Moon River

It's Thanksgiving...and I'm thankful.  Much like many families around the country, we are anticipating the joy of sharing time together, sitting around the dinner table with bountiful meal before us, and telling stories of times past and those no longer in our presence.  The conversation is sure to be flooded by a river of memories.

This weekend Kathryn and I are looking forward to all four of our girls and all four of our grandchildren gathering together at our home for some serious laughter.  It doesn't take much to trigger a giggle in this gaggle of girls and grands.

In the midst of this laughter, I am confident my mind will drift to another place in space occupied by faces of people my children and grandchildren have not known other than through pictures and stories that are told over and over again.  From personal experience, I know that the younger grandchildren will only 'recall' this Thanksgiving day through the photos we take and the folklore we share with them as they grow.  Such is life...

The river that runs below the bluff where our house sits is the transport for my mind's periodic 'magical mystery' tours.  I can't resist its stimulating charm.  The fact that the river flowing below the bluff is the same river on which I grew up fascinates me even more.  Of course, this river is the White River with origin in Arkansas.  The river that served as Johnny Mercer's muse when he penned the lyrics to "Moon River" was the Black River near his home in Savannah, Georgia (Chatham County, Georgia officials changed the name of the Black River to "Moon River" in 1962 to acknowledge the success of Mercer's song).

Moon River, wider than a mile

I'm crossing you in style some day

Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker,

Wherever you're going, I'm going your way 

During the fall of the year, I sense that the moon's reflection in the river is brighter.  The moonlight seems to dance more fervently upon the ripples in the water as it passes over the shoals in the stream.  Maybe it is the cool of the night.  Maybe more light makes its way through the tree tops as they shed their leaves.  Maybe it is just my imagination.  Whatever the reason, the river seems more alive...  And when the river is alive in my heart, my memories are stirred.

Certainly, the river's influence is "wider than a mile."  River towns seem to have an 'attitude' and that 'attitude' is embodied by the people who reside in and hail from those river towns.  I can think of no place where such statement is more true than Newport.  But before the river gets to Newport downstream from my present home, it dances through the little town of Norfork. 

The river is reflective of life...it goes on.  One of my pals, Barton Conley, passed from this life early this morning at 83 years young.  Kathryn and I attend church with Bart and his wife, Betty, at the Norfork United Methodist Church.  What a joyous couple!  Bart and Betty share our love of blues music.  Bart also appreciates a couple of fingers of good single malt scotch, just as I do.  Bart loves the river and it was the river that brought him back home to Norfork following retirement.  Norfork rewarded Betty and Bart for their commitment to the town this past May in selecting them as Grand Marshals in the Pioneer Day parade.  In my conversation with Betty this morning after receiving the news that Bart had gone on to heavenly reward, she acknowledged the busy world that must be attended to even in times of sorrow.  I will miss Bart's presence as will all others who knew and loved him, but his spirit will live on in my heart.  His spirit directs me to speak of Bart in present tense even though I know it will be some time before we renew acquaintance.  Life goes on.  The river flows... 

Others who have lost loved one's to Heaven's call during these past few months know the drill.  Life is hectic.  Life is busy.  Life is crazy.  Life goes on...

The river's ebb and flow in my part of the world is subject to man-made decisions relative to flood control, water supply, and hydroelectric power generation.  These decisions all flow downstream.  When man and Mother Nature find themselves at odds, some interesting hands are played at the river's poker table.  One time that I remember the White River being "wider than a mile" was in December 1982.  Viewing the river from the levee on the outskirts of Newport, the scene was more reminiscent of Lake Michigan than it was of a meandering delta stream.

As a kid I often swam in the river.  I learned to water ski in the cut-off near Jacksonport.  I camped out many times with my Boy Scout troop near Guion in Izard County and Allison in Stone County where Sylamore Creek meets the White.  The river is a "dream maker" for a young boy.  In an instant it can also be a "heart breaker."  Childhood friend Walter Bundy losing his life in the river comes quickly to mind.  Yes, the river floods my mind with memories...  It takes me where it wants me to go.

Once I enter your magical stream, "wherever you're going, I'm going your way."

Two drifters off to see the world

There's such a lot of world to see

With these two lines I can't help but think about my friends, Bart and Betty.  These two, married for 59 years, did quite a bit of traveling and saw "a lot of world" along the way.  Bart is now on a heavenly journey discovering new dance steps.  Betty will be in the accompaniment of family and friends with precious memories of her fellow 'drifter' tied up neatly by her heartstrings.  Toward the end of their journey, they returned to the river's edge where Bart's boyhood dreams were fired up.  They knew 'home is where the heart is.'

I love to travel.  Just recently Kathryn and I took a happy trip to Chicago.  We viewed the world from high atop the Willis Tower (formerly the Sears Tower) and stepped out on the ledge 103 floors above the city sidewalks.  Breathtaking!  We enjoyed lunch at the Signature Lounge on the 96th floor of the John Hancock Building overlooking the Navy Pier and Lake Michigan.  Views far different from what we have here at home.  The nightlife in the jazz and blues clubs lit me up and the cityscapes are a real change of pace for a country boy.  We attended church at the First United Methodist Church at the Chicago Temple, the oldest church in Chicago being founded in 1831.  The Gospel Choir on that Sunday morning ignited my spirit.  Yet when we return to the serenity of our river view from atop the bluff in Baxter County, I am content.  I know why Bart came back to this place.  There is no better vantage point from which "to see the world."

We're after the same rainbow's end...

Waiting 'round the bend

My huckleberry friend

Moon River and me

I'm pretty sure we are all chasing "the same rainbow's end."  I'm equally sure that our expectations are different.  After all, I'm chasing my dreams, not yours.

Those of us from Newport are familiar with this river.  I'm thinking others know the river's flow regardless of the river's name.  From its headwaters to its mouth, the river tells a story.  I believe it appropriate that the story begins as an idea in the river's mind, its 'headwaters,' and the end of the story exudes from its mouth.

Along the river's route, we find interesting characters who make life worth living.  'Round every bend in the river there can be a surprise.  During this year, on more than one occasion, I jumped off my imaginary raft onto the banks of the river at Newport to reminisce a bit in the company of friends.

In May I attended the 80th birthday party of my dear friend and subsitute mom, Elteaser "Eltea" Balentine.  Her children (Ernest, Jr., Sewana, Gloria, Kay, Sherman, and Tanja) and grandchildren hosted a wonderful get together for family and friends at the train depot in downtown Newport.  Abundant stories of love for Eltea were being told in every corner of the room.  Eltea came to work for my family when she was 19 and I was an infant.  Of course, I was oblivious to the world around me and Eltea's circumstances during those early years.  Much later did I realize the sacrifices she made to support her own family and to aid my family when she was a young woman.  She has a tireless work ethic.  I will always remember her attentive and loving care.  She made special effort to attend the Jackson County Historical Association's Storyteller event in October 2011 when I was a participant.  I love Eltea and her family and cherish the friendship we share.

In July I once again stumbled onto the golf course at the Newport Country Club to laugh a lot among friends.  Playing golf in the annual Invitational tournament is secondary to the laughter.  High school friends and college pals return from points around the globe to enjoy one another's company using golf as an excuse.  I have missed this fun event only once since 1983.  Sign me up for 2013!

In August I witnessed the induction of Sonny Burgess (NHS Class of '48), Dr. Charles Donaldson (BHS Class of '65), Charles Ray (NHS Class of '77), and the late Justin Brown (NHS Class of '95) into the Newport School District's Hall of Fame.  This event is a genuine 'feather in the cap' for Newport.  

When I was a youngster, Sonny Burgess was one of my baseball coaches.  Later, in my teen years, was I surprised to discover that he was a recording star who would become a Rock-a-billy Hall of Famer and legendary rock star.  Sonny and his band, the Pacers, made a trip to Mountain Home in September to play at the Sheid, a fabulous music venue.  I spent a good part of the afternoon before their performance visiting with Sonny, Bobby Crafford, Kern Kennedy, Jim Aldridge, and Fred Douglas.  They brought the house down!

Dr. Charles Donaldson is the older brother of high school pal Robert Donaldson and has enjoyed a distinguished career in education. He is a Vice-Chancellor at UALR.  Dr. Donaldson is the first inductee into the Newport School District Hall of Fame who is a graduate of W. F. Branch High School.  I enjoyed a good visit with his brother Robert at Eltea's birthday bash.

Rear Admiral Charles Ray has had a long career with the U. S. Coast Guard and is currently overseeing operations in Hawaii.  Interestingly enough, Kathryn and I found ourselves seated adjacent to the Admiral's aide at a luau on the island of Oahu last January.  A friendly conversation led to the discovery of the fewer than six degrees of separation we both had with Newport's Charles Ray. 

Justin Brown departed this life at a very early age, but he left a legacy of good deeds and outstanding accomplishments.  I have enjoyed a long standing friendship with Justin's family.  His grandparents, Ruth and Cleveland Brown, were and are wonderful folks.  I worked with Justin's mom, Regina, at Merchants & Planters Bank during the late '80s, and his stepfather, Robert Lake, is a fast friend and high school classmate.

