The Beat Goes On

"The beat goes on...  the beat goes on..."  Life's "beat" is really nice, but it has been "hard to dance to" in the past fifteen months or so.  The fast pace of living and working has thrown off my rhythm.  I simply haven't been able to coordinate my thoughts with my fingertips, so I haven't spilled any of those thoughts on to paper in quite a while.

The beat goes on, the beat goes on

Drums keep pounding a rhythm to the brain

La de da de de, la de da de da 

Most everyone I know and hold dear marches to the beat of their own drum.  I'm drawn to these independent thinkers and free spirits by the "beat" of their souls.  Each person unique.  Each with their own story to tell.  I am truly grateful for their influence on my story.  Drum beats, heart beats, toe taps, finger snaps, hand claps, knee slaps, keeping time, "and the beat goes on..."

Charleston was once the rage, uh huh

History has turned the page, uh huh

The mini skirts, the current thing, uh huh

Teenybopper is the newborn king, uh huh

I have been reflecting on the pages of history in recent months, especially the faces, places, and events that have influenced my 65 years.  Sonny and Cher's single "The Beat Goes On" hit the charts fifty years ago in 1967.  I was fifteen, one of those "newborn king" teenyboppers on the scene.  Much of the time during the "Summer of Love" I could be found on the baseball field in Newport.  Sonny was one of my baseball coaches; not Sonny Bono, but Sonny Burgess.  

Unlike some of the other young ballplayers, I had awareness that Sonny Burgess played music since my father spent a good deal of time at the Silver Moon where Sonny and his band, the Pacers, often performed in the mid to late '50s.  His success as a recording artist at Sun Records alongside Elvis Presley, Carl Perkins, Johnny Cash, Roy Orbison, Jerry Lee Lewis, Billy Lee Riley, and others was known to me, but I knew him best on the baseball diamond as a volunteer coach and salesman in the local sporting goods stores.  After time away from the music scene, the Pacers regrouped and have played all around the world in the past few decades on their way to induction in the Rockabilly Hall of Fame.  Sonny also hosted "We Wanna Boogie," a music show on KASU-FM, for more than a decade and was instrumental in having U.S. Highway 67 through Newport designated as Arkansas' Rock 'n Roll Highway.  He was dedicated to keeping the music and northeast Arkansas relevant to today's "teenyboppers" and future generations. I have been fortunate to see Sonny and the Legendary Pacers play many gigs.  Just in the past year, Kathryn and I have danced to the music of the Pacers at Billy Bennett's 90th birthday party at the Newport Country Club, at Freda Steenburgen Nichols' 92nd birthday party at South on Main in Little Rock, and at Depot Days in downtown Newport.  But then Sonny laid down his six string last month for the final time on life's stage.  No encore...  Sonny's life came full circle at a memorial gathering on August 24, 2017 at the Silver Moon hosted by his son, John.  As usual, Sonny played to a full house.

The 'baseball connection' kept us close in spirit through the years.  Sonny and my dad were mighty fine friends.  My mother worked for Sonny's wife, JoAnne, and Sue Ellen Burton at B and B, a first class women's apparel store, establishing a lasting friendship.  These personal relationships nourished a family friendship shared throughout my life that will carry on in my heart...  Kern Kennedy and Bobby Crofford, two of the Pacers who played with Sonny for well over fifty years, assure me they will keep "the beat..."

And the beat goes on, the beat goes on

Drums keep pounding a rhythm to the brain

La de da de de, la de da de da

The studio musicians who backed Sonny and Cher on "The Beat Goes On" were a group known as "The Wrecking Crew" with one of its more famous members being an Arkansas lad by name of Glen Campbell.  I am confident that Glen was not in the studio with "The Wrecking Crew" at the time Sonny and Cher recorded this tune since 1967 was the break out year in his solo career, but I could be wrong.  In any event, I am a Glen Campbell fan drawn in by his brilliant guitar pickin' and boosted by his Arkansas roots.  I didn't know Glen personally, but I did get to meet him once and came to know some of his family when I lived in Arkadelphia during the 1990s.  I attended the premier of "True Grit" in Little Rock in 1969 where Glen was present.  My sister, Lana, negotiated an autograph from him on her premier program, which I hold in safekeeping, boxed up with other mementoes from our youth.  The music of Glen Campbell and Sonny Burgess will forever be playing on my life's soundtrack.  "And the beat goes on..."

The same month of January, 1967 when Sonny and Cher hit the charts with "The Beat Goes On," Winthrop Rockefeller stepped into the Arkansas Governor's office as the first Republican elected to play that role since Reconstruction.  My thoughts seldom center on politics, but this event generated interesting conversation in my family circle at the time.  Rockefeller won the 1966 gubernatorial election over the Democratic nominee, "Justice Jim" Johnson.  Johnson had prevailed in the Democratic primary as a segregationist in a seven "horse" race that included Newport's Sam Boyce, my uncle Max Bowie's law partner.

Upon taking office, Rockefeller named a former FBI agent, Lynn Davis, to lead the Arkansas State Police.  Davis set out to eliminate illegal gambling in the state using high profile raids of well known "open" operations in Hot Springs and other towns, Newport being one of these.  Did I mention that my father spent a great deal of time at the Silver Moon where friendly, illicit games were known to frequently occur?  Anyway, Davis was in his position with the state police only a short three months getting ushered out on a residency technicality and by political pressure from the majority Democratic party, but his raids left a mark and "open" gambling in Arkansas began to slowly fade from the scene.

A decade before Sam Boyce chose to throw his hat into the Arkansas Governor's race in 1966, he was on campus at the University of Arkansas and invited a fledgling Rock 'n Roll band to play a fraternity party in Fayetteville.  Those band members were friends of Sam's from Jackson County... Sonny Burgess and the Pacers.  Folklore contends that The Pacers were the first Rock 'n Rollers to play at the University of Arkansas.  Sam's son, Henry Boyce, is now the Prosecuting Attorney in Newport and the curator of the Rock 'n Roll Highway 67 Museum.  "And the beat goes on..."

January, 1967 was also the setting for an ill-fated "test launch" of Apollo 1, the first manned mission of the Apollo space program with the goal of getting man to the moon.  At initiation of the "test," a cabin fire raced through the command module killing all in the three member crew of Apollo 1, Gus Grissom, Ed White, and Roger Chaffee.  Manned Apollo flights were suspended during investigation of the incident.  Eventually, the backup crew for Apollo 1 comprised of Wally Schirra, Donn Eisele, and Walter Cunningham completed the first manned mission in the program aboard Apollo 7 in October, 1968.  The program's goal was fulfilled in July, 1969 when the lunar module of Apollo 11, manned by Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, and Michael Collins, touched down on the moon and Armstrong took that "one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind" onto its surface.  My "teenybopper" friends and I watched the historic landing on television.   

I find it intriguing that the two Apollo flights most important in bringing to realization President John F. Kennedy's dream of  "landing a man on the moon and returning him safely to the Earth" before the end of the decade of the '60s bore the numbers 7 and 11, the "winners" on the come-out roll in a craps game.  President Kennedy gambled with the public pronouncement of his "dream" in 1961... NASA rolled the dice...  Apollo 11 came up a winner...  I recall hearing someone mutter, "Life is nothin' but a crap shoot."  "And the beat goes on..." 

My dad was a craps dealer at the Southern Club in Hot Springs in the late 1940s when he befriended Don Washam, Bob Fortune, and Joe Tarkington, three fellows from Newport.  Those friendships led to my father moving to Newport after being convinced that he would always "have a game" to play there.  A couple of days before Neil Armstrong stepped onto the moon in July, 1969, Don Washam passed the dice and exited this life and "the Moon."  Don Washam, the father of my life long friend,  Donnie, was the principal owner of the Silver Moon where my dad "worked" at the gambling tables.  Donnie had just finished high school a couple of month's before his dad's death.  It was the summer before my senior year at Newport High School.  In the months that followed, ownership in the Silver Moon would change hands and I would leave the Newport of my youth.  Wide "open" gambling, as I had known it, moved 'underground.'  After the summer of '69, I no longer viewed "the Moon" in the same light as I had before.  "And the beat goes on..."

The grocery store's the super mart, uh huh

Little girls still break their hearts, uh huh

And the men keep on marching off to war

Electrically they keep a baseball score

Sam Walton's discount retail concept with roots in Newport was at the forefront of merging groceries and general merchandise.  Over time, small grocery stores have morphed into today's "supercenters."  Wal-Mart Stores was officially incorporated in 1969 and went "public" in 1970.  I don't recall the exact date of Walton's return to Newport to open a Wal-Mart store, but I'm fairly certain it was near summertime of ' 69 since I do remember my pal John Pennington and I were lucky winners of a helicopter ride at the store's grand opening.  I had never been in a helicopter before then, so I'm pretty sure my heart skipped a few beats that day.  Of course, the beat of my heart was prone to skipping in the summer of '69 since a "little girl" in a "mini skirt, the current thing, uh huh," had caught my eye and captured my attention earlier that year.   Love can cause a heart to skip a beat...  "Uh huh..."

And while the setting may have moved from the jungles of Southeast Asia to the deserts of the Middle East, young men "keep marching off to war" today just as they were in the late '60s.  The echoes of protest are resounding...  Loving and embracing the subject of history, Kathryn and I visited the National World War II Museum in New Orleans earlier in the year.  Just this past week, youngest daughter, Elizabeth, and I visited the National World War I Museum in Kansas City.  While in the KC area, we also took in the Harry S. Truman Library and Museum in nearby Independence, Missouri, which cast added light on the events of World War II as well as the Korean conflict.  I have been yearning to visit the Truman Library for years since he was our president when I was born.  He visited Newport in July, 1952, on his way to dedicate the dams in Norfork and Bulls Shoals.  So glad Elizabeth and I finally returned the favor of his visit to Arkansas so many moons ago...  

The tours of the WWI and WWII museums are heart wrenching reminders of the sacrifices rendered by many in defense of the freedoms enjoyed by all in our country.  War has challenged most every generation since the birth of our nation.  Pleas for peace and protest songs serve as background noise.  Causes of war are often varied and vague...  The introductory film at the National World War I Museum begins with these words, "No one can say precisely why it happened, which may be, in the end, the best explanation for why it did."  "And the beat goes on..."

There are no scoreboards on the battlefields of life like those that can be found at baseball parks.  And baseball scoreboards have certainly changed over the years.  I love the old manual scoreboards at Fenway Park in Boston and Wrigley Field in Chicago, but even those iconic parks have ramped up their electronic presence in recent years.  The introduction of video boards in left and right fields at Wrigley altered the atmosphere a bit and coincided with the Cubs first World Series championship in 108 years in 2016.  Fans are now watching to see if the magic continues in Chicagoland...  Just a few weeks ago, granddaughter Claire and daughter Evelyn accompanied me to a Cubs versus Cardinals game at Wrigley.  A couple of days later, Kathryn and I attended a Cubs versus White Sox game at Wrigley.  Nothing like "rivals week" at the "friendly confines" of Wrigley Field.  Batter up!

