TLC #28: September 30, 2001
Dear Hearts and Gentle People:
I've been told there are some unauthorized TLCs being
disseminated! Don't worry - I've notified the FCC and we'll have the culprits in
the slammer in no time.
No,
I josh. But if I understand correctly, both Joyce Gueguen Ramsey and Shirley
Briggle Miller sent out their own news. If any of you did not receive copies,
let me know and I'll be glad to forward them on to you. The authors will not be
able to, of course, since they will be incarcerated.
As
for Lexington news, I'll send along the LHS football season report, as well as
the long-promised letter from Norman Thorson, next time. Right now I'm passing
along a few messages that have come in since last
time.
If
you are aware that - at this very moment - I should be gazing at Mount Rushmore
and instead I am at home at my computer, there's a good reason for that. We left
Monday on our long-planned trip to South Dakota, and that night I landed in the
Mitchell, South Dakota Emergency Room with a severe gall bladder attack. That
ended that trip and began another, to Lafayette Regional Health Center on Monday
morning, for (I sincerely hope) laparoscopic removal of my gall bladder. I can
hear you all now "Yeah, that girl always did have a lot of
gall."
Meanwhile, some important messages have come in. The
Boldridge girls have been located!
From Mary Pat Gueguen
Miller:
Info on Irma Boldridge for Lucia
Cope Hulston: her married name is Ingram,
address, 10 Hammick Rd., West
Hartford, CT., 06107: Phone, 860-232-8990.
I felt a very close
kinship with Irma when we were Freshmen together at LHS
in1954 shortly after
the Topeka vs. The Board of Education US Supreme Court
decision ending
segregation in the schools. We had a lot of classes together
and just
seemed to "hit it off", i.e., both fast talkers who ended each other's
sentences mostly, and LAUGHED a lot. Last time I saw her was the spring of
'95, I think, when her beautiful Mother died and was buried in the church across
the street from our house. I also spoke with her a few months ago after I
had my little book ("My Story") printed, and mentioned her and our
relationship in it. I sent her a copy and never heard back. I know
we have different memories and would like to discuss them with her at length. I
will call her again soon. As of our last conversation, she didn't have
E-mail, tho her son was giving her a hard time about it. And I'm sure she
is proud of Effie's letter to the paper, also. (I also mentioned old
Professor Green in my book.)
Memory of Carroll Lewis, band
director: driving into town the summer of
'54 in that red hot
convertible, sparkling white T-shirt showing off his great
TAN, and
build, blond hair combed and coifed so perfectly, it never moved,
even
in that convertible. (We couldn't BELIEVE he was really married!)
I've
sorta kept up with him too. (His hair is STILL blond and beautiful
and not a
hair out of place!) Last time was at a retirement party for
him when he left
Raytown S. I think he still performs here in KC.
GREAT piano player. I guess most of my favorite memories center around band and
orchestra; music contests, bus trips, summer practices down on the old tennis
courts, summer
band concerts, marching band with those NEAT formations on the
field that
Mr. Lewis drew out himself, the heat of the parade at the Fall
Festival, and
the frozen fingers of winter football games, the practices up
16th street at
some un-godly hour in the morning to beat the heat of the day,
playing with the
orchestra for the last time Senior year at graduation.
Yes, THEY WERE ALL
VERY GOOD YEARS!!!
Some new people heard from!
From Ann McKean
Hillestad:
Thank you so much for putting me on
your mailing list. I will look forward to hearing from you from
time-to-time and may even submit something occasionally. I thought the
reunion was great and we owe a debt of
gratitude to those who did all the
work in putting it together. Hope we can do it
again in another 5
years. If you get to San Antonio (it's a great vacation
place) - give
us a call.
And
while we're on the subject of the recent reunion:
From Liz Bertz Fenner:
We had a wonderful
time. About 40 attended the Friday evening and Sunday morning
events. Ninety were at the Saturday gathering. We had a little
"memory" quiz. Baby Kehrees Thompson won. Mr. Whitney was
the only teacher from our era who attended. (We could only think of four
who are still with us.) Glen and Fern Cullom were our class
sponsors.
When I left the
breakfast on Sunday morning to go to church, no one seemed to want to go
home. Several attended our church service. (They almost outnumbered
the members present!) Feel free to print whatever of this you want in the
TLC. I could give you a list of those attending if you think that would be
of interest.
