Mischief in the old Bell Elementary Neighborhood

A couple of years ago, Tyler ISD opened the new Henry Marsh Bell Elementary School.  It is built on that dusty old clay and sand playground of the original school where  I spent most of my childhood... riding bikes, going to baseball practice, flying kites, playing football, getting run over by the Man Child (previous blogs), and planning all kinds of mischief.  Even later in life I found myself going  back over to Bell for softball practice, to hit golf balls, to throw the football around with my brother and shoot baskets on the outdoor basketball court.  Growing up near a school with a playground was a good thing for me.

As an appraiser I note amenities of neighborhoods in my appraisal reports.  As I look back at the old Bell neighborhood it seemed to have all the amenities a young boy could desire.  In addition to the playground, the neighborhood had two creeks, a crawdad hole, Dean's Lake, snakes, trails for mini-bikes, a gas station to air up the tires on your bike, train tracks to squash pennies, a hamburger joint (Tiki Burger), a hotdog joint (Der Wienerschnitzel) and places to buy gum and candy (Keep Happy and 7-11 on 5th street).  There were a lot of kids in the neighborhood, most of them great to do things with... a few bullies to avoid (I won't mention any names).  Within 20 or 30 minutes we could always drum-up enough kids to play football, basketball or baseball at the Bell playground.  This all sounds very nice and Leave it to Beaver, doesn't it?

Now... I cannot speak for later generations, but as for my generation, it's about around the age of 9 or 10 when the mischief gene kicks in.  The gene that takes young boys down a wayward path of disobedience and trouble.  Some of us in the Bell neighborhood got a jump start with our mishievous genes when key personnel moved there.  Instead of laying pennies on the train tracks, it became more fun to wait for the train and throw rocks at the engineer.  That creek that provided turtles and crawdads became a hiding place and mode of escape when cars hit with water balloons and eggs were chasing you down.  Double Bubble, Now-Laters and Pixie Sticks were replaced by Red Man, Skoal and Sweet Garrett. 

Beaver Cleaver transformed into Eddie Haskell... maybe Bart Simpson.

A natural progression in a young boy's life is becoming proficient at throwing.  Early on... throwing a football or baseball was my dream.  Then I learned I was pretty good at heaving dirt clods and water balloons.  Egg throwing in my neighborhood was seldom done, mainly because of economics... a dozen eggs were more expensive and didn't last as long as a bag of 100 balloons.  In season, hard, green pine cones became a staple of the young blossoming arms of the Bell neighborhood.  We pegged cars, the train on Troup Highway, each other and anytime possible the kid down the street who would go on to be drum major of the Robert E. Lee Band.

The only problem of throwing well was... once you hit a car, you had to be able to get away quick.  Being the... uh... hefty kid... okay... the fat kid of the bunch.  Well... I didn't run as fast as some of the other guys, so I learned to hide better than them.  The chaos of three or four boys running from a pursuing vehicle provided ample opportunity for the fat kid to hide in the sewer pipe or blend into the bushes.  I also learned it was less tiresome.  While my friends were staying fit running from trouble... the fat kid was adapting to the environment for survival.  Whether breaking bottles on the back of Fifth Street Automotive or lighting a firecracker in the Tiki Burger... the fat kid learned to avoid the radar and just blend in... I had become a virtual urban chameleon. 

Sometimes I was hidden within feet of people looking for us.  I think sometimes our pursuers looked at me and thought... "There's no way that fat kid gambled his hamburger and fries to light that Black Cat in here."  

A Beer, Cigarette and a Naked Woman...

In a couple of months, Tina and I will be celebrating our 7th anniversary.  Our marriage has been one like many... good times, a few obstacles to overcome, but the two key factors we have maintained is our faith in Jesus and laughter.  Obviously our faith comes first and foremost, but I can't over-emphasize the importance of finding something to laugh about everyday.


Our married life began with a story... and one people ask us to repeat from time to time.  We were married in Eurkea Springs, Arkansas.. .known as the "Wedding Capital of the South".  Tina orchestrated the entire event at this great little bed & breakfast that offers wedding packages.  You get the ceremony, photos, reception, unbelievable dining and two nights in a great environment for something like $700 or $800 (back at that time).  Everything was first class... this was no streamlined package deal.  The cabins had first class amenities, the wedding photography was an unbelievable deal, the food was prepared by a master chef, and the chapel and setting in the hills of northern Arkansas was great.

