Time Has Come Today...July 30, 2005

Littermates! Polish up your dog collars! Get ready to howl at the moon! The dog days of summer are upon us.

The time has come today to reflect on the world around us during our days together at Newport High School and since. Sex, drugs and rock 'n roll seemed to be America's theme during the late '60s. The music of that time screamed at us to be different. Song lyrics bespoke the social unrest and rebellious attitudes. Experiments in the fusion of rock, jazz and blues created a new sound. Some called it acid rock. Others called it psychedelic rock. I remember it as great music! It was easy to get caught up in all the craziness. After all, men were walking on the moon. And Richard Nixon was elected as the leader of the free world. What were we thinking? We were young.

Time has come today

Young hearts can go their way

Can't put if off another day

I don't care what others say

They say we don't listen anyway

Time has come today

It must have been then that the world started spinning faster, that instant gratification came into vogue, that listening to others became a challenge. There was a desire to march to the beat of one's own drum and that drumbeat was tantalizing and rapid. Dreams were in place. Realizing those dreams was at our fingertips. So many of us thought.

Newport was a bit isolated from the scene depicted in the songs and the movies of the late 1960s. We were a few steps slower than our counterparts on the left and right coasts of the USA. But that was all right with us. We lived in the heartland where the rednecks outnumbered the hippies. We had our honky tonks and our juke joints. Long neck bottles of beer were more plentiful than the loco weed. Elvis could still be found on the charts. The Greyhounds from Newport dominated football fields week after week and the games were huge social events. But the sights and the sounds from other places made us wonder. Just what did await us after high school? That unknown had an allure. Nothing could dampen our dreams.

We all have our personal stories. Divergent paths were taken after high school. Some stuck pretty close to the kennel. Others have roamed far and wide. Some are sure of the road they are on. Others have lost their way. Some view life from the left. Others from the right. Some approach life with a cautious stroll. Others race through life with reckless abandon. Some dreams have been realized. Others have been shattered. So what! Such is life, a wild ride at times, a walk in the park at others.

Regardless of your experience along life's trail, all of us could use a little escape from the routine from time to time. Such an escape is being provided in the NHS Class of 1970's 35th Reunion scheduled for August 6, 2005, just seven days away. Becky Cathey Landreth and her planning crew at the dog pound have spent endless hours coordinating this gathering of high school friends gone astray. She tells me that a good number of the 175 in our graduating class will be in attendance along with a few stray pups from the adjacent classes of 1969 and 1971. This group therapy session will begin at 5:00pm on August 6 (next Saturday) in the train depot on Front Street in downtown Newport. It's cheap too, $25 for a single attendee or $35 for a couple. Laughing out loud will be permitted just as it was in the classes of Betty Newell and Butch Duncan some 35 to 40 years ago. I'm sure some of the stories that will be shared that evening will have an element of truth to them. Some others may not. All memories will be accepted whether fact or fiction.

Retracing one's steps is often necessary in the review of a plan that produced a different result from that which was expected. I left Newport High School knowing I was going to be an architect and entered the University of Arkansas to pursue that goal. An architect I am not. I am a banker. I have been in the banking business for thirty years. I periodically tell myself I would do something different if I knew how. That change in career path took place just one short year into the journey. Most of you have experienced similar changes in direction on the road of life. Obstacles exist, some known, others totally unexpected. Detours must be taken. Life happens. Our varied experiences influence our approach to every day living. But our genetic makeup is pretty much the same as it was the day we were born. For the most part, we are the same but different. Just like we were when we walked alongside one another in the halls of Newport High School. That sameness, those differences brought us together as friends. The time has come today to reconvene and to relive times shared together and apart.

The rules have changed today

I have no place to stay

I'm thinking about the subway

My love has flown away

My tears have come and gone

Oh my Lord, I have to roam

I have no home

I have no home

Rules change as often as they are made. I knew nothing of subways when a student at NHS. Love is pronounced yet often is fleeting. Tears come and tears go. Unlike the lyrics from the second verse of the Chambers Brothers "Time Has Come Today," I do have a home. I am certain most littermates in the NHS Class of 1970 consider Newport, Arkansas home even though they may presently reside many miles from there. Now thirty five years later Newport is a lot like we are, the same but different. Each time I visit Newport this befuddling fact becomes more apparent. Despite considerable changes in the landscape and the disappearance of certain buildings and establishments, much about Newport remains the same. Take a drive around the town and allow your mind to wander back a few years. I'm sure you will see what I see there. Some of the people who were important in my life are no longer there, but their personalities still impact my memories of another time. I wish to mention a few people who have departed this life since my last writing who influenced my youthful actions. Harryette Hodges, Elliott McDonald McManus, Mary Ann Dupree and Bob James were all members of my church family at First Methodist Church in Newport during my formative years. (Some of you are sure to be thinking that I must not have paid very close attention to their examples, but we don't have time to debate such thought.) My admiration and respect for each of these persons is genuine and I hold their families close in my heart. All of them encouraged young people to be the best they could be. Harryette was particularly encouraging in my continuing the Miles' Files once she learned of them and it was she who initiated their publication in the Newport Independent. Thank you, Harryette. And thank you Elliott, Mary Ann, and Bob for your impressions left on Newport's soil. I am also saddened by the death of Payton Burgess who lost his life in a boating accident earlier this month. Payton is the son of Sonny Burgess and Joanne Burgess and brother of John. He is a 1982 graduate of Newport High School. All in this family know Newport as home. Sonny gave me much friendly advice as a youngster and I knew Joanne well as a coworker with my mother. Tears come and tears go.

Another recent notable death relative to music and the late '60s is that of Anne Bancroft who will always be remembered as Mrs. Robinson in the 1967 film The Graduate. Her character was immortalized in Simon & Garfunkel's song "Mrs. Robinson" and she represents the fantasy of many young men of every generation. So "here's to you Mrs. Robinson, Jesus loves you more than you will know. God bless you please, Mrs. Robinson. Heaven holds a place for those who pray. Hey, hey, hey." Hey, hey, hey!

"Time Has Come Today" was getting plenty of radio time in 1968. The Chambers Brothers from southern Mississippi were ushers in the psychedelic soul sound along with the Jimi Hendrix Experience, War, and Sly and the Family Stone. Soul music and rock music coming together to tickle the ears. All of these groups were interracial and their music influenced the times. Newport was not immune to the racial tension present in our nation throughout the 1960s, but there was a mutual respect that filled the gaps in our town. Newport High School and W. F. Branch High School coexisted in the late '60s. Desegregation was a gradual process in Newport that was not fully realized until the early '70s. Our senior class at Newport High School in 1970 was 175 students strong with only eight black students counted among our classmates. We were different, yet very much the same. I recall students from both Newport High and Branch High attending dances at the old armory in those days. Yet Newport High held no proms during our high school years. We did enjoy the sound of the Seven Wonders, an interracial band in which good friends Harry Goodyear and Drew Stewart played. Yes there was tension, but it was tempered by respect. The time has come today.

Now the time has come

There's no place to run

I might get burned up by the sun

But I had my fun

I've been loved and put aside

I've been crushed by the tumbling tide

And my soul has been psychedelicized

Life's pace is a hectic one. Along the way my soul has been "psychedelicized" on more than one occasion. I've had psychotic reactions to many of life's experiences. Recovery time has differed. Three fingers of single malt scotch usually helps things along. This summer has been full of life for me. It began with our oldest daughter Lynli getting an additional college degree, a happy occasion. A week later, youngest daughter Elizabeth graduated from high school and started planning for college, another happy occasion. Two weeks after Elizabeth's graduation daughter Evelyn gets married to Nick Wade, another very happy occasion. Every father should experience walking his daughter down the aisle on her wedding day to the lyrics of "Butterfly Kisses." This Bob Carlisle song was impeccably sung at Evelyn's wedding by close friend and Evelyn's godfather Keith Croft. Tears come and tears go. A month after Evelyn's wedding, a young man approached me and asked for daughter Emily's hand in marriage. Of course I caved in. Emily and Josh Richardson will marry December 30, 2005. Another happy occasion. Four daughters, four opportunities to smile and enjoy life. All of this happiness was diluted in wife Kathryn's necessary move to seek long term care for her mother. Getting my mother-in-law settled into new surroundings has been a heart wrenching experience and a not so happy occasion. My mother continues to age gracefully in the caring company of my sister Lana in the Las Vegas desert. Mother and Lana were at Evelyn's wedding accompanied by my mother's three surviving sisters. Their presence was a real treat. At our present stage in life, our generation has been referred to as the sandwich generation since we often seem to be caught up more in the lives of our children and our parents than in our own. Following generations are sure to experience similar days. As a member of a sandwich generation, all I can say is "put some extra mustard on this hot dog." Life is scrumptious.

Two weeks ago, good pal and golf partner Greg Hubbard and I made our annual trek to the Newport Country Club Invitational Golf Tournament. We had our usual great time. We enjoyed laughs on and off the course in the company of Butch Duncan, Rodger Brand, Mike Brand, John Pennington, John Sink, Jimmy Jowers, Jabez Jackson, Joey Treadway, Dennis Williams, Jerry Bullard, Lindley Smith, and others. There was something different about this year. Each day Greg and I talked about the fun we were having being around so many from our past who we don't get to see often enough. On Sunday we were paired in the same foursome with Jerry Bullard and Lindley Smith. Yes, we laughed a lot. And at the end of the day Greg and I were at the top of a flight. Yes, it was a flight far removed from the championship flight. Another year of fun. Similar to the others years we've had at the tournament yet different. Magic moments abound.

Now the time has come

There are things to realize

Time has come today

Time has come today

Yes, the time has come today. One more magic moment looms on the horizon. There is a reunion next weekend. The 35th Reunion of the NHS Class of 1970. If you have not contacted Becky Cathey Landreth to let her know you will be there, do so now. Her email address is rebecca.landreth@asun.edu. Write her and tell her you will be at the train depot in downtown Newport at 5:00pm, August 6, 2005. Or you can reply to me and I will pass on the good news to Becky and her fellow schemers putting the reunion together. The hour is getting late, but it's not too late. See you next weekend! You can find me where the music is loud and the laughter is louder.

In thinking about the past 35 years I recognize one constant amidst all the chaos. The music is still great. And the Rolling Stones are still together. I will leave you with some lines from a couple of Stones songs from the '60s. First from the song "Ruby Tuesday,"

There's no time to lose, I heard her say

Catch your dreams before they slip away

Dying all the time

Lose your dreams

And you will lose your mind.

Ain't life unkind?

