my time...

joe

     

    

On The Way Home

Life as I know it has been a whirlwind since I last found time to talk to myself. I have been in a state reminiscent of the opening scene from the "Wizard of Oz" when Dorothy awakens in a daze to see all sorts of things 'flying' by the open window of her house being tossed around in the eye of a tornado. Dorothy and her little dog, Toto, were 'on the way home' as the tornado was fast approaching. In the chaos, she failed to find shelter from the storm alongside her family and friends.

When the dream came

I held my breath with my eyes closed

I went insane

Like a smoke ring day when the wind blows

Similar to Dorothy's 'dream' in the aftermath of the Kansas tornado that altered her world, my dreams are some times laced with familiar faces in different roles. The song "On the Way Home" was written by Neil Young and released by Buffalo Springfield a few months after this talented group had disbanded in May 1968. Buffalo Springfield played together for a short two years in a stormy existence. I have previously admitted that Buffalo Springfield's music soothes my soul. I saw them in Memphis just weeks before they 'broke up' on the occasion of my 16th birthday in April 1968. Since then I continue to enjoy the music of their past time together and have watched them move on as individuals into different roles with different bands. The result...more good music.

On a calm, quiet day a smoke ring can maintain its shape and float endlessly through the air. The wind kicks up and the smoke ring quickly loses its identity and scatters about in all directions. Don't know about you, but I need both "smoke ring days" and those when the "wind blows." Differing environs and conditions balance my life. It is the unpredictable nature of the 'wind' that can move the needle from 'normal' to 'crazy.' Yeah, I know that weathermen have been better of late in predicting coming storms, but their warnings are not always in sync with my expectations. Even though you may be aware that a loved one is on death's doorstep, or that a marriage is on the rocks, or that a job is in jeopardy...even then are you seldom fully prepared for the stormy moments of life. Uncertainty fuels insanity. Yet uncertainty is the normal order of things. Change is bound to occur whether or not we desire change. Change is not always better or worse than what was, it is invariably and often simply different.

Now I won't be back til later on

If I do come back at all

But you know me

And I miss you now

In recent months, my hometown of Newport, Arkansas has been under a persistent 'stormy weather' alert. Several sons of this river town have paddled their boats out in front of us and around the bend, no longer in our sight. Those with whom I had personal relationship number more than the imaginable.

I remember...Scooter Coe, husband to long time friend Jan Pratt, brother of dear friend Janie Steen and my childhood pal Joey, and son to treasured family friends, Angela and Joe Coe. I remember...James Logan Morgan, brother to friends Coy and Sammie, and one of Jackson County's most significant historians. I remember...Paul Tinsley, father to classmate Mike Tinsley and dear friend Becky Mooney, and a first class businessman. I remember...Gerald Balch, my friend and former baseball teammate. I remember...David Hout, son of friends Phil and Donna Gene, stepson to friend Ann, brother to fabulous friends Kim Hout Ellis (Godmother to my youngest daughter Elizabeth) and Pam Hout Wallace. When I was a lifeguard at the Newport Country Club in the late '60s, I recall David being one of the 'tadpoles' always hanging around the lifeguard stand. What a fun loving kid! I remember...David Dillinger, childhood friend and son of Ottie who went on to have a long career with the Arkansas State Police. I remember Joe Taylor...a resourceful businessman and a friend to Newport. I remember...Johnny Coffey, long time family friend and brother to dear friend Mary Eaves. I remember Alex Miller...son of friend and teacher Lynette Miller and good pal Al Miller. I remember Joe Nosari, long gone from Newport, but an excellent baseball coach of mine on Newport's ball field in the mid '60s. Joe recently departed this life in Tallahassee, Florida at the end of a distinguished career in service to Florida State University as teacher and administrator.

