Coming to Together

Like art, this picture truly says a 1,000 words and signifies thousands of memories and hundreds of hugs and KISSES.  We still do that, even at our age.  

So much like the proms of our younger years, I didn't want this weekend to end.  Yet, here we are, once again, back to daily lives in homes from  Arizona, to Washington and nearly fifty states in between, We were grade schoolers when Hawaii and Alaska became states and Sputnik was launched. The race to space colored our lives with a sense of adventure, while we came face to face with issues of race in our nation. We were in junior high when the Arms race escalated, and we thought our young lives would be cut short by atomic bombs from Russia.  During high school President Kennedy was shot before our eyes, leaving our lives jolted and shaped by history.  Through it all we were kids, we had our friends, our clicks, our own ups and downs.  We grew apart. 

Fifty years jetted by us, and we came together as Wardogs, as one.

I've pondered how we lost track of each other, even best friends seemed to fade away. Why? How?  I asked. What happened?  My answer came on the first night of the reunion on a yellow bus ride out to the Spook Light.  

We all claimed to have seen
the spook light.

Sitting in front of us was a classmate I had not seen in fifty years.  He'd written us a letter for our 25 reunion, that I would never forget.  He said that he was researching medicines that might one day cure alzheimer's disease.  There we were on a yellow Miami Oklahoma school bus, bouncing down Highway 10.  I taped him on the shoulder, "Aren't you Tom Haskins?" I asked.  Instantly, we relaxed, introduced our spouses and all began to chat about how we'd met, where we lived, and what we were doing now.  Agreement was easy on one subject....retirement is the greatest.  During the conversation I wanted to know more about his research, but instead I learned the answer to my "Why, How, and What happened to us questions."  After graduating from TU where he met his wife, Vera, he couldn't get a job because he was eligible for the draft. One single word that changed our generation for ever, but never with the honor of our fathers'--the draft.  

March 8, 1965 combat troops landed in Viet Nam.  I had my answer. 

Larry Irwin, gives us the details of the
 historic Coleman Theatre.

Just like in life, between the tears of reality that the war had played an active roll in changing all of our lives, we also found time to come together, to laugh, to share pictures of families, and to genuinely listen to the lives of our friends, our classmates.  We've said good-bye to over fifty classmates, but for those of us who came to the reunion we created a new bond of friendship with each and every class mate we came in touch with, and even those who weren't able to come to the reunion were in our hearts and stories.  

We stayed out late at the spook light, sat up even 
later in the hotels and told stories. The next day
some toured the Coleman theatre, ate a  Ku-Ku burger, drove

Happy Birthday Sara

through old neighborhoods, played golf, celebrated birthdays, jumped into a hula hoop

Dena Anders, 100 years young and a living
reminder of childhood times.

Ann can still hula hoop.

to see if we could still twist and turn, relaxed on the patio, and then danced the night away at our Mutt Hutt reincarnation. Like Cinderella's coach and dress, our reunion nametags were for good the Mutt Hutt from Sept. 24-27.  








Saturday we laughed and looked tired, but rallied and talked all day long....By evening we came together and shared our grief with the loss of 56 classmates.  One by one their names were called, and tears flowed as we remembered their youthfulness, their energies, their time....

In memory 

C.J. and Randy

Letty and Bill Smith, neighborhood friend...

Candy, one of my new friends for life.

Roosevelt kids

The reunion provided us time to share our current lives and to be humbled by so many who have done so much in these fifty years. Roy Underwood and Bill Smith humbled us with their program that honored "All Who Have Served."  We were entertained by Wendy Songe, and Jana Jae while we enjoyed a delicious meal.  The night lasted as long as we could carry on, camera shots were flashing all around as the hours counted down.  

The Morning After:  Susan, Richard, Marsha

Yes, we said, "Remember when...." followed by laughs, giggles, tears, and awes, but more than that we discovered how much we've become like each other. Life has brought us closer with every fiber of our souls and hearts.  We truly came together as a class, apart no longer but wrapped together in the bonds of friendship.  

As Rev. Russ Martin said after every game, "When the One Great Scorer comes to write against your name, He marks--not that you won or lost--but how you played the game."

Thank you to all who made this fabulous reunion possible.  



