Learning to Fly...December 5, 2006

Well I started out down a dirty road
Started out all alone
And the sun went down as I crossed the hill
The town lit up and the world got still

I'm learning to fly but I ain't got wings
Comin' down is the hardest thing

In the winter of 1959 my family moved to South Main Street from the friendly confines of our Hazel Street neighborhood in Newport. My youngest of two sisters, Ann Marie, had died in infancy the previous year and looking back I'm sure this move was a new beginning for my parents. I was seven years old and sister Lana was five. It was a time of discovery for me. The "new" neighborhood was filled with friends from Walnut Street School. Donny Appleton, David Sibley, Ann Gardner, Jenetta Ashley all lived nearby. The South Main and South Walnut Street neighborhood in the late '50s and early '60s can only be described as "fun and games." We were continually playing whiffle ball, red rover, kick the can, football and more. The streets were always full of kids on bicycles cruising from house to house. When not playing with the neighborhood gang I spent quite a bit of time alone exploring the woods and the boggy backwaters on the other side of the levee with its nearest point just a block from my front door. Today when I visit that area of town I see an array of houses in various states of condition; I don't see many children. In 1959 South Main Street had a small number of newly constructed homes on its east side and farmland on the west side of the street. The levee rose up from the southern end of the street out of the ditches surrounding this neighborhood. It was a great place to test one's "wings."

I have vivid memories of lying on my back on the levee's slopes gazing up at the clouds imagining the shapes of things and watching the birds fly. It was a "peaceful, easy feeling." As the sun started to go down, the birds would fly toward their perches in the woods beyond the levee, the stars would take their assigned places in the sky, lamps were being switched on in the houses on the streets below the levee, the world slowed down for the evening. My mother's voice would pierce the air calling me home for supper. I would "fly" down from the levee, race across the muddy field and black top street and be home in a jiffy. There were times when coming down from the levee was hard to do. I liked being in my own world, daydreams and imagination gone wild.

Well the good old days may not return
And the rocks might melt, and the sea may burn

I'm learning to fly but I ain't got wings
Comin' down is the hardest thing

I am not one who yearns for the "good old days." I cherish the friendships I enjoy and many of these friendships were spawned long ago in the "old days," some good and some not so good. In the Miles' Files I generally choose to recount the good times and remember those I've loved and respected. Newport, like small towns across America, has experienced its triumphs and its tragedies. Sometimes such events impact many in various degrees. Thirteen weeks ago one such event broke Newport's heart and tested its resolve.

On September 5, 2006 an out of control pickup truck rudely interrupted an intimate group of friends celebrating the birthday of one in its number. Beverly Tapp, Jane Wright, Jane Parnell, Carol Brand, Pat Brown and Jennifer Keedy often got together to share their thoughts and life's experiences. They are friends, the best of friends. On this particular evening Jennifer had not been feeling well and was not among them. The others gathered at Hardee's Restaurant for a small preliminary party for Jane Parnell who would be celebrating a milestone birthday the next day. Friends being friends. Happy conversation turned to chaos in short order when the pickup crashed into the restaurant's dining area. In that instant life changed for the five friends and two others who were dining together at Hardee's as well as for the pickup's driver, Gary Nicholson. Quick action got them all medical attention, but the injuries sustained by Beverly Tapp and Jane Wright claimed their lives. Carol Brand and Pat Brown suffered severe injuries in the accident, spent extended time in the hospital, and both continue their recuperation. Jane Parnell and two other diners, Velma Johnson and Levi Anders, were treated and released after relatively short hospital stays. Gary Nicholson is sure to be of heavy heart and remains incarcerated awaiting trial. In the truck's wake there was broken glass, broken furniture, broken bodies, broken dreams, broken hearts.

