There were so many times growing up when I wished I could just close my eyes for a minute and when I opened them everything would be okay. It never happened of course but there were situations when I squeezed my eyes shut so tight I gave myself a headache. One of those situations came along at a Friday night football game in 1967.
When the Hurst-Euless-Bedford School District was still growing and the Castleberry School District was beginning to shrink there were a few years where Bell High School, my alma mater, was in direct football competition with Castleberry High School, where my cousin Mike graced the halls.
On one such football night, Bell was the visitor to Castleberry's Homecoming game. Mike had called earlier and asked if I wanted to stay over and go out with a couple of girls after the game. He added the teaser that "the girl I want you to meet is one of the band sweetheart nominees". Just because I'm a nice guy I agreed to sacrifice in such a way. I sat with the Bell band on the visitor's side and watched Bell beat the heck out of Castleberry during the first half. The Bell band went out on the field and did a wonderful job I must say. Then Castleberry's band come on and I have to say right here and now there is nothing worse to a visitor than watching the backs of everyone on the field during a homecoming halftime show. Well, I take it back. There is one thing worse. Watching the show without my glasses is worse. All I could see were the fuzzy backs of the people on the field. (Its hard to keep up the "doggone good-looking look" when you need glasses.)
After halftime we figured the crowd had thinned around the concession stand so we wandered down for cokes and popcorn. I ran into Mike with his band buddies. He was all excited because the girl he had fixed me up with had won band sweetheart!! I got all excited too and thought about how great it would have been if I had actually seen her on the field instead of something fuzzy wandering around out there.
When the game was over I started looking for Mike and my date. I found him easily enough because there were about forty grinning band members standing around Mike with their evil little eyes trained on me. As I walked toward Mike the crowd opened up like they were waiting for me. I should have run for Hurst as fast as I could because it was an obvious ambush I had walked into. Mike grabbed me by the arm and reminded me I had a date with the Castleberry Band Sweetheart. Then he grinned so big I got scared. Before I had that chance to bolt and run this....let's say "husky" young lady walked up and Mike introduced her. "I would LOVE for you to meet Bertha Bigacres, Band Sweetheart for 1967!" This girl was big and her looks were not typical band sweetheart quality. As I stared in amazement at Bertha and tried to formulate a reason why she would be the band sweetheart Mike explained. He told me everyone had stuffed the ballot box. Bertha laughed and bragged that she had helped. I did not doubt her for a moment.
I have to say I took it like a man. I asked Bertha where she preferred to graze and she picked a pizza hangout in River Oaks. It seems this was pre-planned too because we got a standing ovation when we walked in. Bertha knew how to put that pizza away. I think I got one slice that night but to be honest, I didn't have much of an appetite. We hung around the dark pizza place all evening with the band crowd (thank goodness) and then I offered to haul her home. When we got to her house I walked her to the door just like my dad had taught me and waited for her to unlock the door. Then she turned to me and said, "How's about a little goodnight kiss?" I ran.
note: Over the years old Bertha has grown bigger and uglier in my mind. To be honest, she was maybe a little bit overweight but not that bad. She also was not an ugly girl. Mike showed me a photo of her when I was talking to him about writing this story. She was actually very nice looking. I had imagined a total knockout to walk up for our date and Bertha was not that. AND, since she laughed and bragged about being a part of the con, I felt justified in sharing the story. I hope she never reads it but if she does I'll say this: "Bertha, you are part of my happy memories. Best wishes!"
Wednesday, February 27, 2019
Wednesday, February 6, 2019
First Day
The first year L.D. Bell High School opened in the new building was also the first year I started high school. Neither of us has aged particularly well but we're both still around. The new high school was built way, way north up on Brown Trail. It was so far out there it was hard to believe it was still in Hurst. In fact, it may not be in Hurst. It may be in Bedford but who really cares? There was also a new highway being built, which is now known as Airport Freeway. It handles about a gazillion cars every day. At the time it was a dirt road intersecting Brown Trail just south of the school. The first day at the new building was exciting for everyone. It was exciting for me because I was now in high school, I had a car to drive, and it was all new.
As I think back on the freeway construction I can't help but remember what happened to two girls, best friends, who were driving to school down Brown Trail. I can't remember the year but I remember the day vividly. They were carefree just like all of us that age. Coming down the road they failed to see a pickup truck coming down the construction road for the new freeway. They collided at the intersection. It was their last day. The annual that year was dedicated to them, which was nice, but I think they would rather have been anonymous and alive. I can't remember their names.