All in all, four individuals most deserving of the recognition bestowed upon them by the Newport School District Charitable Foundation.  Go Hounds!  And Go Pirates!  'Round every bend in the river, the unexpected awaits.

I am thankful for the characters in my life.  I am thankful for the life experiences we shared together and apart...pursuing and fulfilling our own dreams.  I remember those whose journeys were cut short.  I think of those whose journeys have been interrupted and delayed by hardship.

I am thankful for those who first introduced me to the magic of the river and the experiences of Mason's Bend, Budweiser Beach, the Cut-off.  Crossing the river "in style" on a ferry with my dad.  Watching a deer swim the river at Guion in the company of fellow scouts.  Canoeing the river with friends.  Observing the art of a fly fisherman's cast.

Two years ago Kathryn and I attended the Andy Williams' Christmas Show at the Moon River Theater in Branson.  Just as you would picture Andy Williams, there he was in a colorful sweater shuffling through the show and singing Christmas carols at the age of 82.  It wasn't much different than watching him on television so many years ago.  His distinctive voice was the same as I have always known.  Andy Williams departed this life in September, but "Moon River" fills my heart waves.

In my mother's record collection, I have the soundtrack from "Breakfast at Tiffany's."  She liked Henry Mancini's music and particularly enjoyed the soundtrack from this iconic film.  My mom liked good music...and "Moon River" is good music.  It is one of those songs on the soundtrack of my life.  It is difficult to embrace the fact that 51 years have passed since Johnny Mercer put lyrics to Mancini's melody and Audrey Hepburn brought the song to us on screen.  It has been 50 years since Andy Williams covered the song and made it his own. 

As I look downstream, I can 'see' those family members and my "huckleberry friends" who have paddled 'round the bend and out of sight from present day.  The current carries me closer.

The river's path between Norfork and Newport is dotted with safe havens and connections to home.  Long time friend Marcus Jones can be found 'down by the riva' at Mountain View, good friends Cindy and Gene Sweat have a place near Melbourne, and sweet friend Alannette Hare is smack dab on the river's edge at Oil Trough.  I'm sure there are others camped out on the river between here and there.  Think I'll plan a float trip... 

But before I do that I have a Thanksgiving meal awaiting me that is sure to be much fun with children and grandchildren all around. I can already hear the laughter!  I am thankful for my wife and fellow 'drifter,' Kathryn, who captains a 'tight' ship.  I am thankful for all the many blessings that brighten my life, but most importantly for those I know as family and friends.  Some have been paddling alongside me on the river of life for quite a long time, others have just recently pushed their canoes into the stream.

I'm paddlin'...  I'm just upstream from Newport about 90 miles... Yet I remain Miles from Nowhere...

"Wherever you're going, I'm going your way..."

Happy Thanksgiving!!!

joe

  

      

Ruination Day (Revisited)

"Time is the school in which we learn, Time is the fire in which we burn." (Delmore Schwartz)

Anticipation causes the hands of a clock to move more slowly.  Anxiety desires things to 'hurry up' to a conclusion.  Pleasure whispers for a moment to never end.  Friendship has no time restrictions.

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven."  (Ecclesiastes 3:1)

The matter of time has been on my mind of late.  Possibly this 'matter of time' is resting in my mind due to my most recent birthday.  I reached sixty (60) years of age on April 14, 2012.  Yeah, I know, that was weeks ago.  Seventy-seven days ago if you are counting.  It takes a while for things to 'sink in' with me.  As a matter of fact, some of the things I think I learned in high school are just now 'sinking in' with me.

But back to this '60 thing...'  Time belongs to the individual.  Our temporal existence is unique.  Some moments on our personal timelines are shared with others.  And it is these moments with others that we embrace as memories as we grow older.  I have enjoyed many such moments in the company of those I love over the past sixty years.

Years before Gillian Welch penned the lyrics to a couple of songs entitled "April the 14th Part I" and "Ruination Day Part II," my father offered me birthday greetings with these words, "Son, on this day, Lincoln met a bullet, the Titanic met an iceberg, and I met you.  What a day!"  The significance of that greeting can be found in history books and in the lyrics of the two Gillian Welch songs cited above.  I realize that this 'significance' is of little interest to anyone except me, but then I am the only one who experienced those moments with my dad.  The album on which the songs "April the 14th Part I" and "Ruination Day Part II" appear was released in 2001 and is titled "Time (The Revelator)."

April 14, 1952 marks the beginning of my time...

And the great boat sank, and the Okies fled

And the great emancipator took a bullet in his head

It was not December and it was not May

It was the 14th of April, and his ruination day

Each year on my birthday my dad would go on to jokingly explain his greeting to me by making me aware that April 14 was a date famous for 'disasters' and that my birth fit in perfectly with other historical events that had occurred on this notorious date.  My dad thoroughly enjoyed the subject of history and seized every opportunity to share this interest with me when we were together. 

Gillian Welch's lyrics reveal three salient stories from the past.  President Abraham Lincoln was shot on the evening of April 14, 1865 just weeks into his second term.  The "great emancipator" died the next day.  The 'unsinkable' Titanic struck an iceberg late night April 14, 1912 on its maiden voyage across the Atlantic.  The "great boat" plunged beneath the surface of the waters with 1,517 of the 2,223 passengers and crew losing their lives.  April 14, 1935 became known as "Black Sunday" when severe dust storms turned the day to night during the worst day of the Dust Bowl era and many "Okies fled" their homeland to escape the extreme drought conditions.  Ironically, John Steinbeck's "The Grapes of Wrath" written about an Oklahoma family's Dust Bowl experience was published on April 14, 1939. 

Another 'happening' on April 14 I want to mention...Apollo 13 established the "absolute altitude record" for a manned spacecraft after astronaut John Swigert uttered the words, "Houston, we've had a problem" in notifying NASA mission control of a major malfunction in the space module's electrical system.  The problem was reported on April 14, 1970 and the "successful failure," as Commander Jim Lovell called the mission, returned to Earth on April 17.  A near disaster eluded.

And a more personal happenstance...on the very same day I was born, April 14, 1952, my great uncle, Clinton Anderson Meacham (my maternal grandfather Charles Meacham's youngest brother), died in the very same hospital in Newport, Arkansas in which I was born.  My mother often reminded me of this coincidence as an example of the 'circle of life.'  "A time to be born, and a time to die." (Ecclesiastes 3:2) 

Being a baseball fanatic and a music lover, I must make note of three of the more 'famous' people born on this same day as I.  From the music world of my time there is the "Coalminer's Daughter," Loretta Lynn, and the soulful preacher, Al Green.  And from the baseball diamond, one of my all time favorite players, Pete Rose.  We can talk about Pete's hall of fame credentials and the indiscretions banning him from hall of fame induction at another time.

Time, yes time...  What is time?  Quite truthfully I've not paid a lot of attention.  Until now...  Reaching this milestone age of 60 feels pretty good.  I have a loving family comprised of a gorgeous and talented wife, four beautiful daughters, four adorable grandchildren, an angelic sister, two spirited aunts (my mother's two youngest sisters), caring in-laws, a host of cousins, two dogs and a cat.  And I have friends...genuine friends.  My dad also used to tell me that I would be a "lucky man" if the number of 'real friends' I have could be counted on the fingers of one hand.  If he were here today, I know he would call me "Lucky" (among a few other affectionate nicknames he had for me) and he would smile.

I've heard love defined as friendship caught afire.  And if "time is the fire in which we burn" as Delmore Schwartz vividly described it in his poem "Calmly We Walk Through This April's Day,"  then my time is being braised in the slow, simmering heat of friendship's embers.

Every 'milestone' birthday I have experienced has been celebrated among family and friends in different Arkansas communities.  I blew out ten candles on my cake surrounded by childhood friends in my hometown of Newport. I marked twenty years old with beer in hand in Jonesboro alongside jubilant college pals. At thirty I was a family man in the company of a one year old daughter in Little Rock.  Forty knocked on my door while working as president of a bank for the first time in Arkadelphia.  When in transition with a new bank in Russellville, fifty rose up on life's horizon.  And then, just a few weeks ago, I arrived at this magical age of sixty years young with a quiet dinner at our home overlooking the White River south of Mountain Home, wife Kathryn by my side. 

I'm having the time of my life.  Certainly some 'historic' events that took place on April 14 had elements of disaster and "ruination," but I know fun and excitement have dotted that day on the calendar for many people throughout 'time.'  As a matter of fact, I recall April 14, 1984 being one of those delightful and memorable days.  Sitting at the Newport Country Club with my fab friend Mike Brand and having a drink or three after a day's work, Mike received a phone call informing him that Kay was in labor at Harris Hospital.  What is a friend to do, but pick up drinks and head to the hospital to keep friend company.  I stayed, we talked into the night, and Michelle arrived in the world on my birthday.  Still wondering why her name isn't Jo...  Anyway, on March 31 of this year I was able to watch my friend Mike walk his little girl, Michelle, down the aisle on her wedding day.  Many emotional elements present that day...anticipation, anxiety, great pleasure, lots of love.  Elements at odds with the clock...some wanting to hold back time, others wishing it would rush forward.  Friendship...the passage of time is immaterial to its being.

