I been one poor correspondent, and I been too, too hard to find
But it doesn’t mean you ain’t been on my mind
“Sister Golden Hair,” America, 1975
So many moons have passed the night sky since we last sat together in these pages. As a banker I have been distracted by the happenings in the world’s financial circles, especially the convulsions in the banking sector over the past year. Also, periodic travels often had me questioning my own whereabouts. During this time I have been a “poor correspondent,” but thoughts of valued friendships are always in my embrace. My term as chairman of the Arkansas Bankers Association came to a close in early May and I’m catching my breath after that whirlwind experience. I passed the helm to friend Reynie Rutledge of Searcy (husband of Ann Van Hook, NHS ’69) and I am confident Reynie will enjoy good success steering the Arkansas bankers’ flagship through these turbulent economic straits. In any event way too much time has slipped away between visits with my Newport littermates. I enjoy your company.
The recent death of Michael Jackson, the indisputable “King of Pop,” caused me to flip the pages of my life’s calendar back to our senior year in high school. It was that year that the Jackson 5 burst upon the music scene. Forty years ago this summer Michael Jackson and his four older brothers strolled into the Motown recording studios for the first time just as we prepared to walk into Newport High School for our last hurrah. The first four singles released by the Jackson 5 all shot to number one on the record charts between January of 1970 and October of that same year. I was 17 and trying to find my way in the world. Michael Jackson was 11 and appeared on top of that world I found so mysterious and confusing. Their music transitioned the time of my personal declaration of independence.
By the end of the 1970s the Jackson 5 had splintered and Michael Jackson’s personal star rose to even greater heights in the ‘80s. My daughters were all born in the early to mid ‘80s and they quickly adopted Michael Jackson’s music as their own. Daughter Evelyn even had a life size poster of Michael Jackson on the wall in her room. I had moved my family back to Newport in late 1982 and Jackson’s music links me to that time in my life. I became active in the Jaycees on my return to Newport and one Halloween we sponsored a “Haunted House” event at the old Jackson County jail. In addition to ghostly sound effects, our background music was Jackson’s “Thriller.” The kids loved it. And so did I. Michael Jackson’s music provided a common bond with something of interest to my girls. It remains a common thread in our social DNA.
As is always the case, things change over time. And in thinking about change “I’m starting with the man in the mirror” (“Man in the Mirror,” Michael Jackson, 1988). Most of you who have not seen me in a good while would probably see me as practically unchanged since our high school days (he thought to himself as he muffled a giggle). And such assessment would be pretty accurate relative to the exaggerated changes in Michael Jackson’s appearance over those same forty years. When I look in the mirror the changes I notice “pale” in comparison to Jackson’s makeover (pun intended). But such changes in physical appearance lack importance in the overall scheme of things. It is only important to know that things change and our personal “feelings” about the certain changes going on around us are ours alone. I will miss Michael Jackson’s genius and the future music he may have created. I will miss his amazing dance steps, those I tried so desperately to emulate in my younger days. But his music that has captured my attention for the past forty years is ours for the listening and the dancing. Michael Jackson’s death will not change that. His passing from this life once again heightens my awareness of the fragility of things and the attentive care we should render while things are as they are.
I don’t get back to Newport as often as I would like. It seems that most times my visits are for remembering someone who has slipped silently away from life’s path. Just weeks ago I attended Phil Hout’s (NHS ’56) funeral service at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Newport and then his interment at Walnut Grove Cemetery. I hold his wife Ann, children Kim, Pam, and David and his grandchildren close in my heart. Phil was a mentor of mine. He provided a guiding hand when I was a young banker in Newport. We shared stories. He was an excellent storyteller. Phil’s stories were often spun from the conversation at hand sparking a memory of distant times. They were told with a “feeling” that could jump from him to you without notice.