And to wrap it up, this opening line from "Mother's Little Helper,"

What a drag it is getting old

Sure, getting old is a bit of a nuisance. Lost your dreams? I often awake prior to my dream reaching the anticipated outcome leaving me with unanswered questions about it. Lost? Probably not, but there could be further delay in realizing those dreams. Just don't delay any longer in responding to the reunion notice. Getting together once again is a dream within reach. Come sit a spell and share your dreams with the others who are sure to be there. I'm certain that while you may find those in attendance somewhat different, they will be the same. And if you expect them to be the same, they may be different. The time has come today! I'm on my way. Still Miles from Nowhere . . .

joe

Deja Vu....May 29, 2005

We have all been here before, we have all been here before

As the music faded from the influence of the phonograph stylus, these closing lyrics of the song "Deja Vu" resounded within my mind time and time again in the spring of 1970. The incomparable harmonies of Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young drew me in like a moth to a flame. Their sound came together the summer before at Woodstock (absent Neil Young) setting the tone for my senior year at Newport High School. Now I have an enthusiasm for all genres of music (albeit my taste for opera and rap reflects a very limited appetite), but the CSNY sound permeates my soul. At times when I turn inward I seek out a CSNY disc to slide into my CD player or I may even gently place an aging vinyl album onto the turntable when I really want to turn back life's clock. I like the "feel" of the impure sound from the turntable. For someone who can't "carry a tune in a bucket," I have a genuine passion for music.

Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young's album entitled "Deja Vu" was their first in combining the talents of all four musicians/songwriters. Neil Young came to join the others after their debut in the summer of 1969 with a self titled album. These guys brought together the essence of Buffalo Springfield (Stephen Stills-Neil Young), the Byrds (David Crosby) and the Hollies (Graham Nash) into a colossal sound. It is a sound when heard today that immediately takes you back to another time and place, that being the transition from the sixties to the seventies.

If I had ever been here before

I would probably know just what to do

Don't you?

If I had ever been here before on another time around the wheel

I would probably know just how to deal

With all of you

The curtain fell on the Newport High School Class of 1970 thirty-five years ago today (May 29), on the last Friday in May. On the same last Friday in May, 2005, I attended the graduation ceremonies for Little Rock's Pulaski Academy Class of 2005 to which my youngest daughter, Elizabeth, belongs. As this group of young people proceeded to their seats amongst the flashes from memory preserving cameras at the outset of the event, the hands on my wristwatch seemed to spin backward at rapid pace. I heard "Pomp and Circumstance" streaming from the public address system. I was instantly aware of walking alongside littermate Gene Bennett into the gymnasium at Newport High in 1970. We were in cap and gown. I looked up into the risers of the old gym to see my parents aglow with smiles. Then I glanced into the aisle of Fellowship Bible Church where Pulaski Academy's graduation ceremonies 2005 were taking place to catch glimpse of Elizabeth's radiant smile as she marched toward her seat. I returned the smile. I raised up my camera to capture the moment. We have all been here before.

I am confident that many cameras snapped up candid moments from 35 years ago at our graduation. I don't recall seeing any pictures of me or any of my classmates from that day. As a matter of fact I don't remember anything in particular about that day except for marching in next to my life long pal Gene Bennett and the aforementioned smiles on my parents' faces. Oh yeah, and "Pomp and Circumstance". I think that is enough. Possibly I was consumed with future thoughts at that time, not past thoughts. Thoughts of what comes next in life.

The background music that accompanies life's moments sets them apart from one another. Maybe that is the reason that I don't have salient memory of our commencement ceremonies. I mean "Pomp and Circumstance" is played at every graduation. Deja Vu! Had I heard one of my favorite tunes of the time such as Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young's "Carry On" or Jimi Hendrix's "All Along the Watchtower", my recollection of the moment may be more vivid. But then it would not have been a graduation, would it?

What I do remember are the students and the teachers in whose presence I've been time and time again both physically and mentally. Good times, bad times. Old times, new times. Thirty-five years seems like a mighty long time, but when I think of the people who surrounded me then, it seems like now. We are who we were. So the hair is a bit more gray or has fallen out, the laugh lines at the corners of our eyes and mouth are a little deeper, the body tone is somewhat out of shape ... the thoughts of you and feelings for you are the same now as they were then. And I miss you now. But I remember. I remember just as you do. Some of you have remarked that I have a particularly good memory surpassing that of your own. I don't think my memory of people and events is any more pronounced than that of any other. What I know is that the people in my life are unforgettable. When I think of you, the memories are sharp. And it makes me wonder ... well, the bell is about to ring. I'm putting the finishing touches on my senior English paper for Mrs. Carr. I will catch you later in the hallway near your locker.

After graduation we all experience the divergence of the path on which we walked together. On the back of the program from Elizabeth's commencement there is a listing of the graduates and the respective colleges which they plan to attend. Many have plans to attend colleges in Arkansas, but I also noticed schools in Texas, Oklahoma, Tennessee, Louisiana, California, Florida, New York, Arizona, Virginia and even Vermont. Students in every graduating class bear witness to a similar separation. But they will have opportunity to come back together from time to time and I hope they choose to take advantage of each selected juncture. These are times of reunion.

My personal reunion experiences have been awesome. Of course I come away from each reunion happening a bit empty realizing I wasn't able to spend as much time with each person there that I would have liked. But the happiness in the moment brings the stories of yore back to life. It is interesting to me that I have much better recall of the reunions enjoyed by the Newport High School Class of 1970 than I do of that point in time when we celebrated the culmination of our school years on graduation day. Of course the consumption of spirits on graduation evening at such a tender age may have impaired the memory a bit. But the reason is much more than short term over long term recollection. I believe it lies in the heart. The old adage "absence makes the heart grow fonder" invokes thought and, in turn, enlightens memory. As the years pass, the class of 1970 seems to grow closer together. Our reunions reflect a genuine caring for one another. I have been able to attend each reunion held at ten years, twenty years, thirty years. We had so much fun at our thirty year reunion, we conjured up an "encore" reunion at 31 years. The very next year we threw ourselves a collective fiftieth birthday party (a 32 year reunion). Later this summer we will gather together once again on August 6 for our thirty-fifth reunion. Mark your calendars. Share the love. Becky Cathey Landreth is the ringleader for this year's get together. You can contact her at rlandreth@asun.edu. The Class of 1970 has a number of individuals who are dedicated to our class as a whole. They represent the nucleus of our class who continue to live and work in Newport. I am grateful to each member of this exceptional litter of Pups who has remained near the kennel we all call home. They make it easy for those of us who have strayed to find our way back to the pack.

And I feel

like I've been here before

Feel

like I've been here before

And you know it makes me wonder

What's going on under the ground, hmm

Do you know? Don't you wonder?

I'm sure Elizabeth and her classmates have no thoughts of reunions at this stage of the game of life. I didn't when I was her age. After all, on graduation day many have not yet experienced separation from friends for any length of time. I do know I was particularly blessed in living in the same small Arkansas town throughout my school years. Family movements often create interesting circles like those that reunited Elizabeth and Jessica Fortune, daughter of Jeff (NHS Class of 1974) and Jo Fortune, in the Pulaski Academy Class of 2005. Elizabeth and Jessica were preschool playmates in Newport prior to our family's move from there in 1991. Both eventually moved to Little Rock. The mobility of our world today often interrupts the school experience and the relationships established, but I don't think it lessens the intimacy of friendships born during these times. It is these friendships that bring joy to reunion. Getting together with friends and family begets love and laughter. At each reunion of friends I find myself in another time. As Yogi Berra, the former baseball player and part time prophet, once said, "This is like deja vu all over again." Light hearted moments are relived, stories are embellished, fiction becomes fact.

As I watched Elizabeth and her classmates walk across the stage to pick up their diplomas on this graduation day in 2005, I shared in their excitement and accomplishment. It is in the sense that each new day is a new adventure regardless of age. The body doesn't respond in the manner of days gone by, but the mind can still play tricks on me. We have all been here before.

The Class of 1970 accessed its music much differently than does the Class of 2005. We listened to AM radio - KNBY (the hometown station), KAAY in Little Rock and WLS in Chicago were the principal outlets catching our attention. We visited Ace Home Center on Malcolm Avenue to buy our 45 rpm singles or albums of our favorite artists. I always enjoyed visiting with Boyce Fortune at Ace who kept the music selection up to speed. Boyce also made sure the jukebox in the pool room at his nephew Mike's (NHS Class of 1969) house was filled with the current hit singles. He had a pretty good selection of 8-track tapes as well. We often turned to "live" music in the form of local "garage" bands or concerts by major label artists of the day. The "live" music experiences are some of my most favored memories since I was always in the company of friends when I went to such events whether they were at the Legion Hut in Newport or out of town. In August 1974 I attended a Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young outdoor concert at the Liberty Bowl in Memphis with several college friends. It happened to be the night before my first class as a first year law student at the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville. My good friend Don Barnett and I drove from Memphis to Fayetteville following the concert and arrived just in time for my 8:00 am class. There was no question of priorities that day. It's no wonder I didn't finish law school. Thirty-one years later "Barn" and I are separated by the distance between Mountain Home, Arkansas and Sacramento, California, but we are close in spirit. We relived the 1974 CSNY concert just a few short weeks ago when I drove down to Heber Springs to attend the funeral services for his mother. We were joined there by other close friends Keith Croft, Kenny Brewer and Philip Jackson. Deja Vu!

Today the Class of 2005 has satellite radio where they can select their preferred genre or era of music at their whim. Or they can download thousands of songs into their Ipod to accompany them wherever they may go. Such devices have nothing on our portable record players except that we did need to be within extension cord distance of an electrical outlet and carrying around a selection of records was somewhat cumbersome. I cherished my transistor radio, but the reception was not always crystal clear. The alternative and urban sounds of today don't quite measure up to the rock 'n roll, pop, and soul tunes of 35 years ago (I think many in the Class of 2005 may wish to debate me on that issue), but the delivery today is far superior. The times are certainly different.

It's in the music. You can take notice of it on television commercials. Advertising agencies know who we are. When you see a Cadillac commercial and hear Led Zeppelin, the gig is up. I was in attendance at a banking conference not along ago when a young man made an observation in a presentation about advertising targeted at specific generations. We are who we were. Deja vu! Yes, we are who we were. The background music defines each generation, each graduating class. The song does not remain the same, unless of course it's "Pomp and Circumstance". My best to the Class of 2005. You have much to look forward to in life. Reunion often with friends. Such times will bring you laughter. Laughter fuels the good times.

We have all been here before, we have all been here before

We have all been here before, we have all been here before

Keep this Yogi Berra saying in mind, "If you don't know where you are going, you will wind up somewhere else." I'm going to the 35th reunion of the NHS Class of 1970 on August 6 in Newport. Hope to see you there.

I'm Miles from Nowhere . . .

joe

On a Sunday Afternoon....April 3, 2005

Yesterday's Pups! Graying Hounds!

It's a totally beautiful Sunday afternoon in the Ozarks just up stream from Newport. It's opening day of the baseball season. It's spring. The days of youth come clearly into focus on days like today. In Sunday School this morning my mind wandered back to Sunday afternoons in another time. The spring of 1967 . . .

Groovin' ... on a Sunday afternoon

Really couldn't get away too soon

I can't imagine anything that's better

The world is ours whenever we're together

There ain't no place I

'd rather like to be instead of . . .

Groovin'

"The world is ours whenever we're together." On days such as today we are "together." I can't help but think of our times together in high school and the fun we had. I occasionally laugh out loud when I recall those days. This past week I was literally swept back to those Sundays past when I traveled back to Newport to spend time with my family at Easter.