My thoughts of time are centered on relationships with family and friends.  Looking forward to a time when plans are in place to be in the company of certain friends, like this coming Tuesday when childhood friend Ruth Johnston becomes a certified member of Club 60.  Thinking back in remembrance of old friends...

Recently on the streets of Facebookland I happened upon a photo from the late 1980s picturing a ragamuffin T-ball team that looked as if they had just left the field due to a rainout.  The faces of all these 5-6 year old kids on that team brought a smile.  A few stood out...Mary Julian Scoggins, Kara Morehart, Emily Miles...all fast friends to this day.  And there kneeling next to one of the players was my fellow coach and fine friend on that team...James Morehart, Kara's dad, who lost his life in an auto accident at age 50 a decade ago.  I remember James with joy in my heart.  I glance at the photo again...and think of my life long friend, Terry Scoggins, Mary Julian's dad, who left this life just three months ago.  I remember Terry with a smile.  My memories...ingredients in the recipe for everlasting life amongst the living.  My time...marked by happiness and sadness. "A time to weep, and a time to laugh.  A time to mourn, and a time to dance. "  (Ecclesiastes 3:4)

As one now past the point  of 'middle age,' I really appreciate the connectivity provided by Facebook. I've been introduced to new friends who share a common bond, such as Jackson County folk who lived there either before or after 'my time' there.  Of course, Jackson County is never far from my heart.

I find the history of a place and its people fascinating.  When my daughters were very young, I initiated a family research project because I wanted them to be aware of their history.  Then work got in the way and the genealogy search was set aside.  I have now taken up the reins to the search again in effort to fill the gap between 'my time' and that of my ancestors.  Tracing the various family lines for both Kathryn's family and mine is a treasure hunt.  Frustrations turn to elation with each acquaintance to the past made.  The website Ancestry.com is a cool resource as are other family members who share the same interest.  My cousin, Sandra Meacham Floberg, is a seasoned genealogist and another cousin through marriage, Jo Ann Cooper, is the current Regent for the Arkansas Chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution.  In my search I have discovered direct connection to American Patriots...Farlin Ball on my maternal ancestral line and Shadrack Pinkston on my paternal ancestral line.  I also am aware that my ancestors are Arkansas Pioneers having arrived here well before statehood.

We are at that time of year when we Americans are in celebration of our independence.  The freedoms we enjoy as a nation are grounded in a Declaration unanimously adopted by the thirteen United States of America on July 4, 1776.  Those who fought for our freedoms were friends of the nation and friends with one another.  The signers of the Declaration supported it by mutually pledging to each other "our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor."  Some lost their lives, some lost their fortunes, none surrendered their honor.  May you all have a safe and jubilant Fourth of July as we acknowledge the 236th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence.  In your celebration, I ask that you give homage to those Patriots who first defended our freedoms.

Since that date in history, many other conflicts have found their way to the battlefield. Our freedoms have been defended time and time again.  I ask that you remember all who have valiantly served our nation in the name of Freedom, especially those women and men presently in service to our country.  "A time for war, and a time for peace."  (Ecclesiastes 3:8)

Gillian Welch's songs "April the 14th Part I" and "Ruination Day Part II" are a history lesson pointing out instances that shared a coincidental date on time's calendar.  Intuitively I know ruinous 'things' can occur in the lives of all good people on any date in time, just as salubrious 'things' can come to pass.  It just happens that I was born on "Ruination Day."  My time...

Ruination day,

And the sky was red,

I went back to work,

And back to bed.

Regardless of the brand a songwriter puts on a date, I find that our daily routines must still be pursued.  Even on my birthday, work must be attended and sleep is required.  Although I must admit I tested those 'requirements' during my college years. 

As Delmore Schwartz so ably called it, "Time is the school in which we learn, Time is the fire in which we burn."  It does require a bit of time for 'things' to really 'sink in' with me, but I learn something new and exciting almost every day and my heart burns with love for my family and friends.  Love...freindship caught afire indeed.

What is time?  It is witness to warmth turning cold.  It is witness to youth growing old.  Don't mark time.  Live in it.  Love in it...

I'm Miles from Nowhere........guess I'll take my time...

joe

     

    

On The Way Home

Life as I know it has been a whirlwind since I last found time to talk to myself. I have been in a state reminiscent of the opening scene from the "Wizard of Oz" when Dorothy awakens in a daze to see all sorts of things 'flying' by the open window of her house being tossed around in the eye of a tornado. Dorothy and her little dog, Toto, were 'on the way home' as the tornado was fast approaching. In the chaos, she failed to find shelter from the storm alongside her family and friends.

When the dream came

I held my breath with my eyes closed

I went insane

Like a smoke ring day when the wind blows

Similar to Dorothy's 'dream' in the aftermath of the Kansas tornado that altered her world, my dreams are some times laced with familiar faces in different roles. The song "On the Way Home" was written by Neil Young and released by Buffalo Springfield a few months after this talented group had disbanded in May 1968. Buffalo Springfield played together for a short two years in a stormy existence. I have previously admitted that Buffalo Springfield's music soothes my soul. I saw them in Memphis just weeks before they 'broke up' on the occasion of my 16th birthday in April 1968. Since then I continue to enjoy the music of their past time together and have watched them move on as individuals into different roles with different bands. The result...more good music.

On a calm, quiet day a smoke ring can maintain its shape and float endlessly through the air. The wind kicks up and the smoke ring quickly loses its identity and scatters about in all directions. Don't know about you, but I need both "smoke ring days" and those when the "wind blows." Differing environs and conditions balance my life. It is the unpredictable nature of the 'wind' that can move the needle from 'normal' to 'crazy.' Yeah, I know that weathermen have been better of late in predicting coming storms, but their warnings are not always in sync with my expectations. Even though you may be aware that a loved one is on death's doorstep, or that a marriage is on the rocks, or that a job is in jeopardy...even then are you seldom fully prepared for the stormy moments of life. Uncertainty fuels insanity. Yet uncertainty is the normal order of things. Change is bound to occur whether or not we desire change. Change is not always better or worse than what was, it is invariably and often simply different.

Now I won't be back til later on

If I do come back at all

But you know me

And I miss you now

In recent months, my hometown of Newport, Arkansas has been under a persistent 'stormy weather' alert. Several sons of this river town have paddled their boats out in front of us and around the bend, no longer in our sight. Those with whom I had personal relationship number more than the imaginable.

I remember...Scooter Coe, husband to long time friend Jan Pratt, brother of dear friend Janie Steen and my childhood pal Joey, and son to treasured family friends, Angela and Joe Coe. I remember...James Logan Morgan, brother to friends Coy and Sammie, and one of Jackson County's most significant historians. I remember...Paul Tinsley, father to classmate Mike Tinsley and dear friend Becky Mooney, and a first class businessman. I remember...Gerald Balch, my friend and former baseball teammate. I remember...David Hout, son of friends Phil and Donna Gene, stepson to friend Ann, brother to fabulous friends Kim Hout Ellis (Godmother to my youngest daughter Elizabeth) and Pam Hout Wallace. When I was a lifeguard at the Newport Country Club in the late '60s, I recall David being one of the 'tadpoles' always hanging around the lifeguard stand. What a fun loving kid! I remember...David Dillinger, childhood friend and son of Ottie who went on to have a long career with the Arkansas State Police. I remember Joe Taylor...a resourceful businessman and a friend to Newport. I remember...Johnny Coffey, long time family friend and brother to dear friend Mary Eaves. I remember Alex Miller...son of friend and teacher Lynette Miller and good pal Al Miller. I remember Joe Nosari, long gone from Newport, but an excellent baseball coach of mine on Newport's ball field in the mid '60s. Joe recently departed this life in Tallahassee, Florida at the end of a distinguished career in service to Florida State University as teacher and administrator.

And I remember Terry "T" Scoggins, loving husband of sweet friend Lee McNew Scoggins, father to Mary Julian Young and Will Scoggins, brother to good friend and T's twin Eddy, and son to admired and respected friends Ann and Ed Scoggins. What can I say? T was one of those friends who basked in the "smoke ring day." His laid back, fun infused approach to life left a lasting impression on all who knew and loved him. We spent much time together as boys and teenagers run amuck. Our days in scouting peaked when Terry and Eddy, Clay Wright and I received our Eagle Scout badges on the same day in June 1968, just a few short weeks after I had watched Buffalo Springfield in concert. That time in my life seems to be as endless in memory as that 'perfect' smoke ring lifting from a campfire on a calm, care free, windless day. I was accompanied "on the way home" to T's funeral service by my daughter Emily. Emily and Mary Julian have been fast friends since their earliest days in Newport together which was interrupted with our family's move to Arkadelphia when the girls were in the third grade. I think their friendship has endured times apart due in large measure to Terry's influence as a parent. Emily shared several sweet memories of Terry on our ride to Newport to celebrate his life. His funeral service was a testament to the influence he had on the lives of many. The intimate St. Paul's Episcopal Church was overflowing with friends of all ages and stages in life. The crowd seemed to grow as we gathered at Walnut Grove Cemetery to share laughter from the past and tears in the present. Toward the end of the graveside farewell, I stood on the fringe of the cemetery boundary alongside cherished friends Carl Cross, Dinny Bullard, Lawson Anderson, Ann Gardner Hearn, and Lee Gardner Elkins overcome with emotion and fond memories. The faces in the crowd reminded me of joyous times together in high school surrounded by friends and knowing that the watchful eyes of caring and loving parents, parents like Ann and Ed Scoggins, were upon us. Looking back, we experienced and enjoyed a life spiked with controlled mischief. Yes, there were those moments when the control element was lost, but those moments remain in a secret file. As I slowly walked away from the cemetery, I encountered and embraced Will Scoggins. Upon his lapel were a couple of scout badges. His father smiled. A light rain began to fall. "On the way home" Terry Scoggins had found shelter from the storm.