And I remember Terry "T" Scoggins, loving husband of sweet friend Lee McNew Scoggins, father to Mary Julian Young and Will Scoggins, brother to good friend and T's twin Eddy, and son to admired and respected friends Ann and Ed Scoggins. What can I say? T was one of those friends who basked in the "smoke ring day." His laid back, fun infused approach to life left a lasting impression on all who knew and loved him. We spent much time together as boys and teenagers run amuck. Our days in scouting peaked when Terry and Eddy, Clay Wright and I received our Eagle Scout badges on the same day in June 1968, just a few short weeks after I had watched Buffalo Springfield in concert. That time in my life seems to be as endless in memory as that 'perfect' smoke ring lifting from a campfire on a calm, care free, windless day. I was accompanied "on the way home" to T's funeral service by my daughter Emily. Emily and Mary Julian have been fast friends since their earliest days in Newport together which was interrupted with our family's move to Arkadelphia when the girls were in the third grade. I think their friendship has endured times apart due in large measure to Terry's influence as a parent. Emily shared several sweet memories of Terry on our ride to Newport to celebrate his life. His funeral service was a testament to the influence he had on the lives of many. The intimate St. Paul's Episcopal Church was overflowing with friends of all ages and stages in life. The crowd seemed to grow as we gathered at Walnut Grove Cemetery to share laughter from the past and tears in the present. Toward the end of the graveside farewell, I stood on the fringe of the cemetery boundary alongside cherished friends Carl Cross, Dinny Bullard, Lawson Anderson, Ann Gardner Hearn, and Lee Gardner Elkins overcome with emotion and fond memories. The faces in the crowd reminded me of joyous times together in high school surrounded by friends and knowing that the watchful eyes of caring and loving parents, parents like Ann and Ed Scoggins, were upon us. Looking back, we experienced and enjoyed a life spiked with controlled mischief. Yes, there were those moments when the control element was lost, but those moments remain in a secret file. As I slowly walked away from the cemetery, I encountered and embraced Will Scoggins. Upon his lapel were a couple of scout badges. His father smiled. A light rain began to fall. "On the way home" Terry Scoggins had found shelter from the storm.

In a strange game

I saw myself as you knew me

When the change came

And you had a chance to see through me

Though the other side is just the same

You can tell my dream is real

Because I love you

Can you see me now

During Terry's funeral I saw myself as he knew me, a fun loving teenager surrounded by fun loving friends. As "the change came," and we grew older and more transparent, I 'feel' "just the same." Is my dream real? I believe dreams are realized in our relationships, the everlasting friendships. They live on in our children's relationships, the friendships we have watched them develop. Seeing young friends of Terry Scoggins' children serve as pallbearers at his funeral service and recognizing them as the children of several of my long time friends lifted my spirit. What a day for a day dream!

Carl Cross and I reminisced at some length during our time together at Terry's funeral service. Some of our memories sparked laughter allowing us to briefly escape the somber reality of the moment. Carl shared an emotional coincidence...as he was departing Little Rock in a rental car to drive to Newport that morning, he turned on the satellite radio and unexpectedly heard the intro to Elton John's "Funeral for a Friend." As crazy as that seems, I had a very similar experience on the Saturday before as I was driving to Hot Springs to attend the funeral for another friend, Eddie Tarpley. It was on that drive and while that song was resonating from the airwaves that I received a text message from my daughter Elizabeth informing me of Terry's death. "Funeral for a Friend" is the first track on Elton John's album "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" released in 1973, a time when we were young and foolish. Life is a "strange game."

Though we rush ahead to save our time

We are only what we feel

And I love you

Can you feel it now

I have been in such a frenzy of late that even one of life's greatest joys has gone unreported in the Miles' Files. On October 18, 2011, daughter Emily and her husband Josh Richardson welcomed Annabel Ruth Richardson into the family fold. Grandchild number four for Kathryn and me yields more opportunity for excitement. We love it when one or more of them visit. Oliver is now 5 years old, Claire is 3 years old, Julian is 20 months old, and Annabel is 5 months old. Laughter abounds!