My mother and sister Lana were in town and daughters Evelyn, Emily and Elizabeth joined wife Kathryn and me in Newport for a really nice visit on Easter Sunday. The seven of us went to the First United Methodist Church (forever my home church) and occupied the same pew we sat in as a family throughout the 1980s when my girls were pre-school and grade school age and near the same place I routinely sat in the 1950s and 1960s prior to the sanctuary being remodeled.

My head was on a swivel as I scanned my surroundings in the very familiar sanctuary of First United Methodist Church. Littermates Ruth Johnston, Gail Thaxton and Freeman Travis were seated in the congregation. There were so many other familiar faces popping into my field of vision, but it was the faces of those not present that were totally lucent. The angelic presence of young Sunday School friends Glenn Gay, Cathy Bellengrath, David L Johnston, Jr., Walter Bundy, and Joey Coe was especially strong. (I'm confident that there are some of you who giggled with the "angelic" reference to David L and Walter, but I know their mothers knew them to be angels in spite of the fun filled mischief they often pursued.) I sensed Mrs. L. C. Scott ( a dear Sunday School teacher and the mother of Miss Doris Scott and Ms. Kathryn Torian) watching me to assure I was on my best behavior. I felt the presence of Susan McDonald (one of my MYF counselors) as I looked across the aisle and spotted her husband Phil who was visiting home on this Easter Day. Mrs. Mary Ellen Hosley (the education director for the church during my youth) seemed to be smiling my way. And many parents of my young friends and some former teachers appeared with one eye on the pulpit and the other surveying their kids. As I have, can't you just imagine Buddy and Doris Travis, Crackie and Bea Parker, Gene Johnston, T. J. Walden, Hazel and Wayne Stanfield, Carl and Chris Cross, Lillian Gay, Kenneth Thaxton, Guy and Alice Stephens, Billy and Jerry Wiggins, Tommy Ritter, Gene and Martha Ann Howe, Natalie Madison, Virginia Umsted Castleberry, Almarie Carr and so many more "adults" keeping a close eye on us during church services? As I listened to the choir during the anthem I noticed a heightened harmony as the voices of Ruth and Woody McDowell, Ruth and Eddie Goodyear, J. D. Carr, Robin Stamps, Venice Lawrence, Jerry Molleston, and Steve Pankey joined in. And the music stirred my soul as Mary Kathryn Graham and Chris Cross sat down at the organ and piano to accompany the choir. What a feeling! I glanced to my left where no one was seated and my dad winked at me.

Back in the present I watched as the Reverend Charles Sigman invited the youngest members of the congregation to join him at the altar for a special children's message. About fifteen or so youngsters accepted the invitation. This was the first service at First United Methodist I have attended since Reverend Sigman came to Newport. He has a vibrant presence and certainly captured the children's attention. On this Easter Sunday morning I had talked by phone with childhood pals Mary Wynne Parker, Cherry Smith, and Clay Wright and thoughts of Easters past were circling my psyche. As I watched the children and Reverend Sigman I recalled a photograph I possess taken on Easter Sunday 1958 in the very same place on which I gazed. That photo is sitting on the desk in front of me as I write these words. There are 59 kids dressed in their Sunday best. As best I can tell everyone in the photo is seven years of age or younger. While the number of children in the church this day may be much smaller than at the time of the photo, the spirit of the congregation is just as strong. I feel it as I rise to leave the church following the service and I'm "touched" by a forgotten bear hug from departed friend James Morehart and firm handshakes from Larry Pankey, Hayward McManus, Conrad Taylor, Cal Leidy and Johnny Thomas. Once outside I turn back and catch a glimpse of A. D. Green, long time the caretaker of the church's buildings and grounds, going about his work on a spring day in 1967. I "see" misty images of many more from the church who have departed this earth. I realize my eyes are misty. I am grounded in this small yet magnificent church on the corner of Third and Laurel Streets in Newport. The ghosts of those I've seen this day are always with me.

My mother introduced me to the church, its people have nurtured me throughout my life (even when I have been away from Newport), and my dad solidified my convictions in it. Many preachers have served the church and the community well, but those to whom I felt especially close are Ben Jordan, Bill Stewart, Jim Beal, and Herschel McClurkin. All are good men with unique qualities.

Ben Jordan was the pastor when I started to come into my own as a critical thinker. He was the man providing direction on my spiritual path. He gave me encouragement as I entered junior high school and first got involved with MYF (Methodist Youth Fellowship). Through MYF I really got to know my initial counselors John and Rosanna Purdy, Phil and Susan McDonald, and David and Marian Hodges who added fun to my church experience. My life's path crossed once again with Reverend Jordan's when I was a freshman at the University of Arkansas and he was pastor of Central United Methodist Church in Fayetteville.

Bill Stewart (the father of my good friend, fellow mischief maker, and classmate Drew Stewart) was the pastor during my high school years. I spent a considerable amount of time at the parsonage during these years. I always enjoyed personal conversations with him. Brother Bill delivered the baccalaureate address for the NHS Class of 1970 just before he left Newport for another appointment in the church. Our paths crossed again at a pivotal point in my life. I had made a decision to return to Newport to work for the "old" First State Bank (formerly First National Bank) in the fall of 1982. I sold my house in Little Rock to the Stewarts that year as a place in which to enjoy their retirement. Brother Bill has since passed on from this life. I miss his hearty laughter.

Jim Beal baptized my dad in 1981 and formerly welcomed him into the church shortly after the birth of my oldest daughter. While I didn't know him as well as the others, his relationship with my dad impressed me. Just a few weeks ago I ran across Brother Jim's obituary spilling words of his life's work.

Herschel McClurkin was the pastor of the church when I returned to Newport in late 1982 and welcomed me back home. He and his wife Mardell nurtured my children. His ways exuded love. We had a special bond, but many can say that about their relations with the McClurkin family.

Many wonderful memories were generated by church activities and events. My earliest and longest lasting friendships were founded in the loving embrace of this church. Sunday School and Vacation Bible School jump-started my education in the social concerns of our world. Youth dances were the center of social engagement in the 1960s with the four primary venues being the Legion Hut, the Newport Country Club, the armory, and First United Methodist Church Fellowship Hall. We welcomed all sinners. Strong friendships with kids from rival communities were established at Wayland Springs, the Methodist church camp outside Imboden. Years later I attended college with many of the youngsters I met at church camp. Trick or treating for UNICEF organized by the church and washing cars for other worthy causes in the church parking lot are memorable occasions. I recall foot racing down the hallway of the newly constructed Education Building with Tim McDowell. I was about twelve years old. At the end I was fortunate in that the new glass door on my side of the hall swung open with a shove on the exit bar. The door on Tim's side of the hallway was locked resulting in broken glass and several stitches in Tim's forehead. I didn't see Tim crash through the door since my back was to that action. No need to ask who won the race. In this church I have attended many baptisms (those of my dad and two younger daughters quickly come to mind), weddings (walking my sister down the aisle was a real treat), and funerals (of course that of my dad is at the forefront, but those of young friends Glenn Gay, Joey Coe, and David L Johnston, Jr. and teacher supreme Virginia Umsted Castleberry rush into mind as well). The memory of each of these events is tucked neatly into my heart. This church is planted firmly in the center of my heart.

On this Sunday in the year 2005 I carried a bible into Sunday School with me. It is a bible beginning to show its age, a lot like I'm beginning to do. Inside the cover this bible is inscribed "Joe Miles, by - First Methodist Church, Primary Dept., Sept. 24, 1961." I'm pretty sure I failed to properly thank the congregation for this gift at the time I received it. I do so now. To all members past and present of the First United Methodist Church of Newport, I express my appreciation for the love I feel each time I walk into our church.

Groovin' ... down a crowded avenue

Doin' anything we like to do

There's always lots of things that we can see

We can be anyone we want to be

And all those happy people we could meet just . . .

Groovin'

In the three days prior to my Easter Sunday visit with my family, I roamed the nooks and crannies of my hometown one more time. I arrived in Newport on Thursday evening and immediately went to Kelley's Restaurant to briefly visit with several of my NHS classmates who are regularly gathering to plan a 35-year reunion later this summer. I actually went to the restaurant to get hugs and handshakes from friends who seem to be showing no signs of the aging process. Becky Cathey, Ann Gardner, Joy Stanfield, Jamie Hopkins, Linda Gail Burris, Sharon Haigwood, Marion Mullins and Buddy Rutledge were all in conference in an effort to select a reunion time and place pleasing to all concerned. I quickly recognized the impossible task before the group and exited feeling good about the smiles and hugs I received from all the girls upon my arrival. On Friday, my mother and sister, daughter Evelyn and two of my mother's sisters (Pat and Rhodell) went to Fred's Lunchroom for lunch. Of course Fred's is one of my favorite gathering places because the food is good and the people you see transcend the ages. The Humphreys are always grand hosts. While enjoying our meal several aging Pups were in and out of Fred's. I saw littermate Mickey Doyle there as well as Thelma Ruddell Welch and former coworker Carla Stiger, Debbie Davis and Scott Jones, Jackie Fann Allen and her mother Alma, Abe Jones, Edward Boyce and others. Going to Fred's is always a great homecoming. And did I say the food was good!

Later that afternoon I made brief pit stops to visit classmates Kenny Thaxton and Mike Brand and running buddy John Pennington. While visiting John at George Kell Motors I ran into my kindergarten teacher Miss Martha Wise and one of my MYF counselors Phil McDonald. Phil was home from Atlanta visiting his mother, Elliott McDonald McManus. John was trying to sell all of us a new car. Surprise, surprise! "Doin' anything we like to do" and "groovin'" down the byways of Newport is a cure for the reminiscent blues.

Friday evening daughters Emily and Elizabeth came into town and we joined family friends Sandra Pankey and Marvin and Carolyn Thaxton (Gail's parents) for dinner at a local Mexican food restaurant. I had a nice chat with littermate Kathy Woodruff and her husband Mike Pearce as well as David and Linda Black. We also saw Marilyn Craig, Amelia Williams Frankum, Pat Fisher, and Dianne Rodman there. "All those happy people we could meet" in Newport by simply "groovin'." However I must admit my memory of Friday nights in Newport in the '60s is a bit cloudy . Late this Friday I had an urge to drive out to the truck stop or to Phillips' Café, but in present day these once favored haunts have shuttered doors.

Saturday morning mother and I went to Harris Hospital to visit neighbor and wonderful friend Margaret Van Dyke. Margaret and I talked about our shared interest of the upcoming baseball season. We reviewed the 2004 major league season culminating in her beloved Boston Red Sox winning the World Series over my St. Louis Cardinals. Ironically I took myself back to 1967 when these same two teams challenged one another in the World Series with the Cardinals winning that match up. I watched much of that series on television in Butch Duncan's World History class at Newport High. There were no night games played in the World Series in those days. I am certain we were emphasizing current events that particular week In Coach Duncan's class. I wish Margaret a full and speedy recovery.

