We have a schnauzer dog, Tipper, who happens to be napping at my feet as I sit here at the keyboard addressing all you aging Hounds. No visitor to our home will have a need to "beware" of Tipper unless they are fearful of a shy approach, a joyful wagging of her tail, or a gentle lick on the cheek. Is a "Beware of Dog" sign needed? No, I'm thinking of leaving those signs in place to remind me of times past in Newport, Arkansas living in the company of happy Hounds who often put on the "game face" of a dangerous dog.
At pep rallies before ball games in the late 1960's at Newport High you could eye many "signs" and butcher paper posters adorning the walls of the gym and the halls of the school buildings proclaiming the superiority of the Greyhounds and warning the opponent to "beware." I'm certain that similar signs will soon be found around the NHS campus as the first football game of the season is fast approaching. I'm just as sure that the students, fans and school administrators will be welcoming opponents in their visits to Greyhound Field as they eagerly await a sound beating of each week's victim school. Go Hounds, Beat Pioneers! Take the sting out of the Yellowjackets! Lick the Lions! Chase the Bobcats! Bite the Bulldogs! In my junior and senior years at Newport those signs were testaments to the Greyhound spirit. Our football Hounds were 20-1 in those two years and our basketball Hounds went to the state tournament in 1970. Welcome! Beware of Dog!
Highway signs often carry different meanings than the printed words. "Watch for Falling Rock." Do you remember being told that "Falling Rock" was an old Indian who had been lost for many years and you were to be on the lookout for him wandering around the territory? Or was my father the only one with that anecdote tucked away in his Funny Files? That sign should have proclaimed, "take care to look above you at the inspiring rock formations that could tumble upon the roadway and crush you." Of course, I know the good people who work for the highway department aren't likely to be authorized to erect signs of such stature and length. On my recent regular and routine road trips between Russellville and Mountain Home there are many signs to be taken in by the traveler. One of my favorites states "road crooked and steep next 63 miles." Those 63 miles make up about half the distance between Russellville and Mountain Home (for those who may be new to the Miles' Files, I'm in the midst of moving from Russellville to Mountain Home). At first glance, the "crooked and steep" sign makes you want to shout out, Oh S***! However, the true meaning of the sign is not apparent until you are well past it on the "crooked and steep" roadway. The sign should read, "Slow down and enjoy the beauty of the surrounding Ozark Mountains and the valleys below and you will be sure to safely arrive at your destination." God would probably establish such a sign if time permitted, but He has delegated the physical sign making to man. So, we get a brief description of the roadway itself with little substance. The traveler could do without that sign altogether since there are plenty of others with no words, just arrows pointing in the direction of the next curve in the road. These signs seem to be more descriptive of life's adventure. Some of the curves are slight and some resemble hairpins. Just like life, a series of twists and turns and changes in direction. I know that I feel as if I have been meeting myself coming lately. Slow down and enjoy!
In our senior year of 1970, a little known group, the Five Man Electrical Band, recorded a song entitled "Signs" that was released as the flip side of a more likely hit "Hello Melinda Goodbye." This 45 record went no where. The following year, the record company repackaged the music and promoted the same 45 with "Signs" as the A-side. It went to number 3 on the Billboard charts. It is a catchy little tune that you can hear every now and then on an "oldies" station (unless of course you happen to live in Mountain Home, Arkansas where "oldies" stations play the hits of the 1930s and 1940s).
And the sign said long haired freaky people need not apply
So I tucked my hair up under my hat and went in to ask him why
He said you look like a fine upstanding young man, I think you'll do
So I took off my hat and said imagine that, me working for you
Sign, sign, everywhere a sign
Blocking out my scenery, breaking my mind
Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?
