Angels Among Us

May of 1969 proved to be one of the more interesting months of my life. I had officially been away from home for one year and had been in the initial phase of training for the Physical Science Laboratory at NMSU for five months. The laboratory had a contract with NASA to supply support data from a variety of tracking stations around the globe for the satellites that our country had in orbit and to also operate support launch and research stations at Vandenberg Air Force Base in California and Cape Kennedy in Florida. As a part of the program, the laboratory operated a co-op program for engineering and mathematics students where for two semesters you would work at one of the various sites and then return to campus to attend school on a full-time basis for two semesters. During the break between the fall semester and the summer session, I went on a quick trip with my parents to attend my sister’s graduation from Oregon State University. Records were set on the ground covered between Las Cruces, NM, and Corvallis, OR especially when my mother took command of the vehicle in Nevada where they did not have a speed limit. Linda was graduating with a degree in Mathematics from Oregon State University. The unusual thing about that is that she did not take any math classes there because she had completed all the requirements for a degree in Mathematics at Oregon State University during her first two college years at New Mexico Institute of Mining and Technology.

We arrived mid-day in Corvallis and the graduation followed the next day. Then we took off for Portland where Dad negotiated the purchase of Linda’s first car and then to the airport so I could fly back to El Paso. One of the significant parts of this story is that I had NEVER flown in any kind of plane but that is only the beginning of the story. Unlike today, check in was fairly simple and easy. I was scheduled to fly from Portland to Los Angeles, switch planes and continue on to El Paso where I would be met by friends, followed by a side cultural trip to Juarez, Mexico, and then back to campus. At this point in my life, I hate to say that I was assigned a seat next to an OLDER woman in her 50’s. She apparently noticed that I was gripping the armrests so hard that my knuckles were turning white, so she asked if this was my first flight. I told her that it was and in a reassuring voice, she said she would get me through it. Everything went well during the flight. Each time this plane made an unusual noize my traveling companion would explain what it meant and assured me that this was a “smooth” flight. Little did I know at the time but, I flew over the general area I would be living in a few short months. As we began landing at the LA airport the plane started making sounds like it was falling apart but she calmly told me that it was simply the brakes. I thanked her for being my aeronautical Mrs. Robinson but I had to get to my connecting flight. Prior to Portland, OR the biggest airport that I had ever been in was in Amarillo, Texas. A whole new world met me as I departed the plane. People with shaved heads and orange robes chanting, conversations in every language of the world and the largest piece of real estate I had ever been in. I had assumed when I made the reservation that 45 minutes would give me adequate time to go all the way across the airport. Wrong is only one word that describes the outcome. When I finally made it to the next boarding area, the flight to El Paso was halfway across California. I asked the clerk if I could simply get on the next plane to El Paso? She told me that I certainly could but I would need to get another ticket and the plane didn’t leave until the next morning. I can’t remember the exact amount of money that I needed to get the ticket. I think it was around $100.00 and they only way I could pay for it was in a checkbook currently flying to El Paso. The clerk said maybe I could get someone to wire me the money but all of the banking facilities were closed until tomorrow morning and after they opened the flight I needed would be long gone but, I could get the flight I had missed. I must have looked like a sick puppy because she said that she had never done this before but she would loan me the money I needed and she included the plea for me not to prevent her from ever doing this again. I promised to send her a check immediately. If she hadn’t done enough already, I asked her what I could do about the people who would be heading to the airport in El Paso from Las Cruces? She said that she would immediately contact her counterpart in El Paso to page the people looking for me and explain that I would be arriving in the morning instead of this evening.

When I say that I spent the night in the LA airport one would assume that I could tell some wild stories about the place. The truth is that everyone except me and the janitorial staff went home. So I slept for a few hours in the departure area until I boarded the plane in the morning. With the time changes, I arrived in El Paso several hours after I left Los Angeles. My friends upon getting the news at the airport decided to make the cultural trip to Juarez that night and showed up at the airport ready for me to drive them to Las Cruces. I did send the check immediately so that my Airport Angel could pass it on to another traveler. She was one of many I have encountered at the right place and the right time in this life.

Thanksgiving 2018

Thanksgiving is just around the corner and every year we are saying that our blessings are too numerous to count. As it turns out, that is so true. So while the list I am publishing is true, it is not the complete one. The true one would go into the thousands.

Thanksgiving Blessing: #20 I am thankful for a roof over my head.

