I keep my friends eternally now
We leave our tracks in the sand
Some of them are with me now
Some of them can't be found
It's a long road behind me
And I miss you now
Those Neil Young lyrics (from his song "The Painter") faded from my life's soundtrack as we wound up our last time together on the pages of the Miles' Files. It's amazing how my mind can still "see" footprints in the sandbars rising from the shallows of the White River left by friends when we were young. While the influence of the river washed away those footprints, traces of them remain as heartfelt memories.
Over the past few months I have been made aware that three of our littermates from the Newport High School Class of 1970 have left this life as we view it. Their paw prints will no longer be left in the sand near the river's bends around Newport. Fellow graduates Rex Grigsby and Kathy Looney Tharp lost battles to extended illness. Linda Rice Jones was killed in an auto accident earlier this year. Linda was a member of our class through junior high, but did not finish with us. If ever a Greypup, forever a Greyhound. I note the impressions each made upon my heart and fondly remember them all.
Two weeks ago I made my annual trek to Newport for the invitational golf tournament at the country club. This tournament grants me three and a half days of fun and games and ample opportunity to visit many friends I see only at this event each year. I always take time to "ride around" my hometown during this annual respite to look at it from a different angle. Both Newport and I have changed over the years we have known one another. Most of you reading these words are sure to recognize the subtle changes (and those not so subtle) better than I. It is clear that I have aged. May I remind you that age and maturity are not always hand-in-glove?
On this particular visit while cruising the former sites of many of my favorite childhood and teenaged haunts, I fully realized that each time I go back home to Newport is more meaningful than the last. Similarly each time I sit down to talk with an "old" friend is so much more important than the times we shared as children and as teens. It is not new found knowledge that sheds light on this realization, it is a simple feeling. And it is "a good feeling to know." With this feeling another Neil Young song comes to mind. "Only Love Can Break Your Heart" is from Young's "After the Goldrush" album we first heard in 1970. Those songs from our senior year at NHS just seem to never go away.
When you were young and on your own
How did it feel to be alone?
I was always thinking of games that I was playing
Trying to make the best of my time
But only love can break your heart
Try to be sure right from the start
Yes only love can break your heart
What if your world should fall apart?
As a youngster I was not often alone, but at such times I never had any problem entertaining myself. I created games with baseball cards and dice. I rode my bicycle to the library and read a lot. I played catch with myself by throwing the ball upon the roof of my house and caught it as it rolled off. No bigger than our house was I often tried to "slow roll" the ball up the front slope of the roof so that it barely crossed the peak and then I would race to the rear of the house in an all out effort to catch the ball as it came off the back slope of the roof. I was seldom successful, but this sure kept me busy. I spent lots of alone time on the banks of Newport Lake in Remmel Park drowning worms or wetting biscuit dough. Occasionally I would catch a bream. I sat in my dad's car late at night listening to baseball games on the car radio (the reception was better). I recreated many a Civil War battle with my toy soldiers (the South always won).
Such a world no longer seems to exist. The world I knew as a young boy has fallen apart in large measure. Thoughts that those simpler times are not likely to return sadden me. In an exaggerated sense I could say such thoughts break my heart. Is it a love for those times that breaks my heart? I know the "times they are a changin'," Bob Dylan tells me so. So what gives? Love alone does not break one's heart. It is love all tangled up with separation that is responsible for melancholy moods and broken hearts.
I have a friend I've never seen
He hides his head inside a dream
Someone should call him and see if he can come out
Try to lose the down that he's found
I have a friend I've never seen
He hides his head inside a dream
Yes, only love can break your heart
Yes, only love can break your heart
I have many friends I have never met face to face; some of you among them. I can only imagine the gleam in your eyes, the sincerity in your smile, the firmness of your handshake, the bravado in your laughter. But you are my friend. Can you come out and play? Love is friendship caught aflame. That flame may die down, or even go out. Only love ...
If you grew up in Newport in the fifties and sixties a drive around the town today just might break your heart. So much has changed since those times. Many of the iconic buildings and places are no longer in the forms I knew and loved. One more time I would like to set my eyes upon the Silver Moon, the Farm Drive Inn, the Strand and Capitol theatres, the Hazel Hotel, Porky's Roof Top, Paul's Dixie Queen (later Shelby's), Jack's Dairy Cup, the Skylark Drive-In movie, Walnut Street School, Dog 'N Suds, Memorial Field, the old city pool in Remmel Park, the old county jail. Some of these places disappeared before I got out of high school, others in more recent days.