As we arrived at the chapel we were greated by one of the owners, a very small statured lady.  She was a little person.  She gave us a tour of the grounds, cabins, reception facilities and chapel.  We paid her our money, checked into the cabin and prepared to get ready for our ceremony that would take place later in the day.

As the owner left us at the cabin, Tina said... "She was very nice.... but... I wonder if we will be able to meet the preacher before the ceremony.  I laughed and said... "I think we just did.  Didn't you see her credentials on the wall?  She's the minister."  Now... ole Baptist Tina was taken back by my comment.  She stared in silence as the little lady walked back down the trail towards the main office.  "That's our minister?  The one that's going to marry us?"  I began to wonder if we would get married that day.  I could tell she was having trouble knowing a woman would be marrying us.  It's just not the Baptist way.  Being raised in the Methodist Church, I didn't have a problem with it. 

Tina's parents, Bennie and Phyllis made the trip to Eureka Springs with us.  We met them in town to get our marriage license and tour the shops and downtown area.  Later in the day they acoompanied us back to the B&B for the wedding.  I got dressed in the cabin and Tina's parents accompanied her to the bridal chambers in the reception hall.  After I got ready I went down to the chapel to wait.  Tina's mother met me there.  Then the pastor showed up.  We all stood outside and talked while we waited for Tina and her Dad.

Back in the bridal chamber, Tina was almost ready.  Her Dad was looking out the window and said... "Well... it's almost time.  I can see them down at the chapel.  There's your momma... and Galen... and... who's that little girl down there with them?"  "Daddy!  That's the preacher!" Tina blurted.  "The preacher?!"  Bennie exclaimed (like he was wondering if this was legal).  He continued to stare outside the window while Tina finished getting ready.

The preacher had a bible in one hand and a small step stool in the other.  Every time she addressed us with scripture or wedding vows, she would hop up on her stool.  Even though it was a quick, short ceremony I was suprised how many times this happened.  Anyway we had a great ceremony and small reception with Tina's parents and the preacher.

While in Eureka Springs we went to the Passion Play, many historic places and local sites.  One in particular was this odd tree outside of town were people tied shoelaces together and throw their shoes up in a tree.  The second night after we were married we attended a Hoe-Down (which I understand to have a completely different meaning in south Los Angeles... sorry I couldn't pass that up). 

As we got back to the B&B later that night I dropped Tina off at the cabin and parked the truck.  When I walked back up to the cabin I found her laughing.  Now, there are several cabins situated on this property and every weekend there are multiple weddings taking place.  Some of the cabins are placed twenty or thirty feet apart.  Each cabin has a hot tub on a decked area in the back, but with privacy fencing and a roof.  But still... you sometimes can hear people... (ahem) talking.

Tina informed me... "Baby... that ole boy in that hot tub is a happy man."  I just heard him say, "It don't get no better than this... got a beer, a cigarette... and a naked woman." 

Tina and I agreed that would be the theme of our marriage, which makes for interesting responses when people at church as us about when and where we were married.

Weldon Holcomb and his Baptist Cigars

A couple of years ago, Tyler lost a local icon when attorney Weldon Holcomb died.  Weldon was a former Smith County District Attorney... former judge... a fixture in the community... but probably best known by many in the downtown area as the "Candy Cane Man".  Weldon always carried a hand full of candy canes in his coat pocket and you could approach him almost anywhere and ask for one.  Weldon would smile and say something like... "Why sure... here you go", shake your hand or pat you on the shoulder.  He was tall, somewhat lanky build with slicked-back hair tucked under a cowboy hat.

One day I stopped in the McDonalds on Beckham Street on the way to work to grab breakfast.  I noticed Weldon Holcomb sitting in a booth in the corner of the dining room.  A little boy... probably six or seven years old was standing nearby with a gentleman who was finishing up his breakfast.  The little boy had lots of energy and everytime he took a bite of eggs, he walked in a circle around some of the nearby tables. 

