Miami Memories: Sisters

I have a younger sister who is a truly deeply loving and beautiful woman, so it brings a giggle to my lips whenever someone asks her, "Are you older than Letty?" She has our father's blue eyes and curly gray hair while I have our mother's olive green eyes and blond, brown, graying "Lady Clairol" hair. We both love to learn whether in classes or just venturing out into new elements. In golf she is a natural. Her smooth rhythmical swing helped her win tournaments during her teenage years while I have grit, tension, and a swing that requires practice. Her relaxed and focused "head game" in golf and life helped her win a state tournament and become a beauty queen. My "head game" required maturity; I was fifty before I began to win golf tournaments.

Little Sister Jonya

We are both December birthdays, but school separated our lives by five years. I began school at age five in a Catholic school (Mother said I was a precocious child. I think I was a pain.) Jonya began at age six. She was just a baby when I left home early each morning giving her quiet time with mom.

We walked to school together only one year. I was the all wise sixth grader holding the hand of a shy first grader. One day during her recess time she ran around the corner of Roosevelt school in Miami, OK to peak at me sitting inside Mrs. Murphy's sixth grade room. Had it been Mrs. Murphy in the room there would be no story. Instead, our principal, Miss Hamilton was teaching class. Miss Hamilton walked to the window and scolded that little girl for disrupting the class, then she went out to the playground and scolded her again.

There was fear in my heart at that moment, knowing that we'd both be in trouble with dad that night. I spent the afternoon daydreaming about how and where we could run away to and avoid getting in trouble again. In the end we walked home together shedding tears in anticipation of the trouble we'd be in with dad. In the end our parents somehow agreed that what Jonya's little spying did no harm and so we were free to play outside that evening with the neighborhood gang.

I'd like to say that Jonya never spied on me again but that would be a lie. Our next ten years together were sprinkled with many memories of a nosy spying little sister and strong stubborn defiant older sister. Then time sped up. I graduated and left home. Over the next forty-five years we only lived near each other for a few of them, separated mostly by time, distance, families, and complicated lives.

Jonya and Letty ready for the game.

We've spent more years apart than we have together, so when we get to spend an evening or a day together it's a real gift for us. A few weeks ago Jonya drove to Kansas and spent seven days in our home. That's probably the most time we've been together since the summer of 1968. It was a special week for us as we rested, chatted, laughed with friends, toasted a few glasses of wine, played golf together, took casual walks, and relished in the minutes our lives as sisters. Now we seem to think more alike, laugh out loud alike, hurt in the knees, shoulders, and hips alike, but our hair is still vastly different!

Miami Memories: The Pro

On Father's day I sat down to find a picture of my dad to put on facebook. Due to lack of patience with technology on my part, the task did not go as planned. In the moment of frustration I realized it was not the photo that was so important, it was the memories of the man who was my father, Johnie Stapp, PGA Professional at Miami (Oklahoma) Country Club, 1953-1977.

People might recall what a dynamic teacher he was when it came to the game of golf. He loved this sport and believed that it was a metaphor for life. It was his competitive spirit and tenacity to learn that significantly shaped the lives of his two daughters, Letty and Jonya, who would go on to become lifelong teachers themselves.

The Old Pro, Johnie Stapp

So much of the man he became was a result of a childhood accident that could have left him crippled for life. He was fourteen years old the first time the matches lit more than his cigarette. He was a curly dark haired boy with crystal blue eyes, who loved to keep his hands busy smoking or working on automobiles, one of his lifetime fascinations. He was working under a care when a dog came along and teased him. While working and playing tug with the dog his matches fell out of fa pocket and somehow were scratched, causing a fire to ignite on the garage floor. In his attempt to extinguish the fire his arms were burned from the finger tips to his shoulders.

The treatment for burned skin in the 1920's was nearly as painful as the burns themselves. Dad spent fourteen months in st. Francis Hospital, in Wichita, KS with his arms bandaged. However, being a good looking young man he charmed the nuns and nurses, and so as grandmother often chuckled, "they spoiled him rotten,"

The bandaged burns and several surgeries left both of his forearms drawn at forty-five degree angles, and his finger tightly curled inwards. It left him unable to hold a pencil, handle tools in the garage, or do much more than rake leaves. One of his doctors was a golfer and took an interest in his young patient. In the beginning, the golf was prescribed for therapy. The doctor taught him how to grip the club properly, which meant painful gripping and twisting to his hands and wrists. While still in the hospital dad practiced how to grip a club, giving his hands and arms the muscles needed to once again become useful. When he was released from the hospital he would meet his doctor on weekends at a nearby golf course. Eventually, he learned to swing the club. While the recovery was painful, it also proved a new playground for the then sixteen year old. The pro at Sims Parks suggested that Johnie become a caddy, which would give him an opportunity to make money, and play golf one day a week.

Through perseverance and the guiding hand of a loving mother, my father's young arms and hands responded to the golf swing treatment. He became fascinated with a game that would provide a lifelong source of income, enjoyment, and success.

Like so many fathers of my generation, he was a World War II veteran, who rarely spoke of the battles in the Pacific, but he did share stories of the peoples he met throughout the war. He spent time in Japan after the war. Thanks to his friendly nature and genuine smile, he met and stayed in touch with several Japanese families for the next twenty years. This friendship provided the opportunity for me to share unique items, such as cards and handwriting in Japanese, during Show and Tell. During my childhood there were many adventures with my father: we drove and raced the mustard colored Muntz; dug a hole for a bomb shelter to protect our family; spent Monday's at Grand Lake fishing, swimming, skiing; traveled extensively to play in golf tournaments and take vacations. We met many of the great LPGA golfers (Marilynn Smith, Patty Berg, Mickey Wright) and the PGA pros (Arnold Palmer, Jack Nicklaus, Gary Player). Thanks to those experiences of my father, my sister and I learned to stand in front of an audience and tell stories.

My fondest memories are of the summer evenings we spent together shagging golf balls on the driving range. To make it simpler for us to pick up the balls he would place a half-dozen metal baskets around the range. My job was to go out and chip balls to the baskets. Over and over we would chip balls to the designated areas until they were close enough to shag, or pick up by hand. It was a special time for me, as I rarely got in trouble, and I learned how to share a job making it easier for everyone. I also learned to keep my head down and finish the job. I observed the forces of nature in the winds, clouds, the life cycle of animals, and I learned to whistle a tune, sing a song, and relax as the day ends. Wherever I went with Dad, there was always a lesson to learn or a story to tell. Thank you Dad.

Letty Stapp Watt
Johnie Stapp's daughter and historian