More importantly, there are people who touched my life who can no longer be found in the familiar places that are no more. Newport's character is the sum of all the "characters" who have called it home at some time or another. I wish to remember a handful of folks who have left this life over the past few months.
Martha Wise was my kindergarten teacher. Many of you will not be surprised to discover that I attended kindergarten for two years. I would like to think that my parents simply found it convenient for me to enter a more formal learning environment rather than their seeking out a way to rid themselves of me for several hours a day. Anyway, Miss Martha's Kindergarten was only three doors down from our apartment building on Hazel Street (and next door to the home of childhood pal and eternal friend Mary Wynne Parker), an easy walk for a four year old pupil under the watchful eye of his mother. To say I loved Miss Martha and that experience is an understatement. Her fingerprints are all over my heart.
Helen Harris was the librarian at Newport Junior High School during my time there. Have I mentioned that I love books and read incessantly? Helen Harris had much to do with this passion. Helen and Joe Harris were my neighbors on South Main Street. Managing the teacher by day/neighbor by night routine was never a problem for Mrs. Harris. She and her husband Joe were (and are) two of the most encouraging souls I have ever known. Mrs. Harris is a permanent resident in my heart.
Mary Nance Stites was a teacher and principal in the Newport school system for more years than I can count. I did not have the good fortune of learning under her tutelage, but many of my friends who lived on the east side of town always spoke highly of her influence. Their actions were a testament to Mrs. Stites' character. Newport was blessed by her presence.
Orville "Rick" Richolson was our town's newspaperman. The Newport Independent was at its best under his leadership. I went to church with the Richolson clan and count them everyone as dear friends. This year being an election year I can't help but recall those times on election nights when the results were posted on the big board at the newspaper. I believe that stirred an interest in government, heightened community pride, and influenced young people to get involved. I think it really cool that two Newport High graduates are front runners in state wide election races this year; Mike Beebe for governor and Martha Shoffner for state treasurer. I last spoke to Mr. Richolson at Margaret Van Dyke's 100th birthday party. He was a soft spoken gentleman. I fully appreciate his leadership and his influence in my life.
Paul Heard, father of childhood friends, Johnny (NHS Class of '67 - deceased) and Bob (NHS Class of '69), passed from this life earlier this month. Mr. Heard was the owner/operator of Paul's Dixie Queen, a popular teenage hangout in the early '60s. Later he served his community as Newport City Clerk. The Heard family lived on Dill Street (next door to my friend Mike Fortune - NHS Class of '69) and had a kid friendly tree house in which I spent many an afternoon. Mr. Heard and his wife Jimmie were also kid friendly parents. I truly appreciate the fine example he set for young people.
Mr. Heard enjoyed the game of golf which is the subject matter that sparked my thoughts this day. Actually it isn't the golf that coaxed me to the keyboard for a therapeutic session with myself. It was the time spent at the golf course during the recent tournament reconnecting with friends that tugged on my heartstrings and stirred my memory of Newport long ago. I know that our relationships are the center of our existence and the foundation of happiness. Family and friends sustain our being. My relationships are a reflection of my spirit. I can literally see my happiness in the smiling eyes of those I love. Let me share.
My wife Kathryn and I recently became grandparents for the first time. Her daughter Lynli presented us with grandson Preston Oliver Carlin on May 12 (good friend Dinny Bullard's birthday). I knew he would be loved, but never in my wildest dreams did I think we would become so enamored with a little person. His presence is uplifting. To assure that he experiences people and places that are important to me, Kathryn brought him to Newport for the first day of the golf tournament. This would be a good time to applaud Kenneth Grady (Class of '63) for his mosquito eradication program. I'm pleased to report that Preston has yet to meet his first Newport mosquito. I welcome Preston Oliver Carlin to this world! Only love would allow two adults to act so goofy over a baby.