It seems that Kathryn and I have been constantly on the go since I last scribbled upon these pages. I concluded a three year term on the Government Relations Administrative Council for the American Bankers Association with a trip to Washington, DC in September. I always appreciate the opportunity to immerse myself in the historical corners of our nation's Capitol. Kathryn and I followed the DC experience up with a visit to Hawaii in November. We toured Pearl Harbor on Oahu for the first time prior to jumping over to Maui for a banking conference. Then in December we traveled to Dallas for the wedding of Kathryn's niece with ample time to visit with family. In early January we crawled on the Arkansas State University bandwagon for a trip to Mobile, Alabama to watch the Red Wolves play in the GoDaddy.com Bowl. On the way to the bowl game we enjoyed an overnight stay in Tupelo, Mississippi. Had dinner with long time friends Peggy and Charlie Watson and toured the Elvis Presley Birthplace as well as Charlie's private club with pictures galore of 1950's Newport and the "honky tonk" scene. Great friends...great memories! We put icing on the cake with a trip to Memphis in February to see the "Million Dollar Quartet" at the Orpheum. Peggy and Charlie's young friend, Cody Slaughter, made his stage debut as Elvis Presley in this fabulous production. Cody is from Harrison, Arkansas. True to form, Jerry Lee Lewis failed to appear after it was widely anticipated he would be present for the show in Memphis. In his absence, Chuck Mead of the group BR 549, joined the cast for an encore performance of Billy Lee Riley's "Red Hot." It brought down the house in real Rockabilly style and made a Newport boy proud of his "Rock 'n Roll Highway" roots.

In all of this traveling about, I regret that I was not able to witness good friend and Greyhound hero Bill Keedy's induction into the Arkansas Sports Hall of Fame. This recognition is a well deserved honor. I have seen photos from the ceremony and know that several of Bill's 'old' Greyhound classmates and others from Newport were present to celebrate the moment with him and his family. Congratulations Bill Keedy! Go Hounds!

Perhaps the most fun I had over the past few months was sitting alongside Colleen Fortune Thaxton, Ann Dedman Stephenson, and Carroll Hayden as one of the participants at the Jackson County Historical Association's second annual Story Tellers program last October. Being the youngest 'storyteller' on the program, I was in awe of my fellow presenters. Plus I was on 'pins and needles' anxiously awaiting the birth of my granddaughter Annabel, but the storytelling experience was a real treat. Annabel was born two days later. I would encourage everyone to attend the next Story Telling program. I'm certain many of the stories possess some element of truth.

Another Newport experience I want to encourage readers to attend is the Delta Visual Arts Show sponsored by the Blue Bridge Center for the Delta Arts. Last month's event marked the fourth annual show featuring Delta artists, many with Jackson County roots. This year was the second time Kathryn and I have attended and both times we have walked away with selected pieces we found irresistible.

Too often "we rush ahead to save our time." In the haste of that 'rush,' we are sure to lose some magical moments in the process. In effort to match dreams with reality, managing 'the clock' becomes an issue. This time of year, sports enthusiasts find themselves caught up in "March Madness." In the midst of this 'madness,' many basketball coaches are attempting to manage 'the clock' to achieve a win and to realize a dream of a national championship. Failure to effectively manage the remaining time on 'the clock' can spell the end of life in the tournament for their team. As I remember those friends and family members who are no longer at my beck and call, I don't need to remind myself that the time remaining on life's clock is uncertain.

This past Sunday I was touched by a magical moment. I was sitting out of doors reading the morning paper, when my cell phone rang. On answering, my 'old' Methodist Youth Fellowship counselor and long time family friend John Purdy was on the line. He and his son, Rob, were fishing on the White River just upstream from my home. I looked westward and in the bend of the river saw three boats drifting in my direction casting lines toward the rocky bank. John described their location and I was able to determine which boat they were in. I mosied down to an outcropping of rock on the bluff just below my home and about 200 feet above the river to gain a better vantage point and await their getting closer. As they approached, I caught their attention with a wave and John maneuvered their boat to the center of the stream to have a better view of where I was standing. At that moment, Rob hooked a good size cutthroat trout and you could hear John yell all the way up the bluff. The 'special' aspect of this moment is centered in a message I had received two days before from Cherry Lou Smith Johnson reminiscing about our times together and our Methodist Youth Fellowship experiences under the guidance of Rosanna and John Purdy, Susan and Phil McDonald, and Marian and David Hodges. As John and Rob drifted further downstream toward their takeout point at Norfork and in the direction of Newport, I thought of past times among friends. "Now I won't be back til later on, if I do come back at all..."

May Good Health and Happiness be your loyal sidekicks as you float life's meandering streams. May you find the time to tell stories 'round a campfire among friends on "smoke ring days." May you find shelter from the storms. May you bask in your journey "on the way home"...

I'm Miles from Nowhere....guess I'll take my time.....

joe