While at the hospital we met Martha Johnston in the corridor and discovered that her dad, David L Johnston, Sr., was also there. We stopped by his room. We reminisced with David and his youngest daughter Ruth (my littermate and pal) and fellow visitor Jeff Ellis. We talked about banking and baseball. The two subjects came together early for me when I played Little League ball for First National Bank where David L worked along with my Aunt Pat. Later in life I worked for the same bank while David L continued serving on the board of directors. Tying it all together with our church affiliation, mother reminded David of the many times they worked on church projects together. I will forever remember the times that David and Gene Johnston served supper to our MYF group. Their famous sloppy Joe's were my favorite MYF meal. Mom's spaghetti was pretty good too.

After leaving the hospital we dropped in to visit John and Rosanna Purdy at Purdy's Flower Shop. Visits with the Purdy's always take me back to another time. I've already mentioned them being MYF counselors when I entered junior high. They were newly weds then. And Purdy's Flower Shop was located on South Walnut Street in my neighborhood. Good memories abound! From Purdy's we gathered the family at Money and Poppy's cafe for a cheeseburger made especially for me by Wardell Pennington. I can't cross into Newport city limits without visiting Wardell. Of course one will always see more of "those happy people" of Newport on every trip to Wardell's burger joint. Joe Dupree, Ann Dupree Florie, John Conner, Mary Jane Jamison Robinson and Jane Roberts Parnell were all there. Seeing Jane Parnell prompted me to share with her a recent calamity in my life. Several months before Jane had sent to me a photograph she discovered in some belongings of her aunt, Edith Evans. It was a picture of Sivad's hearse in front of the old Strand theatre. Sivad was the "monster of ceremonies" on the late Friday night horror movie seen on Channel 13 (WHBQ) in Memphis in the 1960s and I was an avid fan. Jane knew this through prior conversations about days of youth when I frequented the Strand with her cousin Glenn Gay. Anyway, just this past week Sivad, also known as William Davis (Sivad is Davis spelled backwards), died at age 92 at his home in Clarendon. I cherish a personally autographed picture of Sivad. Another chapter of my youth is now closed only to be opened again by a memory.

Groovin' ... on a Sunday afternoon

Really couldn't get away too soon

We'll keep on spending sunny days this way

We're gonna talk and laugh our time away

I feel it comin' closer day by day

Life would be ecstasy, you and me endlessly . . .

Groovin'

On the road back to Mountain Home from Newport after this joyous weekend with family and "old" friends I tuned into XM satellite radio station 6. That is music from the 1960s. "Groovin'" by the Young Rascals penetrated my ears and touched my heart. This song was a number one hit in the spring of 1967. I'm listening to the blue eyed soul sound of the Rascals while laughing with friends and cruisin' Malcolm Avenue on our way to circle the Dog N' Suds. Wow! It's 1967. I'm hooked on XM radio and the ability to tune in my youth whenever I wish. I'm amazed at the transition from AM radio, to FM radio, to XM radio that we have experienced in our lifetime, but that is a story for another day. We can talk about it this summer at our 35th reunion. Until then, I remain Miles from Nowhere . . .

Groovin' . . . on a Sunday afternoon

joe

For What It's Worth....December 25, 2004

There's something happening here

What it is ain't exactly clear

A funny thing happened on my way to the Exorcist . . . but, for what it's worth, I'm back!

It's been a while since I sent some words your way. For what it's worth, it was Father's Day when last I threw my thoughts upon a sheet of paper. Since that last missive, I have experienced some technical difficulties about which I remain pretty clueless. I simply know that the computer exorcist coerced lots of worms and several trojan horses to leave the body of my home computer allowing it to return to the trusted state I previously knew. It took several months for the computer doctor to recognize the demons that possessed my machine and to miraculously extract them. I'm confident that the problems could have been cured in a shorter period of time, but at the first signs of trouble I tried to cure the ills myself. I make so few mistakes that it took some time for me to notice that my computer's brain was showing signs of complete meltdown. I recalled someone saying "garbage in, garbage out" in referring to the end product of computerization. Finally when I came to realize that it was me who was on the edge of craziness (a condition I've nurtured from birth), I sought professional help for my computer. End result - all is well with the computing mechanism and its output. Questions still remain about the input artist.

For what's its worth, a lot has transpired since we last met through the printed word. Lives on earth have ended, others have begun. Memories have been made; some have lost their minds. Successes have been met; failures have interrupted some plans. Love has joined people together; hate has divided our world. Blank canvasses have been covered with paint. See the colors. Smell the fumes.

There's something happening here

What it is ain't exactly clear

There's a man with a gun over there

Telling me I've got to beware

I think it's time we stop, children, what's that sound

Everybody look what's going down

For what it's worth, there is a war going on. War can bond people together and tear families apart. Each generation seems to experience war. You can look it up. The war of my generation was Vietnam, a conflict that generated an outpouring of protest. The restless spirit of protest is grounded in the lyrics of the 1967 Buffalo Springfield hit "For What It's Worth." It has become a song for the ages in that it symbolizes the feelings of a nation during the late 1960s, my high school years. Regularly on the airwaves of AM radio in those days, I knew every word. I can still sing every line of "For What It's Worth" each time I hear it today (OK, I can't carry a tune in a bucket, so I use the word "sing" loosely in this context). I think it is on every soundtrack of every movie set during the late '60s and early '70s. It was during those days that I personally adopted Buffalo Springfield as my favorite band and even though their time together was short lived, the sounds of that band remain at the top of my favorites list. The members of Buffalo Springfield spawned the yet to be groups of Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, Poco, Loggins & Messina, and the Souther, Hillman, Furay Band. In late April 1968 I was fortunate to see Buffalo Springfield live at the Mid-South Coliseum in Memphis. They played as the second group in a concert of three super groups of the time. The Beach Boys were top billing with the Strawberry Alarm Clock opening the evening of music. I'm thinking that Drew Stewart and Carl Cross were with me as I celebrated my sixteenth birthday listening to my favorite band and the music they created, but my mind was a bit fuzzy then and moreso now. I was totally unaware that Buffalo Springfield would disband fewer than thirty days later in May 1968. News of the death of bassist Bruce Palmer in late September of this year at age 58 sparked my memory of seeing the Springfield live. Their music lives on.

The song "For What It's Worth" surrenders my mind to another time. I was a fortunate son during the Vietnam conflict with a draft lottery number of 248. I was able to pursue an education with little concern of being drafted for military service. I specifically recall registering for the military draft on my eighteenth birthday in 1970 alongside good friend Mike Brand who is five days older than I. Mike had waited the five days allowed by the Selective Service Commission so that we could go through the registration process together. I did have friends who courageously served our country during the latter stages of the Vietnam war. Some of them did not return home to awaiting families. I see many parallel lines between the Vietnam effort and the current war in Iraq. Regardless of your vantage point on the present situation, all lines seem to blur when things get personal. Much like catastrophic illnesses, one pays scant attention to the harsh realities of the disease until it strikes someone near and dear. My youngest daughter Elizabeth's boyfriend, PFC Robert Paine of Roland, Arkansas, will soon be deployed to Iraq with his guard unit. He is a gentle young man ready to defend freedom. On this Christmas Day I pray for peace on earth, good will toward men.

There's battle lines being drawn

Nobody's right if everybody's wrong

Young people speaking their minds

Getting so much resistance from behind

I think it's time we stop, hey, what's that sound

Everybody look what's going down

For what it's worth, I routinely speak my mind. In the fall of 1967 I stepped into a sophomore English class under the tutelage of Virginia Umsted (later Virginia Umsted Castleberry). She encouraged speaking one's mind. Virginia Umsted Castleberry has passed from this life since my last writing. My continued interest in the written word lies within the framework of knowledge imparted by Mrs. Umsted and Mrs. Almarie Carr, two wonderful English teachers. Not only is Mrs. Umsted Castleberry one of my most memorable teachers, she became one of my dearest friends. Over the past few years, I was able to enjoy several delightful visits with her and to hear her inspirited words time and time again. At Mrs. Umsted Castleberry's funeral, her granddaughter mentioned that Virginia had a special knack of making everyone feel as if you were her favorite person. That she did. I truly felt that way each time I was in her presence. Kaneaster Hodges recalled the influence Virginia had on her hometown of Newport through the reading of several old newspaper articles, many of a social nature. He also quoted Henry Adams in saying "a teacher's life affects eternity." That is certainly true of Virginia Umsted Castleberry. She has definitely impacted my eternal being. Sitting through her funeral service was like being in her final English class. Thanks to her family for this experience.

I also want to remember Natalie Madison who has departed this Earth since my last wriiting as well. Mrs. Madison was the secretary to the principal during my high school days and the mother of running buddy Phil Madison (Class of '68). I went to church with both Mrs. Madison (Naaaaaaat as I affectionately called her) and Mrs. Umsted Castleberry. The two of them were the gatekeepers to my high school experience. It could have been the church connection that caused me to know they were always looking out for my best interest, especially at those times when trouble appeared as my sidekick, but they had that connection with many of my fellow students. I'm confident they did much the same for all others as they did for me. Maybe the way I accepted their special attention is different from that of others. Maybe not. The loving attention they gave me will never be forgotten. My heart is softer as an aftereffect.

What a field-day for the heat

A thousand people in the street

Singing songs and carrying signs

Mostly say, hooray for our side

I think it's time we stop, hey, what's that sound

Everybody look what's going down

For what it's worth, friendship is the best gift of all. Today is Christmas Day and the remembrances of family and friends bring me comfort and joy. When cruising Malcolm Avenue in the late '60s as a passenger in the 1957 Chevy of John and Bruce Pennington, we repeatedly listened to "For What It's Worth" on the 8-track tape player. Each time the lyrics came to the phrase "hooray for our side," John would substitute the words "hooray for Joe Miles" since the sound was somewhat similar. Now to most of you that would be a bit goofy. For all of you who know John, Bruce and me fairly well, you will be uttering "so what else is new." I will admit that singing out those words in lieu of the actual lyrics is pretty silly, but at the time it made a fifteen year old foolish kid feel good about the friendships he shared. I still feel good about those friendships. John and Bruce recently lost their sister Betty (Class of '64) to cancer. My heart breaks for all of Betty's family, especially her father Wardell, a fine man who has forever treated me as if I were one of his own.

Other friends have lost loved ones since the last time I sat down at this keyboard. Littermates Joy Stanfield, Patsy Pharis, Marva Borders and Roy Dale Pigg have all seen a parent ( Joy's and Marva's fathers and Patsy's and Roy Dale's mothers) walk through heaven's door. Also, Linda Lindsey's brother Pat passed from this life recently. And Coy Thompson's nephew, Jeff Thompson, was killed by a gunman during a concert in Columbus, Ohio earlier this month while serving as a bodyguard for the music group Damageplan. Coy notified me of this tragic instant. I ask comforting prayer be extended to Jeff's parents, Frank and Marilyn Thompson, and to other members of his family as well as to the Lindsey family, the Stanfield family, the Borders family, the Pharis family and the Pigg family.