I am confident that Preston will be an excellent companion to his grandmother Kathryn as we advance in years. Trusted companionship is something I cherish. Recognizing that all God's creatures need a faithful and loving companion, we took in a new dog recently. I have told you all of our 12 year old Schnauzer, Tipper, who has diabetes and is blind. Tipper's condition led us to think that a companion for her would be nice, but we were not sure it would be the right thing and questioned our thinking. Then we met Sally. Sally is a classic "throw away" dog that apparently was beaten and abandoned by some demented individual. A friend of ours, Dr. Robert Nosari, found her, cared for her and delivered her to our vet from whom we adopted Sally. I have always wanted a hound (imagine that). Now Sally is not a hound, but her features lead me to think she must be part Basenji and part Whippet (a small hound). She is swift afoot and enters a room a lot like Kramer on the Seinfeld television show. Anyway, Sally is a sweet pup and an excellent companion for Tipper. Only love would lead us to act irrationally in taking in another pet.
Small world ... Dr. Nosari (who found Sally) played American Legion baseball and graduated from high school with Brooks Robinson, the Hall of Famer from Little Rock. Doc Nosari knows I'm a baseball fanatic. Last month he invited me to have breakfast with Brooks and him here in Mountain Home. Brooks was in town at the invitation of the American Legion baseball program which renamed its prestigious annual baseball tournament the Brooks Robinson Twin Lakes Classic this year. At breakfast Brooks, Doc and I talked of baseball and mutual relationships that included "Crackie" Parker, David "Little Crackie" Parker, and George Kell. The Nosari family was long time friends of the Parker family through baseball. Coincidentally, I played American Legion ball against Jimmy Nosari (who played for Arkhola Block out of Little Rock), Doc's younger brother, whom I first met in the Parker home in Newport. And the Robinson - Kell connection is a neat story with both being from Arkansas, playing together for the Baltimore Orioles as George's career was winding down and Brooks' was getting started, and both being inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame together in 1983. Forty years ago this past week I watched Brooks Robinson start the 1966 All-Star Game in St. Louis sitting alongside my dad. Only love for a game like baseball could set the stage for such an entertaining breakfast.
Let's return to the golf course. I may have had more fun at this year's Newport Country Club tournament than ever before. Seeing friends I haven't seen in a year or longer "lights my fire." There is no way I can recall every good soul I embraced, but I can tell you that thoughts of Newport and its people are always with me. Some impressions from the 48th annual Newport Country Club Invitational (and I think the 23rd in which I've played) ... I loved seeing Tommie Walker, Polly Leidy and Franchelle Harrell riding together at the horse race on Thursday prior to the tournament. I'm confident that they are drawn back to the golf tournament each year by memories of their deceased husbands who all loved the game. My high school class of 1970 had five members playing this year (John Sink, Steve Ahart, Mike Tinsley, Mike Brand and me). Mike Brand always takes good care of me each year in making sure I have a dependable golf cart and in driving me home when I have been overcome by evil spirits. My memories of baseball at old Memorial Field were whetted in conversations with Paul McGinnis, Bill Keedy, Steve Ahart, and the Waddill brothers (Ronnie and Robert). Steve and I played together and the others played on teams a handful of years before us. All were really good ball players. The lies we shared are sure to be true by now. I can't spend enough time with friends like Greg Hubbard and Mike Turner. Mike Brown (an ASU friend who has made Newport his home) is a wonderful ambassador for my hometown. Precious minutes with old friends like Jimmy Jowers, Jabez Jackson, Butch Duncan, Terry Scoggins, Clay Curtner, Jerry Bullard, Lindley Smith, Phil Madison, Thomas Pigg, Joey Treadway, Dennis Williams, Terry Dillon, Rodger Brand and John Pennington wow me. It is great to see Ronny Brown back in Newport as superintendent of schools. Congratulations pal! Congratulations, NHS! Only love can instill such feelings.
And speaking of golf the August issue of Golf Digest has an article dedicated to the best golfer/physicians in the U.S. Newport native and fellow classmate David Sibley is ranked number 43. David, I need another lesson. I can't wait 'til next year's Newport golf tournament.
Another bit of news that came to me on the golf course concerns life long friend Mary Wynne Parker Perryman. On the first day of the golf tournament Mary Wynne underwent exploratory surgery. Kathy Spann Snipes called me with the news that Mary Wynne has experienced a recurrence of her cancer first diagnosed six years ago just after our 30th class reunion. I know all of you will join me in lifting up in prayer Mary Wynne and her family. Only love ...
