Some things I plainly see, yet I simply do not get the picture. Some things I clearly hear, but I just cannot follow the tune. Yes, I do see the light; nonetheless I'm in the dark.
Have you ever watched the hands on a clock jump forward...and then wondered where the time went? Me neither. But then I don't need to watch the clock to know that time is disappearing before my very eyes.
It is time again to spill some thoughts out onto a page so that I may see what I am thinking. Doing so assists in my desire to understand who I am. 'Dazed and confused' seems to be the order of the day.
The last time I talked to myself in front of you it was mid-Winter and snowing on a February morn in the Ozarks of north central Arkansas. Spring has come and gone. Summer is sneaking out the back door with Autumn lurking on the front porch wanting to come on in.
Yes, snow was on the ground and I was remembering my childhood pal, Donny Appleton, who had slipped through life's fingers in the final days of 2013. In thinking of Donny these days, I recall a scene from "Tom Sawyer" where Tom, Huckleberry Finn, and Joe Harper miraculously appear at their own funeral, which had been arranged on the presumption of their deaths following their venture to a wooded island with grand design of being pirates. In my mind, and more determinedly in my heart, I 'see' Donny hiding in the balcony of my imaginary church awaiting the right time to surprise us with his laughter. I do 'see' such scene, yet I do not understand my thoughts...
Forty years ago this summer, Renaissance released their album "Turn of the Cards," which included the song "Things I Don't Understand." And it was forty years ago when I was thinking I understood everything. I received my undergraduate degree in the summer of 1974. Diploma in hand was my evidence of knowledge found. Knowing does not promise understanding.
Changing moods and stranger feelings
In my dealings with the world
Faces that I've seen before am I sure
Or has my brain turned
Thinking about things I don't understand
"Faces that I've seen before" flash like lightning strikes across the mind's sky. Faces of characters I have met "in my dealings with the world" are back lit by flashing thoughts and projected upon the clouds scattered about in my mind. Once the 'brain storms' pass, the "faces" shine on in the heavens as stars alighting the darkness. "Faces" of friends, parents of friends, family members, all good people.
My brain has turned to the past to focus in on the "faces that I've seen before." My heart reaches out in present day to the families who have experienced loss of loved ones in recent months. I remember... Paul Dugger (NHS '68) and Mike Reid (NHS '72), two 'Ol Hounds who were fun to 'run with' in days of yore. Bill Pratt, Sy Mendenhall, Frank Taylor, James Spencer, Doil Stackhouse, Gerald Wright, and Johnny Ray Hubbard, each a mainstay on the Jackson County scene. Betty Sink, Mary Crawford, Alema Allbright, all mothers of childhood friends who I admired. And this past week, I was informed of the passing from this life of Eugene Johnson. Eugene is the husband of my sweet, life long friend, Cherry Lou Smith Johnson. Thoughts of Eugene are thoughts of Newport. I accept death as another step on life's journey. Acceptance does not translate into understanding.
Dreams and omens of my future
Like a sculpture finely molded
Stars that guide my destiny
Tell me what I will be, a chart unfolded
Thinking about the things I don't understand
Can one's fate be seen in the stars? If those "faces that I've seen before" are indeed reflected in the stars, maybe so. I am certain the "stars that guide my destiny" as well as that of others can be seen in the "faces" of parents, grandparents, teachers, ministers, coaches, mentors, siblings, friends, and children. These "faces" are the sculptors of our dreams, the navigators of our life's adventure. Their guidance and influence can encourage us to stay on course or may prompt us to alter our direction.
Some personal examples pop into my mind...
