It's a totally beautiful Sunday afternoon in the Ozarks just up stream from Newport. It's opening day of the baseball season. It's spring. The days of youth come clearly into focus on days like today. In Sunday School this morning my mind wandered back to Sunday afternoons in another time. The spring of 1967 . . .
Groovin' ... on a Sunday afternoon
Really couldn't get away too soon
I can't imagine anything that's better
The world is ours whenever we're together
There ain't no place I
'd rather like to be instead of . . .
Groovin'
"The world is ours whenever we're together." On days such as today we are "together." I can't help but think of our times together in high school and the fun we had. I occasionally laugh out loud when I recall those days. This past week I was literally swept back to those Sundays past when I traveled back to Newport to spend time with my family at Easter.
My mother and sister Lana were in town and daughters Evelyn, Emily and Elizabeth joined wife Kathryn and me in Newport for a really nice visit on Easter Sunday. The seven of us went to the First United Methodist Church (forever my home church) and occupied the same pew we sat in as a family throughout the 1980s when my girls were pre-school and grade school age and near the same place I routinely sat in the 1950s and 1960s prior to the sanctuary being remodeled.
My head was on a swivel as I scanned my surroundings in the very familiar sanctuary of First United Methodist Church. Littermates Ruth Johnston, Gail Thaxton and Freeman Travis were seated in the congregation. There were so many other familiar faces popping into my field of vision, but it was the faces of those not present that were totally lucent. The angelic presence of young Sunday School friends Glenn Gay, Cathy Bellengrath, David L Johnston, Jr., Walter Bundy, and Joey Coe was especially strong. (I'm confident that there are some of you who giggled with the "angelic" reference to David L and Walter, but I know their mothers knew them to be angels in spite of the fun filled mischief they often pursued.) I sensed Mrs. L. C. Scott ( a dear Sunday School teacher and the mother of Miss Doris Scott and Ms. Kathryn Torian) watching me to assure I was on my best behavior. I felt the presence of Susan McDonald (one of my MYF counselors) as I looked across the aisle and spotted her husband Phil who was visiting home on this Easter Day. Mrs. Mary Ellen Hosley (the education director for the church during my youth) seemed to be smiling my way. And many parents of my young friends and some former teachers appeared with one eye on the pulpit and the other surveying their kids. As I have, can't you just imagine Buddy and Doris Travis, Crackie and Bea Parker, Gene Johnston, T. J. Walden, Hazel and Wayne Stanfield, Carl and Chris Cross, Lillian Gay, Kenneth Thaxton, Guy and Alice Stephens, Billy and Jerry Wiggins, Tommy Ritter, Gene and Martha Ann Howe, Natalie Madison, Virginia Umsted Castleberry, Almarie Carr and so many more "adults" keeping a close eye on us during church services? As I listened to the choir during the anthem I noticed a heightened harmony as the voices of Ruth and Woody McDowell, Ruth and Eddie Goodyear, J. D. Carr, Robin Stamps, Venice Lawrence, Jerry Molleston, and Steve Pankey joined in. And the music stirred my soul as Mary Kathryn Graham and Chris Cross sat down at the organ and piano to accompany the choir. What a feeling! I glanced to my left where no one was seated and my dad winked at me.
Back in the present I watched as the Reverend Charles Sigman invited the youngest members of the congregation to join him at the altar for a special children's message. About fifteen or so youngsters accepted the invitation. This was the first service at First United Methodist I have attended since Reverend Sigman came to Newport. He has a vibrant presence and certainly captured the children's attention. On this Easter Sunday morning I had talked by phone with childhood pals Mary Wynne Parker, Cherry Smith, and Clay Wright and thoughts of Easters past were circling my psyche. As I watched the children and Reverend Sigman I recalled a photograph I possess taken on Easter Sunday 1958 in the very same place on which I gazed. That photo is sitting on the desk in front of me as I write these words. There are 59 kids dressed in their Sunday best. As best I can tell everyone in the photo is seven years of age or younger. While the number of children in the church this day may be much smaller than at the time of the photo, the spirit of the congregation is just as strong. I feel it as I rise to leave the church following the service and I'm "touched" by a forgotten bear hug from departed friend James Morehart and firm handshakes from Larry Pankey, Hayward McManus, Conrad Taylor, Cal Leidy and Johnny Thomas. Once outside I turn back and catch a glimpse of A. D. Green, long time the caretaker of the church's buildings and grounds, going about his work on a spring day in 1967. I "see" misty images of many more from the church who have departed this earth. I realize my eyes are misty. I am grounded in this small yet magnificent church on the corner of Third and Laurel Streets in Newport. The ghosts of those I've seen this day are always with me.
My mother introduced me to the church, its people have nurtured me throughout my life (even when I have been away from Newport), and my dad solidified my convictions in it. Many preachers have served the church and the community well, but those to whom I felt especially close are Ben Jordan, Bill Stewart, Jim Beal, and Herschel McClurkin. All are good men with unique qualities.