Between rounds at the golf tournament I took my usual driving tours around Newport. Only love can break your heart. I have previously mentioned that Newport has changed since my growing up years in the fifties and sixties. So have I. Witnessing vacant lots where memorable buildings once stood, broken down homes once occupied by friends and their families, shuttered store fronts where businesses once flourished does hurt my heart. I stopped by to visit littermate Ann Gardner Hearn as she spruced up the landscape around the old post office she and her husband Frank are refurbishing. She asked if I had driven down Front Street to see the new Depot Diner. I had not, so I quickly drove that way. I was fortunate to find Ron Michaels (Class of '64) there preparing to open for lunch. Ron has purchased a few of the old buildings on Front Street and is breathing new life into them. He has established the Depot Diner in the old OTASCO store (where I worked long ago for Becky and Ray Dallas). The diner is well appointed and pictures of the Newport of my childhood hang upon its walls. Ron is planning to expand the diner into the adjacent building with outdoor dining and a bar in the scheme. Great effort is being made to preserve the true character of the site. To the other side of the diner, Ron's renovation project now houses an abstract business managed by Brenda Travis (Freeman's wife). Brenda and Ron gave me a short tour and introduced me to the staff. Future plans for the building include condo style living quarters above the store fronts. The old doctors' offices that were once housed there are perfectly suited for Ron's vision. Interestingly in one of the upstairs rooms the roster of Boy Scout Troop 67 from the early sixties is written upon the wall. I cheer Ron's accomplishments to date, but I know his plans go well beyond the three buildings mentioned. Later in the morning Greg Hubbard and I returned to the Depot Diner for lunch. The meal was scrumptious and fairly priced. My biggest thrill was seeing Nadeen Humphreys behind the cash register. Good thoughts of Fred's Lunchroom popped up. Good things are happening in Newport! Ron Michaels' project and the happenings at ASU-Newport pump me up. I can see Front Street more like I remember it when David Sibley and I were selling red eared turtles to the Sterling Five and Dime in exchange for baseball cards around 1962.
Another song from the sixties comes to mind. A Gene Pitney hit from 1962 entitled "Only Love Can Break A Heart" carries this refrain:
Only love can break a heart
Only love can mend it again
It is evident that Ron Michaels' love for our hometown is mending buildings where fond memories were made. His efforts are also mending my heart. I hope no one fails to notice Ron's dream. Only love ...
My love of music is no secret. The soulful Gene Pitney died this past April. I have been a Gene Pitney fan since an early age. His "Only Love Can Break A Heart" and Neil Young's "Only Love Can Break Your Heart" serve as good bookends for the music I appreciate the most, those songs of the 1960s. His hit "That Girl Belongs to Yesterday" written by the young duo of Mick Jagger and Keith Richards became the first U.S. chart maker for the Rolling Stones.
Another music maker to whom I must pay tribute is Billy Preston who died in June of this year. Preston was a supreme keyboard player often referred to as the fifth Beatle. I first saw Billy Preston when he was touring with the Rolling Stones in 1975. I last saw him two years ago in Little Rock when he was backing Eric Clapton. The music of Gene Pitney and Billy Preston will live on. Speaking of the Beatles, can you believe Paul McCartney is 64 years old? "Will you still need me when I'm 64?" Only love ...
A short week after the golf gig I returned to Newport to attend the funeral of Andy "Cat" Ritchie (NHS Class of '71). Andy and I spent a few hours together as teens in Newport's finer pool halls. Much of that time was spent at Keedy's Sportman's One-Stop where there were a few tables. My dad gave Andy his nickname calling him "Housecat" because Andy was usually underfoot at Keedy's. I can vividly picture my dad racking up a game of nine ball, the "Housecat" chalking his cue and "Ole' Man" Bill Keedy sitting on a stool growling, "Shoot 'em up, Housecat!" On the break, the balls are scattered around the table, one disappearing into a corner pocket. Isn't that just like life? Graduation day from NHS in the spring of 1970 was "the break." We were scattered across the surface of the earth. As the game progresses (as life moves on) a ball will drop from sight into a pocket. Some of our classmates are no longer in sight. Such separation can break a heart. But the game isn't over. Every re-rack represents reunion. Every reunion of friends mends the break. Reach out to a friend today!
Only love can break a heart
Only love can mend it again
I'm Miles from nowhere ... "Rack 'em up!"
joe
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