Our Shared Reality

One late toasty-warm August afternoon when pancakes baked on the sidewalk, I stood in line at the post office, enjoying the cool air while waiting to mail a large stack of my Miami Golf and Country Club History books that I self-published. I was weary that afternoon but still my adrenaline flowed from the excitement of selling nearly 100 books. 

I only printed 30 to begin with and never expected more. It took two more printings to have 100 copies. 

Stepping up to the counter I plopped the packages down with relief. With a tired but proud smile, I looked at the lady in white and blue and stated, "I'd like to mail these books in media rate, please."

She returned the smile, placed one on the weight machine, checked the location and zip code and while placing the stickers on the the package she asked, "Are you an author?"

The question caught me off guard. Two book signings, one in Miami, Oklahoma and the other in Tulsa, were most successful for me and for the people who dropped by to purchase the book, but I never thought of myself as an author. I was a writer, yes, but an author is well-known, has books in the public libraries, and makes money. 

After watching her weigh the second book and checking the address I finally replied, "Yes, I am an author and this is the history book I wrote about my hometown, the golf course where I grew up, and the people who were a part of my life."

Letty Stapp Watt, Vicki Martin Reynolds, Jonya Stapp Pry, Dobson Museum, Miami, Oklahoma

 

In full conversation by now she replied, "Oh, I wish I could write the story of the mountain in Washington state where I grew up skiing every winter and the lodge we called home." 

I saw her name "Cori" on the top left shelf of her post office station. It was a painted brick with her name engraved in stylish lettering. No one else could claim that station and her name. I liked her creative and individual taste. As she finished weighing and marking each package the doors to the post office locked, but we continued to talk about our shared histories and how people had come and gone in our lives. 

Even though we were separated in age by twenty years and 2,000 miles growing up in Washington state and Oklahoma, we found a common bond. 

Judy Woodruff said after a story she shared on PBS, 

"The need for a shared reality is one-way stories and history bring us together."

Authors, writers, journalists, storytellers, teachers, parents, ministers, historians, civic leaders......all possess the power of words to bring us together. We often look for stories that touch us inwardly, that connect us to others or another time and place.

I found this to be true, when a few days later I asked for help in the Hallmark store. I explained that I needed thank you notes for the many people who helped me publish the book and who encouraged and challenged me to finish it. The ladies looked at the various boxes that I had picked out and we talked our way through the best choice (I bought two boxes of Thank You notes.) 

One lady** asked what I had written. I replied, "I've collected stories and created a timeline of the last seventy years of the people who built my town and the golf course where I grew up."

She lite up, "Are you a golfer?" 

I laughed, "Yes, I am and have been since the time I could walk."

"Oh, you lucky girl," she pipped. "I have always wanted to play golf, but never found the time. I watch it on television on the weekends and once went to a championship in Tulsa."  We chatted a few more minutes and then she asked, "May I buy one of your books?"

"Let me bring one in for you to see," I suggested. A few minutes later, she sat down with the book and thumbed through the pages. "Where are you in this story?" 

"Starting in the early sixties," I said, then turned a few pages until we reached a decade she recalled. "I want to buy your book. How much?" 

I was stunned. This lady didn't play golf nor had any connection to it, like I might have thought. "The book costs $35."

She took $35.00 out of her purse and asked, "Would you autograph it me."

As I was leaving the store, she said, "Thank you. I want to read about others who have lived during my time and understand what it was like." 

I beamed with gratitude and felt tears well up in my heart with her kindness and soft spoken words. 

(**The one lady, a perfect stranger, at the Hallmark made a difference in my life by asking to buy my book. A book that I thought would not be read by others. She and I now know each other by first names. Thank you Sandy (Beach) Patterson for sharing your life and stories with me.)

I became a storyteller decades ago, thanks to a job at the Miami Public Library, because I saw people laugh and connect with the personal stories that I heard at the Miami Golf and Country Club, the stories my parents shared about the depression, the war, and the people who had come and gone in their early lives. (Some of the stories might be called "fishing for a good line or lie." I was never sure as a child how to take that.)

George Haralson and Thursday

One of my favorite memories to share is of an English bulldog named Thursday, who roamed the club in the late 1950's. His official home was on Yale Street and his backyard became the golf course and the clubhouse. One July 4, I witnessed Thursday run with his short legs and full body to catch an M-80 thrown by one of the club members. Oh, my... 

The rest of the story can be found on my history blog Thursday's story

The homepage for my history blog is: 

<https://mgcchistory.blogspot.com/>

Miami, Oklahoma Golf and Country Club History

If you enjoy my stories please copy and share this website with your friends. Blogging is becoming a thing of the past and I could certainly use help for my readers in sharing these stories with your friends and family.  

Route 66 -- The Mick

He stood bigger than life in the eyes of every child who'd ever heard his name. He'd always smiled at the kids as he autographed baseballs, golf balls, bats, and more. I stood near my father watching the commotion around us. Even though Mickey Mantle was nearly a household name for every American child in the 50's, seeing him in person and knowing his family made it special for many of us kids growing up in Ottawa County. 