Back to new people...
From Joe Parks:
Hi to the editor and
others who may find this a bit amusing. I will pass this along about one of my
former classmates. I'm still "peeved" at Jan Rider for
punching me
in the nose on the bleachers during a basketball game while we were Juniors. I
know it was a normal reaction for her when I grabbed her by the ankle to keep
from falling through the cracks between the seats. Jan, want to thank you for
that support that time as you kept me from "falling through
the
cracks". BTW, no one had ever bloodied my nose before nor since.
Thanks Jan, for the memory. (grin)
The rebuttal:
This is a
hoot. Sure don't remember it but sounds like something I might do. Sure
Wayne would remember it better than I would. Just think though-now I am a
little old mellow sweet lady from Joplin!!! Just ask my friends.
A late but
totally sincere apology to Wayne. If it is any comfort I gave my husband
the only nose bleed he ever had.
But lest you think I am part of
the fighting Irish, Bob's nosebleed was an accident. Can't remember about
Wayne. Is he sure I did that???
Thought about Miss Lena Meierer
when I read TLC. Worked as her assistant in the Library one year and found
she had a great sense of humor and really enjoyed her. Still have a lifelong
love affair with books and reading.
Miss Hendrickson accused me of
putting salt in the grape jelly we were canning-I wouldn't do that. Somebody
(fess up) put salt in the sugar canister. Think some of those ornery boys
we went to school with did that! I did sew my finger under the sewing
machine needle and that was the end of my sewing career. Mother was a
beautiful seamstress so that was a bit of a disappointment to
her.
Miss Strathman was a role model
to all of us (Wow) and she was a good teacher. My first job as Secretary
was with Dunhill Shirt Factory my Senior year with Mary Small. Remember
Mary?
A final note-am I the only one
who remembers the day Ernestine Seiter brought her little puppy to school in her
bra? Honest!! She also told me I had an ironing board figure and
couldn't have a part in a play-gave it to that mean old Eileen Mischon! I
think I will live in the Band Room and then can watch all of you come and go to
your apartments.
Looks as if Jan
will be rooming with Duncan Lee!
And now some musing from another Gueguen,
Jack:
A few topics have come
up in the last two issues, about which I may be able
to contribute
something:
1) Professor Green. He lived 3 doors north of us on 16th
St. during my
boyhood in a very modest, and quite dingy 2 or 3-room
house. (Our
neighborhood had been "integrated" as long as
anyone could remember.) I
remember his grave and emotionless appearance
as he walked past our house
to and from Douglass school. What struck me
most was the morning he
experienced a personal tragedy. We were
awakened before dawn by firetrucks
parked in front of the house. Heavy
smoke was rolling out of his house, and
he stood motionless and silent
observing the scene from the sidewalk as the
fire was extinguished--after it
did considerable damage to his meager
possessions. Someone had thrown a
heavy overcoat over him. That image of
stoic acceptance of great sorrow
and loss struck this impressionable boy
very deeply. I began to pray
for him at that time, and continued ever after. I didn't realize until I
read it in TLC what a distinguished educator he was. He always seemed so
modest and unassuming, so devoted to duty. It would be a great tribute
from our town (and long overdue) if some kind of memorial were established in
his memory.
2) Elizabeth Gruber. In regard to the superior teaching
of English at LHS,
I have felt primarily indebted to this small and stern
lady for having given
me a start in my freshman year on adequate
understanding of how sentences
are supposed to be constructed. All that
diagramming was an invaluable help
in developing what eventually became a
polished writing style in the advanced writing courses I took at Notre Dame as a
journalism major. By the time I became a college freshman at WMA, it was
no problem in quickly emerging at the top of the class. As I look back
upon our English classes from the vantage point of my direct experience of what
goes on (or does NOT go on) in college classes these days (let alone high
school), it is not an exaggeration to say that our faculty (Seiter, Meierer,
Cullom, Gruber) constituted something rarely found in colleges today.
Another reason, however, why our generation and the one before ours writes as
well as it does, is that we READ BOOKS, and there is no better way to learn to
write that to read attentively.
3) Capt. Ben Johnson. The
conversation about bandmasters at LHS put me in
mind of this properly cut,
sharp little man (with a limp) who taught me how
to play the trombone in the
hot, hot summer of 1948. I recall that he doubled as band director at WMA
and at LHS at least for the years I was there (48-51). I developed a deep
respect for him which grew in the two years I played at WMA (51-53). Capt.