Time passes, but friendships remain just as you left them, steadfast and strong. At Dr. Wayne Stanfield's funeral I saw George Mark Walden for the first time in more than 25 years. We were able to spend a few hours together reliving childhood shenanigans and catching up on life experiences since then. Earlier this month I enjoyed a nice phone conversation with Bill Duckworth who I have not seen since our days together at Newport Junior High School. Bill has recently moved back to Arkansas (Maumelle) from Arizona. I also recently reconnected with long time good friend Chris Sims from Batesville. Chris and I first met as bunk mates at Boys State in the summer of 1969. We then attended the UofA, Fayetteville together as freshmen and spent lots of time together in the early '80s while living in Little Rock. Life happened and different trails from that point have kept us apart. In recent weeks, a phone call and emails have brought us full circle and back in touch.

Friendship is a wonderful gift.We share love and laughter. We share heartache and pain. We share souls.

Paranoia strikes deep

Into your life it will creep

It starts when you're always afraid

You step out of line, the man come and take you away

We better stop, hey, what's that sound

Everybody look what's going down

For what it's worth, "it's a wonderful life." And if you haven't seen that renowned Christmas movie in a while, I don't know where you've been. As a matter of fact, it is on television as these words are falling from my fingertips. Anyway, life is good. Sure there have been some experiences I just soon not relive, but, for what it's worth, I'm not going to complain. Growing up in Newport, Arkansas set the tone for life as I know it. Christmas time rekindles many fond memories . . . . .

~ For what it's worth, I would once again like to build a snow man with my sister Lana and friends Donnie Washam and Mike and Karen Fortune.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to go to my tap dancing lesson alongside George Mark Walden.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to go sledding on the levee with Donny Appleton, David Sibley, Ann Gardner and Jenetta Ashley.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to go on a winter night's Boy Scout camping trip with Bill Duckworth, Clay Wright, Kenny Thaxton and Gene Bennett.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to revisit Boys State with Chris Sims and Clay Wright.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to have a cheeseburger at Phillip's Cafe with Phil Madison.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to go the White River Water Carnival in Batesville with Larry Treadway.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to go to St. Louis to a Cardinals game with Jim Reid Holden and Carl Cross.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to go to the Strand Theatre matinee with Glenn Gay, Donny Appleton, and Greer Guinn.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to go fishing at Newport Lake with Margaret Ann Gillihan.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to go to a rodeo with John Brownd and Mike Tucker.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to go to a Razorback football game by bus from Newport to Little Rock with Gene Bennett.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to go to Budweiser beach with Bill Don Summers, Kenny Taylor, Danny Cordell and Mike Willhite.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to go to a Methodist Youth Fellowship meeting with Freeman Travis, Harry Goodyear, Tim McDowell and a host of others.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to trick or treat for Unicef with Ruth Johnston, Gail Thaxton and Joy Stanfield.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to go to a Junior Classical League slave auction with Buddy Conner and Pud Wooldridge.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to purchase Pam Cox at a Junior Classical League slave auction.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to sit through Betty Newell's speech class with Drew Stewart, Paula Jones and Kathy Spann.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to run a three legged race at elementary school Field Day with Kearney Blalack.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to step on a baseball field with Cledy Pollard, Steve Ahart, Mickey Doyle and Gary Slayton.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to visit Fayetteville for the first time with Mike Brand and John Brownd.

~ For what its' worth, I would like to go to the Sugar Bowl with Eddie Crawford, John Brownd and Freeman Travis.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to lead cheers at a Hound pep rally in drag alongside Drew Stewart, Mike Fortune, Danny Cordell, Joey Coe and Harry Mack Adams.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to ride my bicycle to east Newport to visit Cherry Smith, Nancy Rhodes, Bobbye Ellen Davis and Peggy Cox.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to go to art class with Kristine Artymowski, Scott Baker and Ricky Harris.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to lifeguard at the country club pool alongside Ricky Wiggins.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to listen to the Mystic Blues with Dinny Bullard, John Sink, Eddie Jones, Bill Matthews and Joey Coe.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to go see "Babes in Toyland" with Mary Wynne Parker.

~ For what it's worth, I would like to listen to "For What It's Worth" with John and Bruce Pennington.

What is it worth? The value of friendship is priceless.

Well, it is Christmas. And thoughts of Newport and days gone by certainly conjure up the memories. I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.

For what it's worth, I'm still Miles from Nowhere ... guess I'll take my time.
joe

What Time It Is....June 20, 2004

I've been thinking it's about time I was in touch with you again. What have you been thinking? What's happened to the time? Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care?
In May 1969 the Chicago Transit Authority released their debut album including the popular song "Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?" It is a song with an attitude - an attitude personified by many young people of the day. Being seventeen with a sharp wit, it was (and is) a song I liked. The tune penetrated my mind and the lyrics captured my spirit. By the way, the group Chicago Transit Authority shortened their name to Chicago after this initial album.

As I was walking down the street one day
A man came up to me and asked me what the time was that was on my watch, yeah
And I said
Does anybody really know what time it is?
(I don't)
Does anybody really care?
(care)
If so I can't imagine why
(about time)
We've all got time enough to cry
(Oh no, no)

It's interesting how the present can run smack dab into the past when you least expect it. Some would say that it is funny. Others might find such circumstances odd. I simply find such instances interesting opportunities for provoking thought. For instance, in early April Kathryn and I were in St. Petersburg, Florida for a bank meeting. I have had a life long yearning to attend a spring training baseball game in an intimate setting and was a bit miffed to find myself in St. Pete on the weekend following the close of the spring training season. In addition my schedule would require us to fly back to Mountain Home on the opening day of the regular baseball season with the New York Yankees in St. Pete to play the Tampa Bay Devil Rays. By coincidence the visiting Yankees were staying at the same hotel as we and arrived the day before our planned departure.

Prior to dinner on our final evening in St. Pete, Kathryn and I were sitting in the lobby of our hotel with banker friends from Nebraska and Vermont discussing everything under the sun. It was mentioned that the Yankees were also staying in the hotel. No one had seen any of the team members, but consensus was that no one was sure any of the players would be recognized except for Alex Rodriquez and Derek Jeter. We are of a different generation. But I am a baseball fan and routinely watch televised games just as I did when I was a Little Leaguer, so I was thinking I would know several of the players if I were to see them around. A few minutes into our conversation, I recognized Hideki Matsui, the Yankee outfielder from Japan, strolling through the hotel lobby area. He doesn't speak English and I don't speak Japanese, so only a nod of acknowledgement was exchanged. But then I saw another gentleman I remembered. I popped up from my seat and approached a fond memory with my hand extended. When Mel Stottlemyre's hand clasped mine in a courteous handshake, I was transformed into a fourteen year old awestruck fan.

All of a sudden I was in Stan & Biggie's Restaurant in St. Louis on the eve of the 1966 All Star game. My dad and I were introduced to a table full of major league all-stars by Stan Musial. At the table was Mel Stottlemyre who was in his third year pitching for the New York Yankees. He graciously autographed a complimentary photo of Stan Musial given to restaurant patrons. Others at the table (Rocky Colavito, Jim Bunning, Tony Kubek, Johnny Keane) also autographed the Musial photo for me. The next day Mel Stottlemyre pitched two shutout innings for the American League in a game won by the National League 2-1 in ten innings and I smiled. Back in the present I'm looking at that autographed keepsake which hangs in my office at home. Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care?

During my brief visit with Mr. Stottlemyre in the lobby of the Vinoy Resort in St. Pete, I recounted that moment from 1966 and voiced my appreciation to him for being especially kind to an excited fourteen year old boy who had interrupted his dinner. He expressed relief that it was a good memory I recalled and not one when he may have brushed aside an autograph seeker. I introduced him to my wife and friends and we enjoyed a laugh about that experience 38 years ago before once again going our separate ways. As we walked to dinner that evening I had a spring in my step and smile on my face. A sentimental tear moistened my eyes as I remembered my father and that joyous time together.

It was an interesting moment. Today colliding with yesterday. Thoughts of my dad. Coincidence? I once read that coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous. I'm not sure where I read that, nor do I know the author of that thought. But I like it. While I didn't get to remain in St. Pete to watch the opening day game between the Yankees and the Devil Rays, I left with a much more poignant remembrance.

Oh, did I mention that I did see a spring training game on this trip? Kathryn and I flew out of Memphis en route to St. Petersburg. The evening before our departure we dined on ribs at the Rendezvous and then casually walked a block to AutoZone Park to see the Memphis Redbirds play the parent St. Louis Cardinals in the first of two games to finish up their spring training regimen readying them for the regular season. The young Redbirds roughed up the Cardinals Woody Williams with a pair of home runs and won the game. It was the first game I have seen in the new Memphis stadium which is a fabulous setting for baseball. I couldn't help but recall the many Memphis Chicks games I viewed as a boy and a young adult in days gone by.

Baseball seems to calm life's storms for me. It is a game with no clock. There is no "overtime" in baseball. When a game is tied at the end of regulation, the teams play extra innings to determine a winner. Sort of like being given a second chance to redeem one's self. Second chances are important in life. We all need them. Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care?

In addition to baseball, music allows me an escape from the anxieties of a fast paced existence. Pleasure embraces my soul at a ball park and any place where live music can be found. On the same trip to St. Pete, Kathryn and I wandered up to Clearwater and listened to the mellow voice of Johnny Mathis. His is a voice I recall as a grade school kid in the late 1950's. My mother often played his records on the phonograph. Today he is 69 years young with a shuffle in his step, but his voice is as strong and rich as it was 40 plus years ago when my ears first heard it. One more time the present greets the past and conjures sweet memories. Time reverses itself and the hands of the clock stop at a moment in 1958 when I'm sitting cross legged on the floor of the apartment at 412 Hazel Street in Newport, Arkansas listening to Johnny Mathis' tenor voice emanate from the record player as my mother is setting the table for supper.

And I was walking down the street one day
A pretty lady looked at me and said her diamond watch had stopped cold dead
And I said
Does anybody really know what time it is?
(I don't)
Does anybody really care?
(care)
If so I can't imagine why
(about time)
We've all got time enough to cry
(Oh no, no)

Last Friday night I rolled the present and the past together one more time at an Eric Clapton concert in North Little Rock's Alltel Arena. Kathryn and I were accompanied by our two older daughters, Lynli and Evelyn. Prior to the concert daughters Emily and Elizabeth joined us for dinner and conversation. Gathering with our children seems to be more fun and pleasure full as I age. Or it could be a product of the ages of all gathered together. Back to the Clapton gig - it was fantastic. I'm certain the music was just as wonderful as the first time I watched him on stage in 1974. Of course the sound is more vivid from the 2004 experience and the mind is clearer. The two hour outpouring of songs spanning his forty years of making music allowed me to retrace my steps taken in that time frame. Happy times and not so happy times danced through my head as the music played. Images of a carefree teenager making daily escapes from the school in Remmel Park merged with the reflection from the mirror that now stares back at me each morning as the hands on life's clock continue circling unrestrained. It is clear that the spirit withstands the impact of time far better than the body. The real evidence of the spirit's resilience could be found in the antics of the crowd at the concert. Everyone there wore a "badge" of youthfulness regardless of the date of birth printed on their driver's license. Seeing familiar faces in the crowd was a real hoot for me. For the most part those we ran into before and after the concert were members of my generation with offspring in tow. It was a lot of fun to see fathers and sons, mothers and daughters enjoying the show and one another's company. We visited with friends from Arkadelphia and Russellville as well as college friends Jim Wood, David "Hee Haw" Moore, Billy and Nellie Mosley, Cindy Allen Edwards, James and Marie Biggers. What a night! What a sound! What a memory!