**Look for a future story on All Who Have Served.

***No, there is no cure for Alzheimer's disease for our generation, but there are drugs being tested that might someday help those the age of our grand children.

Speaking From the Heart--Roy's Words

Jan Crockett Smith, Sue Seamon Mead and
 Marsha Payton Rickel

Three years of planning and hard work by the hands and heads of many classmates have finally come to fruition. I, too, have spent time helping and reflecting on what those years meant in our lives. Even though my stories are universal, they are still told from my point of view.  In our class there are at least two hundred points of view, when looking back at those twelve adventurous years of school. Perhaps another set of eyes can tell the story, that I couldn't.  

One classmate, Roy Underwood,  recently reflected on

Richard, Karen, Donna, Bill, Roy

those memories, those emotions brought on by the meetings that have been held to organize and shore up our reunion.  Here are Roy's words spoken from his heart.

Greetings 1965 MHS classmates.
We are a few days away from our 50th reunion, can you really believe it? I am speaking only for myself at this writing, not the committee. Nor am I the wordsmith like some of my classmates. I have been known and accused of being brutally honest, called many names, most not so kind, and probably deserved such. However, as we near our 50th reunion, I wish to share my thoughts. Agree or disagree, it matters not to me. This is my story of how it began.

Tony Palmer, ? Roy Underwood

It has been one hell of a ride, sometimes smooth, sometimes rough--disagreements, untold hours of personal time, and difficult decisions had to be made along the road to now.

It began more than five years ago with two people, then three.  I was living in Ohio at the time. I personally missed two previous reunions due to distance and my employment. I moved back to Oklahoma City after my retirement in 2009. The seeds of our current reunion began with Richard Spencer and Karen Atkinson Yoxall.  I was invited to assist. Richard and I began having lunch meetings in Shawnee, Okla. We had not seen each other since 1965, but we hugged and for me, the years melted away.

Randy Loehr, Linda McNatt Henbest, Donna Collins Edmondson, Jan Crockett Smith 

Meetings were planned, the very first was held in Miami @ the Pizza Hut, with more than 48 classmates attending. We

thought, wow, this is going to be easy, not so! As the weeks and months progressed, we learned it was not going to be so easy. I cannot count how many meetings we have had. You were informed and invited. The attendance, over the years has fluctuated. Many have asked, who is paying for these meetings, the food and drinks etc. The total cost of travel, food etc., came from our pockets, some locations were donated. Weekly breakfast meetings were begun here in Miami at local restaurants. All in all they have been very successful. Classmates traveled to join us from different locations in state and out of state.

Jackie Trask

It has been a time to renew friendships and establish new ones; a time of sharing our life's success, failures and loss. No more petty BS of our years at MHS, no more clicks or ill feelings. Just people, we shared a point in time of our personal history. For me, I deeply cherish each and every moment you have chosen to share with me. I would come from those meetings, feeling energized, happy and at times guilty for having absorbed such wonderful emotions from my classmates!

Wednesday morning meetings class of 65. 

Many have worked years, weeks, months and hours to make this the best reunion ever. You may not like portions of it or any of it. For me, I don't care for some events, but you know, it will be what I make of it, I choose to make it all a positive event. Like many, our lives have taken many roads, some very successful, some not. We have all known happiness, horrible pain and loss, some of our own making. People have hurt us, in turn we have hurt others, and usually those we loved the most. Many of our classmates have suffered such loss, and they will be in attendance. I want them to feel welcome; rich, poor, successful or not. If I act superior, judge them, or not interact with them, I am the one who will experience a personal loss for not allowing them in, it will make me less and cheat me out of allowing them to enrich my life. My thoughts are mine alone. A heart felt THANK YOU, for your support, time and money to help make this one of the best reunions ever. A personal thank you classmates who have enriched my life over these past few years, by you being you!! Hope to see you in a few days. Blessings to all!