I came to know Bob Cox early in life through his brother Mack's family who lived in the same apartment building on Hazel Street as my family when I was a young boy in the 1950s. Janeil and Bob Cox are gracious people. In my high school days I was smitten with their daughter, Pam, and spent lots of time in the Cox household. Pam's sister Peggy and I were classmates. Her younger brother, Paul, was a pest in those days much like any other 'little brother' would be. I dearly loved being around this family. Following my freshman year in college, I went to work for Cox Fixture and Refrigeration in Newport. My dad had spent several months during my freshman year in the Baylor Medical Center in Houston as a heart transplant candidate. With family finances near exhaustion from my father's hospital stay and evaluation (other health issues proved critical and disqualified my dad from the heart transplant list), I had decided to drop out of college. When this decision was found out by my employer, Bob Cox, he insisted that I return to school and provided financial assistance, promise of continued employment, and genuine encouragement. His guidance and influence uprighted my life's course. Bob departed this life in mid February of this year at 84 years young and was properly laid to rest in Austin Cemetery near his childhood home place in Walnut Ridge, a place that Bob had personally refurbished and groomed over the years to assure his family a beautiful place to gather to remember loved ones in the life everlasting. Bob Cox was a dedicated family man. He possessed an intense work ethic and a generous heart. Bob endured the crippling effects of rheumatoid arthritis for many years just as he had experienced the triumphs and trials of business, with a determined spirit and a smile on his face. His spirit and his smile are etched upon my heart.
Ed Penick, Sr., my former father-in-law and grandfather to my girls, was another who helped chart my life's course. I was already in the business of banking and working with Ed's son, Charles, at the Arkansas State Bank Department when our paths crossed in the mid '70s. He was Chairman and Chief Executive Officer of Arkansas' largest bank, Worthen Bank & Trust, at the time, as well as one of the state's leading bank advocates. Always armed with sage advice, Ed Penick was a savvy mentor whose influence opened a lot of doors. Behind those doors was a first class network of many fine bankers and businessmen that have remained steadfast friends throughout my banking career. I married his only daughter, Lydia, in 1979. Our marriage failed to match that of Lydia's parents who were married 71 years at the time her dad soared into Heaven in June at the age of 92. Ed Penick loved his family and he loved his country. He was a decorated pilot in Chennault's Flying Tigers during World War II, an experience that honed his leadership skills in civilian life. His values brightly shine on in his ten grandchildren and eighteen great grandchildren. I cherish the friendship I shared with this gentle man and I'm grateful for his guiding hand.
Eleanor "Sugie" Fortune nurtured me when I was a small boy. Sugie's children, Mike Fortune and Karen Fortune Cathey, were the the earliest playmates my sister, Lana, and I came to know. Our families have been close forever and a day. Being fast friends, Sugie and Bobby Fortune and Lawana and "Little Red" Miles, seemed to always be together. The Fortune home was a gathering 'spot' for Newport teens in the late '60s. Sugie was an indulgent and vigilant hostess. And I wasn't the only one Sugie nurtured at an early age... She cared for the nursery at the First United Methodist Church rocking and singing lullabies to generations of Newport children. Just three days ago, Sugie departed this life at the age of 85, still young at heart. I had good fortune to visit with her in the hospital in Jonesboro a few weeks back. It was evident that she was tired when she whispered to me, "I'm ready to see my friend, your mother." Tomorrow I will travel to Newport to attend the funeral services in celebration of Sugie Fortune's life. Remembering her beautiful voice, I will have a song in my heart.
I will be forever beholden to those 'shining stars' that have brightened my life's pathway. And I am mindful of those 'shooting stars' that have left traces across my heart while I have been traveling upon this life's journey.
Seems there's plans for everyone
The day will come and we will know
We all are tied in with each other
Everyone brothers
One great flow
At the end of August I made my way to Newport to attend the sixth annual Newport Alumni Hall of Fame banquet. This year's inductees were Col. Thomas "Ferrell" Broadaway (NHS '51), Jack Nance (NHS '53), Ollie Burton (Branch HS '56), A. J. Burton (Branch HS '57), and Dr. Joe David Smith (NHS '73). Much appreciation should be extended to the Newport School District Charitable Foundation for sponsoring this event and shining a bright light on distinguished graduates of Newport's schools. Sonny Burgess (NHS '48), himself a 2012 inductee, routinely points out that there are many more graduates who are so deserving of inclusion into Newport's Hall of Fame. No one can argue that point and I am confident that all honorees since the Hall's inaugural class in 2009 will be the first ones to agree with Sonny.