Probably the third or fourth time the little boy circled the tables, Weldon reached into his pocket and addressed the young lad, saying... "Young man... ask your Deddy (Daddy) if you can have one of these here candy canes."  The little boy stopped dead in his tracks and turned toward Weldon, saying... "Oh... that's not my Daddy.. he's my uncle... my Daddy is in Heaven with Jesus." 

I could tell this caught a typically never speechless Weldon Holcomb by suprise.  He paused and his eyes seemed to well up a little.  As Weldon spoke I could hear a little bit of a crack in his voice... "Well... I'm sure you miss your Daddy, but being there with Jesus... well... that's the best place anybody can be."

The little boy's uncle gave a nod of approval for him to receive a candy cane.  As Weldon handed it to the little boy, he smiled and said... "Now young man, that's a Baptist See-gar (Cigar)... and you can smoke it anywhere"  (gesturing with his hand by pointing toward the sky, as if it were approved in Heaven).

In a world full of hustle and bustle we need more Weldon Holcombs handing out gestures of kindness to the people that cross our paths.  We can also find comfort in Weldon's words, because they are true... "... being there with Jesus... well... that's the best place anybody can be".

I drove the worst car in high school

My first car was a 1968 Ford Falcon... dull blue color with a big rust spot on the trunk.  It had belonged to my Dad's Aunt ("Aint") Jo, who died back when I was 8 years old.  The car sat out behind my grandparent's garage for years.  If memory serves me right, I paid $200 for it when I was 15 years old... put in new seat covers, a radio and carpet in the floor board.

Now tons of kids at Robert E. Lee drove some pretty nice cars.  Smokey and the Bandit had just come out... and there were a lot of kids driving really nice Trans AM's, Z-28 Camaros, Firebirds, etc.  Some of the people who drove the really nice cars didn't want me to park the old Falcon next to them.  It was pretty funny when I'd hear... "Hey... go park that piece of crap somewhere else."  (I'd think to myself... "At least you don't have to drive it!") 

The Falcon didn't have air conditioning, so during hot weather I left the windows down all the time.  This lead to a lot of practical jokes.  Sometimes when I walked out into the parking lot at REL, my car would not be in the parking space where I left it.  Since it had a standard transmission, all someone had to do was get in, put it in neutral and push it somewhere else.  Todd Diviney was the biggest culprit... playing the old "now you're warm... now you're cold game" as I searched through the parking lot.  One time Todd moved it completely over near the tennis courts.  I almost never found it.

Leaving the windows down also created opportunities for people to have fun with the car while I worked at Burger King.  Back then, Broadway was the main drag in Tyler... and weekend nights meant tons of people hanging out in the BK parking lot.  The manager (Steve... an ultra nerd)  would always say... "Galen... you know those guys... go out there and tell them to stop loitering in our lot... I've called the police."  So... I would go outside and let them know... "Hey... the manager says you guys need to leave... he's called the cops".  They would usually give me a hard time, saying stuff like... "Hey... tell your manager I'm going by to see his wife when I leave here".  I'd go back inside and tell Steve... "Hey... those guys say they know your wife."  Steve would stand in the safety of the dining room looking outside the window like he was trying to figure out who they were... I don't think he realized it was a joke.  Usually on the nights that I had to be parking lot sheriff the guys would fill the floor boards of my car with beer cans, bottles, hamburger sacks, etc.  It took forever to get that stuff out.

The craziet part of driving the worst car at Robert E. Lee was the horn.  When the steering wheel turned too far to the left, the horn would honk.  I'm sure it had some kind of short in it, but turning the wheel too far sometimes resulted in some funny situations.  It also seemed to hack some people off.  When leaving the horsehoe drive near the band hall, it meant I had to turn the wheel too far left.  The horn would honk (and keep honking) while people standing along by the old gym and bus pickup area would either wave or flip me off.  After a couple of weeks of this tons of people were flipping me off... some yelling stuff like "Hey fatass... who are you honking at?"  I'd just wave (or flip them off) and try to only turn the wheel to a point where it didn't honk.  This resulted in me almost hitting the dumpsters one time. 

Half way through my junior year the old Falcon died.  The second or third clutch went bad and ordering the parts left me on foot more than with transportation.  Pretty soon I moved up to a 1974 Plymouth Duster... which was a big improvement.  At least it had air conditioning.  Man... was I glad to get rid of the Falcon.