When I think of Beverly Tapp I "see" a bright smile and shining eyes. Beverly Warbington Tapp (NHS Class of '62) came back home to teach at her alma mater my sophomore year in high school. She quickly became a favorite among the students. I am finding it hard to digest that Beverly was old enough to retire, but she did exactly that last year in order to be a full time, fun loving grandmother. At Beverly's funeral I sat with Ms. Inez McDaniel who had been a dear friend of Beverly's mother and had a hand in naming Beverly at her birth. As I listened to Inez my mind wandered and my heart clutched Newport. I glanced across the aisle to see many of Beverly's NHS classmates. "Kids," now adults, who I first knew when they were teenagers about to "fly" from the safety of Newport's nest and I a grade school boy looking up to them for some sort of direction. They were bound to be totally unaware of my looking their way, then or now. I saw the two men I will always refer to as "coach," Butch Duncan and Raymond Massey, both great friends of Beverly and her husband, Jody, sitting quietly on this day as pallbearers. I remembered Inez McDaniel's husband, Mr. Mac, who I had worked for as a teen delivering candy to small country grocery stores around the area. I thought of the farm families who shopped at those stores and the Bezo Nicholson family darted into my mind. Just as I looked up to those high school students in Beverly Warbington's class when I was in grade school, Gary Nicholson (NHS Class of '80) had probably done the same thing when my classmates roamed the halls of NHS. I know Gary's older brothers, Jimmy Don and Sam, and his parents well and there is no finer family on God's green earth; just top flight folks. Human frailties and judgment errors haunt us all. Gary Nicholson apparently knows that first hand.

Jane Wright was also one with a beautiful broad smile and disposition to match. She and her husband, Gerry, both joined the Newport School system in the early '80s. Jane was the secretary in the junior high school principal's office and served as an unofficial counselor to many students coming into their own. My days on the Newport School Board in the late '80s and early '90s allowed for periodic interraction with faculty and staff and I was able to get to know Jane then. I feel as if I came to know Jane better after I moved to Arkadelphia where I befriended her sister Winnie Cox. I occasionally served as the liasion between sisters in carrying messages and items to and fro on trips back to Newport to visit my mother. Sweet people. Sweet memories.

I feel as if I "grew up" with the other three "girls" at that fateful dinner table. Jane Roberts Parnell (NHS Class 0f '64) is cousin to my pal Glenn Gay and niece of Edith and Roy Evans who owned the downtown Strand movie theatre where we all spent much time. Carol Fish Brand and husband Rodger are both members of the NHS Class of '69 (just a year ahead of my class). Pat Brown and husband Mike were college friends of mine at ASU in the early '70s. So I have known all for more years than I can effectively recall. Both Jane and Carol were retired from teaching in the Newport schools. Pat continues to teach math at NHS. Good friends. Good memories.

Newport's healing from this incident is still in its early stages. Forgiveness is born out of the same frailties and misjudgments Gary Nicholson experienced. I pray for each person involved in this tragic moment. I extend that prayer to their families as well. I pray for Newport. I pray for complete forgiveness. I know that Beverly and Jane, angels learning to fly, would want that.

Well some say life will beat you down
Break your heart, steal your crown
So I started out for God knows where
And I guess I'll know when I get there

I'm learning to fly around the clouds
But what goes up must come down

Some days have passed since I last sat down at the keyboard for conversation with myself. Things have taken place. Life has happened. Death has knocked on some doors asking those on the other side to come out and play. I wish to recall a few names of others who have left this life in recent months and are now learning to fly in an angelic sense.