Every Hall of Fame inductee has a story. Ms. Ollie Burton's story was a high light of this year's banquet and was told so well by David Black in his introductory comments as well as in Ollie's own personal remarks. Ollie Burton enjoyed a remarkable teaching career. She was the first black teacher in the all white Newport elementary schools. Taking the reigns of a sixth grade class at Castleberry Elementary in 1967, Ollie gave credit to two "mature" boys in that first class, David Black and Greg Hubbard, for assuring an unruffled environment. Of course we all know that her success was the product of her passionate approach to educating young people and her effervescent demeanor. As an aside, I'm thinkin' that David Black's and Greg Hubbard's maturity level has waned as they have grown older. Ms. Ollie Burton's commitment changed the course of the Newport school system and paved the way for future generations of students and teachers.
In introducing Dr. Joe David Smith, Joby Brannon referred to Joe David as his "hero" growing up. Joby was in the sixth grade when Joe David was a senior and 'shooting star' on the Greyhound football team. Joby's observation was that Joe David's 'heroic' status has strengthened over the years in light of his genuine Christian values and a long time shared friendship between the two. In his follow up remarks, Joe David Smith cast a light upon the real "heroes," those men and women who serve our country in the protection of the freedoms we all cherish. And he paid tribute to our "teachers," not only those encountered in the classroom, but also those who guided us on the home front, our parents and older siblings. I can relate since Joe David's oldest brother, Steve, was one of my baseball coaches early on.
We have all stood in Joby Brannon's shoes in our lives, looking up to our childhood "heroes," those 'kids' who were three to six years older than we in our school days.
Mike Allen was a natural athlete excelling in four sports during his days at Newport High School. He was a member of the NHS Class of 1966, four years ahead of me. I wanted to be like Mike. His parents, Fran and D. T. Allen, were fine friends of my parents and our families often got together when I was in junior high school. I always thought baseball to be Mike's best sport, but it was his time on the basketball court that kindles fond memories. He was the only junior on the 1965 senior laden AA State Champion basketball team coached by my neighbor, Bernis Duke. I attended every district and state tournament game during that championship season alongside my friends Glenn Gay and Donny Appleton. Glenn's mother, Lillian Gay, was our attentive chaperone. Seventh grade boys can be a hand full. It was later in life that I discovered the kind hearted and caring nature of Mike Allen. My mother worked for Mike's wife, Cindi, in her last retail job. It was Mike who called to alert me to my mom's memory lapses, the early signs of her declining health. I will be forever grateful for the friendship shared with the Allen family.
Rob McDonald was another member of the NHS Class of '66 I desired to imitate. Rob was destined to be a cowboy. The 'cowboy way' was in his genes (or is that 'jeans') having been introduced to ridin' and ropin' by his dad, a genuine gentleman cowboy. Rob not only could ride, but he looked like he could ride. His trademark rose colored glasses and his handle bar mustache set him apart. Rob was one 'cool' cowboy... I spent many a fun filled evening at the Rockin' M in the early '70s surrounded by friends. Rob was a loyal friend to man and horse. While he is now gone from our sight lines, the memories are not gone... Rob rode into the cowboy record books when he captured the 1977 World Bull Riding Championship at Madison Square Garden. Now that is 'cool!' He lived and died in the saddle. His last earthly ride was amongst his favored cutting horses on a grey May day just three days short of his 66th birthday. One thing is for sure, cowboys know how to celebrate life...and death. A host of cowboys and cowgirls and lots of other friends gathered in Newport to rejoice in remembering Rob's life with Mike Fletcher, one of Rob's ridin' buddies, leading the service. When laughter rippled through the congregation, Mike Fletcher observed, "Newport is a great place to die!" Indeed it is... And it is a "great place" to live when men like Rob McDonald and Mike Allen call it home.