In a strange game

I saw myself as you knew me

When the change came

And you had a chance to see through me

Though the other side is just the same

You can tell my dream is real

Because I love you

Can you see me now

During Terry's funeral I saw myself as he knew me, a fun loving teenager surrounded by fun loving friends. As "the change came," and we grew older and more transparent, I 'feel' "just the same." Is my dream real? I believe dreams are realized in our relationships, the everlasting friendships. They live on in our children's relationships, the friendships we have watched them develop. Seeing young friends of Terry Scoggins' children serve as pallbearers at his funeral service and recognizing them as the children of several of my long time friends lifted my spirit. What a day for a day dream!

Carl Cross and I reminisced at some length during our time together at Terry's funeral service. Some of our memories sparked laughter allowing us to briefly escape the somber reality of the moment. Carl shared an emotional coincidence...as he was departing Little Rock in a rental car to drive to Newport that morning, he turned on the satellite radio and unexpectedly heard the intro to Elton John's "Funeral for a Friend." As crazy as that seems, I had a very similar experience on the Saturday before as I was driving to Hot Springs to attend the funeral for another friend, Eddie Tarpley. It was on that drive and while that song was resonating from the airwaves that I received a text message from my daughter Elizabeth informing me of Terry's death. "Funeral for a Friend" is the first track on Elton John's album "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" released in 1973, a time when we were young and foolish. Life is a "strange game."

Though we rush ahead to save our time

We are only what we feel

And I love you

Can you feel it now

I have been in such a frenzy of late that even one of life's greatest joys has gone unreported in the Miles' Files. On October 18, 2011, daughter Emily and her husband Josh Richardson welcomed Annabel Ruth Richardson into the family fold. Grandchild number four for Kathryn and me yields more opportunity for excitement. We love it when one or more of them visit. Oliver is now 5 years old, Claire is 3 years old, Julian is 20 months old, and Annabel is 5 months old. Laughter abounds!

It seems that Kathryn and I have been constantly on the go since I last scribbled upon these pages. I concluded a three year term on the Government Relations Administrative Council for the American Bankers Association with a trip to Washington, DC in September. I always appreciate the opportunity to immerse myself in the historical corners of our nation's Capitol. Kathryn and I followed the DC experience up with a visit to Hawaii in November. We toured Pearl Harbor on Oahu for the first time prior to jumping over to Maui for a banking conference. Then in December we traveled to Dallas for the wedding of Kathryn's niece with ample time to visit with family. In early January we crawled on the Arkansas State University bandwagon for a trip to Mobile, Alabama to watch the Red Wolves play in the GoDaddy.com Bowl. On the way to the bowl game we enjoyed an overnight stay in Tupelo, Mississippi. Had dinner with long time friends Peggy and Charlie Watson and toured the Elvis Presley Birthplace as well as Charlie's private club with pictures galore of 1950's Newport and the "honky tonk" scene. Great friends...great memories! We put icing on the cake with a trip to Memphis in February to see the "Million Dollar Quartet" at the Orpheum. Peggy and Charlie's young friend, Cody Slaughter, made his stage debut as Elvis Presley in this fabulous production. Cody is from Harrison, Arkansas. True to form, Jerry Lee Lewis failed to appear after it was widely anticipated he would be present for the show in Memphis. In his absence, Chuck Mead of the group BR 549, joined the cast for an encore performance of Billy Lee Riley's "Red Hot." It brought down the house in real Rockabilly style and made a Newport boy proud of his "Rock 'n Roll Highway" roots.

In all of this traveling about, I regret that I was not able to witness good friend and Greyhound hero Bill Keedy's induction into the Arkansas Sports Hall of Fame. This recognition is a well deserved honor. I have seen photos from the ceremony and know that several of Bill's 'old' Greyhound classmates and others from Newport were present to celebrate the moment with him and his family. Congratulations Bill Keedy! Go Hounds!

Perhaps the most fun I had over the past few months was sitting alongside Colleen Fortune Thaxton, Ann Dedman Stephenson, and Carroll Hayden as one of the participants at the Jackson County Historical Association's second annual Story Tellers program last October. Being the youngest 'storyteller' on the program, I was in awe of my fellow presenters. Plus I was on 'pins and needles' anxiously awaiting the birth of my granddaughter Annabel, but the storytelling experience was a real treat. Annabel was born two days later. I would encourage everyone to attend the next Story Telling program. I'm certain many of the stories possess some element of truth.

Another Newport experience I want to encourage readers to attend is the Delta Visual Arts Show sponsored by the Blue Bridge Center for the Delta Arts. Last month's event marked the fourth annual show featuring Delta artists, many with Jackson County roots. This year was the second time Kathryn and I have attended and both times we have walked away with selected pieces we found irresistible.

Too often "we rush ahead to save our time." In the haste of that 'rush,' we are sure to lose some magical moments in the process. In effort to match dreams with reality, managing 'the clock' becomes an issue. This time of year, sports enthusiasts find themselves caught up in "March Madness." In the midst of this 'madness,' many basketball coaches are attempting to manage 'the clock' to achieve a win and to realize a dream of a national championship. Failure to effectively manage the remaining time on 'the clock' can spell the end of life in the tournament for their team. As I remember those friends and family members who are no longer at my beck and call, I don't need to remind myself that the time remaining on life's clock is uncertain.

This past Sunday I was touched by a magical moment. I was sitting out of doors reading the morning paper, when my cell phone rang. On answering, my 'old' Methodist Youth Fellowship counselor and long time family friend John Purdy was on the line. He and his son, Rob, were fishing on the White River just upstream from my home. I looked westward and in the bend of the river saw three boats drifting in my direction casting lines toward the rocky bank. John described their location and I was able to determine which boat they were in. I mosied down to an outcropping of rock on the bluff just below my home and about 200 feet above the river to gain a better vantage point and await their getting closer. As they approached, I caught their attention with a wave and John maneuvered their boat to the center of the stream to have a better view of where I was standing. At that moment, Rob hooked a good size cutthroat trout and you could hear John yell all the way up the bluff. The 'special' aspect of this moment is centered in a message I had received two days before from Cherry Lou Smith Johnson reminiscing about our times together and our Methodist Youth Fellowship experiences under the guidance of Rosanna and John Purdy, Susan and Phil McDonald, and Marian and David Hodges. As John and Rob drifted further downstream toward their takeout point at Norfork and in the direction of Newport, I thought of past times among friends. "Now I won't be back til later on, if I do come back at all..."

May Good Health and Happiness be your loyal sidekicks as you float life's meandering streams. May you find the time to tell stories 'round a campfire among friends on "smoke ring days." May you find shelter from the storms. May you bask in your journey "on the way home"...

I'm Miles from Nowhere....guess I'll take my time.....

joe

Newport State of Mind

It has been a hot summer in Arkansas, a really hot summer. The heat has a dizzying effect. My thoughts are a scrambled mix of today and yesterday. It may be the heat, but it is more like a 'Newport state of mind.'



Earlier this month I wandered back down stream to Newport for a special occasion...the third annual Newport High School Hall of Fame banquet. The 2011 honorees included my good friend Dr. Jabez Jackson, Jr. (NHS '59), Steve Stephens (NHS '48), David Belva (NHS '79), Billy Warren (NHS '82), and Lt. Lynn Michael Travis (NHS '59). Each of these individuals has left a legacy of good works and career accomplishments that yield a clear reflection of their personal commitments and the influence of family, friends, teachers, coaches, and other mentors prominent in their lives. Also, each of the honorees has left an everlasting mark on the hearts of loved ones and the community of Newport.



