The Power of Words by Joyce Bump Milliser

Joyce and I met for the first time at Lincoln Elementary school in Miami, Ok. in the fall of 1952 in second grade. We were so proud to be in a brand-new building that year. 

I find it ironic how many first names I can recall and like every other super senior I forget faster than I remember. First row: Rosaline, Tony, Jackie Trask, Letty Stapp, Mike Stevens, , ??,
 Row two: Raymond, Joyce Bump,, Carol Cosby, Donald, Homa June Jamison,  ? Ronnie, ,?.
Row three: Cooper, Kay, ?, Linda Sellers, Bradley Karnes, Lawrence, Jackie Smith., ? Sue. 

Although, we never became close friends, because my family moved before I entered fourth grade, we met again in junior high to high school. Now, thanks to reunions and social media have come to know each other, and more importantly share some of our stories and laugh over our gray hair and wrinkles. 

This is Joyce's recent story, and one that many of us have experienced, as we have learned that words can hurt or be filled with kindness.

I had a yearly dermatology appointment today. When the doctor came in and started examining me the first thing, she noticed was the mole on my face. It has been there for as long as I can remember. 

She asked if I’d like her to remove it. I’m thankful I didn’t tear up. I said “No. Let me tell you why. If your dad or grandad ever watched Gunsmoke you’d know who Miss Kitty was. She had a ‘beauty mark’, my dad called it, on her face and he always said mine was my Miss Kitty mark. So I’d feel like I was losing part of me if you took it off.” 

I thought she was going to tear up. She apologized and said “Well, now you have convinced me not to take it off because I’d feel guilty.”  

Through the years I’ve been very aware of other people's reactions to my mole. Kids especially. They’d ask where I “got it” and I’d always tell them “God gave it to me.” 

One customer asked why I didn’t have it removed and I jokingly said, “because it doesn’t bother me like it does you.” She laughed, not realizing I meant it. 

I know women especially who would have it removed in a heartbeat just like wrinkles or gray hair. I’m not those women. I’ve earned my wrinkles and those gray hairs. Why try to hide something that’s so natural. My mole is very natural to me. 

I’m not upset. It just makes me aware of how powerful words are to a child and how words can influence their thinking about themselves. 

I’ll always be thankful for my daddy’s sweet words.

The Journey follow this link to another story about the power of words. 

FLUMMOXED

 

Our elevated garden under the Birch tree is a delight for me and 
the upkeep is simple because the soil is not clay.

Our four front yard gardens vary in degrees of stress and beauty. Consequently, my brain is completely flummoxed and my body is weary. My platter and palette are full: rounds of golf with friends, books to read and discuss, walks to take with Jack and Murphy, time to read, furniture to be painted, stories to write, research to continue, naps to take, time with family and friends, and meals to fix. Then there is the house to clean and clothes to wash. 

Nothing new in my life, except that as I grow older my desire to create and play is still strong, my back and joints are not.

The wilted stalks will produce the "naked ladies" 
sometime in July. Thanks to fertilizer we grow
daises and lilies three feet tall. 

This spring I planted the last few perennials in our front garden to showcase our elevated addition to the flower bed. The End.

I imagined that slowly year by year the garden would grow and be less demanding, giving me more time to relax. I imagined less gardening and less pain in my hamstrings from bending and pulling.

If only the Sweet Woodruff had not drown in wet clay, if only
we had dug up all of the clay in the garden eight years ago,
if only we had elevated the garden. I am quite sure on a warm
 sunny day I will come up with a plan. 

The rains came and gave our trees, bushes, and grasses a new life. They also drowned my new perennials. Yearly, I am reminded that I no longer live on rich black Kansas soil. Our Oklahoma clay retains water, thus saturating my plants and leaving me perplexed as to what to do next. Now I have another project on my list.

While the grasses and weeds were growing this spring, my bookcase, hand made by a music teacher in 1979, looked at me one day and said, “I need to be cleaned up and given a new life.”

One more coat or maybe
the darker yellow?

“Sunshine,” I told the bookcase, “we need more sunshine in our playroom/computer room/atelier.”

“Atelier?” the bookcase replied, “You have never called me that.”

“No,” I explained, “You cover the wall in the room where I write, color, draw, and dream. I think that makes this room a studio or atelier.”

“By all means paint me yellow and watch me enjoy how I brighten our studio. Please don’t call our room an atelier. It sounds old and dusty.”

Selecting the color that works in a soft green room is not easy, and timing is everything. After much thought and way too many yellow paint chips to view, I made a decision to purchase two quarts of various tones of yellow paint. Within a day of moving the bookcase to the garage, our three week rains began and progress slowed dramatically.  Having the bookcase back in the studio by the end of May is the plan. Meanwhile, the books are scattered over the bed and down the floor line, leaving me confounded when I walk into the disarray.

The last time I painted furniture it didn’t bother my wrists and shoulders, it didn’t leave my shoulder throbbing, nor did it affect my golf game. Thank heavens for Aleve.