I've mentioned in some of my earlier stories that the memories of our youth always include warm, sunny days. The first day of high school was like that...a perfect day. The summer breeze flowed through the massive oak trees around the school and everything was wonderful..absolutely wonderful..until lunch. I'm not certain of the count but if I remember correctly there were about 400,000 students enrolled that day. We had three lunch periods, each 30 minutes long. Some brilliant administrator thought we were adults enough and could choose for ourselves which lunch period we would take. During the first period there were 400,000 students, 4500 teachers, 100 administrative staff, and one janitor, all trying to get in line for that thirty-five cent lunch. I was in that line. I was in the part of the line that began just east of the courtyard, traveled west through the courtyard to an intersecting walkway, down a hall that led to the smoking section of the building (no, I am not kidding). I patiently waited my turn until I was about to go through the double doors into the cafeteria. It was there that two morons got into a fight over who was in front of whom. The pushing started and eventually one of them got pushed into me. I got knocked out of line and when I started to get back in my place a strong hand grabbed my shoulder and dragged me back out to the courtyard. It was principal Hill. I was told there would be no cutting in line and I could go to the back and be patient like everyone else. I didn't eat lunch that day. Had the administration not come up with a solution to the lunchroom crisis I would have starved to death that year.
The best part of the day for me was when that last bell rang. I had a two door, 1953 Studebaker Champion waiting for me in the parking lot. It was a beauty even though none of the four tires matched. I thought I would run to the parking lot so I could be the first one out the gate. I found myself in a reenactment of the Oklahoma land rush of the late 1800's. The race to the cars was nothing compared to the race for the gate. We had a security guard. Some poor soul thinking he could supplement his social security check by sitting in a little room "guarding" the students' cars. He stood in the middle of the gate with his hands on his hips foolishly thinking he could slow us down and keep us orderly. I still remember the wet stain appearing on those old khakis of his. I may have liked the old guy had he stayed more than a day.
Ah, the days at Bell High School went by so fast. I remember the first day as if it were yesterday. I remember the day I drove away after my last class my senior year just as clearly. I wish I could remember everything in between. There are memories....some good, some bad. There are friends long since forgotten. I've never been back to a reunion. All those fresh-faced kids are now old. We qualified for the senior citizen discount years ago. I'm glad to be old. I'm glad I got the chance. I still hurt at times when I think of those two young girls, or the guys who never came home from Vietnam. I hope their eternity has been as good as my last fifty years.
As I think back on the freeway construction I can't help but remember what happened to two girls, best friends, who were driving to school down Brown Trail. I can't remember the year but I remember the day vividly. They were carefree just like all of us that age. Coming down the road they failed to see a pickup truck coming down the construction road for the new freeway. They collided at the intersection. It was their last day. The annual that year was dedicated to them, which was nice, but I think they would rather have been anonymous and alive. I can't remember their names.
I've mentioned in some of my earlier stories that the memories of our youth always include warm, sunny days. The first day of high school was like that...a perfect day. The summer breeze flowed through the massive oak trees around the school and everything was wonderful..absolutely wonderful..until lunch. I'm not certain of the count but if I remember correctly there were about 400,000 students enrolled that day. We had three lunch periods, each 30 minutes long. Some brilliant administrator thought we were adults enough and could choose for ourselves which lunch period we would take. During the first period there were 400,000 students, 4500 teachers, 100 administrative staff, and one janitor, all trying to get in line for that thirty-five cent lunch. I was in that line. I was in the part of the line that began just east of the courtyard, traveled west through the courtyard to an intersecting walkway, down a hall that led to the smoking section of the building (no, I am not kidding). I patiently waited my turn until I was about to go through the double doors into the cafeteria. It was there that two morons got into a fight over who was in front of whom. The pushing started and eventually one of them got pushed into me. I got knocked out of line and when I started to get back in my place a strong hand grabbed my shoulder and dragged me back out to the courtyard. It was principal Hill. I was told there would be no cutting in line and I could go to the back and be patient like everyone else. I didn't eat lunch that day. Had the administration not come up with a solution to the lunchroom crisis I would have starved to death that year.
The best part of the day for me was when that last bell rang. I had a two door, 1953 Studebaker Champion waiting for me in the parking lot. It was a beauty even though none of the four tires matched. I thought I would run to the parking lot so I could be the first one out the gate. I found myself in a reenactment of the Oklahoma land rush of the late 1800's. The race to the cars was nothing compared to the race for the gate. We had a security guard. Some poor soul thinking he could supplement his social security check by sitting in a little room "guarding" the students' cars. He stood in the middle of the gate with his hands on his hips foolishly thinking he could slow us down and keep us orderly. I still remember the wet stain appearing on those old khakis of his. I may have liked the old guy had he stayed more than a day.
Ah, the days at Bell High School went by so fast. I remember the first day as if it were yesterday. I remember the day I drove away after my last class my senior year just as clearly. I wish I could remember everything in between. There are memories....some good, some bad. There are friends long since forgotten. I've never been back to a reunion. All those fresh-faced kids are now old. We qualified for the senior citizen discount years ago. I'm glad to be old. I'm glad I got the chance. I still hurt at times when I think of those two young girls, or the guys who never came home from Vietnam. I hope their eternity has been as good as my last fifty years.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)