Now for those of you on whose path I trod in the early '70s, you were apt to think me as one of the "long haired freaky people" in defiance of most established "signs" of the day. Some of you walked hand in hand with me in those days of fun and frolic. The length of my hair had nothing to do with my innermost thoughts and ideas, it was just a sign. A sign that clearly stated I was different from my father. But am I? One only needs to look at the signs. My father cashed in his chips 20 years ago, but his presence is still with me each day. Once when I was in a bit of trouble on the home front, he eloquently fashioned the question, "How old are you?" "17" was the curt reply. "Double it," he laughed, "and I'll bet you never see 34." I regret that he didn't live long enough for me to collect on that bet. My values seem to be in lockstep with his. We both can be referred to as "moneychangers" in a manner of speaking. Risk taking seems to be in the genes. I see fleeting images of him in the mirror each morning (my hair is much shorter now than it was 30 years ago). Today I use many of his favored sayings: "There is no such thing as a sure thing," "Whenever you meet an enemy, invite him over to play," "Fairness is like beauty, it lies in the eyes of the beholder." From whom did he learn those things? Perhaps his father. The signs say we are the same but different. I'm still trying to measure up.
When I see you, my high school friends, today I am often reminded of your parents. Mannerisms, appearances, tone of voice - signs of who we have become. There is a really nice sign you will see going north on Highway 65 in the heart of St. Joe, Arkansas. It is a billboard which depicts a "young" woman who is the financial aid officer at North Arkansas College and proclaims the merits of the school. The picture is that of our very own littermate, Nancy Rhodes Fountain, and it is flattering. I am reminded of her mother. You really shouldn't ignore the signs.
I have visited Newport a few times in recent weeks. Many of the "old" signs have disappeared. No more Dog 'N Suds, no more Strand Theatre or Capitol Theatre, no more First National Bank, no more Hazel Hotel, no more Ben Franklin Store, no more Sterling's Store, no more Punches Restaurant, no more Walnut Street School, no more Jack's Dairy Cup, no more Farm Drive-In, no more Shelby's Drive-in, no more Star Clothing Co., no more P.K. Holmes Store for Men & Boys, no more Bob's Grill, no more Eva Graham Shop, no more Shannon-Ritter Drug Store, no more Grimes' Drug Store, no more Headlee's Drug Store, no more Porky's Roof Top and you can add to the list. But while these signs no longer hang afront a building in Newport, the spirit of the people who worked in these by gone places is still evident. The people of Newport still carry on as if each day is a party.
As I have every year for the past twenty, I returned to Newport for the annual invitational golf tournament at the Newport Country Club in July. On the first day of the tournament, my playing partner, Greg Hubbard, and I had the privilege of wandering around the course with two of Newport's southern gentlemen, Joe Dupree and David "Spanky" Smith. Greg played a good round of golf and I drank a lot of beer. Our efforts placed us in a favorable flight on Sunday and we were lucky enough to be paired with two more of Newport's finest, John Pennington and Max Felts. A day on the golf course with these guys can't get much better. Kathryn and I gathered with "old" friends one night at the country club and one night at the home of Jabez and Pat Jackson loving every minute of it. And when I say "old" friends, I mean dear friends from long ago: Mike Brand, John Sink, Jerry Bullard, Lindley Smith, Lee and Bob Conditt, Joey Treadway, Dennis Williams, Jimmy Jowers, Jim and Steve Burton, Phil Madison, Howard Lynn Felts, Butch Duncan, Joe Tapp, Jimmy Wilmans, Mike Brown, Terry Ray, Jim Irwin, Rodger Brand, Rodney Brand, Jeff Fortune and many more whose faces lost their shape as the night grew longer. Can you hear the laughter? Also, I was able to visit with former teachers Betty Newell and Lynette Miller as well as one of my former scout leaders, Van Manning. What a treat! The night before the golf tournament began, Kathryn and I joined some college friends from Jonesboro (Woody and Kenna Harrelson, Jim and Dana Lyons, David and Sara Howell) at Josie's in Waldenburg. Great food and fabulous fun! So happens I ran into several members of the "next generation" from Newport at Josie's that night. Our table was next to that of the children of Mike Brand, Kay Taylor, Mary Lou Phillips, Sam Nicholson, Mark Brownd, Mickey Doyle - You get the picture. The "signs" tell me that this is a really good group of young people who remind me a lot of their parents.