When I stepped from my car at Phil’s funeral I felt “a change” come over me. There is something special about stepping onto the ground in Jackson County, the place where I was born and where I spent my formative years. I used to play pick up baseball games on a vacant lot on South Walnut Street where Phil Hout’s parents eventually built a house. Such places are hallowed ground. Whenever I walk across the ground of a familiar place in Newport I feel rich. Maybe it is the richness of the soil you find in the White River bottoms that brings on such feeling. Maybe it is the sweat and the tears that have dried upon the fields after being shed by those who worked hard there to make a living that renders such emotion. Maybe it is the spirit of those gone on before us who assured an improved quality of life for future generations, especially those who fought to defend our freedoms, that lifts me up. Maybe it is the deep and interesting history stamped upon the land by the pioneers, farmers, slaves, soldiers, riverboat captains, merchants, railroaders, and “honky tonkers” who have called Jackson County home that inspires me. Whatever the reason underlying that special “rich” feeling each time I set foot in my hometown, it is ever present and I am thankful for it.
I know the persistent richness of Jackson County lies within the hearts of those who call it home. Even though that persona is constant, the landscape of my hometown has changed over the years. It has not been a Michael Jackson makeover. Some of the differences are subtle ones. But there have been some altering restorations and some necessary demolitions of buildings that are or were vessels of memories. The faces of Newport and Jackson County have changed as well. Some went to war and didn’t return; some moved in from other places; some have grown older; some newborns have arrived, some have stepped away from life’s journey. Yes, changes have taken place, but my love for this place and its people is pure and my memories are sweet.
There are a couple of real “homecoming” events scheduled in Newport that will be excellent opportunities for you to “feel” rich in the embrace of those who call it home. The 51st annual Newport Country Club Invitational Golf Tournament is the weekend of July 17-19. I missed it last year and I don’t plan on that happening again. Even if you don’t play golf you can join in the party. And speaking of party, on September 26 there is Depot Days where you can revisit the “glory days” of Newport after river and rail came together. You can listen to the soundtrack of the Rock ‘n Roll era that reverberated from the honky-tonks and roadhouses up and down U. S. Highway 67, now officially known as the Rock ‘n Roll Highway following proclamation by the Arkansas legislature in this past session. Hats off to Sonny Burgess and Henry Boyce for their roles in making this happen. Headliners at Depot Days are Sonny Burgess and the Pacers and Jason D. Williams. For more information on this fun event you can email depotdays@yahoo.com or visit Depot Days on Facebook. I hope to see you there!
When I do return to Newport I always take a leisurely stroll down “Memory Lane.” It is a must because there are faces once adored that I can no longer see. Newport names that I remember with fondness include Lonnie Bennett (NHS ’53 and father of Dianne and Leanne, ’72); Bess James (mother of Barbie, NHS ’72); Laverne Morgan Long (NHS ’51 and mother of Ginger ’73); Lois Gist Black (NHS ’44 and mother of Buddy ‘68, Kenny ’72 and David ‘74, Greyhounds all); Dorothy Fife (mother of Tommy, NHS ’57, Bobby ’67, and Barbara ’68); Millie McAllister (mother of Cindy, NHS ’69 and littermate Sandy, ’70); Betty Parsley Shelton (NHS ’49 and mother of Donnie, ’73); Laurie Crews Elchin (NHS ’75); Ginger Crum Combs (NHS ’71); Danny Howard and David Sullins (husband and brother, respectively, of littermate Mary Sullins Howard (NHS ’70); Coy Womble (father of childhood and neighborhood pal Coy); and Doris Scott (one of my favorite “church ladies” at First United Methodist Church in Newport). While each of these names has been erased from life’s roll book over the past several months they are forever etched upon my heart and those of many others who knew and loved them.