Grandmothers and the "Good Bowel Movement"

Okay... this blog is not for the faint of heart.  It delves into truly personal matters.  Tina and the kids have heard me share these stories of the exploits of a little boy and his two grandmothers' obsessions with bowel movements.  I don't know if grandmothers still do these sorts of things, but back in my day they did.

Back when I was a kid, both my grandmothers had separate approaches and beliefs regarding good health and a daily bowel movement.  They both believed it was absolutely necessary for the two to mesh. 

My maternal grandmother was quick to advise me and my cousins about the necessity of a "good bowel movement" each day for good health.  With a great emphasis on the word... "good".  I'm not too sure if "good" was a measure of quanity or quality, but I know she always stressed its importance.  If any of us complained about... "feelling bad... or having a sick stomach... or even feeling sick", my grandmother's first standard question was... "Well... have you had a good bowel movement today?" 

Her emphasis on the "good bowel movement" caused me as a young boy to mistakenly associate any illness, accident or tragedy to be related to the participants lack of having a "good bowel movement" recently.  I figured... people involved in a traffic accident must have been on their way to the bathroom and just didn't make it.  Probably anyone with heart trouble, cancer or any serious illness must have really not properly managed their bathroom time in quite a while.  When I heard about airplane crashes, deaths or major catastrophies I imagined these events must have involved some sort of group effort lacking good bowel movements.  In my young mind I could not imagine how tragedies like the sinking of the Titanic or Hindenburg crash could be explained.  When ex-President Eisenhower died during my first grade year, I figured he must have really had some major constipation issues.

The polar opposite of my maternal grandmother's "good bowel movement advice", was my paternal grandmother's frantic hands-on approach to get ahead of any kind of constipation or bowel obstruction.  She was of the old school thinking that elimination is the key to good health.  Little Granny was a small stature of woman, probably never weighed over 75 pounds in her life.  But... do not be fooled by her small size.  Give her the idea that one of her grandchildren had not gone to the bathroom or were constipated... and she immediately went into action.  This was not a fun time for any bold enough to share their discomfort with her.

Before one knew what hit them, Little Granny went into effect like a Nascar pit crew... accessing her hot water bottle, pink hose and what seemed like several gallons of warm sudsy water.  What made things worse... is that Little Granny deputized any and everyone she beleived she needed to help her... Ain't Jo... Ain't Edie (in my family, that woman married to your uncle is known as an "Ain't")... the mailman... someone just visiting... maybe a distant cousin you never met before.  Modesty be damned in her house.  If they could hold a leg or squeeze the hot water bottle, they were drafted into her army against constipation.  With the skill of a plumber or a fireman, Little Granny always manned the hose. Within ten or twenty minutes people you never dreamed of knowing had been made privy (no pun intended) to your most private concerns.  It seemed like she would never stop pumping that warm water.

All I can say is... thank goodness we now have products like Exlax and Fiberall.

Overalls aren't for everyone...

My grandfather on my dad's side was an overall wearing guy.  Not sure if I ever saw him in anything else.  Many people wear overalls, as a matter of fact I have a good friend who prefers overalls to common pants, britches or jeans.  He has his everyday overalls, then on Sundays he wears his church overalls.  It works for him.

Back when I was in high school, wearing overalls to school became kind of a fad at Robert E. Lee High School.  They looked comfortable... no belt... seemed to be some pretty good positives to wearing overalls.  I decided I might get me a pair of overalls and give them a try.  Now bear in mind... I didn't take into consideration several factors about the people I was seeing wear these overalls.  First... they all were thin people.  Second... many of them were wearing trendy overalls made and marketed for high school age kids. It's a fact that thin people can look good in almost anything they wear.  Those of us of... let's say... broader proportions... well... a degree of risk is involved every time we try something new.

So as an uninformed buyer of overalls, I got my first pair.  Can't remember if I bought them at Sears, Army/Navy Store or where, but I unknowingly got the wrong product.  I didn't get my overalls at some fancy store in Broadway Square Mall.  I think the name of the overalls I bought was something like... "Big Smiths", which at the time were primarily for welders.  As I picked out my size I noticed how heavy they were... and stiff.  I figured there is probably some kind of cardboard packing tucked away in there somewhere.