And the sign said everybody welcome, come in , kneel down and pray
But when they passed around the plate at the end of it all
I didn't have a penny to pay
So I got me a pen and a paper and I made up my own little sign
I said thank you Lord for thinkin' 'bout me, I'm alive and doing fine
Sign, sign, everywhere a sign
Blocking my scenery, breaking my mind
Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?
Simple signs can conjure up visions and memories of times slipped away. Received a note from classmate, fraternity brother, and good friend Rick Wiggins this week in which he requested that I let all the readers of the Miles' Files know that he is doing very well following the heart attack he experienced earlier this year. The well wishes and prayers he received during his recovery were most appreciated. This signed note from Rick quickly took me back to more leisurely days when the two of us and John Pennington were life guards at the Newport Country Club for a couple of summers in the late '60s. We all associate music with the days of youth and thinking of those summer days brings back the words to "I'm a Girl Watcher" by the O'Kaysions which was a hit in 1968. And from the same year "Gimme a Little Sign" by Brenton Wood pops into my head reminding me of road trips taken with Drew Stewart down to Helena to visit friends of his made before his move to Newport. And the thoughts of days gone by just keep on coming.
Little "signs" of friendship such as a card, a letter, a phone call, (or an email the length of a dissertation, some are thinking) and prayer are often the only ways we can stay in touch with one another. I know that classmate Kathy Foley McKee is welcoming your prayers for her daughter, Mackie, and her expected twins as they battle health related obstacles. Cherry Lou Smith delivered news to me of the passing of Sandra Huey Wilkinson's father this week. Please hold Sandra and her family close in your hearts. Many other of our littermates have known the power of your prayers.
I have seen the signs of your thoughts and prayers in my chaotic existence over the past couple of months. Thanks to all of you and our sweet Lord "I'm alive and doing fine." Pieces of life's puzzle are beginning to fit into place. As already mentioned Kathryn and I have purchased a house in Mountain Home to help in our settlin' in up there. Kathryn begins a new job in the biology department at Arkansas State University-Mountain Home this week. I'm having fun at the First National Bank in Mountain Home. And we have found a lot on a bluff overlooking the White River just south of Mountain Home where we hope to build a home someday. From that vantage point I will be able to gaze downstream and watch the waters of the White carry my daydreams and thoughts of home back to their point of origin. There are no signs "blocking my scenery" up there. Life has been a bit of a connect the dots game for me. The lines connecting the dots on my game board resemble the state of Arkansas. And for that I am happy.
The reflection peering back at me each morning in the mirror has signs of aging. A few lines under the eyes (alright, a lot!), a sprinkling of gray on the temples and in the moustache. I'm accepting these signs as the initial step into maturity. After all, I'm 51. But as my daddy told me, "age has nothing to do with maturity." How profound. I believe he was talking to me. So, I think I will just skip on over to the ball field and shag a few flies. I can almost see the sign on Memorial Field from my house. No more Memorial Field in Newport, you say. But the spirit of youths who played there lives on! Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?
I'm still Miles from Nowhere - - - but you can find me in Mountain Home. If you are ever in the area, hope you stop in and read the signs. Welcome! Beware of Dog!
joe
PS - To all readers of the Miles' Files, our move to Mountain Home from Russellville will literally be taking place over the next three weeks. My home PC will be out of commission during that time. Please send messages and "signs" to me at my work email address: jmiles@fnbmh.com. I will notify you when my home PC is back up and running and its new address, if required. Take care. Slow down. Enjoy the scenery!
This "issue" of the Miles' Files has also been sent to many who "normally" don't receive it (so I can keep in touch with ya'll and let you know of my whereabouts and wanderings). The Miles' Files are nothing more than reminiscent thoughts periodically sent out to members of the Newport High School Class of 1970, other former Newport school "kids," former Newport residents and friends. To find previous "issues" of past thoughts you can visit the Newport High School alumni website at www.nhsalumni.net and click on the "Reminisce with Us" section. The Miles' Files will be found when you "open" the replica composition book. Everyone is welcome there!
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