"Over under sideways down
Backwards forwards square and round.
When will it end, when will it end."
The refrain from the Yardbirds rockin' tune of 1966 typifies my everyday work-a-day world. The quick pace of today seems to dictate an "over under sideways down" existence. At the same time those words transcend the day and take me to another time. When I couple the music of the '60s with a casual ride around today's Newport, it is not difficult for me to transform present day settings to those of yesteryear. My mind sees buildings, no longer there, spring up on the now vacant lots. In some instances, those buildings of the past seem to reappear on the sites of their modern day replacements. Some would say it's "just my imagination running away with me" while others may ask, "what's he been smokin'?" Not smokin' anything these days, but a glass or three of fine single malt scotch certainly can jump start the imagination, allowing me to drop the long time gone Walnut Street School down on top of a vacant grocery store in the 400 block of Walnut Street, a pleasant sight for the mind's eye. It probably helps that I am not in Newport on a daily basis to see the favorite places of my youth give way to demolition and something new. But I do get back there often enough to touch and smell the places that once were and still exist in the recesses of my mind. I suppose you could say those "places" are the essence of Memory Lane. However, the very fabrics of the many Memory Lanes that meander throughout our subconscious are the smiles on the faces of those who were present in those places of long ago.
Your periodic correspondence truly opens the doors to days gone by, but opened doors are of little value unless you choose to walk through them. Interaction puts flesh on the bones and muscles of memories.
Each week my friend Les Cooper (NHS Class of '65) sends me a picture of a flower, accompanied by remembrances and words important to the living of each day. Earlier in the Fall, a picture Les sent was of a grouping of chrysanthemums. In his words, the mum is the "one flower" that he identified with his "school days in Newport, Arkansas" since it reminded him of the traditional Thanksgiving Day game between the Hounds and their archrival Batesville Pioneers, when a large garden of mum corsages could be seen adorning the jackets and sweaters of all the girls and women at the game. That Thanksgiving Day tradition passed into oblivion after the 1968 season with that final Turkey Day game victory capping an undefeated season for the Hounds. In the Fall of 1969 (my senior year), we played Batesville early in the season and observed the lost tradition of the Thanksgiving Day game by selecting royalty to represent the two schools of the Orange and Black. Rather than the Thanksgiving Royalty we referred to it as the Senior Royalty to emphasize the importance of the rivalry. That year was a transition year. Not long after the current playoff system was implemented to determine a "true" state champion in each classification. I'm not sure how long the selection of a Senior Royalty was continued, but I can't forget the atmosphere and the pageantry of the Thanksgiving Day games versus Batesville at Greyhound Field.
Speaking of football, I tip my hat to the present day Hounds who won their conference championship and played well in the post season before falling in the quarterfinals of the AAA classification playoffs to the Nashville Scrappers.
Also along these lines, I made a couple of trips up to Fayetteville this football season to watch the Razorbacks and to see my daughters who are students there. On Dad's Day weekend, my daughter Emily introduced me to her Chi Omega Little Sister, Louise Williams, who just happens to be the daughter of Mary Katherine Beaumont (Class of '66), one of the "older" kids in my Hazel Street neighborhood in 1950's Newport. Our memories have many wonderful ways of making their appearances.
Homecoming at the University of Arkansas found the Hogs playing Ole Miss this year. Seeing Newport's own Bo Lacy's picture on the big screen overlooking the stadium as the teams took the field was heart warming. Early in that game the score was 10-5 in favor of the Hogs and one of the fans near me commented about that being an "unusual score" for a football game. It is funny how one's mind works, but I was immediately taken back to another time and place. I recall one of those Newport-Batesville Thanksgiving Day games (1965) in which the final score was 10-5. Hounds win! I'm thinking that Gay Lacy, Jr., Bo's dad, scored the only touchdown of the day with the return of a fumble recovery. If it wasn't Gay, I'm sure he was nearby delivering a shattering block. Somebody correct me if I'm wrong (which is very possible). An eighth grader is much impressed with such happenings. Of course, Gay Lacy, Jr. (Class of '66) was one of the "older" kids in my South Main Street neighborhood in 1960's Newport. Memories sometime appear out of nowhere.
This past Thanksgiving Day was spent without football, but Kathryn and I were blessed with the presence of our daughters (Lynli, Evelyn, Emily, and Elizabeth) along with my mother at our house in Russellville. Just a couple of weeks prior to Thanksgiving we moved our furniture from Arkadelphia to Russellville and are presently at work turning our new house into a home. Nothing can better accomplish that than to have one's house adorned with people you love. Holiday festivities are often hectic and reflective of the "over under sideways down" lifestyle, but our Thanksgiving celebration was one of the very best ever. A simple meal and bubbling conversation.
Christmas is fast approaching. The hustle and bustle of this time of year can certainly turn you "over under sideways down, backwards forwards square and round." The holiday season from Thanksgiving to New Year's Day is an exciting time for many, but it can also be a lonely time for just as many. Several of my littermates have lost loved ones over the past year. Just ten days ago Joy Stanfield's mother, Hazel, passed away and early in November Dianne Morrison Smith's husband, Joe, died suddenly. Since the last Miles' Files that came your way, Ruth Johnston lost her mother, Gene. My kindergarten teacher, Miss Martha Wise, lost her husband, Frosty, recently as well. I am certain that all of you will drape Joy, Dianne, Ruth and Miss Martha with prayer. I also ask that you remember Mary Wynne Parker, Sharon Stites, David Stone and Mickey Doyle who are all battling illness.