Meanwhile, one of our other gardens grows Nutsedge and a wild spreading violet, which is beautiful when in the correct space, but a nuisance as it spreads its dainty heart shaped leaves where I don’t want them. Bending and searching for roots I can rid the garden of nutsedge with the herbicide specifically to kill nutsedge. As for the violets, the directions say wait till fall to kill the plant or dig, dig, dig…..What to do? 

How to get rid of Wild Violets

I would rather write. Sitting here I can watch the birds at the feeder, people walking by, children on bicycles and skateboards, the irises that have bloomed, yellow day lilies in bloom, purple salvia, and rabbit’s ears covered with purple stalks of color and surrounded by bees. I like sitting here. It doesn't cause me any pain. 

Our ceramic bunny lost his ears over the years. The lizard is covered with salvia, and the ground cover wound its way through the Never Die, sedum. 

A break in our day as we met Leah Jackson for lunch at Baguette. 

Time has passed and I have yellow on my hands from giving the bookcase another coat of paint. I opened Facebook and read that it has been 58 years since the Class of 65 graduated from Miami High School. Hum, that may be why it’s not so easy to work on all of my projects.

Later,  I will return to the studio and continue the research on the Miami Golf and Country club 1963 (Miami Golf and Country club, History )

Tomorrow is filled with a round of golf with friends. I love life. 

For more gardening stories click on these links:

Life as a Perennial

Twenty Minute Gardening

Vanity is Sanity

Dance Recital at the Coleman Theater.

All these many years my legs have pulled me through the

  times of growing pains and comparisons.

A Twiggy or Brook Shields I will never be.

When pimples and body fat appeared on my body,

  I winced and groaned as I looked in the mirror.
Sighing heavily, I shaved my legs while humming:

     

     “What the world needs now is love sweet love.

     It’s the only thing that there’s just too little of…”

                                 Lyrics by Burt Bacharach and Hal David

                                   What the World Needs Now (click to hear the music) 

USGA Jr. Girls Championship. 

  
Through childhood and college years these legs kicked and danced in recitals and drill teams.

They walked golf courses and campuses supporting golf clubs or books.

During the decades of raising kids, it was my legs that pushed me forward,
  that withstood days when I felt like buckling.
Our family Saturday outings took us to the Duck Pond where we jogged
  around the workout/walking path or ran the track,
Teaching our children the importance of commitment to fresh air and
  movement.
My legs glistened in the summer heat,

  reminding me that they held me fast to the ground, like roots of the trees.

Watching a lengthy downhill putt on #6 at Oakwood CC, Enid. 

For a decade I wore short skirts, just to show off my legs,
  a mere glance at my vanity. 

The next few decades I wore mid-length skirts and shorts, but by my fifties
  my knock knees caved inward, my feet gave out

  with arches falling and toes twisting.

What’s a girl to do?

"Vanity is sanity," the older women told me when I was young.

 I began to understand.

 

I dared myself in my sixties to wear skorts on the golf course,

  and sometimes felt self-conscious when I bent over to line up a putt.

I looked around and gained confidence watching women carry themselves

  proudly on the golf course in stylish clothing.

Vanity is sanity, I began to see it in their faces and posture.

Letty and Dawn laughing and posing in
 Bitch Wings at Belmar CC. 

One day, as I danced a step of joy after making a lengthy putt, my left heal 

  kicked my right shin bone, oh ouch!

It bruised immediately showing a bold blood red and purple splotch. 

  What happened?

Another day my dog pawed me with affection leaving a streak of dark

  red bruising down my leg, the next day it was my arms that bruised.

The decades were showing signs of aging, my skin was no longer lush 

  and rich with collagen. 

Don't they make a pill for this, I screamed in my head.
  It was pills for back pain that thinned the skin!

Vanity is sanity. Now I understand.

No defeat for a woman who walks with confidence.

     “I am woman hear me roar….

      You can bend but never break me

      ‘Cause it only serves to make me

      More determined to achieve my final goal

      And I come back even stronger

      Not a novice any longer

      Cause you’ve deepened the conviction in my soul.”

                                             Lyrics by Helen Reddy and Ray Burton

                                               I Am Woman (click to hear the music) 

There are clothes for this:  fitted pants still show the legs but not the scars.

These legs of mine stand strong but bruised.

  I work them out regularly at the gym keeping my posture upright.

Then treat them with tender loving care and lotions galore both night and day.

Vanity is sanity. Now I understand.

MHS Class of 65, Letty and Donna dancing the golf rock and roll. 

How long these legs will carry me, is one of the mysteries of our lives.

I can't prevent the effects of aging but I can love who I am.

Heading into the grays of the approaching winter days and decades,

  I am proud to be a Baby Boomer breaking in another decade.

Now I understand. Loving yourself is not vanity, it is sanity.

Glancing out to the North Sea off the coast of Scotland. 