I think life is all about making memories. Our connections with others at various points on the time line and in various places on the map are the memory makers. Our minds play back the scenes whenever a "connection" is engaged through the senses. Sight, sound, taste, smell, touch are the "on" buttons for the memory machine. Pretty good piece of machinery, I'd say. And the sounds produced by Eric Clapton's guitar sure turns on my memory. When he broke into the song "Badge" co-written by George Harrison in 1968, my home town of Newport popped on to my memory screen. Each time I hear "Badge" my mind revisits Newport in my youth. The vision is conjured up by the lyrics in the second verse,

I told you not to wander 'round in the dark
I told you 'bout the swans, that they live in the park

Can you see the swans swimming on Newport Lake as you walk along its banks in Remmel Park? Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care?

It is Sunday afternoon, June 20, 2004, Father's Day. Certainly a day that will sit at the top of my memory charts for a while. It is a good day for a sports fan and a father. I've been watching the final round of the U.S. Open golf tournament on television. Retief Goosen has just completed his second U.S. Open championship winning by two strokes over Phil Mickelson. The real winner seems to be the golf course itself at Shinnecock Hills in New York since Goosen and Mickelson were the only two players to finish under par. My personal memory book is turned back just a few pages to 2001 and the only U.S. Open I have attended; Retief Goosen won that year as well. From my perspective the golf course is most always the winner whenever I walk upon one. Earlier today I played a round of golf at the Big Creek course here in Mountain Home with college pals Jim Lyons and Woody Harrelson. They are kind playing partners and did not laugh out loud at my performance the entire round. An enjoyable morning round of golf with good friends on Father's Day with deeply appreciated interruptions - phone calls from each of my daughters. Cell phones should be kept quiet on a golf course, but not on Father's Day.

There are baseball highlights on this day as well to write upon the pages of my memory book. Yeah, I'm a baseball fan. I have been a Cincinnati Reds fan since 1960 and today I watched Ken Griffey, Jr. hit his 500th home run, only the twentieth player to reach this plateau of power. His father, Ken Griffey, Sr., was in the stands in St. Louis to witness this special moment in his son's career. The television remote control came in handy for me today with the U.S. Open, the Griffey home run watch, and the Arkansas Razorbacks playing in the College World Series. The Hogs went two and out in the Series, but they enjoyed a spectacular season to arrive on the national stage this year.

This Father's Day marks my daughter Emily's twenty first birthday. It is also the twenty first Father's Day to pass since my father's death. The joy and the sadness in the course of generations, the past and the present all wrapped up in a package of memories.

And there are so many memories. Memories to be spread across the generations. Memories to be shared with one's children. Memories that may have been comical at the time, but no longer are. Memories birthed from an embarrassing situation can now be recalled as very funny because "it" happened to someone else. It is enlightening to remember the people you watched from afar and the lessons of life learned from them. My experiences growing up in Newport, Arkansas and the people I know from those days give me ample material for an occasional soliloquy transcribed in these Miles' Files. I appreciate you listening in.

And I was walking down the street one day
Being pushed and shoved by people trying to beat the clock,
Oh, no I just don't know
I just don't know
And I said, yes I said

~ ~ ~ In the background I hear ~ ~ ~

People runnin' everywhere
Don't know the way to go
Don't know where I am
Can't see past the next step
Don't have to think past the last mile
Have no time to look around
Just run around, run around and think why

Does anybody really know what time it is?
(I don't)
Does anybody really care?
(care)
If so I can't imagine why
(about time)
We've all got time enough to die
(Oh no, no)

Setting aside my time piece, I gaze into life's rear view mirror. This mirror is not unlike the present day rear view mirrors on our cars and trucks which alert you that "objects in mirror are closer than they appear." Such it is when you sit back and remember those who have walked life's paths ahead of you and who since have wandered away from the happy trails. In looking ahead their footsteps can no longer be seen, but in looking back their images are much "closer than they appear." In the past few months I have lost sight of some notable people who were strolling alongside my parents out in front of me and who were guides in the ways of the world. However, they are ever so close in life's rear view. Thoughts of Mrs. Becky Dallas, Mrs. Fran Allen, Mrs. Billie Hare, Mrs. Mayme Graham, Mr. Tom Collier, Judge Andy Ponder, and Mr. L. D. Spann fog my mind. The present rolls into the past.

Becky Dallas and her husband Ray gave me my first paying job. I worked for them at the OTASCO store on Front Street in downtown Newport briefly as a fourteen year old sweeping up in the afternoons. I also worked for them during the holiday season my junior and senior years in high school. I attended church with the Dallas family and attribute a strong work ethic to their example. Coincidentally, Becky and Ray Dallas retired to Arkadelphia, Arkansas where I once again attended the same church as Becky after moving there in 1991. Coincidence? I think not! Ray and my father had passed away within months of one another in 1983. Becky and I visited often during our years together in Arkadelphia and I enjoyed her company. She left this life a few short months ago. I count her sons, Mike and Pat, among my friends and appreciate reconnecting with them since their mother's death. Godspeed Becky.

Fran Allen was a dear friend of my mother. My family frequently visited the home of Fran and D. T. Allen on Alice Court where their son, Mike (four years older than I), tolerated me and my kid sister and Fran was a gracious hostess. In recent years, Fran would routinely stop by mother's house to continue their visits. Not long ago I had stopped at mother's house in Newport and Fran pulled in the driveway right behind me. I enjoyed the opportunity to visit with her. She will be truly missed. Godspeed Fran.

Billie Hare was a teacher. Nothing more really needs to be said. We all have a certain appreciation for our teachers. I also knew her to be the loving mother of Marvin, Michael, David, Alannette, and Sue Ellen. She taught science at Newport Junior High when I was in that awkward stage of life. While I didn't sit through her science class, I did experience a study hall under her supervision. A smile was ever present on Mrs. Hare's face, but she had a "no nonsense" approach to her study hall. As you can imagine, such an atmosphere was a bit difficult for me. Despite the "no nonsense" aura, she enjoyed a good laugh with her students from time to time. In recent years I have only seen her in pictures sent to me by daughter Alannette. Her smile is just as I remember. Godspeed Billie.

Mayme Graham will not be known to many in Newport, but she holds a dear spot in my heart. She called Pocahontas, Arkansas home. Her son, Mike, and I were fraternity brothers at Arkansas State and were roommates during our college years. I knew Mayme through my relationship with her son and there is no finer way to know someone. I know Mike to be a genuine reflection of her kind and loving spirit. Mayme passed away last week and I happened to be in Pocahontas on business the day of her funeral. Coincidence? Don't think so. I was granted an opportunity to be with my friend and his family and think of times together as wayward college students. Godspeed Mayme.

Tom Collier represented Newport for many years in the Arkansas State Legislature, but I knew him as my friend Louis Collier's dad and pals John and Bruce Pennington's uncle. I have many memories of being in Tom's presence at Tom and Wardell's Restaurant. The last time I saw Tom was at Richard Brand's funeral where he spoke at the service. He was a colorful soul. Godspeed Tom.

Judge Andy Ponder is the embodiment of a Southern gentleman and the epitome of a baseball fan. I will always remember him being present at most every baseball game played at old Memorial Field in Newport. He displayed a common sense approach to the law rarely noticed today. His children are forever friends Drew, Clyde and Gib from whom I have been separated by time and distance. Judge Andy's death championed my reconnecting with Drew and Gib. Drew made me aware that the Judge passed into the next life adorned by his favored St. Louis Cardinals baseball cap. Quite fitting! Godspeed Judge Andy.

L. D. Spann was just laid to rest two days ago. Two days before Father's Day. He worked for Southwestern Bell for more than forty years, many of those in Newport. Daughter Kathy is the truest of friends and a NHS classmate. Her father was a sweet and gentle man. The Spanns lived in my South Main/South Walnut Street neighborhood and L. D. was one of the "daddies" on that end of town to all the kids there along with Jerry Ashley, Bob Gardner, David Sibley, Ralph Appleton, C. R. Gray, Joe Harris, George Rogers, Gay Lacy, Harry Benish, Gene Ivy, Walter Heard, Buddy Tims, Coy Parsley and my own father. Just a couple of years ago when our NHS Class of 1970 threw ourselves a fiftieth birthday party in the guise of a reunion, I met Kathy Spann Snipes, Mary Wynne Parker Perryman, and David Sibley at the Spann home in Little Rock prior to our traveling on to Newport for our class get together. I thoroughly enjoyed my time with Mr. and Mrs. Spann. On this Father's Day, I wish you Godspeed L. D.

I am certain others whose footprints can no longer be found on this good earth are being remembered as this is being read. That is as it should be. It should also be a time when we think of those who are still fighting the good fight, but from who we have been apart for a while. In death there is separation. We also face separation in life. Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care?

Getting together with those you miss is as simple as a thought and prayer. Thinking of those you love is sufficient.

In thinking of my daughter Emily today ~ ~ ~ Happy Birthday!
In thinking of my father Little Red today ~ ~ ~ Happy Father's Day!
In thinking of my family and friends today ~ ~ ~ Happy Day!


Does anybody really know what time it is?
It is probably time to get in touch with a friend.

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

joe

Spinning Wheel...March 7, 2004

Has your own personal globe been spinning as fast as mine has lately? All I can do is look at the beginning of each day and scream out "Wow!" Of course the imaginary axis around which my world spins has always been a little warped causing its speed and route to be refashioned without a moment's notice. It seems as if the accelerator controlling my life is unexplainedly stuck to the floorboard and the resulting speed is laughable and scary at the same time. The speed itself is often exhilerating, but the pace can quicken to a point that is frightening when you know that a collision is possibly awaiting. For me, life at present is closely akin to the way I snow ski. Ski tips pointed straight down hill, arms flailing to maintain some semblance of balance, the gliding velocity reaches a crescendo that is frightful, when I throw myself into the snow where I roll to a stop in a heap. That's life . . . full speed, difficulty stopping.

It has been thirteen weeks since the Miles' Files has called me to the keyboard. Another Christmas season has passed through our lives. As well, another Hanukkah has been assigned into history. A new year has taken root and is beginning to exhibit the buds of springtime from which new life will burst. Valentine's Day gifts and cards have been exchanged once again by lovers everywhere. Some "old" friends have passed from this life into another. Such events are touched with sentiment and emotions flow from high to low. The ups and downs of life exists for all. Trudging through the valleys of everyday living is often tiresome, but the challenges of climbing to the peaks along the way to get a better viewpoint of life's landscape are most rewarding. You have to experience the valleys to get full enjoyment from the peaks. After all it is from the peaks that you have a wondrous view of the valleys below.