And in the morning of my time
I'll try to understand
I learn by what I find
And love you if I can
There are times when one needs to look down into the eyes of a child in order to look up to someone. Sloane Simmons Briggs, better known to me as "Sloaney B," had a meteoric impact on the lives of many. I first met "Sloaney B" in her earliest days when she was a patient in Arkansas Children's Hospital. Sloane was born with several chronic heath disorders requiring a myriad of invasive procedures to prepare her for life ahead. Everyone with a Newport connection knows the story of Sloane Briggs. Family friends adopted a rallying cry of "Girl is Fierce" in describing her plight, a most appropriate adage plucked from the poetry of William Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream" in which he penned "though she be but little, she is fierce." Sloane, alongside her parents, Lindsay Pennington and Luke Briggs, was honored as the "Survivor Family" of 2014 by the Northwest Arkansas Heart Association. Personally, I was hoping that Sloane and my granddaughter, Annabel, would establish an everlasting friendship much like the one I share with Sloane's maternal grandparents, Sue and John G. Pennington. John G. is Godfather to my daughter, Emily, Annabel's mother. Annabel and Sloane are just months apart in age. Our families are entwined with love and respect. The ties that bind are too many to count. It is not the natural order of things for a child to leave this life out front of her parents, grandparents, and, in Sloane's case, great grandparents. I don't understand... Sloane danced away from life's path way too soon at two and a half years of age on August 7. Four days later, a flash flood of Newport blood ran through the aisles of the Central United Methodist Church in Fayetteville in celebration of this beautiful child's fierce existence. Her little life strengthened all in the name of love...
Then there are those we embrace and adore even when we don't know them. The comedian Robin Williams is one such individual. My generation was first introduced to the antics of Robin Williams in the television series "Mork and Mindy," which aired from 1978 to 1982. Williams' character, Mork, was an extraterrestrial alien come to Earth. The episodes of "Mork and Mindy" were often directed at Mork's inability to understand human behavior. Mindy is challenged to help Mork adapt to his new surroundings and a very different culture. From this television stint, Robin Williams catapulted to stardom on the stage and screen. I believe he is an improvisational genius. Shortly after "Mork and Mindy" was canceled, I experienced a 'close encounter of the third kind' with Mork in a Dallas bar during my time in banking school at SMU. Late one evening after class, a few of my classmates and I were enjoying a fun time at a night spot called "Cowboy's" on Greenville Avenue. Robin Williams and a small entourage entered "Cowboy's" and grabbed a table near our group. Recognizing "Mork," we ordered up a tray of tequila solo shots and asked the waiter to deliver them to the Williams' table. "Mork" then joined us at our table to thank us, took a seat, and chatted a bit. He then issued a challenge to all to ride the mechanical bull, which no one accepted, except him. What a ride! What fun! Rob McDonald he was not! But that evening is carved into my mind...
When I arrived home from Sloane Briggs' funeral service on August 11, my wife, Kathryn, informed me that Robin Williams had died that day. Kathryn was devastated by the news that such a funny man had departed life so sorrowfully. Knowing we are of same age, the news hit 'close to home.' He apparently had taken his own life. In such instances, depression is often at the root. I don't understand... But it is not for me to understand. I am not privy to the innermost feelings of others. I can only pray that I continue to sidestep the demons that plague most beings. Through the "magic of television" and motion pictures I will be able to watch the many faces of Robin Williams, but I will no longer be able to 'see' him. Understand?
We don't need to know the answers
To hope and pray for peace
And each by what he can
To make us all complete
I'm Miles from Nowhere....... Guess I'll take my time.......
joe