Top of Form

 

Miami High School,  Circa 1959, the Ted Watts collection

Central Jr. High  (Miami, OK) late 1950's

WarPups:  Pieces of Memories (1959-1962)

Why this story is hard to write is a conundrum. Fifty-six years have officially passed since my mother bought my seventh grade books in the basement of that cornerstone building.  I must have walked past that building hundreds of times from my home on H. Northeast.   Walking West on 2nd NE street took me over the railroad tracks, the truck route (D. st),  past large two story homes, the corner Christian Church, the brick wall surrounding our school, the Candy Shop from where this photo must have been taken, the red brick public library (that once kicked me out with my little sister when she would not stop crying during story hour; where I began my career path as a librarian) and onto main street where I walked to the movies and other places with friends or looking for friends. I spent six active years on that block, and then ironically, another year when I worked for HUD in the 1970's in the old pink building that held over flow classes.  I watched that brick building being torn down, slammed to the ground and bulldozed into history.

This photo now stands in our memories as a record of our time and place. A glance of whom we might someday become.

I've searched my brain, and the internet for memories.  This site is particularly accurate if it is facts that are needed for research for a particular year: The People History .  Printed neatly and orderly, it serves as a refresher for where we were in those days, what we were doing, songs we listened and danced to, plus the current events.  

But for my heart which leads my fingers across the keyboard, my connectedness to those early years seems blurred. Six short years slowly crept by, three divided in Jr. Hi years by Central/ Will Rogers, then blended as the true spirit of being a WARDOG. These are the years and dates for "reunions", but not always the reasons.  

Nov. 14-18, 1960

Rather than stories with heart and soul, my memories run randomly, much like notes across a napkin.

   With a last name of Stapp, I often sat near some very ornery boys in our ABC ordered classes;  I learned in Mr. D's science class that Richard Spencer could draw gorgeous lettering called calligraphy. The beauty of those letters stayed with me and finally, when I was in my thirties I learned calligraphy.  Bill Smiley, Bill Smith, and John Stansell kept me distracted in math class, in geography, in history class, but did I ever have fun laughing and passing notes when I should have been paying attention to Mr. Hammons, or Mr. Teal,  Mrs. Vanetta,  Mr. Campbell. Miss McCoy and Mr. Akers, however, scared the fun right out of me on more than one occasion. They seemed to think that I was occasionally disruptive in class. I explained I always had help in the disruptions--like Vicki Newell, Nancy Burnes, C Ann Richards or those boys.  (They didn't realize that that phone call during Mr. Teal's math class in 9th grade was an offer for me to drive to El Paso, Texas with the Newell family to look at a race horse.  The truth is that we also toured a private girls school that Vicki would attend.  We even flew back to Tulsa and Opal drove the car with a new horse in tow, but in the end my friend Vicki left the halls of MHS, and I lost a friend.) I should have learned then not to blame others for my actions, but that would take a few more hard lessons in life.    

Stashed in a box of memories, I found my blue vinyl "Dear Diary". I did write something on nearly every page of that 1961 diary, but the adult English teacher in me went ballistic with that little girl's grammar errors.  
      January 27, I went to Mutt Hutt, danced two times, and played ping pong.
      February 8, We had an aptitude test from 9 to 3 in the gym.  Had to carry our chairs up and down three flights of stairs.
      February 14, Well, Patrice Lamobaba (Lumumba) was killed. We are having a lot of trouble with them.  Kennedy Pres.  Well, I'm going to the Mixer--Valentine Dance....I had a lot of fun. (I attempted to use different handwriting to denote time or mood changes.) 
      March 17, Mother and daughter banquet
      April 29, I went to see Gone With the Wind.  Wow, was it good.  Clark Gable xxxxx
      May 22, 3 1/2 days left.  Well, I got my wish.  I got to usher at the ninth grade promotion.
      May 26, Out of School.  Going into the 9th Grade.  Went to the lake at Grand Point and had lots of fun. (If memory serves me correctly I seriously sunburned myself.)
      May 28 Went to see the movie Cimmarron, the story of Oklahoma territory.  (I later showed that black and white film at an elementary sleep over in the 1980's and promptly put everyone to sleep on the gym floor.)
      June 7, Dress rehearsal for Virginia Lee and Tom's dance recital.  I'm an Indian in Peter Pan.
      June 13, Jonya had her eye surgery in Wichita.  Freddie fell on the picket fence and cut open his leg.  It made me sick.
      June 20, I played 18 holes with Daddy.   Daddy bought me a new tourquoise golf bag and a new wedge and putter. 
      September 9, Hurricane Carla hit Texas.  The worst so far of the twenteth century. 
      October 6,  Sat with Bill (guessing on the brick wall).  Went to Mutt Hutt.  Bill came in sat and danced with me about 10 minutes (I don't like him.) I finally asked Blaine Taylor to dance.  Wow.  
      November 8, Rainbow Dance is coming but I don't know who to invite.  Bill?  Tim?? 
      December 16, Went to see Blue Hawaii.  Mary Dahl and Judy Scruggs stayed all night with me.  I don't think Tim likes me.  