I also remember Jackson County native son George Kell (Swifton ’39) who departed this life in late March. My father and George met as freshman classmates at Arkansas State College in Jonesboro in the fall of 1939 and remained fast friends until my dad’s death in 1983, the year that George was inducted into the National Baseball Hall of Fame. When I returned to Newport in late ’82 to work for First State Bank, Mr. Kell served on that bank’s board of directors. I hold in my possession today a few cherished baseball mementoes from that time thanks to George Kell’s thoughtfulness and generosity.
Turning to baseball for a moment, the 80th Major League All-Star Game will be played in St. Louis next week. The last time this prestigious game was played in St. Louis was 1966 when the previous Busch Memorial Stadium was brand new. The iconic Gateway Arch had been completed just a few months before and was not yet open to the public. I remember . . . my father took me to that 1966 All-Star game. Doc Hawk and Jimbo Hardin accompanied us to the game. What a thrill that was for a fourteen-year-old kid. It seems like only yesterday . . .
Remembering George Kell as a local lad with national reputation leads me to think of others with celebrity fare that influenced me from afar and have left this life over the past several months. Farrah Fawcett comes to mind. Her famous “pin-up” poster adorned the wall of my apartment when I was in graduate school. She was our generation’s Betty Grable or Rita Hayworth. My favorite actor of all time, Paul Newman, died late last year. Three of his movies rank among the very best I have ever seen. “The Sting,” “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,” and “Cool Hand Luke” are first class flicks. Another fine actor that came onto the scene a bit before my time, but had staying power was Karl Malden. My two favored Malden movies were “Patton” and “The Cincinnati Kid.” Both are must see cinema. And then there was Ed McMahon, Johnny Carson’s sidekick on “The Tonight Show,” that kept me company many a night during my high school and college years as I pretended to study. Entertainers often fuel my imagination.
Forty years ago this month man first stepped on the moon. For the benefit of some of the younger readers, this man was not Michael Jackson. Jackson’s famous “moonwalk” was introduced to us in the ‘80s and his music had not yet pierced the airwaves when Astronaut Neil Armstrong informed NASA’s mission control that “the Eagle has landed” on the moon’s surface. Armstrong’s initial “moonwalk” on July 20, 1969 was the culmination of a promise made by President John F. Kennedy when I was a young grade school student. A dream had been realized. A bunch of us watched this historic event on television at Drew Stewart’s house on Walnut Street and then ran into the front yard to peer up into the night sky as if we might possibly see the man on the moon from earth. The number one song being played on the radio in the weeks surrounding that first “moonwalk” was one with futuristic lyrics entitled “In the Year 2525.” The one hit wonder group of Zager & Evans brought it to our ears. Its concluding chorus is . . .
Now it’s been ten thousand years, man has cried a billion tears
For what, he never knew, now man’s reign is through
But through eternal night, the twinkling of starlight
So very far away, maybe it’s only yesterday
In the short history of the world I am sure “man has cried a billion tears” or more. Gosh, I may have cried that many by myself. Tears of sorrow, tears of joy, and tears of disbelief have danced upon my face as I have watched life’s newsreel deliver the stories. I am lucky in that my tearful moments have been balanced with lots of laughter. In observing life I am mindful that every story is a personal story and the vantage points are many. Thoughts, opinions, and feelings about certain events are equally varied. But a common denominator is the time frame in which a happening occurs. And as I grow older the boundaries of time seem to blur and it is clear I am losing track. It is evident that time flies whether or not one is having fun. Do you see things as I do? Can it be that forty years have passed since Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin left footprints on the moon, forty years since the Jackson 5 stepped through Motown’s front door, forty years since we last walked the halls as seniors at Newport High School? Was it really forty-two years ago that I felt the excitement of attending the All-Star game in St. Louis with my dad? And are you sure it has been fifty years since Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and the Big Bopper perished in a plane crash on “the day the music died?” Yesterday’s news? Surely it hasn’t been that long ago. Yes, “maybe it’s only yesterday.”
I’m Miles from Nowhere . . . thinking of you and wishing you love and laughter.
joe
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