And the beat goes on, the beat goes on

Drums keep pounding a rhythm to the brain

La de da de de, la de da de da

My obsessions with baseball and music were born from interests shared with my parents.  Music was always playing on the radio or the record player at our house.  Pick up baseball games were played year round in the neighborhood.  And I could see the lights at "old" Memorial Field from my house on South Main, so I always knew when a game was happening at the park.  Each time I drive into the parking lot at the Newport Country Club, I reflect on the many baseball games I watched and played in at Newport since the outfield of the old ball park is adjacent.  Just recently I found myself in that very spot, the same day as the memorial for Sonny Burgess. 

As I walked to the entrance of the Newport Country Club, I glanced over my shoulder to the field area where Sonny had often given me tips about baseball and about life.  I was in Newport to attend the service for Sonny as well as that evening's Newport Alumni Hall of Fame Banquet.  I am fortunate to have personal relationship with each of this year's Hall of Fame inductees.  Dr. Patti Mullins (NHS '75), a passionate Dallas Cowboys fan, has been a long time friend whose father, John Mullins, himself a Newport Alumni Hall of Famer (2010) was Superintendent of Newport schools during most of my student days.  Dr. Austin Grimes (NHS '46) has been a longer time friend and is a renowned orthopedic surgeon and artist.  John Purdy (NHS '58) was inducted posthumously as one of Newport's finest ambassadors.  He and his wife, Rosanna, were leaders of our United Methodist Youth Fellowship group when I was in junior high school.  Joe Black (NHS '70) is one of my littermates who I had the pleasure of working alongside in the 1990s doing economic and community development work for Southern Development Bancorporation.  The 2017 Excellence in Education award was presented to teacher Iris Diann Clark.  Pal John Pennington kept "the beat" as the evening's emcee.  I had the good fortune of sitting with Greyhounds football coach Mark Hindsley and his wife, Mallory, as well as Oshae Pruitt and Luke Samaniego, two exceptional young men playing for the 2017 Hounds.  Visiting with these present day Greyhounds while witnessing my classmate Joe Black's Hall of Fame induction, I could not help but reflect on Newport's winning tradition in team sports.  The 10-1 1969 Greyhounds of my senior year were led by quarterback Bobby Joe Forrester.  Forty-eight years later, Bobby Joe's son, Cash, is the Greyhounds quarterback.   In the evening's conversation, I discovered that Mallory Hindsley and my daughter, Emily, are friends and sorority sisters.  I love connecting the dots on life's game board...

A "tip of the cap" to the board of directors of the Newport School District Charitable Foundation for establishing the Hall of Fame and keeping "the beat." Melissa Washam Keiffner is the Foundation's director.  She and Julie Allen are to be commended for coordinating the annual banquet.  I was privileged to pinch-hit for my good friend, John Pennington, at the 2016 Hall of Fame induction ceremonies when he assumed a different role in accepting membership into the Hall of Fame on behalf of his father, Wardell Pennington (NHS '43).  Other inductees last year were Bobby Huey (NHS '52), Mark "Redbird" Ramsey (NHS '77), and the 1965 AA State Champion Greyhounds basketball team.  It was so nice to reconnect with Coach Bernis Duke, the head coach of that '65  championship team, who was my family's neighbor in his final season at NHS.  Hearty congratulations to the 2016 and 2017 Newport Alumni Hall of Fame honorees!  "And the beat goes on..."

 

Grandmas sit in chairs and reminisce

Boys keep chasing girls to get a kiss

The cars keep going faster all the time

Bums still cry, "Hey buddy, have you got a dime?"

And the beat goes on, yes, the beat goes on

In 1967, the "grandmas" and grandpas who were "rockin'" and reminiscin' would have included my grandparents.  Fifty years later, I find myself in reminiscent thought of those days gone by and thankful for the faces, places, and events that enlightened my path.  Much has changed over the years.  Yet, the mind sometimes wanders to "chasing girls" and driving fast cars in those days of yore.  The landscape of my hometown is different as is its "smilescape."  Many of the "smiles" that once lit up my life still shine today, but only in my heart.  Among the smiles forever nestled within my heart are those of cousins Bob "Doc" Meacham and Artemis Gray Fallert Brykala, better known as "Little Art."  Since I last tipped over a glass filled with thoughts, so many funerals for family and friends have simply happened.  After each, "the beat goes on..."  I remember...

Over the past fifteen months, two of my 1970 NHS littermates have gone missing from the kennel, Scott Baker and Linda Johnson.  Others who roamed the campus of Newport High School during the '60s and '70s who have scampered off life's playing field in recent months include Buddy Black, Jimmy Jowers, Denny Treadway, Elizabeth Fellows Lewis, Harry Mack Adams, Marcus Nelson, Mary Jackson Elrod, Melva Babb Davis, Jetta Young Consono, Belinda Howard Baker, Anna Catterlin Walls, Connie McGaughey Stuart, Kathy Ellis Cook, Norine Richolson Tribbey, Pat Dallas, Sam Harvey Boyce, and Pam Hout Wallace. The parents of several classmates and friends who have departed this life include Matilda Brownd, Nancy Sink, Norma Wooldridge, Dorothy Rogers, Betty Matthews, Frances Dobson, Ila Lacy, Sue Pratt, Virginia Holmes, Betty Graham Penix, Harold Rutledge, and Bill Fortune.  I also remember mentors whose guiding principals can only be revisited in my mental notes... school administrator Steve Castleberry, ministers Herschel McClurkin and Dan McKee, bankers Albert Rusher and Robert P. Taylor, and the aforementioned Newport ambassadors John Purdy and Sonny Burgess. 

Each of these individuals crossed my life's path at one time or another.  I ran alongside some of them; I followed in the steps of some of them; I admired all of them.  Every one of them has a story... 

My cousin, "Little Art" Brykala was nine years older than I, lived nearby in the South Walnut Street/South Main Street neighborhood, and often was asked to "take me along" with her when I was a youngster.  She and her friends, Pat Battles, Sue White Grady, and Pam Decker, would occasionally allow me to tag along on their jaunts to the Farm Drive-In and other points of interests to teenagers in the late '50s and early '60s.  I stood by her three dearest friends and her sons at her grave site not long ago in reunion remembering times together and Little Art's wicked sense of humor. "The beat goes on..."

Pat Dallas was three years younger than I, but we had become friends through scouting in our younger days.  We enjoyed shared interests in music and writing.  Pat's parents, Becky and Ray Dallas, were my earliest employers at their OTASCO store in Newport and his older brother, Mike, is a fine friend.  I was fortunate to have opportunity to sit and reminisce with Pat several times in his final days in Fayetteville and joined life long Newport pals, David Gray, Gib Ponder, and Phil Madison, in reunion to commit Pat back to the White River of our youth in keeping with his expressed desire.  "The beat goes on..."

I visited often with Buddy Black, the "Voice of the Greyhounds," in recent years.  Last October, Buddy organized a four class reunion of the NHS Classes of 1967 through 1970 in Newport that proved to be a memorable return to the kennel for many aging Greyhounds.  It was at this reunion that I last saw life long friend, Elizabeth Fellows Lewis.  I am so appreciative of Buddy's efforts to bring us together.  He was a friend to all.  I will miss him bringing me the play by play from life's game.  Newport has known many top flight ambassadors, none finer than Buddy Black.  "And the beat goes on..."

Reflections of Newport past and present brings to heart and mind a "young pup" from the NHS Class of 1994.  Newport Police Lieutenant Patrick Weatherford was killed in the line of duty on June 12, 2017.  From present day remembrances, it is apparent Patrick was a "well respected man about town" and an outstanding law enforcement officer.  I remember Patrick as a courteous and kind student at Newport Junior High School during my time on the school board in the late 1980s and early 1990s.  I wish the healing power of abundant love for Patrick's family and all of Newport.  "And the beat goes on..."

Yes, "the beat goes on..."  Just weeks following the last time I dropped rambling thoughts on paper, we welcomed our newest grandson to life's stage.  Owen Thomas Richardson was born to daughter Emily and son-in-law Josh on June 24, 2016.  He arrived some distance away from us in north Africa, so it was not until November 11, 2016 that we first met in person, which just happened to be his older brother Miles's third birthday.  Such a happy day for us!  All six of our grandchildren, Oliver, Claire, Julian, Annabel, Miles, and Owen, bring us immense joy...  "Grandmas (and grandpas) sit in chairs and reminisce..."  That would be us these days... 

"And the beat goes on..."  Until it don't...

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

joe







   

   





       

 

 





On a Clear Day...

Have any of you given much thought to reincarnation?  Me neither.  And I have little interest in getting into a philosophical conversation on the transmigration of the soul, but I must admit there have been instances when I 'felt' I had been in a certain place before when I knew for certain I had not been there in this lifetime.  When younger I was much more vulnerable to such thought.  Possibly my imagination was a bit more keen or wilder then.  I recall my initial visit to Cincinnati's old Crosley Field to see a baseball game in the late '60s and I was overcome with the 'feeling' that I had been to that fine city before knowing full well that it was not so.  My surroundings seemed so familiar yet they weren't.  I imagined myself a former ballplayer at the advent of professional baseball in Cincinnati a hundred years before the time I was first there.  I almost convinced myself that I had lived such a life in a time other than now.  Imagination?  Reincarnation?  I think I will have another drink and figure it out or not.

On a clear day

Rise and look around you

And you see who you are

"On a Clear Day You Can See Forever" is a 1965 Broadway musical with its central character being a woman who has been reincarnated and who also has extrasensory perception.  In a sense, she could 'see' both backward and forward in time.  Now wouldn't that be cool?!?   Or not?!?  This production was adapted for film and released to theaters in 1970.  The movie version starred Barbra Streisand and I saw it the summer after graduating from high school.  It was a time when I was on mission to "rise" up, to "look around," and to "see" who I am.  It was not a "clear day."  My mission remains  uninterrupted.  To clearly "see who you are" can be humbling.  But the quest enlightens my heart.

I have my moments when I am certain of my being and my values.  Then arrives an event or a 'voice' that shakes me up and causes me to rethink who I am.  I have come to accept such moments as those 'things' that make life an experience rather than a simple existence.  I welcome different views to assist in the shaping of me with emphasis on becoming someone better than I am today.  I am open to resetting my path for tomorrow.  I recognize that life's plans are subject to change without notice.