Last week I made a quick trip to Newport when my mother experienced some minor eye surgery. Mother has a host of friends who bring her good cheer and support. Her next door neighbors, Pat and Judy Sanders, are eager helpmates to her and my dear friend Margaret Van Dyke who lives across the alley from mother. And former neighbor Janice Gates is an angel on earth who cares for mother. Good friends and good neighbors can bring Christmas to your door every day of the year.
While I was in Newport I was able to spend a little time with Joy Stanfield and her father, Dr. Wayne Stanfield. Yes, Hazel was not there, but her spirit remained in every corner of the house. I dropped in on Cherry Smith and John Pennington for a few giggles. A short drive through town resulted in personal chats with David Churchman, Herbert Addington Huckabee and Terry Scoggins. I treated myself to lunch at Fred's Grill where it is always fun to visit with Freddy and Linda. While there I got to talk briefly to Mike Brand, Edward Boyce and Jim McLarty. I sauntered into Purdy's Flower Shop to see John and Rosanna Purdy, who revisited the days when they were youth counselors for the Methodist Church and often chaperoned the dances held at the church when I was just a pup. And before I left town to return to Russellville, I stopped in on Ann Gardner and her parents, Bob and Betty Gardner. It was a day reminiscent of high school days in that nothing was scheduled or planned, yet everywhere I went, I met a friendly face from yesteryear. You can go back home again and again. While the settings are somewhat different than they were more than thirty years ago, the loving spirit of the community of Newport is timeless.
In keeping with that spirit and in recognition of the season upon us, I am giving myself a gift. I am doing what I can to reconnect with my classmates from days gone by, some of whom I've not seen or talked to since we last passed one another in the hallways of Newport High School - selfishly motivated but exceedingly fun so far. Over the past couple of weeks I have "rung up" the likes of littermates Ricky Brown, Kearney Blalack, Billy Breeden, Greer Guinn, Dianne Morrison, Gene Bennett, Clay Wright, Kenny Taylor, Kenny Thaxton, Michael Willhite, A.W. Meyer and Billy Duckworth. What a treat these conversations have been! My dialogue with Bill Duckworth went on more than an hour. Of course we had a lot on which to catch up since we have not seen each other since the eighth grade. Bill left Newport following the death of his father right after our eighth grade year. I have often thought of Bill and in my recent move I ran across a deteriorating cigar box in my personal belongings that held a few mementos from the past. Among those small mementos was an envelope with school pictures from the sixth grade at Gibbs Albright School, and there was one of Billy Duckworth enclosed. A lost treasure found in the midst of one of life's changes. Change can be good. Through an acquaintance of Cherry Smith's I got a phone number and now you can find Bill on the registrant list for the NHS Class of 1970 at www.nhsalumni.net along with 92 others from our litter.
It was through the connection provided by the NHS website that I found out about Dianne Morrison losing her husband. Roger Erwin (Class of '68) brought me the sad news via email all the way from South Dakota. Evidence that there is really no reason not to stay in touch with those who accompanied you through the days of the innocence of youth. You can visit the website and "go see" anyone you choose by sending an email, a letter, a Christmas card or by simply making a phone call. Or you can rely on the chance encounters that occur when you get out and about in Arkansas. Just last weekend Kathryn and I accompanied new neighbors Jeff and Sherri Harrison to a presentation of the Christmas Story on the campus of Arkansas Tech University here in Russellville and right down the row from me was seated Donna Busby Frick (NHS Class of '66). There seems to be a Newport presence no matter where you may find yourself.
"Over under sideways down, backwards forwards square and round." Words for everyday life. Words born from a song in 1966 that spoke to the coming of age. The Yardbirds spawned three of the greatest guitar players of all time: Eric Clapton, Jeff Beck and Jimmy Page. Despite such influence, the Yardbirds ceased in 1968 just as the Thanksgiving Day football tradition in Newport did. Now a couple of the original members have revitalized the Yardbirds in present day, but the sound is not the same. Neither is Newport. Yet the memories of both from the middle '60s is everlasting. The relationships from that time make it so.
A song from my youth that provokes much thought. A youth never misspent since I was always among friends. A youth misplaced, but not totally lost since those friendships remain.
My high school English teachers Almarie Carr (deceased) and Virginia Umsted Castleberry might feel good knowing that I can recall a Henry Wadsworth Longfellow poem entitled "My Lost Youth" that speaks to similar remembrances of callow days. It is a fairly long poem, so only the last four verses will be recounted.
I remember the gleams and glooms that dart
Across the school boy's brain;
The song and the silence in the heart
That in part are prophecies, and in part
Are longings wild and vain.
And the voice of that fitful song
Sings on, and is never still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
There are things of which I may not speak;
There are dreams that cannot die;
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,
And bring a pallor into the cheek,
And a mist before the eye.
And the words of that fatal song
Come over me like a chill:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
Strange to me now are the forms I meet
When I visit the dear old town;
But the native air is pure and sweet,
And the trees that o'er shadow each well known street,
As they balance up and down,
Are singing the beautiful song,
Are sighing and whispering still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair,
And with joy that is almost pain
My heart goes back to wander there,
And among the dreams of the days that were,
I find my lost youth again,
And the strange and beautiful song,
The groves are repeating it still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
I wish you all a joyous holiday season. There is no better gift than the gift of friendship. And there are no finer friendships than those found in one's youthful days. Merry Christmas to all! Until our paths cross again, I leave you 'Miles' from nowhere - over under sideways down.
joe
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