I am most fortunate to have been able to attend this year's NHS Hall of Fame banquet as well as the two previous ones. These banquets are indeed a homecoming. Many former classmates of the honorees are in attendance along with townspeople and school leaders. Perhaps the finest acceptance speech I have ever witnessed at such an event was delivered at this year's banquet by my life long friend and NHS Class of 1970 'littermate' Freeman Travis. Freeman represented his sisters Molly Travis McGonigal and Becky Travis McCartney and the family of their brother Lt. Lynn Michael "Mike" Travis who was being honored posthumously. Effectively, Freeman made a few personal comments from the perspective of a younger brother who was only seven years old when his 'big' brother graduated from high school and left home. But then he allowed Mike to 'speak' for himself through a couple of letters written home to their parents at critical times in his life. One came in the aftermath of the Cuban missile crisis when Mike was a Midshipmen at the U. S. Naval Academy and the other came while on deployment in Vietnam just weeks after the birth of his first child, a son he would never meet. Mike lost his life on a reconnaissance flight off the Vietnam coast a short time after he penned the second letter from which Freeman read. The letters spoke with a mature voice, a patriot's voice, laced with care, commitment, and love for family and country. Of course, Freeman's delivery was impeccable. His strong, 'radio voice' and 'spot on' inflection brought 'life' to Mike's words and tears to my eyes. And the Gold Star he wore on his lapel honored his brother's sacrifice. The Doris and Buddy Travis family has been a shining star in Newport's universe for decades and Mike Travis is the first 'real hero' I ever knew.



While sitting at the banquet and listening to the antics of dear friend and emcee John Pennington (NHS '69) in addition to the remembrances of the honorees and those who inducted them into the Hall of Fame, I was captured by this 'magic moment' and lapsed into a Newport state of mind.



Billy Joel wrote a song, "New York State of Mind," in 1976 about a return trip to his 'home town' of New York City after an extended absence. Newport and New York City are similar only in the hearts of 'home town' boys. I listen to Billy Joel's lyrics with a Greyhound (a nice summer drink to beat the heat...a 'salty dog' without the salt) in my hand and the Greyhounds in my heart. The lyrics aren't exactly as he wrote them, but they are what I 'hear'...maybe it's the heat.

Some folks like to get away

Take a holiday from the neighborhood

Hop a flight to Miami Beach

Or to Hollywood

But I'm taking a Greyhound

On the White River Line

I'm in a Newport state of mind

Some folks do "get away" from Newport. Some of those honored as Newport High School Hall of Fame inductees have been recognized for merits made after they got away from 'home' and traveled to bigger cities with brighter prospects, at least 'brighter' in the innocent eyes of a teenager. But one does not have to "get away" in order to take significant strides on life's crooked pathway or to make their marks on the heart of a community. The NHS Hall of Fame certainly recognizes the importance of good leadership returning home. Several of the early inductees into the NHS Hall of Fame returned to Newport after extending their education beyond high school. They have spent their adult lives giving back through time and talent in effort to enhance the quality of life for all in the town...Kaneaster Hodges, Jr. (NHS '56 and NHS HOF 2009), John Mullins (NHS '40 and NHS HOF 2010), John Minor (NHS '52 and NHS HOF 2010), Bill Keedy, Jr. (NHS '63 and NHS HOF 2010), and Jabez Jackson, Jr. (NHS '59 and NHS HOF 2011) are among them. Many who have left the city limits yearn to return to Newport, if just for a short stay. I often get on that imaginary Greyhound bus and travel through time to the Newport of my youth. Back to Billy Joel's thoughts...

I've seen all the movie stars

In their fancy cars and their limousines

Been high in the Rockies under the evergreen

But I know what I'm needing

And I don't want to waste more time

I'm in a Newport state of mind

I certainly haven't rubbed elbows with "all the movie stars" as Billy Joel has, but I have been lucky enough to travel around a bit and fortunate enough to realize that I need the embrace of the home folks from time to time. Reuniting with people who have White River water running in their veins lifts my spirit. On the evening of the Hall of Fame banquet I felt the hugs of many I hold dear. Sissy Hurley Sanborn and Bobbie Hurley Harper were there. Miss Bobbie came in from California and attended the banquet to support her NHS classmate and honoree Steve Stephens. (I always enjoy my conversations with Miss Bobbie and Sissy, mother and aunt of my littermate David Sibley.) Fellow NHS Class of '48 mate Bobby Newell was also in the crowd supporting Steve. Steve was introduced by another classmate, Sonny Burgess, who is sure to join him in the NHS Hall of Fame some day. After all, Sonny is already in the Rockabilly Hall of Fame and the Rock in Roll Hall of Fame of Europe. In accepting the night's honor, Steve Stephens recalled the beginnings of his long radio and television career at KNBY and noted his first interview with Carl Perkins at the Silver Moon.

Several members of the NHS classes of 1959, 1979 and 1982 were in attendance at the banquet cheering on their fellow classmates for honors received. It was a fun evening. Sandra Belva, one of my former teachers at NHS, was beaming with pride as her son, David, accepted the Hall of Fame tag. After a distinguished military career, David currently serves as director of information technology for the Defense Threat Reduction Agency, which is a first line of defense in safeguarding America and our allies from weapons of mass destruction.

Billy Warren is perhaps the finest football running back to ever wear the Orange and Black. Today he is a senior administrator for building operations in Fulton County, Georgia. Billy was introduced by his junior high school coach Stan McKee. Charles Balentine (NHS '81 and NHS HOF 2009), a former Greyhound teammate was in the audience along with Billy's wife and daughter. Cheers for Billy on this night were as joyous as they were on Friday nights in the early 1980's.

Jabez Jackson, Jr. has practiced medicine in Newport for over 35 years and delivered thousands of babies to Newport's playgrounds. He cares about his family, he cares about his patients, he cares about Newport. I served on the Newport School Board with Jabez in the late '80s and early '90s and witnessed his commitment to education. Over the years, Newport has been blessed with many fine doctors. Jabez Jackson, Jr. is among the finest. In his acceptance remarks, Jabez not only gave credence to his family and teachers for his success, but he also heaped accolades upon his peers, the boys he grew up alongside in his Newport neighborhood.

It was so easy living day by day
Out of touch with the rhythm and blues

But now I need a little give and take

The Newport Independent, a bit of daily news

It is really easy to let the "day by day" work routine soak up your time and distance you from the happenings along the Rock 'n Roll Highway where the "rhythm and blues" of our youth plays on in our hearts. The Newport Independent is no longer a 'daily,' but it still brings me the news surrounding the lives of people important to me. Despite the 'good news' like the recent Hall of Fame announcement of honorees, often times my initial instinct is to turn to the obituary page. In recent months, several of my friends have experienced the loss of a parent as I did earlier this year. "To everything there is a season." I remember Elouise Grimes, mother of littermate Jan Grimes Ott; Norma Nelson, mother of littermate Billie Jean Nelson Rice; Lola Mae Baker, mother of littermate Scott Baker; Sonny Bullard, father of littermate Dinny Bullard; James Hopkins, father of littermate Jamie Hopkins Block; Henry Lake, father of littermate Robert Lake; Bette Phillips, mother of friends Bill Phillips (NHS '69) and Mary Lou Phillips Delcase (NHS '72); Jonita Reid Darling (NHS '63), mother of friend Jamie Darling (NHS '90). I also wish to pay respects to Cathren McCartney, a 'forever youngster' and teacher to generations of Newport students who recently dusted her chalkboard erasers for the final time in this life at age 98, and to James Logan Morgan (NHS '58), possibly Jackson County's finest historian, who departed this life in the past week leaving us to discover the mysteries of the past on our own.

I did not have to rely on the Newport Independent to deliver the 'news' of my long time pal and littermate Marion "Cotton" Mullins' death on July 15, just four days prior to his 59th birthday. Coincidentally, I was in Newport for the annual Invitational golf tournament at the Newport Country Club at the time of Marion's sudden death. Such a kind and thoughtful man he was. My heart breaks for his family and his wide circle of friends. The NHS Class of 1970 will sorely miss Marion's presence in our lives, yet he will remain forever in our broken hearts.

I must mention the passing from this life of another man I have never met personally, but I know him through his music. Jerry Leiber died this week at the age of 78 after writing a myriad of iconic songs for my generation. Some of the better known songs he brought to the jukeboxes and the airwaves in collaboration with Mike Stoller are "Kansas City," "On Broadway,", Yakety Yak," "Young Blood," "Hound Dog," and "Stand By Me." I would venture to call "Stand By Me" my personal anthem. Thank you, Jerry Leiber! Godspeed!

It comes down to reality

And it's fine with me 'cause I've let it slide

Don't care if it's Remmel Park or down by the river's side

I don't have any reasons

Cause I've left them all behind

I'm in a Newport state of mind

Did I mention it's been hot in Arkansas this summer? That is the "reality" of the situation. I worked in the yard Saturday and to catch a breather I slipped indoors and tuned in the Little League World Series national championship game between California and Montana on the television. I had been alerted to the determination of the 'little big men' from the Big Sky country of Montana by Jack Payne (NHS '64), a Newport transplant to Montana and fine friend in Facebookland. Facebook is not Newport, but it serves as a fun gathering place for 'old' friends to reminisce, cuss, and discuss the events of the day. Being the baseball fan that I am, I really appreciate Jack scattering the word about the Big Sky Little Leaguers (his grandson plays in the local Billings league). The 'underdog' Montana team lost to the California nine that came to the championship game with some really hot bats. Watching these enthusiastic, young ball players took me back to summers in Newport in the early '60s. To have played on a national stage in the Little League World Series would have been a grand experience at the age of 12, but the times spent on the baseball diamonds with my friends growing up produced a lot of fun memories.