Some have accused me of "living in the past."  I really enjoy jumping into my personal time machine and revisiting fun moments from the past in the company of family and friends.  For me, it is no different than traveling to a neighboring state or a foreign country.  Such experiences broaden my horizons and my connections.  I have not yet mastered 'time travel' to the future, but I do let my imagination take me on jaunts in that direction.  And I recall an old cliché reminding me that "you can't know where you're going unless you know where you've been."  Remembering where I've been has brought me much joy even if it has yet to prove an aid in my making a map for life's future, or one for that possible 'next life.'

Living in the present and embracing the past yields the best of both worlds.  In early January I attended a mighty fine party celebrating the 91st birthday of Freda Steenburgen Nichols.  This fun get together was hosted by Freda's daughters (Amy, Theresa, and Becky), and her nieces, Mary and Nancy Steenburgen, at South on Main in Little Rock.  Sonny Burgess and the Pacers brought rock 'n roll music to the event.  By now, the 'Newport Connection' is obvious.  The 'forever young' Austin Grimes was also present.  Friendship circles overlapped with pals from my college days, Susan Elder, Susan Eschenbrenner, Richard Cook, and John Unger, joining in the toast to "Aunt Freda."  My ASU 'running buddy' Susan Elder attended high school in North Little Rock with the Steenburgen girls.

On a clear day

How it will astound you

That the glow of your being

Outshines every star
 

On this occasion, "the glow" of Freda Steenburgen Nichols outshined "every star" in the night's sky.  She was the first to the dance floor and the last to leave when Sonny and the boys turned down the volume.  And seldom was the dance floor not full with the Pacers playing such tunes as "Red Headed Woman," "My Buckets Got a Hole in It," "Sweet Home Chicago," and the Jack Nance/Conway Twitty hit, "It's Only Make Believe."  Sonny exclaimed that he remembered Freda from dances long ago at the Silver Moon.  One would swear Freda is closer to 19 than she is to 91.

I had reconnected with "Aunt Freda" in May, 2015 when Kathryn and I attended a fundraising event for the Oxford American Society in support of the publication, "Oxford American" magazine.  The "Mary and Friends" event was coordinated by Newport native Mary Steenburgen and brought together six distinguished singer/songwriters, all friends of Mary and her husband, Ted Danson.  Mary was joined on stage by Matraca Berg, Kim Carnes, Greg Barnhill, Shawn Camp, Shelly Colvin, and Jeremy Spillman.  Kathryn and I were joined in the audience by college pals Susan Elder and John Unger, Susan Eschenbrenner and Richard Cook, Delia and Stan James, Nellie and Billy Mosley, and my life long friend and Newport littermate Kristine Artymowski.  All of us had a big time!  And Mary and Ted raised a good bit of money for Oxford American.

During the "Mary and Friends" get together, I had opportunity to reminisce about Newport past with Mary and showed her a digital photo from the First United Methodist Church in Newport taken on Easter Sunday, 1957, when both of us were pre-school age.  Our conversation caught the ear of Mary's Aunt Freda who proceeded to tell me of the close, genuine friendship shared by my father with Maurice Steenburgen, her brother and the father of Mary and Nancy.  Freda even recalled visiting my parents on several occasions at our family's apartment at 412 Hazel "back in the day."  Her loving nature and her recollections brought to my heart a "clear day."  I feel extremely fortunate that my life's path crossed that of Freda Steenburgen Nichols once again.

The morning after Freda's birthday party, Kathryn and I ran into Mary Steenburgen and Ted Danson at the airport giving us opportunity to continue conversation from the night before.  We visited at length about Mary's mother and her aunt Lillian Grimes, who was my grade school principal at Gibbs-Albright Elementary and who had significant influence on my life's direction.  We all revisited our growing up years and present day circumstances.  It was a delightful time together.  In reflecting on their vocations as actors, that song co-written by Newport's Jack Nance, "It's Only Make Believe," popped to mind, but the conversation enjoyed made "clear" that these two are grounded in reality.  Our common bonds are the overlapping friendship circles and memories shared of fine Newport folk.  I look forward to further conversation with Mary and Ted.

On a clear day...

You'll feel part of every mountain, sea and shore

You can hear

From far and near

A word you've never, never heard before...

To "feel part of every mountain, sea and shore" requires relationship.  Physical relationships with nature, spiritual relationships with God, emotional relationships with loved ones generate the 'feelings' that nourishes the heart.

Seldom do people climb mountains, sail the seas, or walk the shores alone, especially when on mission to discover new 'things' and to lay groundwork for the future.  Thoughts of "forever" typically include the faces of those you want by your side in the time that is yet to be.  Such thoughts, hopeful thoughts, are clouded by the uncertainties of tomorrow.  Thus the yearning for "clear" days...  Yet the veracity of looking back into the past can be as questionable as those efforts to peer into the future in search of "forever." 

I am most fortunate to have dependable friendship circles.  Chief among them is that gang of childhood pals with whom I 'grew up' in Newport, my littermates.  This week marks the 46th anniversary of our 'escape' from the kennel at Remmel Park that some may refer to as Newport High School.  The NHS Class of 1970 is an amiable pack of Hounds on incessant hunt for a good time.  In the past nine months, the 'seniors' of 1970 (we are more worthy of the 'senior' tag these days than we were then) have enjoyed four different opportunities to gather in the same play pen for sake of reunion.  In August 2015, a good number of Pups met to celebrate 45 years of separation from NHS at Trio's in Little Rock, an excellent venue for those wandering in from a myriad of Arkansas outposts as well as for wayward Pups from Hawaii, Texas, Oklahoma, Louisiana, Alabama, North Carolina, Ohio, and Tennessee.  In October 2015, Buddy Black (NHS '68) coordinated a four class (1967-1970) reunion of aging Hounds with events at the Iron Mountain Depot and the Silver Moon in Newport headlined by good eats from Larry Cordell's (NHS '68) Brothers' Bar-B-Q in Heber Springs.  It was a reunion for the ages with plenty of bones to gnaw on and 'tall tales' to chase.  And then in November 2015 and May 2016, the gracious Billie Jean Nelson Rice and her husband, Keith, hosted Class of '70 shindigs at their home east of Auvergne where love and laughter are served up in big doses.

Particularly, the four class reunion generated many fond memories of school days since it brought together expanded relationship circles shared in that time in Newport.  My classmates represented the youngest of those present who all would have been students on the NHS campus in the 1966-67 school year.  As ninth graders that year, we were the 'kingpins' of junior high, yet the majority of our classrooms were in the senior high building where we were underlings.  That situation often played with my mind and created my own identity crisis.  The many present from the three classes just ahead of our class included those 'upper class' boys and girls I admired and often looked to for advice.  I was in the midst of Greyhound teammates as well as fellow members of the Latin Club, the Key Club, the Art Club, and my Boy Scout troops.  Some of us toured today's school facilities and recalled times past in the same hallways and classrooms.  I heard the echoes of the laughter shared from days gone by...  I offer many thanks to Buddy Black and his host of helpers in coordinating this multi-class reunion.  A good time was had by all!

Whenever I gather with groups of 'old' friends and family members, we tend to reminisce.  Such reminiscent banter is infused with inconsistencies.  "You can hear from far and near a word you've never, never heard before..."

There was a childhood game I knew as the "telephone game" where the first person whispers a phrase to the next person in a circle, who then passes the whisper to the next, and so on, until the whisper reaches the final person who states aloud the phrase, which by then has typically changed a bit since its inception.  Similarly, reminiscent stories told by others often differ from my remembrance of the same event.  Yes, some of us (that would include me) exaggerate for emphasis or to enliven a certain happening.  But then some simply remember a particular life event differently from others.  These differences can be due to vantage point.  Or the passage of time might have clouded the memory.  Regardless of reason, looking into the past can be just as confusing as gazing into the future.  But I submit that the journey back in time through story telling among friends is more fun than the 'factual' destination...

When I "sit right down and write myself a letter" about times then and now, I often lean on my own custom kaleidoscope to add some color to my notions.  It is a simple tool comprised of a crystal tumbler, four cubes of ice, and three fingers of single malt scotch.  Drink slowly between thoughts...  The fluid, amber lens of my 'kaleidoscope' renders a 'clear' view of past happenings and, at same time, provides a catalyst for future plans.  After all, isn't the journey to 'forever' mapped out in our personal 'plans?'  I'm thinkin' plans are just dreams in forever time...  And where is that "clear day" when needed to 'cure' those concrete plans for tomorrow?

More often than not, when I swirl the tumbler of my kaleidoscope, images of treasured relationships can be conjured up.  Colorful characters I have known appear at the centerpoint of my gaze...  And I remember...

My littermate and high school running buddy, Billy Don Summers, wandered off life's path on January 11 of this year at 64.  Forever young, Billy Don was a creative spirit, a musician, an artist, a genuine friend.  Oh, the stories we lived.  His crooked smile is forever etched upon my heart...

Walter Allbright, father of my friends Eddie, Lee, Marsha, and Nancy, sailed beyond life's horizon on May 11, 2016 at a youthful 87 years of age.  He was "Popeye" to his children and grandchildren.  Walter and Peg Allbright were dear friends of my parents and we enjoyed many 'get togethers' with the Allbright family in my younger days.  Life was lived to its fullest in the presence of Walter and Peg.  I particularly loved watching my parents and Walter and Peg on the dance floor.  There may have been better 'hoofers,' but none had more fun than they did at a dance party.  Walter's fun loving spirit will always play upon my heart...

Betty Ann Hurley Gardner gracefully strolled from life's view on May 21, 2016.  She was 88 years young and the mother of my childhood pals, Ann, Lee, and Walter.  The Gardner 'kids,' my sister, Lana, and I were surrounded in our neighborhood by a bunch of fun seekers around our same ages.  My relationship with this family was further enriched by my friendships with Betty Ann's sisters, Bobbie Hurley Harper and Sissy Hurley Sanborn, and her parents, Gladys and Buck Hurley.  Bobbie was my dance teacher and her children, David and Robin Sibley, are fast, life long friends.  Aunt Sissy is indeed my surrogate aunt in Newport. And their mother, Gladys "Mama Hurley" treated me as family.  Betty Ann and Bob Gardner were welcoming hosts to spontaneous gatherings of kids, especially on cold, wintry days when many of us would be sledding on the levee.  Betty Ann's warmhearted presence took the chill off in a hurry.  Her sweet, caring soul fills my heart...

My eyes seem a bit misty, I think it may be time to freshen up my kaleidoscope...  And to turn up the music...

Music fuels my time machine...  It sets the course for my short returns to the past.  And it is an assist to my flight plans into the future because I know music lives forever.  Tearfully, I realize that musicians do not...

The early days of 2016 have witnessed several iconic musicians leaving life's stage...  I will miss the creative genius of Prince and David Bowie.  I will miss the driving influence of Glenn Frey.  I will miss the songwriting skills of balladeers Merle Haggard and Guy Clark.  I will miss the soulfulness of Maurice White and Billy Paul.  I will miss the stage antics of Keith Emerson.  I will miss the crooner's legacy of Frank Sinatra, Jr.  Yet I can continue to live in their music...