What I do remember with heart and soul are the memories we shared after the school day. Ironically, I carry fond memories of watching TV with my family and eating our meals on TV trays. The Ed Sullivan Show was my favorite, but I rarely missed Bonanza,Gunsmoke, Candid Camera, Andy Griffith, or Alfred Hitchcock. I discovered "As the World Turns" and other soap operas thanks to the lunches we shared at Judy Scrugg's house. Judy and I cried together at the drive in movie when mother took us to see "West Side Story."  I just knew that boy didn't die, even though mother and Judy let me know I was wrong.  

Eighth grade became a pivotal time in our history, and my parents took the Soviet threats seriously. Driving the Muntz, Dad's race car, my father made it an adventure to find shelter and safety for his family. By summer of 1961 a "bomb shelter" had been dropped into the

The awning covers the bomb shelter entrance.  

ground at 209 H NE.  Mother filled it with the proper foods and toiletries. (We didn't know all the dangers.)   It was my job to remind her to change the foods every six months.  It was a schedule we kept throughout my high school years.  And, yet, I only wished to live to be 16 and legally drive a car.

Fear comes in strange forms, and I suppose I never really thought I'd live to see the world, raise a family, much less enjoy a reunion fifty years after graduation. Like my diary, the count down has begun....11 days.    

Miami Oklahoma Class of 1965

P.S.  Doug Gosney, looks like I owe you a nickel.  

Letty Stapp Watt
Johnie Stapp's daughter and historian

WARDOGS -- Pieces of memories

Roosevelt 6th grade, 1959-60

My world was much smaller then. Fifty classmates who shared teachers, textbooks, pencils, paper, playground games like softball, tag, jump rope, jacks, swings, and teeter-totters, no libraries, very few books, and through this we created memories. 

In fifth grade Miss Garman's class I learned that if I didn't have a pencil I had two choices:  borrow one from friends or the teacher, or bring a nickel and buy one from Mike Westfall, who kept a stash of new pencils in his cigar box.  He was a salesman even then. Jackie Rundell fell in love with me and gave me a tiny yellow plastic clothes pin to put on my blouse collar, to show his love. I was too embarrassed and hid the collar clip in a drawer.  

Remember these:  I love you little,  I love you big,  I love you like a little pig.

In fourth grade I felt out of place and lost in Miss Bloomberg's class.  I didn't know many things that I should by fourth grade and I missed my friends from Lincoln school. Gay Turner sat in my class and even though she was older than the rest of us, she was my neighbor and during that fourth grade year became my friend both at school and at home. Luckily, our neighborhood was filled with kids, so after school we could all play tag, hide-n-go-seek, blind man's bluff, kick the can, or just sit on the sidewalk and play jacks.  
*When you get old and think you're sweet, Take off your shoes and smell your feet.  

I began school in Kansas at a Catholic School where I could enroll in first grade at age five.  I finished my first year in the Catholic school in Miami and met the Burford's and other families from the country club.  My second and third grade years were spent at Lincoln school where there were plenty of playmates in the neighborhood.  Just having the Cantrell's or the "Sixes" as we used to call them, just two houses up filled my day with plenty of fun and excitement.  

*Don't be what you isn't, Just be what you is, Fore if you're what you isn't, You isn't what you is."

I felt grown up in second grade because I could walk to Doc's BBQ or Gene's Tarry-a-While and buy a coke or ice cream as long as Sherri or Judy Cantrell was with me.  My mother sent me, with money, to Doty's grocery store where I could purchase food and return home, feeling proud.  We were even allowed to walk to town and buy a donut or cookie at the baker.  The "old" Ottawa and Miami theaters were at the south end of Main street.  Occasionally, we were allowed to walk to a Saturday matinee without parents. 