Ben Jordan was the pastor when I started to come into my own as a critical thinker. He was the man providing direction on my spiritual path. He gave me encouragement as I entered junior high school and first got involved with MYF (Methodist Youth Fellowship). Through MYF I really got to know my initial counselors John and Rosanna Purdy, Phil and Susan McDonald, and David and Marian Hodges who added fun to my church experience. My life's path crossed once again with Reverend Jordan's when I was a freshman at the University of Arkansas and he was pastor of Central United Methodist Church in Fayetteville.
Bill Stewart (the father of my good friend, fellow mischief maker, and classmate Drew Stewart) was the pastor during my high school years. I spent a considerable amount of time at the parsonage during these years. I always enjoyed personal conversations with him. Brother Bill delivered the baccalaureate address for the NHS Class of 1970 just before he left Newport for another appointment in the church. Our paths crossed again at a pivotal point in my life. I had made a decision to return to Newport to work for the "old" First State Bank (formerly First National Bank) in the fall of 1982. I sold my house in Little Rock to the Stewarts that year as a place in which to enjoy their retirement. Brother Bill has since passed on from this life. I miss his hearty laughter.
Jim Beal baptized my dad in 1981 and formerly welcomed him into the church shortly after the birth of my oldest daughter. While I didn't know him as well as the others, his relationship with my dad impressed me. Just a few weeks ago I ran across Brother Jim's obituary spilling words of his life's work.
Herschel McClurkin was the pastor of the church when I returned to Newport in late 1982 and welcomed me back home. He and his wife Mardell nurtured my children. His ways exuded love. We had a special bond, but many can say that about their relations with the McClurkin family.
Many wonderful memories were generated by church activities and events. My earliest and longest lasting friendships were founded in the loving embrace of this church. Sunday School and Vacation Bible School jump-started my education in the social concerns of our world. Youth dances were the center of social engagement in the 1960s with the four primary venues being the Legion Hut, the Newport Country Club, the armory, and First United Methodist Church Fellowship Hall. We welcomed all sinners. Strong friendships with kids from rival communities were established at Wayland Springs, the Methodist church camp outside Imboden. Years later I attended college with many of the youngsters I met at church camp. Trick or treating for UNICEF organized by the church and washing cars for other worthy causes in the church parking lot are memorable occasions. I recall foot racing down the hallway of the newly constructed Education Building with Tim McDowell. I was about twelve years old. At the end I was fortunate in that the new glass door on my side of the hall swung open with a shove on the exit bar. The door on Tim's side of the hallway was locked resulting in broken glass and several stitches in Tim's forehead. I didn't see Tim crash through the door since my back was to that action. No need to ask who won the race. In this church I have attended many baptisms (those of my dad and two younger daughters quickly come to mind), weddings (walking my sister down the aisle was a real treat), and funerals (of course that of my dad is at the forefront, but those of young friends Glenn Gay, Joey Coe, and David L Johnston, Jr. and teacher supreme Virginia Umsted Castleberry rush into mind as well). The memory of each of these events is tucked neatly into my heart. This church is planted firmly in the center of my heart.
On this Sunday in the year 2005 I carried a bible into Sunday School with me. It is a bible beginning to show its age, a lot like I'm beginning to do. Inside the cover this bible is inscribed "Joe Miles, by - First Methodist Church, Primary Dept., Sept. 24, 1961." I'm pretty sure I failed to properly thank the congregation for this gift at the time I received it. I do so now. To all members past and present of the First United Methodist Church of Newport, I express my appreciation for the love I feel each time I walk into our church.
Groovin' ... down a crowded avenue
Doin' anything we like to do
There's always lots of things that we can see
We can be anyone we want to be
And all those happy people we could meet just . . .
Groovin'
In the three days prior to my Easter Sunday visit with my family, I roamed the nooks and crannies of my hometown one more time. I arrived in Newport on Thursday evening and immediately went to Kelley's Restaurant to briefly visit with several of my NHS classmates who are regularly gathering to plan a 35-year reunion later this summer. I actually went to the restaurant to get hugs and handshakes from friends who seem to be showing no signs of the aging process. Becky Cathey, Ann Gardner, Joy Stanfield, Jamie Hopkins, Linda Gail Burris, Sharon Haigwood, Marion Mullins and Buddy Rutledge were all in conference in an effort to select a reunion time and place pleasing to all concerned. I quickly recognized the impossible task before the group and exited feeling good about the smiles and hugs I received from all the girls upon my arrival. On Friday, my mother and sister, daughter Evelyn and two of my mother's sisters (Pat and Rhodell) went to Fred's Lunchroom for lunch. Of course Fred's is one of my favorite gathering places because the food is good and the people you see transcend the ages. The Humphreys are always grand hosts. While enjoying our meal several aging Pups were in and out of Fred's. I saw littermate Mickey Doyle there as well as Thelma Ruddell Welch and former coworker Carla Stiger, Debbie Davis and Scott Jones, Jackie Fann Allen and her mother Alma, Abe Jones, Edward Boyce and others. Going to Fred's is always a great homecoming. And did I say the food was good!