Sometimes the view through my kaleidoscope lightens life's picture and music can liven up a place.  Some months back, littermate John Sink experienced a serious heart attack while on stage playing with his bandmates at a Dallas night spot.  A quick response to his situation and an extended hospital stay has enabled John to get back to kickin' up his heels and to ticklin' the ivories.  Hoping to see John on stage soon myself...

This past Saturday night, May 28, 2016, Kathryn and I discovered a "clear" path to the past and to the bar at the Newport Country Club where they have a variety of kaleidoscopes on tap...  Unlike my visit to Crosley Field in the late '60s that seemed strangely familiar, I knew darned well I had been in this place before.  The grand occasion was to celebrate the 87th birthday of Sonny Burgess, Newport's favorite Rock 'n Roll legend and my life long friend.  And wouldn't you know that Sonny would play his own birthday gig alongside his bandmates, the Pacers.  The 'party' was a homecoming for many folks from Newport and the club was bursting at the seams with stories from days of yore.  Sonny acknowledged friends, young and old, and recalled the beginnings of his career playing at the Silver Moon, Porky's Roof Top, Bob King's, and other famous honky tonks up and down Arkansas' Rock 'n Roll Highway before he became a Sun Records recording star.  Hats off to Henry Boyce, curator of the Rock 'n Roll Highway museum and local prosecuting attorney, and to Mike Doyle, station manager at KASU, for pulling the party together for Sonny's friends and fans.  Sonny hosts "We Wanna Boogie With You" on KASU on Sunday evenings from 5:00-7:00pm when he can send you on a 'blast to the past' by 'spinning' some aging rockabilly tunes.

Sonny Burgess is not only a mighty fine musician, but he was a remarkable baseball player who was my coach in days long ago.  I cherish the friendship I share with Sonny and wish him many more magical moments on life's road trip.  Mike Doyle pointed out Saturday night that Jerry Lee Lewis is 80, Willie Nelson is 83, Loretta Lynn is 84, and Sonny Burgess is still rockin' at 87!  He and the Pacers just returned from a gig at Hemsby, England in the United Kingdom and they are booked into next year...  Rock 'n Roll is here to stay!  And so is the music of Sonny Burgess and the Pacers!  I am already counting the days 'til the next time we get to see them rock on...

And on a clear day... On a clear day...

You can see forever...

And ever...

And ever...

And ever more...

I believe that 'forever' lies within the heart...  My plans are wrapped up in my dreams...  My kaleidoscope is refreshed...  "And on a clear day..."

I remain Miles from Nowhere... Wandering and wondering...think I'll take my time........
joe

    









 



       



 







   



Beautiful

When I was a boy, my mother would listen to 'her music' on the old Zenith record player that I still cherish in its worn, yet trendy, mid-century modern style.  My favorite sounds from that time of the late 1950s and early 1960s were those of the Drifters and the Everly Brothers.  I suppose it was the harmony of the voices that drew me in, but the music and the lyrics seized my soul.  And to my delight, mother was always playing 'her music' in those days.  Those harmonies greeted me when I would come in from playing in the neighborhood.    

I have been out 'playing' and away from the keyboard for a bit.  I have missed sitting down for a conversation in harmony with my thoughts.  When I arrive home these days from work or play, I find the news of the day anything but harmonious.  My wife, Kathryn, surrounds herself with music when attending to the home, much like my mother did, so my home place is serene and there is no excuse for me to avoid conversing with myself and recollecting days gone by.  Nevertheless, my television and newspaper addictions and the tendency to uncover something less important to do often interrupts my being with me.  There are times when I don't find myself particularly interesting.  But as Sidney Greenstreet uttered in the "Maltese Falcon," "I'll tell you right out, I'm a man who likes talking to a man who likes to talk."

You've got to get up every morning with a smile on your face

And show the world all the love in your heart

Then people gonna treat you better

You're gonna find, yes, you will

That you're beautiful as you feel 

When one 'feels good' about one's self, then the world around seems more beautiful.  Harmony rings more true.  And life is just more fun!  It is certainly helpful to congregate with friendly folks in happy surroundings, but it is the smile on your face that paints life's beautiful portraits.

It is Christmas time...  A time centered on love.  A time when the smiling faces of children can light up the world around us.  And a time that can be difficult for many.  Those yearning for loved ones no longer in our presence.  Those caring for family members who are ill.  Those struggling to make ends meet.  Those remembering broken relationships. Yet, "that's life" as Frank Sinatra would remind us.  And it is within us to awake each day with love in our hearts determined to keep Christmas with us all through the year.

Christmas time marks the beginning of the end of each year as we know it.  The winding down of the annual clock.  The tearing off of the calendar's last page.  The dropping of the ball in New York's Times Square.

I have certainly let time slip away this year in neglecting to sit down with myself for remembering who I am and the things I like to do.  Recognizing that time flies whether or not you are having fun, Kathryn and I decided to have some fun this past year in spite of the world's craziness.  At this time a year ago, we made off for New York City to experience the ringing in of a new year amid the hubbub of Times Square and to witness the dropping of the crystal paneled ball we had only previously seen on television.  And a good time was had by all in the crowd of people gathered in Times Square estimated at one million.  We attended a party at the Novotel with about 350 other folks totally unknown to us and, over the course of the evening, we met only one other couple from the United States at this fun get together.  The majority of attendees seemed to hail from Australia with many others from France, Italy, Spain, and other spots on the globe.  As we witnessed the ball dropping just a few blocks away from the balcony of the hotel, there was a harmony of toasts raised among these strangers from around the world welcoming a new year and wishing happiness for one another. Such cheerful harmony!  It was a party to remember...or not.  I did awake on the first day of 2015 with a smile on my face...and an aching head.

On the heels of our New Year's Eve experience in New York, we made the fun decision to invest in a second home, something different from our every day living in the Arkansas Ozarks, which we truly love. Kathryn and I have varied interests with live theatre and live music, especially the blues and jazz, being at our center of enjoyment.  We also have deep appreciation for art and architecture.  And there must be baseball... So we now have a small place in "Sweet Home Chicago."  Some may think that we were not fully recovered from that New York party experience when this decision was reached, but Chicago fits us well. We find ourselves living the "Green Acres" storyline and having a big time.    

Waiting at the station with a workday wind a blowing

I've got nothing to do but watch the passersby

Mirrored in their faces I see frustration growing

And they don't see it showing, why do I?

When I am "waiting at the station" on Chicago's "L" in winter, the wind can be piercing, but the faces on the train open my mind's curiosity to their back stories and turn my attention from the chill. There is "frustration," concern, and worry on many of the faces I see.  There is also anticipation and excitement being worn by some of these "passersby."  Our interactions with the "passersby" in our lives and the uncertainties we encounter in day to day living are the threads that weave the faces we wear, often without us realizing what we have put on that day.  

Certainly we are 'hard wired' in many respects by the 'genes' our parents dressed us in on the day we were introduced to the world.  Yet there are influences we can't ignore that can alter our 'style' and the face we choose to put on each morning.  

I'm a child of Newport, the small hamlet on the White River in northeast Arkansas and favored watering hole along the Rock "N Roll Highway.  Many characters who cast influence upon my 'style' either directly or indirectly were first encountered on the streets of Newport.  While I have been out 'playing' the past fifteen months, some of these influential characters have moved on to a gated community on higher ground known as Heaven to the believers. My heart remembers Bill Keedy, Jr., Wardell Pennington, Jack Hagberg, Gene Ivy, Joe Harris, Bobby Newell, Lucy Freeman, Ralph McDonald, Jr., Doug Holmes, Inez McDaniel, Hollis McDonald, Mildred Minor, Brenda Dawson, Doris Borders, Skeeter Kell, Jack Owen, Barbara Bowman, and Morris Bowman.  Each one loaned me personal styling advice along the way.

These 'faces' of Newport left their smiles upon my heart.  From my life's vantage point, Wardell Pennington was 'Mr. Newport.'  He and his wife, Dorothy, owned and operated several of Newport's iconic eateries; Tom & Wardell's, Midway Sandwich Shop, Money & Poppy's.  His children, Betty, and twins Bruce and John were and are dear friends of mine.  The Pennington family treated me as one of their own. When Bruce, John, and I were 'struggling' college students (both financially and educationally) at ASU, Pops Pennington would often send us a 'care package' from his grill to share with our fraternity brothers. Wardell, or "Poppy" to his grandchildren and the most recent generations of Newport's children, was an  example of living life to its fullest.  He worked hard at serving others and died doing so while on duty as a volunteer at the local food bank.  Of course, what else would Poppy Pennington be doing?  The family visitation on the night prior to Wardell Pennington's funeral was a genuine homecoming for many children of Newport.  I know in my heart that Wardell's soul will forever "stand by me."  "For I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat..." (Matthew 25:35)

Bill Keedy, Jr. and I shared a life long friendship centered in the camaraderie shared by our fathers, W. H. "Wild Bill" Keedy, Sr. and Vernon "Little Red" Miles.  Bill was seven years my senior and someone I admired from our earliest times together.  I was privileged to share personal memories of times with Bill at his memorial service at Greyhound Field in late September alongside Buddy Black, Dr. Mike Brown, Coach Herbert Lewis, and Bill's son, Billy.  As we walked onto the field that night, my mind caught sight of "Wild Bill" Keedy, Sr. manning the chains on the sideline just as he did at Greyhound games for many years and silently paying tribute to his son as a crowd gathered to render final respects for his boy.  Bill Keedy, Jr. was 'Mr. Greyhound.'  His achievements were deservedly acknowledged by his election into the Arkansas Sports Hall of Fame, the Arkansas High School Coaches Hall of Fame, the Newport School District Alumni Hall of Fame, and as an Arkansas State University Distinguished Alumnus.  As player and coach, he left his mark on the Newport community and on life's playing field.  And he certainly left his mark upon my heart.  When I was a Little League baseball player, the American Legion ballplayers served as our coaches.  By chance, Bill was assigned as coach of my team for two years.  We bonded.  He was my first real life hero.  Later in life, we often joined each other at a 'friendly' poker game where more laughter than dollars was exchanged between the players at the table.  I would bet not many 'kids' get the opportunity to play poker with their hero and know him as a true friend.  I will miss my conversations with Bill Keedy.  And I will remember... 

Fine friend Jack Hagberg was one who added much laughter to those regular poker games in which Bill Keedy and I played throughout the 1980s.  Jack and his wife, Nancy, had moved from Newport to Dallas to be near children, Kristen and Matt, some years back.  The Hagberg family relationship is one I will always hold dear.  Gene Ivy and Joe Harris were 'deans' of my South Main neighborhood when I was a young boy, both fathers of early childhood friends. The other influential characters named in my heart were parents of friends and friends of my parents, all who left indelible marks on my very being.  Their passings from this life are tinged with sadness, yet I hold a resolute appreciation for their sense of life's fashion.