Since our previous time together in these pages, a number of my school mates has lost family members, some of whom shared memorable moments in my life's journey. The Reverend Bill Stewart, father of classmate Drew Stewart, passed away recently. Brother Bill was my pastor at the First Methodist Church from 1967 to 1970. It was from the front yard of his home on Walnut Street that I stood among friends and gazed up at the moonlit sky on July 20, 1969 as man, in the form of astronaut Neil Armstrong, first stepped on the moon. My curiosity coupled with some ignorance caused me to wonder if man were trying to find a way to heaven without first dying. I don't recall Brother Bill giving answer to my thought. Where were you that night? Brother Bill Stewart also delivered the baccalaureate address to the NHS Class of 1970 just prior to his departure from Newport. He set a tone for a pleasurable jaunt en route to adulthood. A little later along life's path, my first house became Brother Bill's first house. In 1983 as I was preparing to return to Newport to begin work at the old First State Bank, I sold my house in Little Rock to Brother Bill Stewart. It was the first house I had owned and it is my understanding that it was the first house Brother Bill owned after years of living in parsonages provided by the church. Life goes 'round like a spinning wheel.

Another who recently departed this life is Doris Travis, mother of classmate Freeman Travis. "Miss" Doris was not only the mother of one of my dearest childhood friends, but she also managed and taught in her kindergarten forever and a day. She cared for and attended to the pre-school needs of Newport children over a couple of generations. She taught my oldest child, Evelyn, while we lived in Newport in the '80s. I spent hours upon end in her home. She was a pillar in our church alongside her husband, Buddy. I'm glad to see Freeman back in Newport at the radio station. I'm sure his mother was excited to see him circle back home. Life goes 'round like a spinning wheel.

Peggy Allbright, mother of a clan of kids (Eddie, Lee, Marsha, and Nancy) all counted among those called friend, also left this life in recent weeks. She nurtured the youthfulness in all who entered her house just across the street from the "old" NHS gym. She had a zest for life accompanied by a joyous laugh that will always be remembered with love. I can now see her smile in the faces of her grandchildren. Life goes 'round like a spinning wheel.

Classmates Scott Baker and Linda Lindsay have also experienced the loss of loved ones in the last few weeks. Scott's father, Bill, and Linda's brother, Mike, knocked on heaven's door and entered. Their memories will spin up images of these departed family members for years to come. Life goes 'round like a spinning wheel.

What goes up

Must come down

Spinning wheel

Got to go 'round

Talkin' 'bout your troubles

It's a cryin' sin

Ride a painted pony

Let the spinning wheel spin

The group Blood, Sweat & Tears released their hit "Spinning Wheel" in the summer of 1969. It is one of those memorable tunes for me marking man's first trip to the moon. You know, one of those "soundtracks of your life" songs; when you hear it, you can pinpoint the year on your personal timeline. "Spinning Wheel" also serves me well in my assessment of life. Life indeed goes up and down and 'round and 'round. Your memory takes you back to places you have been before. Relationships move in and out of your personal world. Each stage of life is filled with comedy and drama, good and bad, happy and sad, work and play, ups and downs. But there is also the 'round and 'round. Life is a complex circle of events and relationships. Births and deaths. Marriages and divorces. Job promotions and job losses or transfers. Peaks and valleys. The relationships make up the circle of life. The events offer up the element of complexity. Relationships founded in friendship will withstand any life event.Friendship is the essence of life.

You got no money

You got no home

Spinning wheel

All alone

Talkin' 'bout your troubles and

You never learn

Ride a painted pony

Let the spinning wheel turn

"No money" and "no home" are not familiar themes to most of us in this audience although I'm certain there have been times for many when things were lean. I have been very fortunate in life and blessed in my relationships. I love life. However, I occasionally yearn for a more stable existence and a much slower pace. Yet when I look upon my life's experiences and the events which have molded my relationships, I clearly see that the changes I have encountered have helped me better understand me. These changes are simply a turning of the wheel, another ride on the carousel, another thrill on the roller coaster. I know that I have fallen from the saddle of several "painted ponies," but I have not yet totally fallen from the carousel. After each fall, I have been lucky enough to find a more majestic carousel steed on which to continue my ride through life.

For some of us who "grew up" in Newport and moved away, there is the excitement of homecoming each time we return to our roots. Sure the community has seen some alterations, but the relationships are steadfast and the good memories are true to the heart. Just a couple of weeks ago, I accompanied good friend Mike Turner to a meeting of the Newport Rotary Club. There were several new faces unfamiliar to me, but many who were there when I became a member of the club more than twenty years ago made me feel right at home. Once again I was privileged to visit with Troy Gray, Ed Scoggins, John Purdy, John Conner, Sr., Ralph McDonald, Toby McDonald, Bill Fortune (who I succeeded as president in 1986), Clay Curtner, Terry Scoggins and Jeff Fortune among others. The welcoming spirit was pervasive. This Newport "spirit" is with me at all times.

Did you find

Your directing sign

On the straight and narrow highway

Would you mind a reflecting sign

Within your mind

And show you, the colors

That are real

In my thoughts of home, the "directing sign" and the "reflecting sign" are one and the same. Both point to Newport. At the core, Newport's colors are true and real. The connections to my hometown are strong.

Following the Rotary Club meeting in Newport, I left for Jonesboro to attend a birthday party of sorts for two college friends and fraternity brothers. Mike Brooks and Mike Bramlett grew up together in Jonesboro and reached their fiftieth birthday within a week of each other in January. After high school graduation, Brooks went on to college at Arkansas State in Jonesboro and Bramlett attended the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville. Events in my own life created the opportunity to happen upon the paths of both Mike Brooks and Mike Bramlett within close proximity of the other. I bounced between the campuses of ASU-Jonesboro and the UofA-Fayetteville during my college years. I went to Fayetteville my freshman year of college, transferred to ASU where I received my undergraduate degree, returned to Fayetteville to attend law school for a year, and then returned to ASU to complete a master's degree. Sigma Phi Epsilon fraternity is the common bond with Brooks and Bramlett and many other fabulous friends from both college campuses in the early '70s. This time of my life was merely an extension of my high school years. Many of my high school cronies shared college life with me in Jonesboro and Fayetteville. The friendships formed then are deep seated and genuine. We can be separated by thirty years and yet feel as if we were last together a couple of days ago. The sculpting of relationships is a bit like throwing clay on a potter's wheel and turning it until a creative piece of work appears. Each piece is different in your appreciation for it. Brooks and Bramlett reaching the milestone of their fiftieth year was a nice excuse to gather up a bunch of college pals and old hippies for a reunion with a birthday theme of "Greeks and Freaks." John Pennington was there to share in the laughter. A good time was had by all. A song that comes quickly to mind as I think of that evening is Paul Simon's "Still Crazy After All These Years." Life goes 'round like a spinning wheel.

I'm a fortunate son of Newport. I can still hear the laughter of my high school friends in the crowded halls of NHS. I often see myself as a student in Betty Newell's speech class, Virginia Umsted Castleberry's and Almarie Carr's english classes, Ima Jean Paige's typing and bookkeeping classes, and Butch Duncan's history class. I was a not too serious student with a whimsical attitude. I had fun as a student and the teachers to whom I am endeared are those who allowed me the latitude to be me. I invite you to return to those years with me from time to time. My mind often drifts back to those days. It was simpler then. My 45 rpm records actually played at that speed on my small portable record player. Every now and then I would shift the speed to 78 rpm and the voices and music sounded as if Alvin and the Chipmunks were playing every song. Today life seems to be running at 78 rpm on my turntable. I'm not sure I really want life to slow down, but I do want to hear the music at the proper speed.

Littermate Cherry Lou Smith Simmons is preparing to move from Newport to Little Rock. She has not lived beyond the boundaries of Newport and there are sure to be some anxious moments over the next few weeks. Cherry, remember your old friends remain as close as a phone call or mouse click. And a new circle of friends awaits your arrival. Turn up the volume on your radio, so you can absorb the sounds of this new chapter in your life.

Someone's waiting

Just for you

Spinning wheel

Spinning true

Drop all your troubles by the riverside

Ride a painted pony

Let the spinning wheel fly

The circle of life expands with your experiences. Whether you envision this journey as a roller coaster, a carousel, a potter's wheel, or a spinning wheel, it still goes 'round and 'round. Enjoy the ride! I will see you again on the next trip around. I'm still Miles from Nowhere, guess I'll take my time . . . or maybe not, this ride is picking up speed!

joe

"Old" Friends....November 22, 2003

I know that at some time in your life you have watched a couple of dogs wandering through your neighborhood or along a country road. It may have been a retriever accompanied by a smaller mixed breed. Or possibly it was a collie or a boxer romping alongside a terrier. No leashes bind them together. No humans are walking alongside them providing direction. No apparent mission before them. Just two dogs running free, yet together. Old friends, I dare say. Old friends walk in harmony. Old friends talk in harmony.

Several months back "old" friend Drew Stewart reminded me of the Paul Simon lyrics:

Old friends,

Old friends

Sat on their park bench

Like bookends.

Those words were penned in 1968 as the opening lines to the song "Old Friends" which is one of the cuts on Simon & Garfunkel's album "Bookends" released that same year. After years of separation and estrangement, Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel are together again and earlier this Fall set out on their "Old Friends" tour. Simon & Garfunkel were voices of our time. Their music is often in the background of my thoughts of "old" times and "old" friends. Their harmonies are still true. Their friendship endured many years apart. Today they are like a couple of "old" dogs wandering across the country sharing the magic of their music. And once again we can listen to songs such as "Bridge Over Troubled Water," return to a park bench in Remmel Park in our senior year of 1970, and sit in muted conversation with old friends. "Old Friends" concludes with these lyrics:

Can you imagine us

Years from today,

Sharing a park bench quietly?

How terribly strange

To be seventy.

Old friends,

Memory brushes the same years

Silently sharing the same fears

"How terribly strange to be seventy." Indeed a "strange" thought when we first listened to these words at age sixteen. But now just a step over the line from age fifty, it is not strange at all. Certainly our memories are painted from the same years. Just as certain, we shared many of the same fears, not always in silence. We came of age in interesting times. We are truly children of the 1960s, one of history's more turbulent decades. Fear was abundant. Anxiety took shape in different forms - the threat of nuclear conflict; the experiments of space flight and a stale mate in the Cold War; the apex of racial conflict; mounting casualties in the Vietnam conflict; riots and rising conflict on the nation's streets; assassinations of a President, a civil rights leader, and a presidential candidate; news of the Manson murders; the advent of an open drug culture; free love; and the everyday concerns of a teenager wondering about an uncertain future. "Strange to be seventy?" Goodness, it was strange to be sixteen. But there was the serenity of Remmel Park, a place I could go and live in the moment.