A couple of patient men who coached me on the youth league baseball fields of Newport were among those gathered at the NHS Hall of Fame banquet. I have already mentioned Sonny Burgess' introduction of honoree Steve Stephens. Sonny is not only a top notch Rock 'n Roller, he was a really good ball player. He was often at the ball field volunteering his time to teach the kids the fundamentals of the game when I was a boy. My other former coach present that night is Dale Harrison (NHS '59). Dale introduced the crowd to Mike Travis by remembering their days together as boys. Dale coached baseball in the Newport in the '60s and often called me "Bounce" after he experimented with moving me from second base to third base. As a youngster, my arm wasn't particularly strong and my throws from third to first were often on one hop. I was lucky to have someone like Mickey Doyle playing first base then. Mickey was a good fielder and saved many of my errant throws.

My 'young' baseball buddy, good friend, and littermate Mickey Doyle was present at the NHS Hall of Fame banquet. He was there with his wife, Tinker, in support of honoree Dr. Jabez Jackson, Jr. Tinker works on Jabez's staff. While Mickey and I were visiting, he mentioned our days of playing ball together. Mickey and I made up the right side of the infield (Mickey at first base and I at second) for several Little League and Babe Ruth League teams and played some Legion ball together...from little boys to bigger little boys. But it wasn't the 'organized' ball Mickey was remembering as it was the neighborhood 'pick up' games we played with so many others on the south side of town back when we were 'little boys.'

We had a couple of reliable 'fields' we played upon...vacant lots. The one most often used was in the southern most block of Walnut Street across the alley from my house and next door to littermate Ann Gardner's home. Mickey challenged me to recall the boys who so often joined us in these 'pick up' games. Most times there would only be enough boys to play 6 or 7 on a team, but there were those days when we had enough to field two complete nine man teams with some waiting to get in the game. Those were the days! At the risk of leaving someone out, I will venture to remember some of the 'regular' players in those early days of baseball on South Walnut Street. In addition to Mickey and me, there was Donny Appleton, David Sibley, Jim Reid Holden, Jerry Ashley, Mack Adams, Billy Joe Adams, Buddy Conner, Coy Womble, Doug Lambert, George Rogers, Billy Goss, Bobby Goss, Edward Kinney, Tim McDowell, Bobby Fife, George Causey, Bobby Alcorn, Billy Alcorn, Lee Conditt...Some of these 'boys' are three or so years older than I and some three or so years younger, so all would not have been at the 'sandlot' at the same time. I'm confident I have omitted someone who played 'regularly,' but it is hot outside and I'm a bit dizzy...I'm sure it's the heat, can't be the drink in my hand. If you remember playing ball with the South Walnut Street gang, drop me a line and jog my memory.

Baseball on a hot summer's day...nothing like it. As former major leaguer Roy Campanella once said, "to be good at this game, you gotta have a lot of little boy in you." In recognition of those 'little boys,' California defeated Japan Sunday in the finals of the Little League World Series 2-1.

And I tip my hat to Graham Godfrey, the son of my college gal pal Vicki Gray Godfrey, for climbing the stairway from Little League to the major leagues. Graham made his major league debut earlier this year as a pitcher for the Oakland A's.

Thoughts of Little League past and the dreams of major league play take me to the time when Newport hosted the Regional American Legion tournament in 1961, I think it was 1961. I was a Little Leaguer and 'worked' the tournament as a bat boy. I'm thinking two future major leaguers played in that tournament (or maybe it's just my imagination...or the heat)...I believe Rusty Staub played on the Lousiana team and Phil Gagliano played for the Tennessee team from Memphis.

I appreciate Jack Payne and Mickey Doyle circling the bases with me as we stay in touch with baseball past and present. I invite you to join us on the playgrounds of Facebookland. Facebook really is a fun place to gather and share life's triumphs and trials. Sure there are a few 'goofy' pals who will go on and on griping about something or telling us what they had for breakfast, but you can ignore that banter on Facebook as simply as you did when you were face to face with the same 'goofy' friend at Headlee's Drug Store after the ball game back on those hot summer days in the early '60s.

I'm just taking a Greyhound on the White River Line

'Cause I'm in a Newport state of mind

I'm hanging out by the river just a few miles upstream from my boyhood dreams. I wish to acknowledge the dedication of those men and women serving our nation in the armed forces. It is their sacrifices that have allowed me the freedom to pursue those boyhood dreams. As we stand on the threshold of the tenth anniversary of the September 11, 2001 terrorist attack on U. S. soil, let us remember those who perished that day and all who have had their lives taken from them in valiant effort to preserve the freedoms we enjoy.

I'm in a Newport state of mind........

joe

Mother and Child Reunion

Paul Simon released a song in 1972 that captured the hearts of many listeners and jumped to the top of the Billboard charts. Over the years the meaning behind the lyrics has been the topic of conversation after conversation. Regardless of the circumstances that inspired Simon to pen this popular tune, I suggest the true meaning lies in the heart and mind of each individual subject to its spell.

No I would not give you false hope
On this strange and mournful day
But the mother and child reunion
Is only a motion away

I have been reflecting on my mother’s life during the past few weeks. My mother, Anna Lawana Meacham Miles, passed from this life on February 19, 2011. While that date coincides with my sister Lana’s birthday, I see no coincidence in mother’s death falling on that date. Her death was a gift, her final earthly gift to my sister. I choose to believe that mother’s death effectively gifted life back to Lana. Lana’s devotion to mother in a caretaker’s role during the last seven years restricted her social being. And for those who know Lana, you are well aware of her fun loving, free spirited, friendly approach to life in our social world. As diminished as mother’s mental vitality had become in her struggle with Alzheimer’s, I’m confident she was aware of the different world into which she had gradually moved. It was a place where she did not wish to reside. So she began knocking on Heaven’s door...even pounding at times. Her knocking was persistent and determined. Amidst the noise, God’s doorkeeper finally answered her knock…Reunion!

February 19 was an appropriate day, perhaps a “strange” day, for a “mother and child reunion.” And, yes, it was a “mournful day” for those who knew and loved Mother. Let me share a bit about my mother...

Anna Lawana Meacham Miles was the eighth of fourteen children born to Rossie Belle Rodgers Meacham and Charles Monroe Meacham. Three of her older brothers had died as toddlers sometime after the influenza pandemic of 1918-1920. At the time of her birth on November 25, 1927, Lawana had two older brothers and two older sisters living in the household. The family resided in Cave City, Arkansas; however, mother was born in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma where her father was working a job as a steeplejack. Her name, Lawana, honored a Cherokee mid-wife who assisted with her birth. The Meachams returned to Cave City shortly after mother's arrival. She was the only one of the fourteen Meacham children born outside Arkansas. Now I want to say that some of my ‘facts’ may not be facts at all. I only know some of what I know through the tales of others passed along as folklore.

The Meacham family was Independence County pioneers who had settled in Arkansas territory prior to statehood. They were a determined and loyal lot with my mother seemingly hardwired with these qualities. About the time mother was seven years of age, the family moved to Mississippi County, Arkansas near the small town of Manila. If you have read John Grisham’s novel, “A Painted House,” you can clearly envision the lifestyle of mother’s family in post-Depression northeast Arkansas. Like many others born of this era, mother recognized that a good education could be her ticket to a ‘better life.’ She would be the first in her family to finish high school, but that diploma was not easily earned. Choppin' and pickin' cotton took precedent over school days at times. But she was determined. Lawana Meacham graduated from Manila High School in 1948. She was twenty years old. Interestingly, among the small number of her fellow graduates at Manila was Neal Webster, the father of my Newport High School classmate, Doug Webster.

With high school diploma in hand, she purchased a bus ticket to Newport, Arkansas, where she moved in with her aunt and uncle, Ann Meacham Gray and Dr. Cyrus R. Gray. She started work at Dr. Gray’s Hospital (now Harris Hospital) as a receptionist with designs set on becoming a lab technician. Her ambitions were detoured when she met Vernon “Little Red” Miles, eight years her senior, on a blind double date at the coffee shop in the old Hazel Hotel next door to the hospital. At that initial meeting they did not have a date with each other, but were respectively paired with the other two individuals in the foursome. A phone call following that first meeting led to a formal date…Reunion.

Lawana Meacham and “Little Red” Miles were married on Sunday, May 14, 1950, in the chapel of the First Methodist Church in Searcy, Arkansas. It was Mother’s Day. This union produced three children. I am the eldest of the three. Dr. Jabez Jackson, Sr. delivered me to my parents' care on April 14, 1952. April 14 has been referred to, by some, as “Ruination Day” in its association with two particularly disastrous events, the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln and the sinking of the Titanic. My father used to greet me annually on my birthday with these words, “Son, on this day, Lincoln met a bullet, the Titanic met an iceberg, and I met you…what a day!” I had two younger sisters. Lana was born February 19, 1954 and Ann Marie was born May 17, 1958.

My mother would know the heartache of losing a child, just as her mother had known that same empty feeling. Mother and child…Reunion. My youngest sister, Ann Marie, was born with spina bifida and died only days old. Ann Marie’s funeral remains a vivid and everlasting memory as I accompanied my father and other family members to a quiet graveside service in Center Hill outside Searcy near my dad’s birthplace. My mother was still in the hospital in Newport at Ann Marie’s burial. Mother and child…Separation in body, but always united in spirit. With Mother's every thought of her child...Reunion.