  

I have often asked myself the reason for the sadness

In a world where tears are just a lullaby

If there's any answer, maybe love can end the madness

Maybe not, oh, but we can only try

In remembering friendships departed, the accompanying sadness goes unexplained in the unanswered question, "Why?"  We shed tears and share embraces to ease the pained heart.  The tears may dilute the sorrow, but it is love that soothes the heartache.  

Our present day world is one of discontent. The political discourse is a venomous diatribe among fear mongering presidential candidates and the opinionated talking heads in the mainstream media.  The flames are fanned by uninformed and misinformed folks voicing opinion on the pages of social media sites and in 'Main Street' coffee shops around the globe.  The economic environment remains uncertain, which is unsettling in efforts to assess financial security in households everywhere.  Civil rights protests are demanding attention to racial strife and distrust of government leaders in communities across the land. Terroristic attacks and threats are routine news items around the world.  The war front in the Middle East is a muddled mess for those on the outside looking in. 

Where is the harmony I knew in my youth?  Was it really like I wish to remember it?  Probably not so much. Civil rights protests were the order of the day throughout most of the 1960s.  That decade was mired by the assassinations of John F. Kennedy, Bobby Kennedy, and Martin Luther King, Jr.  The 1964 presidential campaign season was branded by the controversial "Daisy Girl" political ad warning of possible nuclear war and heightening the fear factor.  Young people were speaking their minds in opposition to the 'establishment.' Double digit inflation in the 1970s stifled the economy.  The Vietnam conflict was its own lightning rod.  And yes, I do remember the threats of the Cold War in those days and the regular precautionary safety 'drills' in event of nuclear attack, but for some reason I never felt threatened.  I reckon youth has its virtues...

"Maybe love can end the madness..."  Love is the core of friendship and respect.  Love puts a smile on our face in the morning time. 

Kathryn and I went to see "Beautiful," the Carole King musical, at the Oriental Theatre this week.  Of course, Carole King's music took me back to other times on life's journey.  Some of those songs of the Drifters and the Everly Brothers that were my mother's music and that I listened to as a young boy were co-written by Ms. King when she was just a teenager.  The songs from her Grammy winning album "Tapestry" became 'my music' in my early college days.  Several of these songs written by Carole King were born out of sadness, distrust, lost love, and broken relationships.  I'm thinkin' that if people everywhere could harness the message in these "Beautiful" songs tempered with love and hope, the "madness" just might ease up, if not end. "We can only try..."

A couple of summers back, Kathryn and I had the good fortune of meeting Carole King at a small book store in Sun Valley, Idaho.  She was there to promote her memoir, "A Natural Woman," at a book signing event.  And yes, we bought a book and she graciously autographed it.  I was already a fan, but I became a more enamored fan that day.  When I purchased the book, one of life's magical moments occurred. The clerk at the bookstore asked if I was from Arkansas since I was wearing a Razorkbacks cap.  She informed me she was from Fayetteville and in that instant I recognized the smile on her face being so similar to that of her mother.  The clerk was Martha Williams, daughter of my childhood neighbor, Mary Katherine Beaumont Williams.  Crazy world we live in, huh?  That smile on Martha's face showed the world the love in her heart straight out of a Carole King song. And it was delivered via a Newport connection.  

Carole King's music speaks to and touches our hearts.  Recalling some of her earliest tunes brought to my ears by the Drifters and the Everly Brothers, the harmony in those voices is powerful, yet calming. 

Yeah, the wind does blow in Chicago, but the "Windy City" moniker has other inferences, like the hard blowing political scene.  Resolution to issues must be grounded in sound and civil dialogue.  Leaders in the Windy City as well as leaders around the world should take heed. For as I have heard, "the answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind."  Or possibly the answer, "if there's any answer," can be found in our hearts.  

We stand on the threshold of another new year.  Kathryn and I have plans to join in the revelry of Chi-Town Rising to welcome 2016.  Chi-Town Rising is a 'first of its kind' celebratory event for the city of Chicago, which will usher in the new year in grand style.  The site of the celebration will be on the River Walk near the Magnificent Mile and will feature a giant star ascending about 360 feet up the side of the Hyatt Regency Hotel to rest atop that hotel's west tower in contrast to a ball dropping some 140 feet down a 'tower' on top of One Times Square in New York City.  The band Chicago will headline a night of music along the Chicago River and a major fireworks show will accompany the 'rising star' to ring in the new year.  We are looking forward to Chi-Town Rising, meeting friendly strangers, and welcoming the new year in the midst of a new tradition.  Things are looking up in Chicago!  "This is my kinda town, Chicago is..."

You've got to get up every morning with a smile on your face

And show the world all the love in your heart   

Then people gonna treat you better

You're gonna find, yes, you will

That you're beautiful as you feel

And maybe, just maybe, "love can end the madness" that seems to encircle our world.  Maybe, "maybe not."  "But we can only try!"  Tomorrow is going to be a beautiful day...

I remain Miles from Nowhere....in my kinda town!  I'm going back out to play now...

joe

    

  

Things I Don't Understand

"And the light shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not..." (John 1:5)

Some things I plainly see, yet I simply do not get the picture.  Some things I clearly hear, but I just cannot follow the tune.  Yes, I do see the light; nonetheless I'm in the dark.

Have you ever watched the hands on a clock jump forward...and then wondered where the time went?  Me neither.  But then I don't need to watch the clock to know that time is disappearing before my very eyes.

It is time again to spill some thoughts out onto a page so that I may see what I am thinking.  Doing so assists in my desire to understand who I am.  'Dazed and confused' seems to be the order of the day.

The last time I talked to myself in front of you it was mid-Winter and snowing on a February morn in the Ozarks of north central Arkansas.  Spring has come and gone.  Summer is sneaking out the back door with Autumn lurking on the front porch wanting to come on in.

Yes, snow was on the ground and I was remembering my childhood pal, Donny Appleton, who had slipped through life's fingers in the final days of 2013.  In thinking of Donny these days, I recall a scene from "Tom Sawyer" where Tom, Huckleberry Finn, and Joe Harper miraculously appear at their own funeral, which had been arranged on the presumption of their deaths following their venture to a wooded island with grand design of being pirates.  In my mind, and more determinedly in my heart, I 'see' Donny hiding in the balcony of my imaginary church awaiting the right time to surprise us with his laughter.  I do 'see' such scene, yet I do not understand my thoughts...

Forty years ago this summer, Renaissance released their album "Turn of the Cards," which included the song "Things I Don't Understand."  And it was forty years ago when I was thinking I understood everything.  I received my undergraduate degree in the summer of 1974.  Diploma in hand was my evidence of knowledge found.  Knowing does not promise understanding.

Changing moods and stranger feelings

In my dealings with the world

Faces that I've seen before am I sure

Or has my brain turned

Thinking about things I don't understand

"Faces that I've seen before" flash like lightning strikes across the mind's sky.  Faces of characters I have met "in my dealings with the world" are back lit by flashing thoughts and projected upon the clouds scattered about in my mind.  Once the 'brain storms' pass, the "faces" shine on in the heavens as stars alighting the darkness.  "Faces" of friends, parents of friends, family members, all good people.

My brain has turned to the past to focus in on the "faces that I've seen before."  My heart reaches out in present day to the families who have experienced loss of loved ones in recent months.  I remember... Paul Dugger (NHS '68) and Mike Reid (NHS '72), two 'Ol Hounds who were fun to 'run with' in days of yore.  Bill Pratt, Sy Mendenhall, Frank Taylor, James Spencer, Doil Stackhouse, Gerald Wright, and Johnny Ray Hubbard, each a mainstay on the Jackson County scene.  Betty Sink, Mary Crawford, Alema Allbright, all mothers of childhood friends who I admired.  And this past week, I was informed of the passing from this life of Eugene Johnson.  Eugene is the husband of my sweet, life long friend, Cherry Lou Smith Johnson.  Thoughts of Eugene are thoughts of Newport.  I accept death as another step on life's journey.  Acceptance does not translate into understanding.

Dreams and omens of my future

Like a sculpture finely molded

Stars that guide my destiny

Tell me what I will be, a chart unfolded

Thinking about the things I don't understand

Can one's fate be seen in the stars?  If those "faces that I've seen before" are indeed reflected in the stars, maybe so.  I am certain the "stars that guide my destiny" as well as that of others can be seen in the "faces" of parents, grandparents, teachers, ministers, coaches, mentors, siblings, friends, and children.  These "faces" are the sculptors of our dreams, the navigators of our life's adventure.  Their guidance and influence can encourage us to stay on course or may prompt us to alter our direction.

Some personal examples pop into my mind...

I came to know Bob Cox early in life through his brother Mack's family who lived in the same apartment building on Hazel Street as my family when I was a young boy in the 1950s.  Janeil and Bob Cox are gracious people.  In my high school days I was smitten with their daughter, Pam, and spent lots of time in the Cox household.  Pam's sister Peggy and I were classmates.  Her younger brother, Paul,  was a pest in those days much like any other 'little brother' would be.  I dearly loved being around this family.  Following my freshman year in college, I went to work for Cox Fixture and Refrigeration in Newport.  My dad had spent several months during my freshman year in the Baylor Medical Center in Houston as a heart transplant candidate.  With family finances near exhaustion from my father's hospital stay and evaluation (other health issues proved critical and disqualified my dad from the heart transplant list), I had decided to drop out of college.  When this decision was found out by my employer, Bob Cox, he insisted that I return to school and provided financial assistance, promise of continued employment, and genuine encouragement.  His guidance and influence uprighted my life's course.  Bob departed this life in mid February of this year at 84 years young and was properly laid to rest in Austin Cemetery near his childhood home place in Walnut Ridge, a place that Bob had personally refurbished and groomed over the years to assure his family a beautiful place to gather to remember loved ones in the life everlasting.  Bob Cox was a dedicated family man.  He possessed an intense work ethic and a generous heart.  Bob endured the crippling effects of rheumatoid arthritis for many years just as he had experienced the triumphs and trials of business, with a determined spirit and a smile on his face.  His spirit and his smile are etched upon my heart.