As I put on the overalls, I realized I didn't look like some of my friends (who were thin).  I looked more like Junior Samples, only with good hair.  The front of the overalls were really stiff, almost like wearing a chest protector.  Life experience has now taught me these overalls were designed to defray sparks and molten metal particals.  I also noticed that when I walked in them, the legs made sounds like two giant canvas flags blowing in the wind... most likely because of more of the protective material.  I thought... what the heck... washing and wearing them will probably loosen them up.

A couple of days later I tried them out.  The overalls seemed to loosen up some, but not like I was expecting.  None-the-less I put them on and went to school.  After walking around REL for a couple of hours I realized I had the wrong kind of overalls.  These overall weren't made for a lot of walking around.  Also... I think I had the shoulder straps hitched a little too tight... every time I bent over I got a severe wedgy.  By fourth period I was uncomfortable, chafed from walking in the thick material and tired of the jokes and ribbings I was getting from friends.  Robert Kurt Gee turned to me and asked (in his traditional Spikoli-Fast Times at Ridgemont High voice)... "Hey Dude... have they started some kind of crazy welding class here or what?  I heard you flapping down the hall... it was wild."

Now that I'm older I considered giving overalls a try again.  Then I realized I'd probably just look like Junior Sample's Dad.  I'll stick with my Wranglers.

BR-549

Fear of Flying... more perils of the fat kid

While I'm blogging about my early school years at Bell Elementary, I must tell about the new kid that moved to Bell.  He was a really big red-headed kid with freckles, a crew cut and a really nasty disposition.  All I remember was his name was Chester.

It was during my third grade year.  Third and fourth graders were combined on the playground for recess class.  Late into the school year, this new kid transferred in to the fourth grade.  He wasn't the biggest kid on campus, but from the first time I saw him I noticed something different about Chester. 

I can't put my finger on it, but Chester was that kid that seemed to scatter the other kids.  If Chester decided to climb on the monkey bars, all the other kids just naturally moved on and found something else to do.  Probably because he put out a natural warning system, much like a hungry lion or bear.  He seemed to have a wide-eyed look to him... almost kind of scary.  He was very unpredictable, but when he acted someone usually got hurt.  Back at that time one of my best friends was a fourth grader named Mark Vise.  Mark asked me a question one day about Chester... "Have you run into that new Chester kid?  Well... watch-out... he's meaner than Hell.  The teachers are even afraid of him."

One day I was playing kick ball over by the southwesterly back stop on the playground.  Everything was going good, I hadn't even noticed that Chester was on my team.  As our team went to take our turns kicking I somehow ended up in line right behind big ole Chester.  While we were standing there, Chester wandered off like he decided not to play kick ball.  I immediately moved up in his place in line.  Too bad, Chester.  Everybody knew if you got out of line you had to go to the end of the line.  Everybody knew that, except Chester.

Several minutes later Chester came back.  He immediately noticed I have closed the gap and absorbed his place in line.  Before I knew what was going on he growled... "Where do you think you're going, Fats?"  He grabbed me by left wrist and left ankle and began to airplane spin me around in a circle... really fast.  Now... I quickly began to realize this situation could only have a bad ending.  Every time I went around, I was getting dangerously close to the pipe support of the back stop.  Also... the street was only six or eight feet behind us.  After I picked up some pretty good speed on the sixth or seventh rotation, Chester let me go.  And I flew... probably seven or eight feet away, landing in a new pile of sand that was to be spread out onto the field.

As I got up and dusted myself off I realized... "Hey... I'm alive!"  As I walked  back over to get in the kick ball line, I decided to go to the back of the line where hopefully I would be safe.  Funny thing is... all the other kids who were in line in front of Chester decided to do the same.  Chester kicked the ball and ran around the bases.  The kids out in field seemed to know it would not be wise to attempt to get Chester out, so they just let him circle the bases.  Kind of an honorary home run, if you will.  Actually kind of a protect one's life homerun.  Chester seemed unchallenged and walked away.  He probably saw a car to steal or someone else to terrorize.  We all breathed a sigh of relief and continued playing.

After several weeks I noticed that Chester was no longer at recess and no longer at Bell Elementary.  I figured someone had probably noticed his photograph down at the post office and maybe the National Guard had been called to take him in.  Some of us speculated maybe he had been moved to a reform school or the Huntsville State Pen.