My father, Johnie Stapp, with Mickey Mantle about 1956

One day he and his twin brothers, Roy and Ray, along with other Yankee players showed up at the Miami Country Club to play golf. It must have been in the summer because there were many people swimming, who suddenly jumped out of the pool and began to gather around the large and loud group of men. What I recall and what the facts are sometimes become twisted, but that day with a gallery of people we watched "The Mick" hit a tee ball off the first tee and fly it over the green (a par 4 about 360 yards), across Elm street behind the golf course, and into the fenced horse stalls owned by Mr. Lou Newell.  The gallery roared and the teasing and bets were on. "Johnny Dial" was the stud horse owned by Lou Newell, and for only a moment someone worried that he might have hit the horse, which made the golf shot even more lavish to retell.

My memories of Mickey seem quite colorful, when I recall my dad coming home from work sharing episodes of the days when Mickey and his friends came to the club to get away from the crowds and feel at home.  Billy Martin, Mantle's manager, asked my dad to give him golf lessons. Dad suggested that Martin come back often,  "so we can get that slice fixed." Martin just laughed. 

The Yankee players who came to Miami along with Mickey, George Coleman, and other celebrities sometimes played what dad called "destruction derby" with the golf carts.  I'm sure it wasn't what my dad liked to see, but Mickey and his friends always paid for the damage they imposed, and the men loved to retell the stories.  

Along the way, decades pass and memories grow fuzzy. This summer on my way to a golf tournament in Joplin, Missouri, along with my friend Kay Dalke, we took a sideways trip along old Route 66, and stopped at the Dobson Museum in Miami so I could take care of "burden and worry" that wouldn't leave my mind. As I talked about my problem with Jordan Boyd, Kay noticed the display on Mickey Mantle. Jordan suggested we locate the Mantle home a take a peek at history along the way to Joplin. 

With map in hand we headed north on Route 66 to
find his Commerce home.  Kay regaled me with her love of baseball and childhood family memories. Her grandmother's brothers were Paul and Lloyd Waner from Harrah, Ok. They are both in the National Baseball Hall of Fame. The Baseball Hall of Fame treated her family as special guest when they visited. She, like so many of us, remembers meeting Mickey Mantle, so finding his home was very special to both of us.

We were humbled by his small home. The plaque read: At the age of 5 or 6 his father started teaching him how to hit, they used the tin barn as their backstop. Mutt, his father (a miner) would pitch righty and Mick's grandfather would pitch lefty while teaching him the fine art of switch hitting....


Kay said, "Seeing Mickey Mantle's home was so exciting. It is hard to imagine the life of simplicity some of the greatest athletes of our lifetime have come from." 

Along the way, there's just so much to see and think about. 

Letty Stapp Watt
Johnie Stapp's daughter and historian

*Please leave comments below.
 

Golf Gypsy: Making New Friends

I don't know if I've ever said "thank you" enough to my parents and the community of golfers from my old home, the Miami Golf and Country Club, for teaching me how to meet people and make new friends. (photo of: Pat Horner, Clara Barton, Helen Moore, Claire Oliver winners July 12, 1962 of Ladies Sunrise Tournament.)  <http://www.scoutsongs.com/lyrics/makenewfriends.html>   Not only does it have the right rhythm for my swing, but singing helps to relieve the stress or nervous twitches that come with golf and my life.

courtesy of  the Dobson Museum

To add to that my mother was a Brownie Scout leader, and those years of scouting helped to guide me in making friends.  To this day I often sing the scout song, when I'm swinging the golf club, with these lyrics "Make new friends but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold."

Barbara, Stephanie, Donna 

Within days of our move from Hutchinson, to Norman,  this spring my husband had the foresight to join a golf course immediately.  I think he knows that his wife is slightly intense and high strung and needs fresh air and exercise, sometimes!   As soon as it was warm enough I ventured out to join the Trails Ladies Golf Association and meet new friends. The first Tuesday we worked in groups to take lessons from the pros.  It is especially important to be able to hit over the water on this course, and Stephanie Brecht helped us with that shot.  After lunch we were paired in twosomes to play in an alternate shot horse race.  My partner and I didn't finish in the money, but had a great time laughing at ourselves and the early spring mishits that we all shot. When I heard the laughter coming from everyone's voices, I knew I'd found a golf home that I'd enjoy for years to come.

Cliff hole at Dornick Hills

A few weeks later on a cool spring day the opportunity arose for me to join the Trails Ladies team play event and travel to Dornick Hills in Ardmore, Ok.  I was honored to represent The Trails at this unique golf course, and most of all to pay my homage to it's designer, Perry Maxwell, the same man who designed Prairie Dunes, my former home course.  What a vision that man had to see a green sitting on top of this cliff, and on a par 5 going UP.  My partner, and new golf friend Dawn Stork, and I played a dynamic

The Dornick Hills team. 

round of ham and egging it, as they say in golf.  She was on her game every time I was off my game.  That day I was off a lot, but you'd never know it by the laughter we created.

Shortly after this trip my back decided I needed a rest, so for the last month I've taken it easy with therapy and ice packs.  I played twice this last week (No woods) with new/old friends Ellen, Barbara, and Mary.  Ellen and Barbara were my golf friends from the 90's when we were all teaching school and playing golf on weekends and summers together, and for a short time Mary's daughter dated our son Michael.  What fun to be invited back into a group of friends who have good memories to share.

The songs are still in my head as I wonder down the fairways, singing and keeping my head clear to focus on the next shot.  Thank you to all of my friends who are "silver and gold."

Peggy celebrates her 2

I will miss you all, but I'll see your pictures, and read about your adventures through KWGA communications. 

Sue, Denise, Lois, and Betty





 Letty Stapp Watt, storyteller and historian