Ed Penick, Sr., my former father-in-law and grandfather to my girls, was another who helped chart my life's course.  I was already in the business of banking and working with Ed's son, Charles, at the Arkansas State Bank Department when our paths crossed in the mid '70s.  He was Chairman and Chief Executive Officer of Arkansas' largest bank, Worthen Bank & Trust, at the time, as well as one of the state's leading bank advocates.  Always armed with sage advice, Ed Penick was a savvy mentor whose influence opened a lot of doors.  Behind those doors was a first class network of many fine bankers and businessmen that have remained steadfast friends throughout my banking career.  I married his only daughter, Lydia, in 1979.  Our marriage failed to match that of Lydia's parents who were married 71 years at the time her dad soared into Heaven in June at the age of 92.  Ed Penick loved his family and he loved his country.  He was a decorated pilot in Chennault's Flying Tigers during World War II, an experience that honed his leadership skills in civilian life.  His values brightly shine on in his ten grandchildren and eighteen great grandchildren.  I cherish the friendship I shared with this gentle man and I'm grateful for his guiding hand.

Eleanor "Sugie" Fortune nurtured me when I was a small boy.  Sugie's children, Mike Fortune and Karen Fortune Cathey, were the the earliest playmates my sister, Lana, and I came to know.  Our families have been close forever and a day.  Being fast friends, Sugie and Bobby Fortune and Lawana and "Little Red" Miles, seemed to always be together.  The Fortune home was a gathering 'spot' for Newport teens in the late '60s.  Sugie was an indulgent and vigilant hostess.  And I wasn't the only one Sugie nurtured at an early age...  She cared for the nursery at the First United Methodist Church rocking and singing lullabies to generations of Newport children.  Just three days ago, Sugie departed this life at the age of 85, still young at heart.  I had good fortune to visit with her in the hospital in Jonesboro a few weeks back.  It was evident that she was tired when she whispered to me, "I'm ready to see my friend, your mother."  Tomorrow I will travel to Newport to attend the funeral services in celebration of Sugie Fortune's life.  Remembering her beautiful voice, I will have a song in my heart.

I will be forever beholden to those 'shining stars' that have brightened my life's pathway.  And I am mindful of those 'shooting stars' that have left traces across my heart while I have been traveling upon this life's journey.

Seems there's plans for everyone

The day will come and we will know

We all are tied in with each other

Everyone brothers

One great flow

At the end of August I made my way to Newport to attend the sixth annual Newport Alumni Hall of Fame banquet.  This year's inductees were Col. Thomas "Ferrell" Broadaway (NHS '51), Jack Nance (NHS '53), Ollie Burton (Branch HS '56), A. J. Burton (Branch HS '57), and Dr. Joe David Smith (NHS '73).  Much appreciation should be extended to the Newport School District Charitable Foundation for sponsoring this event and shining a bright light on distinguished graduates of Newport's schools.  Sonny Burgess (NHS '48), himself a 2012 inductee, routinely points out that there are many more graduates who are so deserving of inclusion into Newport's Hall of Fame.  No one can argue that point and I am confident that all honorees since the Hall's inaugural class in 2009 will be the first ones to agree with Sonny.

Every Hall of Fame inductee has a story.  Ms. Ollie Burton's story was a high light of this year's banquet and was told so well by David Black in his introductory comments as well as in Ollie's own personal remarks.  Ollie Burton enjoyed a remarkable teaching career.  She was the first black teacher in the all white Newport elementary schools.  Taking the reigns of a sixth grade class at Castleberry Elementary in 1967,  Ollie gave credit to two "mature" boys in that first class, David Black and Greg Hubbard, for assuring an unruffled environment.  Of course we all know that her success was the product of her passionate approach to educating young people and her effervescent demeanor.  As an aside, I'm thinkin' that David Black's and Greg Hubbard's maturity level has waned as they have grown older.  Ms. Ollie Burton's commitment changed the course of the Newport school system and paved the way for future generations of students and teachers.

In introducing Dr. Joe David Smith, Joby Brannon referred to Joe David as his "hero" growing up.  Joby was in the sixth grade when Joe David was a senior and 'shooting star' on the Greyhound football team.  Joby's observation was that Joe David's 'heroic' status has strengthened over the years in light of his genuine Christian values and a long time shared friendship between the two.  In his follow up remarks, Joe David Smith cast a light upon the real "heroes," those men and women who serve our country in the protection of the freedoms we all cherish.  And he paid tribute to our "teachers," not only those encountered in the classroom, but also those who guided us on the home front, our parents and older siblings.  I can relate since Joe David's oldest brother, Steve, was one of my baseball coaches early on.

We have all stood in Joby Brannon's shoes in our lives, looking up to our childhood "heroes," those 'kids' who were three to six years older than we in our school days.

Mike Allen was a natural athlete excelling in four sports during his days at Newport High School.  He was a member of the NHS Class of 1966, four years ahead of me.  I wanted to be like Mike.  His parents, Fran and D. T. Allen, were fine friends of my parents and our families often got together when I was in junior high school. I always thought baseball to be Mike's best sport, but it was his time on the basketball court that kindles fond memories.  He was the only junior on the 1965 senior laden AA State Champion basketball team coached by my neighbor, Bernis Duke.  I attended every district and state tournament game during that championship season alongside my friends Glenn Gay and Donny Appleton.  Glenn's mother, Lillian Gay, was our attentive chaperone.  Seventh grade boys can be a hand full.  It was later in life that I discovered the kind hearted and caring nature of Mike Allen.  My mother worked for Mike's wife, Cindi, in her last retail job.  It was Mike who called to alert me to my mom's memory lapses, the early signs of her declining health.  I will be forever grateful for the friendship shared with the Allen family.

Rob McDonald was another member of the NHS Class of '66 I desired to imitate.  Rob was destined to be a cowboy.  The 'cowboy way' was in his genes (or is that 'jeans') having been introduced to ridin' and ropin' by his dad, a genuine gentleman cowboy.  Rob not only could ride, but he looked like he could ride.  His trademark rose colored glasses and his handle bar mustache set him apart.  Rob was one 'cool' cowboy...  I spent many a fun filled evening at the Rockin' M in the early '70s surrounded by friends.  Rob was a loyal friend to man and horse.  While he is now gone from our sight lines, the memories are not gone...  Rob rode into the cowboy record books when he captured the 1977 World Bull Riding Championship at Madison Square Garden.  Now that is 'cool!'  He lived and died in the saddle.  His last earthly ride was amongst his favored cutting horses on a grey May day just three days short of his 66th birthday.  One thing is for sure, cowboys know how to celebrate life...and death.  A host of cowboys and cowgirls and lots of other friends gathered in Newport to rejoice in remembering Rob's life with Mike Fletcher, one of Rob's ridin' buddies, leading the service.   When laughter rippled through the congregation, Mike Fletcher observed, "Newport is a great place to die!"  Indeed it is...  And it is a "great place" to live when men like Rob McDonald and Mike Allen call it home.

And in the morning of my time

I'll try to understand

I learn by what I find

And love you if I can

There are times when one needs to look down into the eyes of a child in order to look up to someone. Sloane Simmons Briggs, better known to me as "Sloaney B," had a meteoric impact on the lives of many.  I first met "Sloaney B" in her earliest days when she was a patient in Arkansas Children's Hospital.  Sloane was born with several chronic heath disorders requiring a myriad of invasive procedures to prepare her for life ahead.  Everyone with a Newport connection knows the story of Sloane Briggs.  Family friends adopted a rallying cry of "Girl is Fierce" in describing her plight, a most appropriate adage plucked from the poetry of William Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream"  in which  he penned "though she be but little, she is fierce."  Sloane, alongside her parents, Lindsay Pennington and Luke Briggs, was honored as the "Survivor Family" of 2014 by the Northwest Arkansas Heart Association.  Personally, I was hoping that Sloane and my granddaughter, Annabel, would establish an everlasting friendship much like the one I share with Sloane's maternal grandparents, Sue and John G. Pennington.  John G. is Godfather to my daughter, Emily, Annabel's mother.  Annabel and Sloane are just months apart in age.  Our families are entwined with love and respect.  The ties that bind are too many to count.  It is not the natural order of things for a child to leave this life out front of her parents, grandparents, and, in Sloane's case, great grandparents.  I don't understand...  Sloane danced away from life's path way too soon at two and a half years of age on August 7.  Four days later, a flash flood of Newport blood ran through the aisles of the Central United Methodist Church in Fayetteville in celebration of this beautiful child's fierce existence.  Her little life strengthened all in the name of love...

Then there are those we embrace and adore even when we don't know them.  The comedian Robin Williams is one such individual.  My generation was first introduced to the antics of Robin Williams in the television series "Mork and Mindy," which aired from 1978 to 1982.  Williams' character, Mork, was an extraterrestrial alien come to Earth.  The episodes of "Mork and Mindy"  were often directed at Mork's inability to understand human behavior.  Mindy is challenged to help Mork adapt to his new surroundings and a very different culture.  From this television stint, Robin Williams catapulted to stardom on the stage and screen.  I believe he is an improvisational genius.  Shortly after "Mork and Mindy" was canceled, I experienced a 'close encounter of the third kind' with Mork in a Dallas bar during my time in banking school at SMU.  Late one evening after class, a few of my classmates and I were enjoying a fun time at a night spot called "Cowboy's" on Greenville Avenue.  Robin Williams and a small entourage entered "Cowboy's" and grabbed a table near our group.  Recognizing "Mork," we ordered up a tray of tequila solo shots and asked the waiter to deliver them to the Williams' table.  "Mork" then joined us at our table to thank us, took a seat, and chatted a bit.  He then issued a challenge to all to ride the mechanical bull, which no one accepted, except him.  What a ride!  What fun!  Rob McDonald he was not!  But that evening is carved into my mind...

When I arrived home from Sloane Briggs' funeral service on August 11, my wife, Kathryn, informed me that Robin Williams had died that day.  Kathryn was devastated by the news that such a funny man had departed life so sorrowfully.  Knowing we are of same age, the news hit 'close to home.'  He apparently had taken his own life.  In such instances, depression is often at the root.  I don't understand...  But it is not for me to understand.  I am not privy to the innermost feelings of others.  I can only pray that I continue to sidestep the demons that plague most beings.  Through the "magic of television" and motion pictures I will be able to watch the many faces of Robin Williams, but I will no longer be able to 'see' him.  Understand?

We don't need to know the answers

To hope and pray for peace

And each by what he can

To make us all complete

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

joe

Who Knows Where The Time Goes?

"Who knows where the time goes?"  I urge you to step out of the shadows and offer an answer...  Surely everyone has a notion about the passage and disappearance of time.  I know I am in the present and yet, suddenly, I'm in the future.  Or is it the past where I find myself standing?

I'm having difficulty grasping that more than six months have vanished since I last sat down to listen to my thoughts and 'talk' back to them.  The evidence tells me it is so...  Wow!  The year 2013 has morphed into 2014 in the revelry of another New Year's Eve come and gone.  That's a fact!  Wait, I'm thinking, don't confuse me with facts.  Much has happened around me in this time...time gone...

Across the evening sky all the birds are leaving

But how can they know it's time for them to go?

