Things I Don't Understand

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Changing moods and stranger feelings

In my dealings with the world

Faces that I've seen before am I sure

Or has my brain turned

Thinking about things I don't understand

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

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

Dreams and omens of my future

Like a sculpture finely molded

Stars that guide my destiny

Tell me what I will be, a chart unfolded

Thinking about the things I don't understand

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

Some personal examples pop into my mind...

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

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

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

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

Seems there's plans for everyone

The day will come and we will know

We all are tied in with each other

Everyone brothers

One great flow

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

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

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

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

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

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

And in the morning of my time

I'll try to understand

I learn by what I find

And love you if I can

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

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

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

We don't need to know the answers

To hope and pray for peace

And each by what he can

To make us all complete

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

joe

Who Knows Where The Time Goes?

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

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

Across the evening sky all the birds are leaving

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

Before the winter fire, I will still be dreaming

I have no thought of time

For who knows where the time goes?

Who knows where the time goes?

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

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

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

Sad deserted shore, your fickle friends are leaving

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

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

I do not count the time

For who knows where the time goes?

Who knows where the time goes?

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I am not alone while my love is near me

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

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

I have no fear of time

For who knows how my love grows?

And who knows where the time goes?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For who knows how my love grows?

And who knows where the time goes?

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

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

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

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

joe

    

What A Day...For A Daydream

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

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

What a day for a daydream

What a day for a daydreamin' boy

And I'm lost in a daydream

Dreamin' 'bout my bundle of joy

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

And even if time ain't really on my side

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And even if time has passed me by a lot

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

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

A pie in the face for bein' asleep before dawn

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

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

A daydream will last along into the night

Tomorrow at breakfast you may pick up your ears

Or you may be daydreamin' for a thousand years

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a day for a daydream

Custom made for a daydreamin' boy

And now I'm lost in a daydream

Dreamin' 'bout my bundle of joy

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

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

joe

    

      

   

Moon River

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

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

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

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

Moon River, wider than a mile

I'm crossing you in style some day

Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two drifters off to see the world

There's such a lot of world to see

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

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

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

Waiting 'round the bend

My huckleberry friend

Moon River and me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Thanksgiving!!!

joe

  

      

Ruination Day (Revisited)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the great boat sank, and the Okies fled

And the great emancipator took a bullet in his head

It was not December and it was not May

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ruination day,

And the sky was red,

I went back to work,

And back to bed.

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

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

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

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

joe

     

    

On The Way Home

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

When the dream came

I held my breath with my eyes closed

I went insane

Like a smoke ring day when the wind blows

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

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

Now I won't be back til later on

If I do come back at all

But you know me

And I miss you now

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

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

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

In a strange game

I saw myself as you knew me

When the change came

And you had a chance to see through me

Though the other side is just the same

You can tell my dream is real

Because I love you

Can you see me now

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

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

Though we rush ahead to save our time

We are only what we feel

And I love you

Can you feel it now

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

joe