Upon their marriage, my parents moved into a small apartment at 412 Hazel Street in Newport, just two blocks down the street from where mother worked at the hospital and two blocks from one of two service stations my dad managed at the time. These two service stations were a Lion Station located at the corner of Third and Laurel Streets and a Citi Service Station located at the corner of Third and Beech Streets. Mother attended church at First Methodist directly across Third Street from the Lion Station managed by my father. Family, church, and work were neatly bundled up in four square blocks. School would be folded into that neat little bundle of existence when I started first grade at the Walnut Street School with 412 Hazel being just a half block up Fifth Street from the school.

Toward the end of my first grade year in the spring of 1959, we moved from 412 Hazel to 1100 South Main Street in Newport. The first thing I recall Mother doing at the new house was her planting a redbud tree in memory of Ann Marie in the front yard, appropriate I think being as Ann Marie was a redhead. That tree represents a “mother and child reunion” and it flourishes today. Mother would reside at 1100 South Main until moving to Las Vegas to live with my sister, Lana, in the fall of 2003.

Mother had a strong work ethic. She immersed herself in the activities of her children. She took on volunteer leadership positions in the PTA as well as Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts. I read recently that the most influential person in the achievement of Eagle Scout recognition is the scout's mother. I am a testament to that statement. Mother actually went on a camping excursion with our troop as the cooking merit badge counselor to assure that all seeking that merit badge successfully completed the requirements. I must admit that 'earning' a cooking merit badge does not translate into being a good cook. That I am not. But mother warranted me worthy of a passing grade and rewarded me with a merit badge of accomplishment.

Mother was diligent in her volunteer duties with the Newport Service League, Beta Sigma Phi, the Jackson County Historical Society, Portfest, and her church, especially her church. Similar to many other working mothers, she crammed her various volunteer activities into and around her jobs. Despite the inference, mother was not an “all work, no play” person. She genuinely had fun in every endeavor she pursued. Even when the work was of serious nature, she could find joy in its midst. She found personal satisfaction as president of the Newport Service League leading the organization in pursuit of its mission to provide support services for children less privileged. To fund its initiatives, the Service League sponsored the annual Follies, a fun-filled 'vaudeville' show displaying the talent of many Jackson County citizens. I can 'see' her practicing the 'Can-Can' as a member of the Follies' chorus line one year. She loved it!

While it may not have been her first choice for career path, Mother thrived in the retail environment. She had done well in her Home Economics courses in high school and had become a very good seamstress, which may have sparked her interest in fashion. I believe her first retail sales job was at Kent's Dress Shop located on Front Street in Newport and owned by her good friend, Jane Kent. It is likely she took on this job as an avenue to discounts on apparel rather than for a paycheck. Mother was most always 'dressed to the nines.' Her signature appearance was a snappy, tailored look with just the right accessories to capture attention. Her collection of shoes would have rivaled that of Imelda Marcos. While she favored a tailored style, I don't think her personal preference influenced her suggestions to her customers. She was keenly aware of the appropriate attire for any and every occasion. She was a first class salesperson.

Sometime after Jane Kent moved to the gulf coast of southern Mississippi in the mid '60s, Mother went to work at the Eva Graham Shoppe. Later she would work for B & B Ltd., High Strung, Van-Atkins, Ima's, and the Gizmo Shop. Her forty plus years in sales were complimented by a side business of her own.

Mother did business as a wedding and event planner under the most appropriate name of Lawana's Touch. She had a knack for personalizing each reception, but you knew immediately if Lawana had 'touched' it. The hand written notes she left behind offer strong evidence that her planning process was meticulous and her attention to detail sharp. And she possessed tireless energy from the initial visit with a prospective bride to the last dance at the reception. Mother’s creative flair was magical. Her ‘hands on’ approach to the finished setting often astonished me. Seeing her sew tiny dresses for dolls that adorned reception tables to replicate the wedding party intrigued me. Watching her carefully iron table cloths with perfect creases made me tired. She was her own taskmaster.

I have no idea the number of weddings Mother oversaw throughout the years she was in business. But I do know that the 'touch' she brought to the many wedding receptions, rehearsal dinners, church socials, and community events was genuinely appreciated by the participants from the numerous thank you notes, cards, and letters I have uncovered in going through personal belongings in recent weeks.

I can't for the life of me
Remember a sadder day
I know they say let it be
But it just don't work out that way
And the course of a lifetime runs
Over and over again

In addition to her work a day world, Lawana Miles was a devoted daughter, sister, wife, mother, grandmother, and friend to many. She was loyal to her family and 'worked' to gather them together at annual reunions for many years from the '50s through the mid '80s when my generation of cousins scattered well beyond the boundaries of Arkansas making such gatherings more difficult. Mother 'worked' equally as hard to include Lana's and my friends in every aspect of family. She looked upon our friends as her own and treated them as such. Family and friends were synonymous in our house.

The relationships with family and friends are, indeed, “the course of a lifetime.” Fathers are often looked upon as 'captains of the ship,' but mothers are the navigators. Mothers set the 'course' for most of us and provide guidance as we maneuver the peaks and valleys of the lifetime. Even though it is the natural order of things for a parent to walk off the end of life's pathway ahead of the child, it is heart wrenching to lose sight of them. In those instances when it is the child who runs out of sight of the parent on life’s winding road, it is heart breaking. To “let it be” runs contrary to the ways of the heart. Yet there is a smile among the tears in believing that Mother is in 'reunion' with loved ones who have passed on before her...her husband, her mother, her daughter...in the latter two instances, Mother and Child...Reunion.

Mentioning ‘reunion’ with my father, reminds me of my parents’ relationship. Mother was advised by her uncle, Dr. C. R. Gray, not to marry my dad. The advice was offered due to a congenital heart defect my father had that pointed toward a very short life expectancy. Mother listened, but set her own course. After a stay at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore in early 1958, my dad returned home with news that the medical staff was of opinion he only had months to live. Mother, with two young children at her side and pregnant with a third, experienced a fragile moment, but proved resilient in the long term. I recall my dad often saying, “I’m not going to die simply because a doctor tells me so.” He lived another 25 years after that verdict at Johns Hopkins. There were challenges with my father’s health throughout my parents 33 years of marriage and Mother proved a steadfast caretaker. I am so very grateful to my sister, Lana, for returning that favor to my mom in her time of need.

I just can't believe it's so
And though it seems strange to say
I never been laid so low
In such a mysterious way
And the course of a lifetime runs
Over and over again

“Over and over again,” generation after generation, mothers set “the course of a lifetime.” Their eyes are trained upon a place “over the rainbow” where the “dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.” Just as “The Wizard of Oz” magically changes from a black and white film into glorious Technicolor, a mother’s dream bursts into the colors of the rainbow when faith, hope, and love collide. Isn’t it ironic that for the rainbow to come into full view, both sunshine and rain are required…smiles and tears. Faith, hope, and love are the key ingredients of a ‘mother and child reunion.’

In setting life’s course, a mother's 'true north' is hope. Hope that her children will know happiness and meet success on life's crooked pathway. Most know from their own experiences that there is no straight path to happiness and success. But most mothers are determined, and hopeful, in establishing that 'straight path,' knowing full well that the curious child is likely to stray. In the end, each generation cuts its own path. Mother certainly made her own way.

“No I would not give you false hope” must be a thought in every mother's mind as she dreams of the future for her children. Even in death I’m sure my mother is clinging to high hopes for Lana, her grandchildren, great grandchildren, and me. She was our biggest fan. Her style, simple yet elegant, will always grace my memory. Her radiant smile will forever illumine my heart.

Oh the mother and child reunion
Is only a moment away

A memorial service in honor and celebration of Mother’s life will be held on Monday, April 18, 2011 in the sanctuary of her beloved First United Methodist Church in Newport, Arkansas. The service (open to all) will begin at 1:00pm with a visitation immediately following in Fellowship Hall at the church. This event will mark Lawana’s final ‘party’ here on Earth. A reunion of her family and friends “is only a moment away.” All who ever knew her ‘touch’ is encouraged to be present. The redbuds and dogwoods are in full flower. “Hope springs eternal.”

Thank you, Mother, for pointing me in a good direction and allowing me to set my own course. You have always been my guiding light…even when I’m Miles from Nowhere.

May magical moments come your way. I wish you love and laughter…lots and lots of laughter!

joe

Precious Time

The year 2010 has come to its end. In these first few weeks of 2011, television anchors have been recounting the significant news stories of the year. Disc jockeys are cueing up the top songs of the year. Critics are preparing lists of the year’s best and worst movies. Newspapers have listings of the year’s notable deaths. It is time to pack up the memories constructed throughout the year and store them away.

