The Circle Game...June 10, 2002

And the seasons they go 'round and 'round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captives on the carousel of time
We can't return, we can only look
Behind from where we came
And go 'round and 'round and 'round
In the circle game.

(From "The Circle Game" by Joni Mitchell, 1968)

Since our last conversation, I have reached out and touched the age of 50. I did so on April 14, an eventful date in the annals of recent history. My father used to tell me it was a date of significant meetings. After all it is the date he first met me. It is also the date in 1865 on which Abraham Lincoln met a man at Ford's Theatre named John Wilkes Booth who had a gun in his hand. And it marks the day when the Titanic on its maiden voyage met an iceberg in the north Atlantic in the spring of 1912. Initial meetings lead to first impressions, some forever wondrous and others disastrous. Other littermates of mine have met the age of 50 since we last sat down together. In April Mike Brand, Martha Miller, Mary Wynne Parker and Donny Appleton hit the mark. May brought 50 candles to the cakes of Clay Wright, Joy Stanfield and Kathy Spann. And on June 1, David Sibley also celebrated his 350th birthday in dog years. I have rested my eyes on each of these fellow 1970 classmates over the past year and must say that all (with the exception of the one I see in the mirror each morning) are well preserved to be of a 1952 vintage. What "they" say of fine wine must be true. While the "bottles" of my friends appear to have been sealed with the finest of corks, my own carried a twist off cap and a very modest price tag. I raise a glass to my 50-year-old friends. Cheers!

Yesterday a child came out to wonder
Caught a dragonfly inside a jar
Fearful when the sky was full of thunder
And tearful at the falling of a star.

Age 50! Just another step along life's journey was simply taken with little fanfare. However, I seem to hear the birds more clearly now. The flowers in my yard have taken on a brighter hue. Echoes of laughter from days gone by in a place we know as Newport resonate in my mind. Periodically the laughter that brings us so much joy transforms itself into tears. Now there are the tears of joy we all know. But there are also the tears of sadness. Saturdays in June this year have brought whimpering tears to many pups from the kennel in Remmel Park. On June 1, Elizabeth Reid, a bright and smiling 21-year-old lost her life in a tragic boating accident on a Carolina lake. Elizabeth is the daughter of Mike Reid and Sheila McAllister Reid (both Class of 1972). Mike and Sheila reside in Charlotte, North Carolina, a place some distance for us to offer a hug or a helping hand, but not too far to extend heartfelt condolences. I am prayerfully hopeful that the memory of Elizabeth's smile and the echoes of her laughter will bring her parents and other family members comfort in the days ahead.

The child moved ten times round the seasons
Skated over ten clear frozen streams
Words like when you're older must appease him
And promises of someday make his dreams.

Saturday, June 8, brought news of the sudden death of friend, Ron Hook (Class of 1968) - he with the soulful high-pitched voice and an ever-present mischievous grin. The last time I laughed with Ron was in January 2001 following the funeral of Richard Brand (Class of '72). A few of us "old dogs" gathered at Bob King's King of Clubs in Swifton that bleak mid winter day to reminisce with "Richard stories." Phil Madison, Carl Cross, Terry Scoggins, Bobby Joe Forrester, and Ron were among those who emptied a few beer bottles and shared many half-truths that day. Laughter capped each round and each tale.

Ron Hook represented the best of the best in all he pursued. He was a well-respected man. He was a "presence" on Friday nights at Greyhound Field in the late '60s. But as good an athlete as he was, he was a better everyday friend. I am certain he has been welcomed to Hound Heaven by such playful pups as Bob Holden Conner, Joey Coe, Richard Brand and others who have taken an early departure from our earthly kennel.

Sixteen springs and sixteen summers gone now
Cartwheels turn to car wheels thru the town
And they tell him, "Take your time, it won't be long now
Til you drag your feet to slow the circles down."

Death is yet another single step on the path of life - another birthday (whether 20 or 50), another day in school, another day at work; each day, another step. The pace seems quicker now. I have that urge to drag my feet a little to slow things down so that I may remember our times together as children and teens with a clearer vision. Times were not better then, they were just more intimate. That intimacy we shared is a good feeling to know. While going back is not an option (unless you have a handle on time travel), we can circulate the stories of friendships past and present. The "circle game" allows us to do just that - go 'round and 'round and 'round on the carousel of time. With each conversation with an old friend, the same tired stories get better and better with the laughter growing louder and louder. I believe the volume of the laughter is amplified by the echoes of the giggles and guffaws that burst out so many years ago when the "stories" actually took place. I can hear the laughter!

