 |
PatchWork |
|
PatchWork |
Last Updated 09/06/05
Email: joy@our-town.com
Coming Home for Homecoming
This is a trip I make alone. Members of my family aren't
interested in my high school homecoming and as a matter of fact, I enjoy the solitary
drive. There are at least three hours of thinking time between Stephenville and
Chillicothe, time enough to indulge myself in memories that will last 'til next October.
The trail has changed little since we've lived in Erath County
although many of the landmarks have. That rock motel, our kids called it "The
Castle", is still clinging to the side of a hill before you get to Mineral Wells.
In the leading edge of Jacksboro, I pull across the highway and stop at the Village
Restaurant for coffee and a visit with our old friend, Chuck Kohr. Chuck, came
here from Stephenville more than 20 years ago, and I just can't pass by without stopping
to catch up on families and friends.
Back on the highway, George Strait is saying that he just "wants to dance with
you" and up ahead I see St. Mary's Church atop a hill. I am about a mile from
Windthorst. Right about here, February 11, 1970, a new Impala flipped end over end,
scattering Tom and the kids through the windshield and back glass. Tom spent some
time in the hospital in Archer City. The kids were buised. "Thank you
Jesus," I whisper.
We have many friends in this little town, friends from our days showing Holsteins around the state, both before and after the wreck. Moola's sister lives here too. I wave to her as I turn onto Highway 25. My car stops in Archer City, and I lean out to snap a picture of the Royal Theater across the highway. The front has been restored to look like it did in the movie version of local author, Larry McMurtry's book, "The Last Picture Show". Then on a whim I drive around the court house, park and walk into "Booked Up" There are four or five customers in sight and in his little office to the left is the prize-winning author himself, hometown boy, Larry McMurtry. McMurtry always looks a little rumpled and acts somewhat surprised that anybody would be interested in his autograph. Is it possible that he doesn't really think of himself as a celebrity?
Back on the street, with an autographed copy of "Lonesome Dove" under my arm, I walk down the sidewalk remembering when Chillicothe's football team played Archer City's team. Our pep squad paraded down main street. The Royal Theater was open, and Larry McMurtry was a high school freshman, his books unwritten. The nostalgia is beginning to creep in now, making every building, every tree we pass have some significance.
Back on the road I hardly slow down in Kmay but wonder briefly if I could find that irrigation ditch we used to swim in back when I was a college freshman. On to Electra, and a memory stop at the Dairy Queen for a milk shake. As I sip the rich vanilla I grin remembering one night when a bunch of us snuck out of town and came over here to "party" at the Red Roof. We would have been in big trouble if our parents had ever known about that. Now I'm on 287 and peddling hard toward Chillicothe.
Sometime later, my mind jammed with memories of familiar trails through Vernon, I pass the big truck stop at Tolbert and begin to look for the spot where Midway School stood. The two-room building had two teachers and around 30 students from first through eighth grade. Rest rooms were "three holers" behind the white clapboard building. Water fountains were outside next to the hand pump. If somebody pumped, you could get a drink. Students sat in desks screwed to the floor. The first row was for first grade, second row for second grade. I walked three miles through the woods to get to school those first two years. Miss Bess Maxwell was my teacher. She was probably the best teacher I ever had. I still have the patchwork pencil box that she gave me for making the most 100's in arithmetic.
I am driving below the speed limit now, savoring the landscape, drinking in every tree, every fence post, the railroad tracks running parallel to the highway. Tracks that took me to school in Wichita Falls and back home on weekends. Tracks that took me and my parents out of Texas all the way to Oregon during the war years. There's the water tower. My kids used to watch for it when we came back for a visit. They called it "Grandma's water tower" because they knew that just past that tower was the big white house with the wrap-around porch where they would get hugs and kisses. Here's my niece's house. I'll be staying with her for homecoming. I pull in the drive, turn off the engine and get out. There is a little wind out of the south and I stop to sniff. Fresh and clean, just like I remember.
Coming back home is good!