*Remember me in the country, Remember me in the town, Remember me as the girl, Who wrote in your book Up-Side-Down.

At last mom and dad bought a home by NEO, and I began fourth grade at the age of eight at Roosevelt.  This was the year my classmates began to learn the times tables, continents, and oceans while I looked out the window and pretended to do the work.   Reading with SRA reading kits was my favorite thing besides penmanship. I never climbed to gold in SRA, but it certainly motivated me to work harder.  One time I reached a color (?) I liked, so I decided to stay in the color until I read them all.  That meant that even when I knew the answer to the short quiz I made sure I missed just enough to stay and read the next story in that color.  When Miss Bloomberg quizzed me on this I explained that I liked the colors and the stories.  

*You are 2 sweet
                2 be
                4 gotten
During fourth grade I met one boy, who admired my artwork, thank you Scotty Haralson.  One other time in Jr. High, when Scotty and I had become friends, I won $2.00 from the Student Council for an essay, and Scotty called me up on stage to give me the award.  I was thrilled and thought perhaps that might be my academy award moment.  ( My friend, Scotty, died last week, but he left me and many of us with memories we will cherish.)

 *Roses are red, Violets are blue, You have a nose like a B-52.

At the end of fourth grade Miss Bloomberg called my mother in for a parent meeting.  I had to sit outside the door, however, I leaned into the door crack and did my best to listen to every word.  The good words were, "Letty is very smart, and she has many talents and abilities. She likes to draw, to color, to write, and she can certainly tell a good story."  But the bad words followed, "She is a baby, very immature.  She doesn't even know her times tables nor her geography.  I want to suggest that we hold her back to repeat fourth grade again.  Then she will be with her neighborhood friends, and the right age group.  She could easily be a leader if she stayed behind just one year."  

* The stork flew North, The stork flew South with Letty in his mouth.  When he found out she was a nut, He dropped her off at the Stapp's hut.

I listened, and she was right. School was really hard for me, and sitting still even harder.  My life was bigger than the school room the minute I left that building.  I had a neighborhood of friends some older and many more younger than I, and we played outside night after night, plus we had Tar Creek to explore and the NEO campus to claim as a playground.  On weekends I spent time at the country club, learning to play golf and meeting people. 

* Roses are red, Violets are blue, Pansies are lovely, just like you. 

The meeting ended, and they found me hiding down the hallway crying. I jumped up and screamed in their faces, "I know I'm a baby, but I'm smart, too. Please don't leave me in fourth grade next year."  Negotiations followed for the next few days.  At last it was agreed by father, mother, teacher, principal, and next year's teacher, Miss Garman, that on the first day of fifth grade I must know certain things, and a test would be given on the first day of school to see if I could pass.  

Miami Memories: Moments that Connect

The other day I received a notice from Verizon, my phone carrier, that I had  used 100% of my free any time minutes.  I laughed and wondered what it would cost me to keep talking.  I refrained, however, and then borrowed my husband's cell phone and began making phone calls again.

Ellen Gunning Jones

These weren't ordinary phone calls--they were calls to my classmates many of whom I hadn't heard from in decades, from the class of '65 in Miami, Oklahoma.  I have a note over my computer that says, "Make It Happen."  It is suppose to help my finish writing my memoir about growing up at the golf course in Miami, instead it jumped out at me in early November, and I thought of my classmates who were not connecting with us as we organizing for our class reunion in 2015. We are putting together a slide show of our twelve years in school, and Roosevelt school, where I attended grades 4,5,6, had no pictures in the slide show.  I didn't have any to send Richard, so I did the next best thing.  I called nearly every classmate I could find that Sunday afternoon, leaving messages and chatting with many.  Within three phone calls I found Ellen Gunning Jones who knew she still had all six years of photos, knew how to use a computer, and would send them off to Richard Spencer to be added to our class slideshow.  I was having so much fun by then that I just kept calling people until it was dark and my husband smiled and asked, "Are you hungry?"