So the years spin by and now the boy is twenty
Though his dreams have lost some grandeur coming true
There'll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty
Before the revolving years are through.

Reflections of treasured friendships from my days of "growing up" in Newport abound. Such memories go 'round and 'round and 'round in the circle game. Watching Ron Hook take a pitch out from Larry Treadway and barreling through the middle of the line for a first down for the Orange and Black; cruising Malcolm Avenue and circling Jack's Dairy Cup, Shelby's, and the Dog 'N Suds sitting alongside Terry Dillon in the back seat of Bruce and John Pennington's 1957 Chevy listening to "Stand by Me" on an eight track tape player; riding bicycles to the east side of town with best pal, Donny Appleton, and being followed every inch of the way by our dogs; sitting in the balcony of the old Strand Theatre with Glenn Gay as Sivad, the "Monster of Ceremonies," introduced a fright night of "scary" movies; trading baseball cards with David Sibley; attaining the rank of Eagle scout alongside good friends, Clay Wright and Terry and Eddy Scoggins; playing baseball with childhood friends at Legion Field which is no more; registering for the draft at the height of the Vietnam conflict on my eighteenth birthday with friend, Mike Brand, and wondering about life's future; viewing man's first landing on the moon on the TV at Drew Stewart's house and then wandering outside to gaze up at the "real thing" as if we could actually see the astronauts from Earth; listening to the sounds of the Mystic Blues with Joey Coe keeping rhythm on the drums; learning to water ski in the cut off with Bob Holden Conner at the helm of the boat; walking to first grade at Walnut Street School with Mary Wynne Parker and Mike Stephens; building snowmen behind the Silver Moon with pal, Donnie Washam; shooting pool and trading tall tales with Richard Brand, Bud Conner and Phil Madison at Mike Fortune's recreation (pool) room; camping trips with Kenny Thaxton and Gene Bennett; creating a little mischief in Mrs. Glasgow's art class with Bill Don Summers and Scott Baker; playing whiffle ball in Jenetta Ashley's back yard; racing slot cars in Donny Appleton's driveway; traveling to St. Louis for a weekend Cardinals series with Jim Reid Holden and Carl Cross; partying in New Orleans at the 1970 Sugar Bowl with Eddie Crawford, Freeman Travis and John Brownd; laughing, laughing, and laughing some more. I know each and every one of you has similar treasured memories. Only the names and faces may be different.

And the seasons they go 'round and 'round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return, we can only look
Behind from where we came
And go 'round and 'round and 'round
In the circle game.

I'm a Joni Mitchell disciple. Her music speaks to me. She wrote "The Circle Game" in 1968 and it was released on her album "Ladies of the Canyon" just as Ron Hook and his classmates were exiting the hallowed halls of Newport High School. We have all been playing that game our entire lives. It is a lot of fun as long as you are a knowing participant.

Lately my own personal circle game has been a little dizzying. Over the past month wife Kathryn and I have been literally going 'round and 'round and 'round. We have moved into a home in Russellville and are busy painting and fixing things up to make it "ours." We will be living together apart for a while as she is scheduled to continue teaching at Henderson State University in Arkadelphia this fall.

To break up the moving routine we have floated Big Piney Creek on a cold and windy day in May and swamped our canoe about half way through the trip making it a real marriage tester. We traveled to Memphis on a business/pleasure weekend and drifted up and down Beale Street absorbing some blues. While there we had the pleasure of dining with Jim and Nita Gowen one evening. Jim and I worked together in the late '80s at Merchants and Planters Bank in Newport. Last weekend Kathryn and I took a three day hiatus to San Francisco and spent a while "sittin' on the dock of the bay, watching the tide roll away; we were just sittin' on the dock of the bay, wasting time," just like Otis Redding instructed me in his classic song from December 1967 - a song he recorded only three days before his untimely death. We go 'round and 'round and 'round in the circle game.

Back in the late '60s and throughout the '70s, Carol Burnett hosted a great variety show on television and at the end of each show she closed with these words, "I'm so glad we had this time together ... just to have a laugh or sing a song ... but before you know it, comes the time we have to say so long." Before you know it indeed. So long, Elizabeth Reid. So long, Ron Hook.

Until we meet again, I remain Miles from nowhere ...
joe