Class of 65 We Honor our Veterans

Over fifty years ago, 260 Miami Wardogs proudly wore their caps and gowns crossing the Civic Center stage in alphabetical order and graduating as members of the MHS Class of 1965.  In reflection, how innocent and young we were.  We couldn't vote, but we could go to war and serve our country in the Armed Forces.

In high school, I often looked forward to ABC order, because that placed me near some cute but ornery boys.  What lighthearted trouble Bill Smiley, Richard Spencer, and Johnny Stansell caused me over the years. Looking back at our

graduation rows, I now see men and women, who went on to serve our country. One classmate, a quiet boy by whom I often sat next to in class, Mike Standeford, lost his life in Vietnam. Within one year of graduation President Lyndon B. Johnson sent 400,000 US Troops to Vietnam, among them were our classmates along with older Wardogs who joined the service.  
In September 2015, our class reunited for our 50th graduation reunion.  On the last night together our gaiety turned somber, as we began the evening with a tribute to our classmates who had died. Outside under the blue Oklahoma

skies, we stood together, held hands, and cried as the names of fifty-four deceased classmates were read and balloons lifted in their memory.

Phil Chambers, Tony Palmer, Roy Underwood

Our Gala banquet followed with a tribute to our Veterans.  Bill Smith and Roy Underwood took the helm to guide us through

Letty and Bill Smith, "H" street memories :-)

a time in history: a time when we were each living apart, searching for meaning in life, asking "why" and "how" questions, attending college, beginning careers, starting a new life with a family, and committing to serve our country. We proudly honor our Veterans, not only today, but every time we vote, we speak, we write, we applaud, we Pledge, we sing...We say Thank You. Nearly 23% of our class or 59 of us, who tossed their caps that night in May, served in a branch of the Armed Forces.

Four women advanced their careers and lives with service and honor to our country:  Judy Delozier served in the Navy; Cheryl Storey served in the Air Force; Janice Hannebon Sprinkle joined the Navy; Andrea Anderson Juricic and her husband David both served in the Coast Guard.  Andrea became the first female cook in the Coast Guard

Thirty-one of our classmates served in Vietnam.  We honor all of you who served, who gave those years of your youth to keep us safe, and we respect your commitment to keep our country free:  
Arnold Able, Army, (deceased)
Glen Beauchamp, Army
Duane Benbrook, Army
Jim Bridgeman, Marine, Vietnam
Danny Burkhart, Navy, Vietnam (deceased)
Alan Campbell, Navy, Vietnam, Desert Storm  (deceased)

Phil Chambers, Army, Vietnam
George Cooper, Navy, Vietnam (deceased)
John Finley, Army
Clay Finnell, Army, Vietnam (deceased)
Jim Fraizer, Marine
Clark French, Navy
Bill Garvin, Army (deceased)
Doug Gosney, Army
Steve Gwartney, Army, Vietnam
Danny Harrison, Navy, Vietnam
Tom Haskins, Army
Steve Helmey, Army
Don Hilderbrand, Army, Vietnam
Mike Holt, Army, Vietnam  (deceased)
Richard Hopkins, Air Force
David Hunt, Air Force
James Johnson, Army
Jim (Eddie) Johnston, Army, Vietnam
Bradley Karnes, Marine, Vietnam
Fred Lemons, Army
Randy Loehr, Army, Vietnam
Danny McClure, Navy, Vietnam
Tony Miller, Navy, Vietnam
Dale Milliser, Air Force
George Newman, Navy, Vietnam
Dennis Nichols, Navy
Cody Nidiffer, Army, Vietnam
Terry O'Laughlin, Navy
Rex Oliver, Marine, Vietnam (deceased)
Tony Palmer, Army, Vietnam
John Parcell, Navy
Tom Perry, Army, Vietnam (deceased)
Doug Phillips, Navy, Vietnam
Randy Ransom, Army, Korea
Mike Rundell, Army, Vietnam  (deceased)
Mike Schmidt, Army, Vietnam (deceased)
Gene Shelton, Army, Vietnam
Bill Smiley, Army (deceased)
Bill Smith, Army, Vietnam
Jackie Smith, Army/Navy Vietnam (deceased)
Richard Spencer, Army
Mike Standeford, Army, Vietnam (KIA)
John Stansell, Navy, Vietnam
Jack Trask, Army, Vietnam
Roy Underwood, Army, Vietnam
Jay Dee Whitlock, Army, Vietnam
Pat Wilson, Navy
Darrel Wooldrige, Army (deceased)
Ron Wyrick, Army

Recently, the University of Oklahoma honored, Captain Cody Nidiffer as the Patriot of the Game during the OU vs West Virginia football game. (10/3/15)

Rita and Cody Nidiffer, Sheri Coale

Thank you ALL Wardogs from every generation who have served our great nation.

MHS Class of 65

Thank you Roy Underwood for this photo. 

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.

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 perhaps, we will 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.