Five of my NHS classmates have lost a parent over the past few weeks. Brothers Marion and Ray Mullins lost their father Boyd Mullins, Sr. in early October. And then on November 15 the Newport Independent carried the obituaries for Wanda Benish, mother of Laura Benish Goodyear, Sam Lewallen, Sr., father of Larry Lewallen, and Joe Churchman, father of David Churchman. Each one of these people touched my life through their children. I lived in the same South Main neighborhood with the Benish family and knew Mrs. Wanda Benish as one of the friendly voices at the phone company. Mr. Mullins, Mr. Lewallen and Mr. Churchman were all hard working family men whose sons embody the same spirit. Mr. Mullins worked for Riceland, Mr. Lewallen at Neighbors Auto Parts and Mr. Churchman at Moore & Cone Lumber Company (later Churchman Building Center). Mr. Lewallen was recently recognized and honored by the Newport Greyhounds for his faithful attendance at their games. He had not missed a NHS football game in sixty years.

Another South Main Street neighbor who recently passed away is George Rogers, Sr. "Old George" was the husband of my beloved Latin teacher, Mrs. Kate Rogers. The Rogers lived just across the street from my house. Mrs. Rogers represented the best of the teaching profession, firm and fair in her ways, gently commanding respect. "Old George" was a fun loving, free spirited soul. Mr. and Mrs. Rogers were quite a contrast in style. Great neighbors, wonderful examples. It is interesting to me that Mr. Rogers, Mrs. Wanda Benish and the late Mr. L. D. Spann (father of classmate Kathy Spann) all lived in the same block and all worked for the phone company. Mr. Rogers and my dad were both from the Searcy area and shared a similar approach to life, one to emulate. I miss conversations with "Old George."

Mr. Elbert Williams passed on to greater reward a couple of weeks ago. Mr. Elbert (and I always referred to him as "Mr. Elbert") was retired from Harris Hospital having worked there for more than forty years. In addition to his job at the hospital Mr. Elbert assisted many in Newport on social occasions. Mr. Elbert possessed every ingredient essential to being a true gentleman and he was a king of hospitality. He could make a "mean" drink too; one that could "settle the nerves." Mr. Elbert helped me out many times over the years. Mr. Elbert was one of those men who made and continues to make Newport "home" for me.

Childhood friend David Howe passed from this life this week from an apparent heart attack. David (NHS Class of '71) was big in stature and sweet of spirit. I was blessed to be in his circle of friends. We often chased mischief together in our boyhood days. I have fond memories of his mother and dad as well as sister Merry (NHS Class of '69) and brother Bobby (NHS Class of '66). As so often happens in life David and I have been separated by time and distance since those days together in Newport. Leaving high school is like the scattering of a covey of quail when danger is perceived. I regret that David's and my flight patterns have not crossed in many years. My memories of David are intact and must suffice for the duration of my time on life's flyways. David is sure to be an excellent guardian angel for those who knew and loved him.

In Sunday's Arkansas Democrat-Gazette I read the notice of death of Mann Shoffner, Jr., a favored son of Newport and recent resident of Georgia. Mr. Mann was a 1940 graduate of Newport High School. While I was in the banking business in Newport in the '80s I had regular conversation with Mr. Mann. We shared a love for baseball. His obituary recounts a proud day when he pitched a two hitter for the Marine Corps on Guam against a team that featured two major leaguers with Newport ties, George Kell and Johnny Sain. Mr. Mann relived that game for me on more than one occasion much to my delight. I miss the talks with Mr. Mann Shoffner.