There are few school settings that compare favorably to the one enjoyed by students in Newport, Arkansas. The complex of high school, junior high, elementary school, revered football stadium, a track field, and ancillary buildings remains pretty much unchanged over the last forty years (although the grounds of the "old" baseball field now lie under a new gymnasium). Remmel Park serves as a threshold to all this. It is a place where friends have gathered throughout the years to share cheers, fears and tears. A lot of laughs have been shared there as well!

The Simon & Garfunkel album "Bookends" also includes a song entitled "Hazy Shade of Winter" which begins:

Time, time, time, see what's become of me

While I looked around

For my possibilities

I was so hard to please

But look around, leaves are brown

And the sky is a hazy shade of winter

I can see the winter of my life approaching. It is still "terribly strange to be seventy," but that possibility is taking a much clearer shape. The seasons of one's life are marked by the "shapes of things" at the times new friends brush up against one another and "old" friends melt together. We all begin looking around for our possibilities in the spring time of our lives. Before we know it the leaves of summer in hues of green are turning into the bright colors of autumn, then they're brown and falling to the ground as winter drapes herself around us.

It is the early spring of my life. It is 1963, a Sunday afternoon. I'm eleven years old. I'm sitting next to my father in the front seat of a 1959 Pontiac Starfire as he drives me into Remmel Park. "Puff the Magic Dragon" by Peter, Paul and Mary is on the AM radio. Dad drops me off on the north side of the park. I see the swans soft upon the water of the lake. I have rod and reel in hand with my tackle box and a sack lunch with plans to fish a while. As I sit amongst the cypress knees, I set my fishing rod out with a cork floater bobbing at the water's edge. I'm very near the city swimming pool that sits across from the junior high school. I had learned to swim there under the watchful eye of Conway Landrum. I don't remember when that pool was filled in and forgotten. My sack lunch includes a small carton of chocolate milk, a ham sandwich, and an apple. In the bottom of my tackle box is a six and a half ounce coca-cola and a bottle opener. To this day I rely on considerable liquid in my diet.

A few days later when sitting in Mrs. Dely Breckenridge's sixth grade class at Gibbs-Albright Elementary, we get word that President John F. Kennedy has been assassinated in Dallas, Texas. Walking home I stop for a while to jump on a trampoline in the back yard of the Ridley house just down the street from my home. I don't understand the impact of the President's death on the world around me. Not then, not now.

About the same time that we in Newport were learning of the President being felled by an assassin's bullet, a sixth grade girl was picked up early at the R. L. Thornton Elementary School in Dallas by her father for a planned trip to visit her grandmother in San Antonio. Driving through the Oak Cliff area of Dallas, the girl and her daddy saw a police car stopped in the street ahead of them with a body lying beside it. She stayed in the car at her father's instruction while he got from his car to find a police officer down in the street immediately in front of him. He used the radio from the police car to alert the Dallas Police Department that Officer J. D. Tippitt had been shot and was down. The man who had shot and killed Officer Tippitt was Lee Harvey Oswald, the same person who killed President Kennedy just minutes before. The girl who awaited her daddy's return following the radio call to police headquarters is Kathryn Bowley, now my wife. She doesn't understand the impact of these deaths on the world around her. Not then, not now.

The memories Kathryn and I share about this time in history are drawn by brush strokes from different points on life's canvas. Kathryn's brush was positioned near the center of the canvas on this very day forty years ago, mine was closer to the edge. Three days later we both watched President Kennedy's funeral procession on television as his little son referred to as John-John saluted the caisson carrying his slain father amid a solemn cadence of drums. It was John-John's birthday. It was also my mother's birthday.

Later in that spring time of my life I am riding into Remmel Park once again. It's 1968. I'm sixteen. We're heading to the Legion Hut in Bruce and John Pennington's 1957 Chevy. "Born to be Wild" by Steppenwolf is blaring from the eight track tape player. Sittin' in the park after dark on the swings, drinkin' a Schlitz beer. Friends are dancing to the music of the Know Body Else inside the hut. My personal world is safe. The world around me is chaos. Martin Luther King is killed by an assassin as he stands among friends on a balcony at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis. A few short weeks later, presidential candidate Robert Kennedy dies at the hands of an assassin while leaving a political rally in Los Angeles. Riots break out in the streets of Chicago at the Democratic National Convention. The body count increases from the jungles of Vietnam. I can't help but think of Dion's song "Abraham, Martin and John" that rose to the top of the charts in 1968:

Anybody here seen my old friend John?

Can you tell me where he's gone?

He freed a lotta people but it seems the good they die young

I just looked around and he's gone

Anybody here seen my old friend Martin?

Can you tell me where he's gone?

He freed a lotta people but it seems the good they die young

I just looked around and he's gone

Didn't you love the things that they stood for?

Didn't they try to find some good for you and me?

And we'll be free

Some day soon, it's gonna be one day

Anybody here seen my old friend Bobby?

Can you tell me where he's gone?

I thought I saw him walkin' up over the hill

With Abraham, Martin and John

We speak of old friends. Those men were seen as "old friends" of a peaceful existence. They abided by a lesson I learned from my dad. He often told me "If you recognize an enemy, invite him to play." Life is more fun when your playing. Especially if your playing with "old" friends. Life is fragile. In the past three months of present day I have learned of the passing of "old" friends and of those who provided me fond memories. Richard McAllister (NHS Class of '72 and brother of littermate Sandy McAllister), Johnny Heard (NHS Class of '67), Eddie Stuart (NHS Class of '68) have departed this life. Also James Hamilton who quarterbacked the ASU Indians to an undefeated season in 1970 passed away recently as have Bobby Hatfield, the blue eyed soul tenor of the Righteous Brothers, and Art Carney, one of television's silliest character actors who I often tried to imitate as a kid. Littermate Paula Jones' father left the company of his family here on earth in September. And in the last few months, the Newport obituaries have included the names of "Frog" Heath and "Doodle" Davis, two men I viewed with admiration in the springtime of my life.

I recall Frog and Doodle standing alongside the fence near the third base dugout at "old" Memorial Field watching boys play baseball on the other side of that fence. Frog and Doodle stood among other men with storied names like Crackie, Peanut, Bezo, Sonny, Ham, Little Red. Watching them from the other side of the fence, I often laughed to myself about grown men with names like that and wondered how they got such names. Now I know. "Old friends." Loving thoughts, loving memories.

Anticipating summer, I find myself in 1973. I'm a college student at Arkansas State University in Jonesboro and drive into Newport for a visit in a 1970 Ford Torino GT, my first car. Pink Floyd's "Money" is the music on the FM radio. I'm 21. I cruise through Remmel Park and park my car near the swings and monkey bars where I played earlier in the spring of my life. Nothing much has changed since I walked from the looming doors of Newport High for the final time as a student just three years before, not even my attitude. I am drinking Budweiser now instead of Schlitz. I'm wondering what I'm going to be when I grow up. Ever living again in Newport is not a part of the plan. Simon & Garfunkel's "Hazy Shade of Winter" continues in verse:

Hang on to your hopes, my friend

That's an easy thing to say,

But if your hopes should pass away

Simply pretend

That you can build them again

Look around, the grass is high

The fields are ripe, it's the springtime of my life

It's summer now, 1983. I'm 31. I've just moved back to Newport from Little Rock. I'm a banker now. I'm a father now. I drive my daughters to Remmel Park in my 1978 Pontiac Grand Prix. Michael Jackson's "Beat It" streams from the cassette player. I push Evelyn and Emily in the same swings that were there twenty years before. We slide down the big slide in the park together. (My youngest daughter Elizabeth will be born in Newport in 1986 and will join us on the slide then). Remmel Park is still a place where you can be a child even if you are an adult. I'm reminded again of life's fragile nature. My father dies that year of 1983. I go to visit him in the hospital the evening of his death dressed as Papa Smurf, a cartoon character, en route to a Halloween party at David and Christina Gray's house. I'm called back to the hospital from the party later that night. My dad breathes his last breath. I drive through Remmel Park. I cry. I go home to scotch on the rocks.

Ahhh, seasons change with the scenery

Weaving time in a tapestry

Won't you stop and remember me

At any convenient time

Funny how my memory slips while looking over manuscripts

Of unpublished rhyme

Drinking my vodka and lime

In a "midsummer's night dream" I find myself in 1993. I'm 41. I have moved from Newport again. My children are developing their own social agenda with new friends in a new place. I don't get back to Newport as often as I would like to visit my mother and "old" friends. But when I do get there, I carry my girls over to Remmel Park for a stroll or to feed the ducks. We arrive together in a 1992 Dodge Caravan, one of those family vehicles introduced in the mid '80s. We have our Happy Meals from McDonald's that we eat in the van. I can't tell you the music that is playing on the radio because it is difficult to hear over the din of the little girls' voices. In between visits, I routinely yearn for the serenity of Remmel Park and the carefree comfort I knew in the springtime of life.

But look around, leaves are brown now

And the sky is a hazy shade of winter

It is the autumn of life now. It's 2003. I'm 51. Still a banker. Stopped in Arkadelphia, Russellville and Mountain Home along the way since last moving from Newport. I've divorced. I've married once again. My children are young ladies now. My mother has joined my sister Lana in Las Vegas for an extended time. Many "old" friends have departed Newport as well. Some have returned. Wonderful friendships have been established all along my life's journey. I last traveled to Newport on Veteran's Day. I stopped in on Cherry Lou Smith, Ann Gardner, Mike Brand, Freeman Travis, John Pennington, Miss Margaret Van Dyke and saw many "old" friends at Fred's Grill that day. To and fro I listened to music from all the seasons of my life on the CD player in my 1999 Jeep Grand Cherokee. But I especially listened to three CDs recently made for me by Bobby Gray (NHS Class of '69) that he entitled "School Daze" which are filled with tunes from the late '60s. Our Springtime! Thanks Bobby for remembering an "old" friend.

I swung my Jeep through Remmel Park before leaving town. The swans no longer make their home on Newport Lake. I don't know when they last were there. The swings and slides and the monkey bars are no longer fixtures in the park. I don't know when they last enjoyed the company of children or adults wanting to be children. However, the calm of Remmel Park is still present.

But look around, leaves are brown now

And the sky is a hazy shade of winter

Look around, leaves are brown

There's a patch of snow on the ground ...

Thanksgiving will be here next week. A time for thankfulness and for forgiving. There is no better time to recall your friendships. Of course our closest friends are family members. Be thankful for the love you receive and the love you share. Be forgiving of life's transgressions. Remember "old" friends. I believe snow is in the forecast. Winter is on its way.

Can you imagine us

Years from today,

Sharing a park bench quietly?

How terribly strange

To be seventy,

Old friends,

Memory brushes the same years

Silently sharing the same fears

Growing up in Arkansas, I have come to appreciate the four very distinct seasons of the year. I look back at my life lived to this point and the corresponding seasons that have passed. Each visit to Remmel Park has been unique. I look forward to the winter. I plan to return to Remmel Park as often as I can. You can find me there. Scotch in hand. The park bench will be awaiting an "old friend." Hope to see you there sometime.

Until then I will be Miles from Nowhere . . . guess I'll take my time.

joe