Two days later, stepping out of the car to go shopping for new shoes, that wouldn't hurt my feet and yet look stylish, my cell phone rang.  Forty-five minutes later I walked into Brown's Shoe store with grin on my face.

Judy Scruggs Mathers

Judy Scruggs Mathers, my best friend for six years, and I were reconnected. We talked again a few days later, and  both confessed through giggles and tears that we were now buying old lady shoes, or at least the best looking old lady shoes we could find, since our feet had aged, not our minds or spirits.  At least I'm not wearing the black lace up shoes that some of my teachers wore!

A classmate I hadn't talked with since graduation, Ann Habeger, called me one evening and my husband fixed his own dinner that night.  Forty-eight years melted as we laughed.  "We must have passed each other in the crowd at the Solheim Cup last summer,"  we both said simultaneously.

Ann Habeger

 She lives in Aurora, Co and Jack and I had spent a week out there watching the international golf event.  Would we have know each other if we had passed?  I told her about the time I was walking to a football game and heard a voice in front of me that I recognized.  I tapped the woman on her shoulder and asked, "Gale?"  Gale Longacre Smith and I have stayed connected since that game.

Scotty driving my old car.

Last week Scotty Jackson,  who was a few years younger than I am, died.  I was stunned and most thankful that I had taken time two winters ago while in Norman to chat and listen to his stories of growing up in the country club.  A great memory we shared was knowing Mickey Mantle, who played golf at our club when he came to town "back in the those days."  After my parents died in 1989, I remembered cleaning out my dad's top drawer, the forbidden drawer, the off limits drawer when I was a kid.  Inside I found old M80's covered up by funeral booklets of the death of his friends.  I felt old that day when I read about Scotty and wanted to see my friends once again.


Each story gets better.  On Thanksgiving morning at 5:30am, when sleep left me tossing and turning, I crawled out of bed and began emailing classmates one by one...connecting.

Bill Oliver

Within an hour Bill Oliver emailed me back.  He was up baking cinnamon rolls for his wife and preparing to celebrate his 67th birthday that day.  I yipped and skipped with joy because we were celebrating my husband's birthday on Thanksgiving, and a once in a lifetime moment with Hanukkah and now with a classmate.  So the cliche's are true, "it is a small world."

Our committee of searchers has grown from 15-40 and one by one we are finding our nearly lost classmates.  Last week as the stories began to filter in to me to update our website, I laughed over and over at a reoccurring theme.  "I found......because he was home recuperating from knee surgery." I can imagine the future conversations..."well I had my knee replaced ..... or I'm thrilled with my new hip that Dr...... built for me."  Somehow I don't see many of us dancing to Chubby Checker's The Twist on the night of our 50th class reunion, but who knows with new joints we may be able to do things we haven't done in some time.

Goosebumps...One by one the stories connected us like the construction paper rings we used to make in grade school to hang on our Christmas trees.  A close friend, C.Ann Richards, died in the early '80's.  She'd been much like the boy in the bubble story, as her body was ravaged with allergies and breathing issues.  Her father and mother had taught her to sing to build her lungs and make her strong.  She was my nature friend who loved to play at Tar Creek with me; and became a golfing companion in our years in junior high.  No matter what she did, she did it with gusto, as my mother would say, and often with complete abandonment.  My father once built a small car for me (shown above with Scotty).  One day on the wide sidewalks at NEO where I had parked my car, C.Ann jumped into the car without me and drove it right into a bush then a building. That wreck nearly cost me my driving privileges, but what do you do with a friend like C.Ann.

C.Ann Richards Ricker

I didn't know when she died so I posted a note on facebook asking if anyone knew when or where she died. With that posting on facebook we found out a few more stories and family obituaries, then I discovered that she had a relative living  in Durant, Ok.  Since I still had anytime minutes I called C.Ann's aunt and chatted for quite some time about C.Ann's life.   I no sooner had finished that conversation when Karen Yoxall called me to say that she had found C.Ann's death certificate through the internet.  Coincidence or meant to be...we will honor our friends who have left this world a better place.  GO WARDOGS!

Cecila Ann Richards Ricker  b. September 1, 1947 -- d. September 12, 1985
Scott Jackson b. May 20, 1952 -- d. November 10, 2013

*Letty Stapp Watt, storyteller and historian