Coincidentally Johnny Sain departed this life early last month, the same Johnny Sain that Mann Shoffner had played baseball against on Guam in the 1940's. Johnny Sain who was immortalized in the poetic verse "Spahn and Sain and pray for rain" that was a slogan used by sportswriters in 1948 as the Boston Braves raced to the National League pennant belongs in the National Baseball Hall of Fame alongside George Kell. But those sportswriters who made his name famous in verse never voted him into the Hall of Fame. Mr. Sain had a stellar major league pitching career, but was an even better pitching coach for the New York Yankees, Minnesota Twins, Detroit Tigers and Chicago White Sox. Throughout the late '70s and the '80s I wrote a letter to the Baseball Hall of Fame every year endorsing Mr. Sain for inclusion as did the late Mr. Kendall Moore. Johnny Sain worked for Mr. Moore in Newport at Kendall Moore Chevrolet in the off season in the early '60s and later owned an automobile dealership in Walnut Ridge where he lived. His sons, John and Randy, were fraternity brothers of mine at Arkansas State University. The last time I saw Mr. Sain was in the late '80s. He was visiting Arkansas from his home near Chicago and stopped by the bank on his way through Newport. He and I had lunch together at the Newport Country Club and I listened to the baseball stories I loved. I had first met Mr. Sain when I was a Little League ball player and he addressed a bunch of Little Leaguers in Newport to give us a few tips at the request of Kendall Moore and Crackie Parker. I have relived that lunch with Johnny Sain many times and I hold dear the baseball memorabilia he sent my way over the years. Thoughts of Johnny Sain always are intertwined with memories of men like Kendall Moore and Crackie Parker, friendships enjoyed with his sons, and visions of old Memorial Field in Newport where baseball was played by many through the ages. I think I will renew my commitment to have Johnny Sain inducted into the National Baseball Hall of Fame by resuming my letter writing campaign.

Each person I have remembered touched my life in a unique way. Many of you will have your own memories of them and stories to share about them. Knowing that makes Newport and its people even more special to me. The way that our lives are interlaced and thoughts of one conjures up thoughts of others stirs my heart. It was in Newport that so many learned to fly, both figuratively and literally (the Newport Air Base was a flight training school during World War II). Some have flown from Newport, some still buzz around the town, some have reached new heights after learning to fly in my hometown.

When the votes were counted in precincts around Arkansas a month ago three Newport High School graduates led the ticket for state wide offices. Mike Beebe (NHS Class of '64) was elected Governor, Martha Shoffner (NHS Class of '62) was elected State Treasurer, and Jim Wood was elected State Auditor. Talk about flying high! This election is proof positive that Newport is indeed a special place, that its educational system prepares its students for life's flights, that its citizens encourage its youth to reach for the stars. I am confident that Mike's, Martha's and Jim's leadership will catapult Arkansas to new heights. I wish them well.

I also want to give accolades to this year's Newport High School Greyhound football team and the Arkansas Razorbacks football team. Both exceeded expectations. The Hounds reached the quarterfinals of the state playoffs knocking off previously undefeated Pocahontas to get there prior to falling to Fordyce 13-12 in a heartbreaker. Congratulations to Coach Greg Brannon and all the players. The Hogs won the Western Division of the Southeastern Conference and fell to Florida in the conference championship game Saturday, but I venture no one thought the Razorbacks team would have had such a successful year. They will face Wisconsin in the Capital One Bowl on January 1. Go Hogs!

Speaking of victorious seasons..........life long friend and littermate Mary Wynne Parker Perryman underwent her sixth chemotherapy treatment in a series of six on Monday. In July of this year Mary Wynne experienced a recurrence of the cancer first diagnosed in July 2000. She has approached this series of treatment like an ace fighter pilot returning to dogfight after dogfight. Bouts of extreme nausea have not deterred her. Her success is stratospheric! Fly high Mary Wynne! Messages of support for this Newport ace can be sent to www.caringbridge.org/visit/mwperryman.

I'm learning to fly but I ain't got wings
Comin' down is the hardest thing
I'm learning to fly around in the clouds
But what goes up must come down

I'm learning to fly
I'm learning to fly

"Learning to Fly" was released by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers in 1991. I normally center my thoughts around music from the late '60s and early '70s, the music of my generation. But I'm a Tom Petty fan and 1991 marked my second flight from Newport. In the spring of 1970 I flew away from home the first time with no expectations of ever returning to my home base. Of course twelve years later I did return to Newport as a banker with a family of my own. So much for expectations. After nine years I thought it time to once again test fly life beyond Newport landing in Arkadelphia. I have "come down" from similar decisions and subsequent flights landing in Russellville and Mountain Home, of which the latter is now my home base. "Learning to Fly" bespeaks life's journey. Each significant life event is an opportunity to spread your wings and soar. Flight is a series of ups and downs. So is life. Flying high is a lot of fun; coming back down safely is often a challenge.