Memories are pieces of time stitched together in a patchwork style, much like that of my grandmother’s quilts. There is no real pattern to most of my grandmother’s quilts, just remnants of cloth sewn together to create something useful out of scrap. Some of these old quilts have lost their luster over time. The brightly colored fabric has faded and regular use as bed coverings has yielded tears in the patches with the cotton batting exposed. Yet these old quilts are priceless works of art to me and many 'faded' memories come into brilliant focus when I look at them.

Reflecting on times past is a journey each of us travels alone. Even when we are reminiscing with old friends and reliving old times together, every remembrance has a personal slant. The importance of a single same event experienced by many is measured only from the vantage point of each individual engaged in remembering. And the ‘trigger’ for each recollection of a past moment is unique to the person holding the memory of that particular moment being recalled. Whether a happening from days gone by is considered ‘happy’ or ‘sad’ depends on personal perspective. We spend much time reflecting in the end…the end of a year, the end of school, the end of a job, the end of a love affair, the end of life.

Most often I look back in time through my ears. I’m confident that is true for many of you. A song comes on the radio. It immediately transports you to a distant time, an old familiar place.

It doesn’t matter what route you take
Sooner or later my heart’s gonna break
No rhyme or reason, no master plan
No nirvana, no promised land

I’ve been a Van Morrison fan since I first heard his music in the early ‘60s when he was the lead singer for the group Them. Songs like “Gloria” and “Baby Please Don’t Go” won’t let you forget them. His first solo chart topper, “Brown Eyed Girl,” released in 1967 remains a classic hit today. Van the Man’s songs pierce my heart and move my feet. Time passes freely when listening to Van Morrison’s music…and it passes swiftly. His song “Precious Time” released about a decade ago addresses the realities of living. My foot taps to its beat.

Regardless of the “route you take” on life’s pathway, I’m confident you will encounter love. Along the way, heartaches are sure to occur and even broken hearts will be experienced with “no rhyme or reason” attached. The cause and the cure for matters of the heart are in the same ‘potion.’ That ‘potion’ is love with all of its magical ingredients and its undefined properties reacting in unexplainable ways.

The peaks and valleys of life’s terrain are usually tied to relationships with loved ones and the happenings in their lives. A loved one is happy, your heart pounds with pride and lifts. A loved one experiences disappointment, your heart shakes and sinks. Simple. When one’s heart is broken, hope dissipates, visions of a “promised land” fade. When love repairs the broken heart, faith gains strength, you smile within.

In my life, 2010 was not unlike the other years I have known. In some respects, the twists and turns on the road of life were a bit sharper. Some of the ravines were a little deeper. Laughter and tears occasionally shared the same stage.

Uplifting gests during the year include welcoming a new grandchild into the world and watching his personality shine, moving into a new home and seeing the elation in my wife’s smile (it is her design that has come to life in the construction), having all four of our girls and their families present with us for Christmas (what a gift!), attending the 40th reunion of the Newport High School Class of 1970 with many aging littermates gathered together to celebrate lasting friendships and to remember times past.

Heart breaking moments were centered in the notices received when persons dear to me departed this life. While I like a good martini shaken, not stirred as inspired by the fictional James Bond, I prefer my heart to be stirred, not shaken by life’s events. Some deaths in 2010 shook my heart in seismic scale. Most notably, the passing from this life of my sweet forever friend and littermate Mary Wynne Parker Perryman, my fun loving and ageless Newport neighbor Margaret Van Dyke, and my devoted scout leader and mentor Bob Guthrie truly saddened my soul. My heart hurts for the families of classmate Bobby Ruddell, fun loving friends Edward Kinney and Mike Payne, former teachers Ima Jean Paige and Billy Hobbs, and NHS Class of 1971 pals Mary Lynn Pinkett, Danny Ray, and Calvin Roberts. Just in the last month of 2010, classmates Billy Matthews and John Sink lost their fathers, Mr. Wayne Matthews and Mr. Ralph Ford Sink, in death. And littermate Cherry Lou Smith Johnson’s beloved aunt, Mary Kunkel, departed this life. Mrs. Kunkel worked in the office of Newport High School for many years and was a loyal member of First United Methodist Church. She, along with the late Natalie Madison (mother of good friends Phil and David Madison), were the gatekeepers to the principal’s office during my school years and both served as ‘guardian angels’ for me and many others at church and school during those years.

I ask that you remember these individuals as we strike out into the unknown of future days. I’m sure many of you know of others I have failed to mention whose families need to be held close at heart. When news of Karon Adcox’s (NHS ’68) unexpected death was circulated among dear friends, Mike Dallas (NHS ’66) initiated a memorial guest book for Karon for the posting of condolences and remembrances. Karon’s memorial guest book can be found at www.legacy.com/guestbook/DignityMemorial/guestbook.aspx?n=karon-adcox&pid=146096305. You can also leave personal remembrances for Karon or any other deceased Newport graduate in the Memorial Garden section of the NHS alumni website at www.nhsalumni.net.

Que sera sera, whatever will be
But I keep searching for immortality
She’s so beautiful, but she’s gonna die someday
Everything in life, it just passes away

Our memories remain alive through our conversations whether in person or on network sites like the memorial pages mentioned above. The remembrances expressed by loving hearts among the living are essential elements of “immortality.” As I listen to the lyrics of "Precious Time" on this day I think of my mother and the beautiful person that she is. She has been gently knocking on Heaven's door for several months on end. Heaven's doorkeeper will answer that knock in His own 'precious time.' Yes, "everything in life, it just passes away," but those we love are immortal in our hearts.

Well this world is cruel with its twists and turns
But the fire's still in me and the passion still burns
I'll love her madly til the day I die
Til Hell freezes over, til the rivers run dry

My thoughts resemble one of my grandmother's quilts...no particular pattern...just colorful visages of beautiful people I've known and fascinating places I've seen randomly stitched together in my mind. I'm gathering my thoughts today in the aftermath of the tragic shooting rampage in Arizona at a constituent forum initiated by U. S. Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords and her staff. Six people ranging in age from 9 to 79 lost their lives in a maniacal moment. I knew none of these people, but I think I shared the spirit of freedom with them all. There are those times when "this world is cruel," and this inexplicable instant in time is one of them. Yet this heart-breaking event has not dampened 'the fire' within me that burns with love for my fellow man and the America I call "home." "Home is where the heart is" is an ancient saying that resonates true. I'm sure folks everywhere across this country know the truth in this 'saying' whether they be from Tucson, Arizona or Anywhere, USA. The love that surrounded me as a youngster growing up in Newport, Arkansas influences my heart. Newport and her people inspired a sense of loyalty, provided me a safe haven, enabled me to forgive indiscretions, allowed my own errors in judgment to be forgiven, fostered tolerance amidst intolerable instances. I hold Newport in highest esteem and will "love her madly til the day I die."

A genuine reflection of this Newport 'spirit' can be found in the fictional pages of "The Ghost of Bud Parrot" authored by Newport native Dr. Judson Hout (NHS '53). "The Ghost of Bud Parrot" is a story about a relationship rooted in Jackson County and based on love and respect. For those who grew up in Jackson County in the 1940s, the place names and characters' names referenced in the book will rekindle memories. The experiences depicted ring just as true for those of us who grew up in the area in the 1950s and 1960s. While the Jackson County landscape has seen considerable change over the past 60 to 70 years, the heart and soul of the community remains full. My youngest daughter, Elizabeth, gifted me a copy of "The Ghost of Bud Parrot" at Christmas and I am grateful. Elizabeth really purchased me a ticket for a journey back in time to a place filled with fond memories. I encourage you to grab a copy of the book and take your own journey.

Precious time is slipping away
You know you're only king for a day
It doesn't matter to which God you pray
Because precious time is slipping away

Indeed "precious time is slipping away." In the first few days of this new year, two others, Mildred Holden and Maisie Manning, with whom I enjoyed caring Newport ties, have passed from my line of sight. Mildred is the mother of my childhood friend Carmen Holden (NHS '69) and her brothers Charles and Mike. She and my mother annually celebrated their birthdays together, along with their late friend Margaret Van Dyke, the last week of November each year. What a trio of funny ladies! Maisie is the wife of my former scoutmaster Van Manning and stepmother to friends Susan (NHS '78) and Mark (NHS '75). Maisie had a fun loving attitude true to the spirit of a Razorback cheerleader, which she had been. Both Mildred and Maisie were talented pianists. I'm thinking Heaven's music is being jazzed up a bit since their arrival.

This past weekend I traveled over to Newport to attend a surprise birthday party for long time pal and fraternity brother John Pennington. Friends from far and near gathered at the Depot in downtown Newport to celebrate the occasion. A good time was had by all in attendance. I salute John's wife, Sue, and their children, Lindsay and John Ward, for planning the fun affair and crowning John "king for a day" in honor of his sixtieth birthday. Oh yeah, John's twin brother, Bruce, is also sixty. Boy howdy, this "precious time is slipping away."

Time spent with friends and loved ones is the most "precious time" on the clock's face. With the snow falling outside my window on this cold winter's day, I think I will wrap myself up in a patchwork quilt of memories, relax, and take up "The Ghost of Bud Parrot" for a second reading. I can already feel the smile on my face warming my heart. Enjoy the day!

I'm Miles from Nowhere.... guess I'll take my "precious time"......
joe