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

Wardogs 1965

A toast!  To Mrs. Thelma Martin, Mrs. Kathryn Jones, Mrs. Ruby Duncan, Mrs. Lorene Micka, Mrs. Peggy Johnson, Mr. Phil Garoutte, and ALL who taught us the skills, and laid the foundation for our lives beyond MHS.

  Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
    Old time is still a-flying
  And this same flower that smiles today
    Tomorrow will be dying. (Robert Herrick, To the Virgins
        to Make Much of Time)

Those high school years were like a poem, when Mrs. Martin insisted that we read between the lines, for a deeper meaning. It took years for those lines to sink in.....I still liked simplicity then, where a yes meant yes, but we studied diligently. 

    So live, that when thy summons comes to join
       The innumerable caravan, which moves
    To that mysterious realm... (W.C. Bryant, Thanatopsis)

We learned, through the pages of  great novels, through poetry that took us to the depths of understanding,  and through our own personal experiences about sarcasm, irony, love, rejection, betrayal, beauty, shades of death, innuendos, and double entendres. We laughed; we cried; we dreamed; we envied; we made choices.

Letty's charm bracelet from MHS.

Madcaps design by Mary Dahl

In high school we went from being "Me" the center of the universe to "One of Many" at the center of a wheel with options and paths leading us around the world. What fun it was to suddenly meet new people in our classes who shared the same interest.  We grew as we explored our blocks of learning through Math club, journalism, chorus, band, sports, cheer leading, Miamiettes, journalism, FHA, FFA, business clubs,  speech, drama, stage productions and the world beyond the bound book.  

In the halls we found love, stole kisses, held hands, played games, and hid secrets in our lockers.  The transition from 9th to 12th was clearly visible, as our lockers graduated each year from the Jr. Hi hallways to the old Pershing grade school hallways when we were Sophomores, to the second story as Juniors (near the science rooms where there was always something curious going on), and finally to the center of the building and bottom floor.  We were truly Seniors when our lockers where in the main part of the building.  

To rephrase the wise words from our 1965 Miamiam:
     School is attending classes, trying to understand..., concentrating on new skills.
     It is knowing study is necessary, and drilling is necessary for perfection.
     School is learning to develop ideas, to accept responsibility, and to serve others.
     It is having confidence in one's abilities, poise when with others, and pride in one's achievements. 
     School is learning by building a house and by installing the wiring.
     It is pretty girl watching and why not?
     And before Homecoming, school is cheerleading spirited students on stage and on the field, 
getting excited and tense and trying
harder to win.
     It is going to the first sock hop of the year, dancing, and homecoming. 
     School is working hard, winning trophies, and having fun. 
     School is living now, remembering the past, and exploring the future.
     But most of all school is learning to solve practical problems of life, to plan for the future, and to cooperate with others. 

  
We are coming home, the Wardogs Class of 1965.  We each learned from our teachers and community how to be productive people in an ever changing world.  Now, we will once again drag Main street, climb the chat piles, kiss on the back rows of the Coleman, search for the spook light, dance the night away in bobby socks, or merely reflect on those memories.

I, for one, am looking forward to listening to the stories we've lived and built upon for these fifty years since high school.  We are men and women, many of  whom became mothers and  fathers or served our country in the military.  We found careers as musicians, builders, scientists, entrepreneurs, aviators, bankers, educators, artists, ministers, mathematicians, attorneys, doctors in many fields, salesmen and women, organizers, athletes,  PTA presidents, librarians, nurses, journalist, laborers, adventurers, world travelers. 
Each of us proud Wardogs who are still making the world a better place to live. 

Salute, Miami High School Wardogs, Class of 1965.  May you live long and prosper.  

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

Miami Memories: Norse Stars

Oh, such bitter cold blowing snow outside. The shivering little birds are lined up on my south window ledges hovering out of the storm. Their heads bobbing up and down create an appearance of conversations from facebook. "Golly, can you believe this wind."
"Why didn't we go South for the winter?"
"Too late now, we can't see past the bushes."
"I was too hungry to sleep in. Now here I am foraging for food on the ground."
"What about a zumba or a line dance to stay warm?"

Then just like that they danced, fluttered about and took off. Maybe it's warmer down under the bushes where I stashed their food.

Three Norse Stars who danced in the cold: 
 Letty Watt , Charlotte Rosier, Cindi Lillard

Now I sit and shiver even with a heater at my feet. The cold just seeps in through the glass. Fetching a blanket for my shoulders helped conjure up a frigid memory of being a member of the Norse Stars drill team at NEO A&M.

We were a proud college drill team of well figured young girls. Virginia Lee Wilson worked us hard so we'd be proud to wear the costumes of leotards, tights, vest, fringed skirts, boots, topped with white felt hats on the football fields, basketball courts, or in parades. Our performances took us to such great cities as Coffeyville, KS, Hutchinson, KS, Trinidad, CO, Lawton, OK, and Kilgore, TX. Winter storms during football season or Christmas parades only served to make our performances and travels more memorable. We danced for the big shows at Christmas: Miami, OK; Vinita, OK; Joplin, MO; Seneca, MO.

The college dressed us well in costumes of blue and gold, or for special shows our white Indian guise. One Christmas parade in the tiny town of Seneca we marched in our Indian Headdress costumes. The white feathers on the headdresses were old then and oh, so very fragile. We truly handled them with loving care and only placed them on our heads moments before our lineup. Each of us held our heads high proudly strutting and supporting a full regalia of white Indian feathers that trailed down our backs nearly to the ground. Our white leotards were the base for a highly decorated fringed vest and skirt that didn't cover much. Tan hose covered our bare legs and a pair of socks protected our feet in those golden tasseled white boots.

But on this particular Saturday morning Mrs. Sandmire and other mothers followed our bus to Seneca to help us dress for the bitter winds. It was the invention of saran wrap, laundry cleaner plastic bags, and cellophane that saved our skins and allowed us to march that day.

Oh, what a scene that bus must have been as sixty girls unwrapped themselves from the heavy blue/gold woolen blankets, pulling down leotards and hose, exposing already cold body parts to the world inside the bus. With the help of a few mothers we, one by one, began to wrap each other in clear sticky saran wrap and plastic pieces. The windows steamed over with the heat of anticipation. With the frantic yelling of Virginia Lee and hand clapping of Mrs. Sandmire we at last, one by one, emerged from the bus layered in cellophane, two or three pair of hose, cotton in our ears, and as many socks as our boots would allow. Our smooth youthful bodies looked a bit lumpy under the leotard and adornments of fringe and feathers.

With proper counting, clapping, and training we lined up to march down the narrow main street lined with parents holding blankets around two or three shivering little children. The band's music traveled forward with us in the wind and helped us to keep a steady beat that day. Hearing the crowds clap and cheer kept smiles frozen on our red faces, and helped to propel our legs and nearly numb feet forward with kicks and marched steps. In the end we were greeted by a warm bus, blankets, and a cup of hot chocolate.

It seems only right to say we danced and kicked passionately that day and gave the parade onlookers our best performance ever. Just like the little birds that fluttered away, we, too, fluttered and danced till the performances of our youth gave way to the lives we lead now.

Letty Stapp Watt
storyteller and historian