I have been known to take an occasional joy flight into the past for entertainment and to escape the doldrums of the present. In September and October I flew back in time on the wings of a couple of music treks. Kathryn and I took a short flight to Eureka Springs to enjoy the sounds of Dr. John and Little Feat in September and then a return flight to Eureka in October allowed us to listen to Arlo Guthrie. Music from our time in space. At the Dr. John concert we ran into the brothers Gray (Andy, NHS Class of '67, and David, NHS Class of '73). Always good to see Newport lads grounded in good music. We saw Andy at the Arlo Guthrie gig as well. I really enjoy Arlo's story telling approach to his music. In November I took a solo trip to Nashville (Music City) to join up with college cronies Keith Croft, Richard Cook, Kenny Brewer, Don Barnett and Martha Hatley Saino. This trip was a great escape with good friends with good music as the perfect backdrop. We bar crawled up and down Broadway and Printer's Alley listening to great musicians of every genre. What a flight!

Also Kathryn and I crashed a couple of weddings in September and October. First we attended the wedding of my goddaughter Megan Penick in Morrilton. Megan is the daughter of my former brother-in-law and pal, Charles Penick and his wife Shelley. Three weeks later we went to Little Rock to witness the marriage of Lindsey Elliott, daughter of Leanne Bennett (NHS Class of '72) and Mike Elliott. Mike and I were fraternity brothers at ASU. At Lindsey's wedding I was able to visit with her host of relatives that I haven't seen in years like her grandparents Ginny and Lonnie Bennett and her aunt Dianne. There is something special about young couples learning to fly.

Newport is a wonderful place that many refer to as their home base. At Beverly Tapp's funeral Butch Duncan told me that he knows of no other place with the heart and outpouring of love that Newport exudes. And I remind you that Butch hails from Batesville although he has a genuine affection for the orange and black worn by Hounds. I cherish the friendships I made as a boy on the streets and playgrounds of Newport. I deeply appreciate those I have discovered on life's flights, especially those from my college days. Friendships enable us to fly higher and higher. Friendships encourage us to fly beyond our self imposed boundaries. Friendships allow us to look for the shapes of things amongst the clouds. Friendships are there when you "come down." If you haven't ventured out in a while I encourage you to map out a flight plan and go see an old friend.

I'm lying on the levee on the south side of Newport watching the beauty of the sky as night approaches. I'm casting glances at the clouds trying to make something from their shape. Contrails punctuate the paths of planes flying high. Out of the corner of my eye I catch a weird sight. Is it just my imagination? Coming clearer into view it appears to be a fairly large sleigh with a cargo of toys being drawn by........a team of reindeer? Is this real? A jolly man dressed in red with white fur trimming is the only discernible passenger. The lead reindeer has a very shiny red nose. I'm not sure I'm comprehending this vision. It comes to me! Of course! It is that time of year! Yet it is early. I must be witnessing a test flight prior to the real thing on Christmas Eve. Simply because one has learned to fly, practice is required to maintain proficiency. Yep, it's Santa making a test run. Seems to be flying a bit erratic though. Maybe the mix isn't right on the eggnog. 'Tis the season to be jolly! I hear my mother calling. Must be time for supper.

I have Newport and its people on my mind and in my heart. Lyrics from the only "blues" Christmas tune I know take shape as I think of Newport and the friends I have made there................."Merry Merry Merry Christmas Newport, you sure been good to me, I haven't had a drink this evenin', but I'm lit up like a Christmas tree!"

So I started out for God knows where
And I guess I'll know when I get there
I'm learning to fly
I'm learning to fly

Still Miles from Nowhere.................................

Merry Christmas to all,
joe