Later that afternoon I made brief pit stops to visit classmates Kenny Thaxton and Mike Brand and running buddy John Pennington. While visiting John at George Kell Motors I ran into my kindergarten teacher Miss Martha Wise and one of my MYF counselors Phil McDonald. Phil was home from Atlanta visiting his mother, Elliott McDonald McManus. John was trying to sell all of us a new car. Surprise, surprise! "Doin' anything we like to do" and "groovin'" down the byways of Newport is a cure for the reminiscent blues.
Friday evening daughters Emily and Elizabeth came into town and we joined family friends Sandra Pankey and Marvin and Carolyn Thaxton (Gail's parents) for dinner at a local Mexican food restaurant. I had a nice chat with littermate Kathy Woodruff and her husband Mike Pearce as well as David and Linda Black. We also saw Marilyn Craig, Amelia Williams Frankum, Pat Fisher, and Dianne Rodman there. "All those happy people we could meet" in Newport by simply "groovin'." However I must admit my memory of Friday nights in Newport in the '60s is a bit cloudy . Late this Friday I had an urge to drive out to the truck stop or to Phillips' Café, but in present day these once favored haunts have shuttered doors.
Saturday morning mother and I went to Harris Hospital to visit neighbor and wonderful friend Margaret Van Dyke. Margaret and I talked about our shared interest of the upcoming baseball season. We reviewed the 2004 major league season culminating in her beloved Boston Red Sox winning the World Series over my St. Louis Cardinals. Ironically I took myself back to 1967 when these same two teams challenged one another in the World Series with the Cardinals winning that match up. I watched much of that series on television in Butch Duncan's World History class at Newport High. There were no night games played in the World Series in those days. I am certain we were emphasizing current events that particular week In Coach Duncan's class. I wish Margaret a full and speedy recovery.
While at the hospital we met Martha Johnston in the corridor and discovered that her dad, David L Johnston, Sr., was also there. We stopped by his room. We reminisced with David and his youngest daughter Ruth (my littermate and pal) and fellow visitor Jeff Ellis. We talked about banking and baseball. The two subjects came together early for me when I played Little League ball for First National Bank where David L worked along with my Aunt Pat. Later in life I worked for the same bank while David L continued serving on the board of directors. Tying it all together with our church affiliation, mother reminded David of the many times they worked on church projects together. I will forever remember the times that David and Gene Johnston served supper to our MYF group. Their famous sloppy Joe's were my favorite MYF meal. Mom's spaghetti was pretty good too.
After leaving the hospital we dropped in to visit John and Rosanna Purdy at Purdy's Flower Shop. Visits with the Purdy's always take me back to another time. I've already mentioned them being MYF counselors when I entered junior high. They were newly weds then. And Purdy's Flower Shop was located on South Walnut Street in my neighborhood. Good memories abound! From Purdy's we gathered the family at Money and Poppy's cafe for a cheeseburger made especially for me by Wardell Pennington. I can't cross into Newport city limits without visiting Wardell. Of course one will always see more of "those happy people" of Newport on every trip to Wardell's burger joint. Joe Dupree, Ann Dupree Florie, John Conner, Mary Jane Jamison Robinson and Jane Roberts Parnell were all there. Seeing Jane Parnell prompted me to share with her a recent calamity in my life. Several months before Jane had sent to me a photograph she discovered in some belongings of her aunt, Edith Evans. It was a picture of Sivad's hearse in front of the old Strand theatre. Sivad was the "monster of ceremonies" on the late Friday night horror movie seen on Channel 13 (WHBQ) in Memphis in the 1960s and I was an avid fan. Jane knew this through prior conversations about days of youth when I frequented the Strand with her cousin Glenn Gay. Anyway, just this past week Sivad, also known as William Davis (Sivad is Davis spelled backwards), died at age 92 at his home in Clarendon. I cherish a personally autographed picture of Sivad. Another chapter of my youth is now closed only to be opened again by a memory.
Groovin' ... on a Sunday afternoon
Really couldn't get away too soon
We'll keep on spending sunny days this way
We're gonna talk and laugh our time away
I feel it comin' closer day by day
Life would be ecstasy, you and me endlessly . . .
Groovin'
On the road back to Mountain Home from Newport after this joyous weekend with family and "old" friends I tuned into XM satellite radio station 6. That is music from the 1960s. "Groovin'" by the Young Rascals penetrated my ears and touched my heart. This song was a number one hit in the spring of 1967. I'm listening to the blue eyed soul sound of the Rascals while laughing with friends and cruisin' Malcolm Avenue on our way to circle the Dog N' Suds. Wow! It's 1967. I'm hooked on XM radio and the ability to tune in my youth whenever I wish. I'm amazed at the transition from AM radio, to FM radio, to XM radio that we have experienced in our lifetime, but that is a story for another day. We can talk about it this summer at our 35th reunion. Until then, I remain Miles from Nowhere . . .
Groovin' . . . on a Sunday afternoon
joe
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