Ben didn't develop a very personal relationship with his LHS bandsmen (as
Carroll Lewis did later), but he "knew his stuff" and set demanding
standards. It should be said that I didn't have any inclination toward
music at all as a high school freshman, having been a drop-out of "Miss
Bess's" piano school at the tender age of 8. Her last name was Graves, and
it fit, in my boyish experience. Every time I made a mistake (which was
often) during our lessons, I got a slap on the wrist with no explanation--at
least not one I could fathom. Finally, when we reached the
"cross-over" exercises, it was too much to take. Anyway, when I
passed on to LHS from Immaculate Conception school, I learned to my dismay that
all boys in school were expected to participate on one of the athletic teams (I
was even less inclined in that direction, having grown up in a house full of
girls and their many chums), but Mr. Gerhardt (and/or maybe the always kind and
understanding Bill Hamann) pointed out an escape clause: Being in the band
was an honorable alternative. At first Capt. Ben assigned me to a
sousaphone when I asked what instrument he needed at the end of my freshman
year. That was almost as bad as lifting weights, so on the second day, I
asked if there was anything else he needed. He tried my ear for pitch, and
passed me along to the trombone. Capt. Ben believed in the trial by
immersion method. For the first few weeks, I played only the notes on
position one of the slide--especially middle C--until I got up the courage to
experiment a little with actually moving it to the other positions and screwing
up my lip to get higher notes. Somehow our family was able to afford an
inexpensive used horn on which I began. It met an untimely end in a parade
uptown (in front of the Mainstreet Theatre) when a twirler whom I remember as
Shari (Bruce?) rared back too far with her baton, and put a deep dent in the
slide. By that time, my promise of proficiency had emerged to the point
that my dad took me to the Conn Music Store in Kansas City to pick out a proper
instrument--which then saw me through WMA and Notre Dame. (I probably
never thanked Shari for that "favor".) I still have it in the
closet in a carrying case pasted with stickers from all over the country (which
was the fashion in the '50s). Until a few years ago, I used to drag it out and
tune it up every 4 years for N.D. Band Alumni games. Sorry to bore you
with such a long story, but it deserves to go someplace in a footnote in the
annals of LHS band
history!
It should be mentioned
too in regard to Ben Johnson that he had a very
colorful wife who was an
accomplished cellist. At her recitals, we youngsters would be deeply
impressed because she invariable wept as she played. She was also known
around town as a very hazardous driver.
By the way, "bandsmen"
are a special breed of people, and I'm deeply
grateful to Capt. Ben (and
N.D.'s Robert O'Brien) for having turned me into
one!
Before closing,
a word or two on the national trauma: Out of great evil
can come even
greater good. I think millions of us are working on that! If
some
fanatics want to launch a "holy war" against us, it has to fail
because
in truth it is a Satanic one, and Satan is no match for our secret
weapon!
And finally,
from Shirley Briggle Miller:
Now I suggest that present and former
Lexingtonians submit memories of stories from and about the Anderson
House as it was before, during, and after the Civil War.
Last time I
toured the Anderson House (where I inscribed "Briggle" on one of the
top walls about 55 years ago), the Missouri Park employee who delivered
the
spiel had somehow lost all the color as well as the interest. When I
pointed out some details as I had learned them back then -- the hostess replied,
icily, that "we can't prove that."
Apparently they never heard
of Oral History over at the Park Department, but if we can get some stories on
TLC, perhaps we can at least submit them and nudge them to consider using some
of them during Anderson House tours.
When at least some of us were kids,
there were still people around who knew, first or second hand, details of our
Civil War battle and of the Anderson House.
My own grandfather was born in
1860 (albeit in Pennsylvania), and I am not the oldest who reads TLC. Almost,
but not quite.
And those chains attached to the wall on one end and to
wrist irons on the other were not there to indicate it was the
playroom.
Okay, another challenge from
Brig!
As for me I
wish for you all:
May
there always be work for your hands to do;
May your purse always hold a coin
or two;
May the sun always shine on your windowpane;
May a rainbow be
certain to follow each rain;
May the hand of a friend always be near
you;
May God fill your heart with gladness to cheer
you.
Write if you get work, and hang by your
thumbs.
Your devoted Scribe,
Susan
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