Before the winter fire, I will still be dreaming

I have no thought of time

For who knows where the time goes?

Who knows where the time goes?

I have had many thoughts of time, but then there have been those times when I have had "no thought of time."  Life's endeavors take time.  The 'things' we do absorb time as a sponge soaks up a spill.  I know the phrase "time is money," but I have been caught up in a moment when time has had no value.  I work to live; I don't live to work... Yet, in instances, I have lost sight of that personal mantra when the day's work has captured all of my attention.  And the time slips away, quietly, into life's shadows.

Today is Groundhog Day.  In giving time some thought, I recall the movie "Groundhog Day" that starred Bill Murray as a weatherman caught up in a 'time loop.'  Murray's character relived the same day over and over again with seemingly no consequences when he altered the pursuits of his 'new' day.  The tedious experience causes the Murray character to reexamine his life and to redirect the focus of his life, which must have been the catalyst to breaking the 'time loop' and allowing time to begin a new day.  I am thinking all have had similar "Groundhog Day" experiences requiring our focusing anew on that which is most important in order to restart our life.  And that which is 'most important' is the relationships we share with loved ones, family and friends.

On this day it has been snowing on the bluff since mid morning.  The "evening sky" approaches.  I have witnessed bird's "leaving" familiar surroundings.  Where are they going?  How did they know it was time to leave?

Sad deserted shore, your fickle friends are leaving

Ah, but then you know it's time for them to go

But I will still be here, I have no thought of leaving

I do not count the time

For who knows where the time goes?

Who knows where the time goes?

The latter days of 2013 and early days of 2014 have passed by marking time and serving as a witness to friends of mine deserting this life's shore in search of a life everlasting.  While most everyone is subject to changing interests, I would not employ the word "fickle" to describe my friends as the songwriter did.  But then the relationship depicted in the song is with the "shore" and not another being.  In such context, I suppose I have been a fickle one with respect to the 'shores' on which I've trod or the communities in which I've lived.  I attempt to see things as they are intended to be seen knowing full well I am often viewing them from a far different vantage point from another.  Much like experiences in time, they can be so very different for each one living in a certain moment.

Time...seconds ticking endlessly...until it's time to leave...and then..."who knows where the time goes?"  Since I last gathered my thoughts, Joan and Tom Curtner, Betty Jo Richolson, James Spencer, Sam Boyce, Jenny Bennett, Tommie Adams, Sonny Lane, Mary Ivy, John Larson, Tiny Crabtree, Pete Guinn, Bob Patterson... all friends from my hometown of Newport, have let go the hand of loved ones still standing on life's 'shore' and pushed their skiffs into the waters drifting toward the everlasting.  Each one gifted precious memories prior to their departure.  

Memories... Time...  Kathryn and I have become fans of the 'period' television series "Downton Abbey."  On a recent episode, Mr. Carson, the butler, observed, "the business of life is an acquisition of memories.  In the end, that's all there is."  Such is friendship.  Such is love.

I'm remembering...  In early October, my aunt, Patsy Meacham Bowie Fyles, my mother's youngest sister, departed this life at 78 years young.  She was the thirteenth child of fourteen born to Rossie Belle and Charlie Meacham, my maternal grandparents, and finished high school in Manila, Arkansas in 1954.  A little over a year later she moved to Newport.  Aunt Patty lived with my family for six years until she married Max Owen Bowie, Sr. in 1961.  She worked at the First National Bank in Newport while she lived with us.  I like to think that she was the earliest influence on my choice of a banking career.  When my sister, Lana, and I were children, we spent lots of time in the company of our Aunt Patty.  Some of my more vivid memories in her company was watching late night television, especially 'scary movies.'  It was Aunt Patty who  introduced me to Boris Karloff as Frankenstein, Bela Lugosi as Count Dracula, and Lon Cheney, Jr. as the Werewolf.  She, in essence, taught me not to be afraid of the dark.  I'm pretty sure her encouraging words didn't 'sink in' with sister Lana since she still sleeps with the light on.  My heart is with Aunt Patty's children, my cousins Max Bowie, Jr. and Ann Bowie Breckenridge, her grandchildren, and her sole surviving sister, my aunt Laura Meacham Hutton.  Sweet memories...

I'm remembering...  a week following my Aunt Patty's death, I received the heart wrenching news that my fun loving friend, John Vinson, had 'cashed in his chips' and walked away from life's game of chance at the age of 62.  John and I worked together at the Arkansas State Bank Department in the mid '70s and shared a love of music that bonded us together.  Bonding together two boys, one from Newport and the other from Batesville, takes a bit of work...and a lot of love and laughter.  And did we share a lot of laughter!  John and his beautiful bride, Cecilia, were fantastic golfers with whom it was much fun to 'play a round.'  Now many of our friends might have written that Cecilia and John were fun to play a round of golf 'with.'  But not me, for you must know that one of John's 'pet peeves' was hearing someone end a sentence with a preposition.  Newport plays a supporting role in the Cecilia and John Vinson love story...their first date was at the Silver Moon in November 1977.  I just happened to be in the crowd that evening with my friend John.  My heart is with Cecilia, their children Shannon and Josh, their grandchildren, John's brother Buddy, and his sisters, Martha and Jane, as well as John's faithful dogs.  Possibly it was John's love for dogs more than his love of music that sealed our bond.  Fun filled memories... 

I'm remembering... on December 30, just moments after Kathryn and I arrived home from a Christmas time visit with her family in Dallas, I received a phone call from my life long friend Ann Gardner Hearn.  Ann was the bearer of heartbreaking news...our forever friend, Donny "Rooster" Appleton, had suddenly left us behind...

And I am not alone while my love is near me

I know it will be so until it's time to go

So come the storms of winter and then the birds in spring again

I have no fear of time

For who knows how my love grows?

And who knows where the time goes?

Ann, Donny, and I 'grew up' together in the southern most block of Newport alongside others our age, Jenetta Ashley and David Sibley.  I moved into the neighborhood the middle of our first grade year at Walnut Street School, which was a healthy seven block walk away.  Coincidentally, all of us were in the very same first grade class taught by Mrs. Helen Shoffner.  The 'kids' in that first grade class make up the nucleus of my closest friendships and Donny Appleton was at the core. 

Donny's wonderful wife, Robin, entrusted me to speak at his memorial service on January 4 at Newport's First Presbyterian Church.  A lifetime of memories dashed across my heart and through my mind.  I so appreciate the privilege Robin granted me to share such memories possessed.

Donny is thirteen days younger than I.  In our youth, one might say we were joined at the hip.  Pretty much inseparable the first twenty years of our lives.  It is impossible to recount all our time together in any forum.

The day following the news of Donny's death, I drove down to Newport to visit his mother, Ms. Mildred.  On the drive, my mind wandered to another time...  Was it then or is it now?  Once there in Ms. Mildred's presence, I found myself firmly astraddle the present and the past.  As a boy, I am confident I spent more time in her home than I did my own.  The Ashley's back yard and a narrow alley way were the only pieces of ground separating my house from Donny's.  The path between was worn bare.  Our neighborhood was the perfect playground for kids from blocks around.  The levee formed the south boundary, Lacy's farm sat west across the street from my house on South Main Street, Remmel Park was two blocks to the northeast of Donny's house, and the pathway to Walnut Street School and downtown Newport was due north.  

Much of the time was spent playing on the levee or beyond in the woods.  Everyone in town came to slide down the levee and the kids in our neighborhood were the hosts.  Waxed boxes from Purdy's Flower Shop made the best 'sleds' on summer days and store bought sleds or metal garbage can lids were best when winter brought us snow.  The snow continues to fall on this day upon the bluff near Norfork triggering memories of youthful days in Newport on the levee with my pal, Donny, and our gang.  Time... I'm in the present, yet I'm in the past.

Just a few weeks back in late November, another member of 'our gang,' Margaret Ann Gillihan Snow, posed a question on Facebook asking her friends where they were when they heard about President John F. Kennedy's assassination.  Margaret Ann reported she was in Mrs. Dely Breckenridge's sixth grade class at Gibbs Albright School in Newport playing jacks indoors at recess due to inclement weather.  I promptly replied that I was in that same sixth grade class, but did not think I was playing jacks.  And then Donny jumped into the 'conversation' through Robin (Margaret Ann's and my Facebook friend) reminding me of the 'rest of the story.'  Shortly after learning of the Kennedy assassination, classes in the Newport schools were dismissed.  Donny and I began our walk home just like any other day except earlier.  There was an 'attractive nuisance' in the form of a trampoline in the Ridley's yard on Erwin Street on our route home.  We took advantage of our 'early' day and started our play on the trampoline as any young boys would do.  Quickly, Mrs. Ridley came to her door and shouted at us to "get on home" and proceeded to tell us how disrespectful we were in light of the day's event.  We were a bit miffed, but we 'respectfully' left the scene and made our way on home.  We were most always respectful even in those instances when we disobeyed an adult command.  Just boys looking for fun...  

We didn't look for 'trouble,' it just had its way in finding us.  Mischief was our friend!  The stories of trouble found and messes made will remain sealed for another fifty years to protect the not so innocent and the reputations of our mothers.

In recent conversations with Gene "Bean" Bennett and Carl Cross about days gone by, we reminded ourselves of the good fortune of tightly holding on to our 'army' of childhood friends.  "Bean" and I were joined at Donny's memorial service by my wife Kathryn, and many in that 'army' of friends including Ann Gardner Hearn and husband Frank, Gail Thaxton Fogleman and husband Frank, Ruth Johnston, Margaret Ann Gillihan Snow, Billie and Kenny Thaxton, Margie and Danny Cordell, Melody and Mike Fortune, Bobby Joe Forrester, Janice and Rick Wiggins, Mike Brand, John Sink, John Brownd, Bud Conner, Phil Madison, Debbie and Terry Dillon, Vickie Cordell, Thelma Ruddell Welch, Lee Scoggins (Terry Scoggins' widow), Jeannine Pender and Candy Crawford Wilkerson (Eddie Crawford's widow and sister, respectively).  The parents of several in 'our gang' were also present among a crowd of friends of the Appleton family.
 
It was a good day in Newport...  My heart remains there with Donny's wife Robin, his daughter Mille Alderman and her husband Kyle, Donny's mother Mildred, sister Jane Bratton, sister Rosemary McGinnis and her husband Paul, brother Jimmy Appleton and his wife Donna, and his nieces.   A lifetime of memories...

The snow is falling more gently now.  Not only is it Groundhog Day it is Super Bowl Sunday.  Super Bowl XXXXVIII!  Has it really been 47 years since the Packers beat the Chiefs on January 15, 1967 in Super Bowl I?  Has it been more than 50 years since President Kennedy was assassinated on a November day in 1963?  And 50 years since the Beatles arrived in the USA to jumpstart the British Invasion on the Ed Sullivan Show in February 1964?  I'm fairly confident that I was in the company of my forever friend Donny Appleton at the time of each of those historic happenings.  Seems like only "Yesterday," when "all my troubles seemed so far away..."  

For who knows how my love grows?

And who knows where the time goes?

In 1967, the year in which Super Bowl I was played, Sandy Denny penned the song "Who Knows Where the Time Goes?"  Judy Collins covered the song and released it in 1968.  Sandy Denny joined the group Fairport Convention that year as lead singer and made "Who Knows Where the Time Goes" a signature song.  She is the only person to have sung with Led Zeppelin in the studio as a guest vocalist when she joined Robert Plant to sing "The Battle of Evermore" on Led Zeppelin IV in 1971.  Sandy Denny died in 1978 at age 31 and was laid to rest on my friend Donny Appleton's birthday that year.

"Who knows where the time goes?"  When I awake tomorrow morning could it possibly be today again as in the movie "Groundhog Day?"

I think I will get back to the "business of life..."  Acquiring memories is an exciting and fun pursuit.  After all, "in the end that's all there is."

I'm Miles from Nowhere......guess I'll take my time...  "And who knows where the time goes?"

joe

    

What A Day...For A Daydream

Summer has officially arrived in the Ozarks.  From my vantage point it is a 'great day to be alive.'  It is one of those days when sweet thoughts of youth surround you, especially if you happen to be advancing in years.

My day began simple enough.  In Beatles verse, just another "Day in the Life."  "Woke up, fell out of bed, dragged a comb across my head..."  Leashed my dogs for a brief morning walk, retrieved the newspaper from its familiar spot on the driveway, and returned indoors to ready myself for church.  On this day I am 'home alone.'  Wife, Kathryn, is in Maumelle caring for our two grandsons while their mother, Lynli, is working a weekend shift at the hospital and their dad is out of town on business.  My morning pace is typical for me, feeling hurried even when there is no need to be.  I drive the short distance to the Norfork United Methodist Church and enjoy the company of friends in worship.  I return home to the peaceful existence on the White Bluffs just upstream from the hamlet of Norfork with an awesome view of God's handiwork.

What a day for a daydream

What a day for a daydreamin' boy

And I'm lost in a daydream

Dreamin' 'bout my bundle of joy

That "bundle of joy" on my mind and in my heart is indeed a joyous "bundle" of friendship.  Thoughts of the many wonderful relationships I have in my life and the memories that accompany those relationships are always at the forefront of my daydreams.  Days like today jumpstart thoughts that lead one to dissociate with the harsh realities of the world around us.  It is a day for wishful thinking and happy remembering.

And even if time ain't really on my side

It's one of those days for taking a walk outside

I'm blowin' the day to take a walk in the sun

And fall on my face on somebody's new mowed lawn

A couple of months back I celebrated my 61st birthday.  Yeah, this age thing keeps creeping into a realm of higher numbers.  Some wise guy once muttered, "Birthdays are good for you.  Statistics show that people who have the most live the longest."  I am enthralled with the study of statistics and 'the odds' that a certain outcome may happen based solely upon statistical evidence.  My love for baseball is partially driven by the statistical history of individual player's performances and the predictive outcomes based upon that historical evidence.  Statistically, while "time ain't really on my side" any longer, I will not be placing any bets on life's race.  My father convinced me that there is "no such thing as a sure thing."  Despite that keen observation, I'm pretty sure even he would agree, statistically speaking, those who "live the longest" will "have the most" birthdays.  So I think I will pour myself another drink and raise my glass to the thought of enjoying many more birthdays and remember those friends and loved ones whose birthdays were relatively few in number.

Growing older is a fun ride if you will ignore the physical challenges, the emotional stress, and the mental lapses that seem to go along with the process.  I have been recalling times past and scattering thoughts into the 'Miles Files' for more than a decade now.  If I begin to repeat myself, let's simply attribute it as a side effect to aging.  And if you happen to remember something of significance differently than I, we will laugh about it and call each other "crazy."

Days like today are rare.  It is one of "those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer" that Nat King Cole sang about when I was a kid.  You have heard me complain about the fast paced world in these pages before.  "Spinnin', spinnin', spinnin', spinnin' like a spinnin' top..." Yet in many respects, the swift pace of every day living yields opportunity.  The "bundle of joy" referred to earlier is made up of the many friends who have merged onto my life's raceway over the 61 years I've been on 'the track.'  There are those times when I feel as if I'm in the middle of the pack and speeding into turn four at Talladega, so a gentle Sunday afternoon is welcome.  It is nice to be able to 'coast' into pit row on occasion to rejuvenate the senses.  And to "daydream" about those who have contributed to a life worth living...

Life atop the bluff overlooking the White River is my 'pit stop' from the rapid pace prevalent in today's work-a-day world.  As I glance down at the river and see boats leisurely drifting in the stream with fishermen casting the shallows, my "daydream" takes shape with psychedelic quality.  I'm watching my grandmother take a small perch from the hook at the end of the line on my cane pole...it must be the first fish I ever caught.  I'm sitting alongside childhood pal, Margaret Ann Gillihan, on the banks of Newport Lake in Remmel Park as we patiently observe our floaters bob amongst the cypress knees near the water's edge.  I listen to my scoutmaster and friend, Bob Guthrie, as he explains the 'art' of fly fishing to me and others as we wade Sylamore Creek.  "What a day for a daydream..."

And even if time has passed me by a lot

I couldn't care less about the dues you say I got

Tomorrow I'll pay the dues for droppin' my load

A pie in the face for bein' asleep before dawn

Earlier this month Kathryn and I attended the wedding of Leah Graham and Ricky Beauchamp in Heber Springs.  Leah is the daughter of fun college friends Melissa and Mike Graham.  Several 'old' friends were in attendance and much effort was expended to 'keep up' with the younger generation making up the wedding party and majority of reception attendees.  Kathryn and I shared a condo at the Red Apple Inn with our dear friend Susan Elder.  Reminiscent conversation took us into the wee hours of the morning.  We did manage to fall "asleep before dawn."  There was no "pie in the face," but I did "pay the dues" on the 'morrow for forgettin' my age while in the company of several "forever young" college cronies, Linda and Harroll Henry, Donna and Tommy "Frog" Reed, Marilyn Dunham Davis, Paula Taylor Bell, Gina Cook Knox, Ann White, and, of course, the parents of the bride, Melissa and Mike.  Such a 'get together' with 'old' friends serves as a "daydream" portal.  Best wishes to the Beauchamps!  What a party!  What a day!  "What a day for a daydream..."

And you can be sure if you're feelin' right

A daydream will last along into the night

Tomorrow at breakfast you may pick up your ears

Or you may be daydreamin' for a thousand years

Following my "walk in the sun" a bit earlier and observance of the fishermen on the river below the bluff, I ducked indoors for another 'cool' drink.  Turned on the television to watch the final round of the Travelers Championship golf tournament knowing my friend Ken Duke was in contention.  I came to know Ken and his family upon my move to Arkadelphia in the early '90s.  He was still a college student at Henderson State University at the time.  It was my good fortune to befriend Ken and to play golf with him on occasion.  Watching Ken from shot to shot on this day spawned a "daydream..."  

I know Ken has dreamed, day and night, of winning a PGA tour event ever since he acquired his player's tour card.  Today that "daydream" came true when Ken captured the Travelers on the second hole of a sudden death playoff.  "Do you believe in magic?"  A 'magical moment' was witnessed on the 10th hole of the final round when Ken yanked a wedge shot into a green side tree and a favorable carom resulted in the ball landing surprisingly close to the pin.  Ken made his birdie putt.  Ken's opponent in the playoff, Chris Stroud, provided his own 'magic act' when he chipped in from off the green for birdie on the final hole of regulation to force the playoff.  But in the end, Ken Duke won his first PGA tournament at age 44.  I am certain his parents, Bettie and Ray Duke, are beaming. You can bet this "daydream will last along into the night" and "tomorrow at breakfast" you can read all about it in the daily news.  Congratulations Ken Duke!  What a day!  "What a day for a daydream..."

I'm a "daydreamin' boy."  And it seems as if my mind is spinnin' just as fast as the world is these days.  I fully embrace each chance meeting with a "daydream" since they are always bring a smile as they stroll into my mind.  And as "crazy" as this may sound, I often find more pleasure in an event well after its occurence because of the joy I experience in remembering it.  I can savor the memory over and over again.

Seven months have passed since I last emptied my head onto the pages of the 'Miles Files.'  In that relatively short time frame, Kathryn and I have been to New York City, Dallas, and Las Vegas with multiple visits to Memphis, Little Rock, Branson, and other nearby places thrown in for good measure.  The 'far away' journeys brought reunion with childhood friends in each instance...lunch with Terry Long in New York, drinks with John Sink in Dallas, and lots of laughter with sister Lana in Las Vegas.  Following my return home to the bluff after each of these journeys, I turned on my "daydream" switch and enjoyed mindful experiences with each of these friends in another time and place.

Kathryn and I also attended a Fleetwood Mac concert in Little Rock a short time back.  There I saw friends from grade school days (Cherry Lou Smith and David Gray) to college days (Robin and James Elbert).  While I welcomed the chance encounters with each one, my memories of our earliest times together brought warmth to my heart.

We drove to Magnolia in May to watch granddaughter Claire in her first dance recital.  She was a star!  Yet my mind slipped into a "daydream" to recitals years ago when I tapped at Miss Bobbie's School of Dance under the watchful eye of my beautiful friend, "Miss Bobbie."  I then found myself drifting into another hazy "daydream" watching Claire's mom, Evelyn, and her sisters, Emily and Elizabeth, 'tripping the light fantastic' under the direction of my friends, Linda Fann Kent and Nancy Allbright Nicholson.

And then there are the visits from our grandchildren.  What fun!  Oliver, Claire, Julian, and Annabel are a delight.  Watching them 'play,' rekindles the fun experiences I had with cousins oh so many years ago.  A couple of days in the company of the 'grands' escalates the 'aches and pains' of growing older, but it sure makes the heart jump with joy.  They are so busy!  Daughter Emily recently informed us that Grandchild Number Five has signaled an estimated time of arrival in early November.  I'm feeling happy...and tired...  "What a day for a daydream..."

What a day for a daydream

Custom made for a daydreamin' boy

And now I'm lost in a daydream

Dreamin' 'bout my bundle of joy

Friendships all wrapped up in a "bundle of joy."  And now another grandchild on the way to this fast paced world.  Such happy news!  I'm taking it all in as I settle into the serenity of our house on the bluff. I watch the river roll easily down toward my hometown of Newport.  It is a day "custom made for a daydreamin' boy."  What a day!  "What a day for a daydream..."

I'm Miles for Nowhere...  Think I'll take my time...

joe