Thanksgiving Blessing: #19 I am thankful that I have the means to transport myself from one place to the other and live in a country that allows me to do that generally without restriction.

Thanksgiving Blessing #18 I am thankful that I live in a country that proclaims that I am free to worship or not to worship God as I deem proper.

Thanksgiving Blessing#17 I am thankful that I live in a time when people who have difficulty breathing can have a fairly normal life through medical and mechanical assistance.

Thanksgiving Blessing #16 I am thankful for all the encouragement, help and support that we have received over the last few years. The number of people is amazing and almost impossible to count!

Thanksgiving Blessing #15 I am thankful for all the connections with old and new friends on Facebook. To the old, it is so awesome that we have been able to renew our relationship even though it has been, in some cases, decades since our last contact. To the new, welcome to a new adventure!

Thanksgiving Blessing #14 I am thankful for the people who work in Companion Healthcare Hospice. They offer exceptional service, medical directions, encouragement, and emotional support. I have grown to love each of them I encounter.

Thanksgiving Blessing #13 I am thankful for The Real Estate community of Oklahoma City Metro. When we moved to the Oklahoma City Metro in 1992 with a new concept for the real estate business we were welcomed with open arms immediately forming business associations and friendships that have lasted through all of the years.

Thanksgiving Blessing #12 I am thankful that I live in the United States of America. I know that the country has problems and frankly, it will always have problems – every country does. The difference is that we have the means and methods to solve the issues. We only need to come together with the intent to resolve rather than magnify any conflicts.

Thanksgiving Blessing #11 I am thankful for the people who, from behind the scenes, actually get the job done. Rarely seeking glory, they do their job day after day and we walk by them without giving credit where credit is due. I am talking about clerks, waitresses, civil servants, the cooks, factory workers, the janitor and so many others that do their jobs without seeking recognition.

Thanksgiving Blessing #10 I am thankful for growing up in Clayton, New Mexico. While I could probably write a book on its rich history, I will defer to “Not So Wild The Old West: A Collection of Facts, Fables, and Fun” 1961 by Clara Toombs Harvey. Instead, I want to express thanks for the general train of thoughts, ethics, and expectations that were simply a part of Clayton. 2nd place was not okay when you expect to deserve the best at whatever you do.

Thanksgiving Blessing #9 I am thankful for my church family at Yukon Church. Never before have I met a group of Christians more dedicated to not only talk the talk but walk the walk. Eternal friendships have been formed with a common belief in the Love and Grace of Christ.

Thanksgiving Blessing #8 I am thankful for my pastor­­­, Keith Henson. If you would ever like to meet a person who puts God first, then you need to connect with Keith. Likewise, I know who will answer and respond to my call at 2 o’clock in the morning!

Thanksgiving Blessing #7 I am thankful for my in-laws. I know it rarely happens, but it was admiration and respect from day one with Don and Betty Potter. While they played the “in-law” role they became best friends. Perhaps the most touching attribute is that the last thing they did in life was for me. Don and Betty had flown their plane to Albuquerque to celebrate my birthday. Upon their return, a wind shear crashed the plane and they flew away.

Thanksgiving Blessing #6 I am thankful for my sister, Linda. Linda was a hard act to follow. She is three years older than me and we have in one way or the other been in competition with each other since my arrival on the scene. However, since our father’s passing in August of 1993, we have maintained at least one phone call each week to remain a part of each other’s life together. We laugh, cry and share our lives. We are now over 1,250 calls.

Thanksgiving Blessing #5 I am thankful for my parents. Mom and Dad were believers in the world of absolutes. By that I mean what they did for one child they then took extraordinary steps to assure that the other child was treated fairly. They were frugal, family oriented and community servers. In many ways they were opposites. Dad was outgoing, a true extrovert. Mom always preferred to sit on the back row even though she did teach 1st grade Sunday School. Dad had a degree in Electrical Engineering even though his dream was to be a medical doctor and had attended OU Medical School until the financial woes of the depression re-charted his life course.

Thanksgiving Blessing #4 I am thankful for all of my six grandchildren. Talk about unique personalities. If God’s intention was to provide variety in life then He can mark this one down as a success! Four girls and two boys. Elizabeth, Jerry, Claire, Abbie, Riley, and Gabe are each in their own world and bring a unique flavor of spice to my life.

Thanksgiving Blessing #3 I am thankful for my sons and their wives. Both David and Bo in their own way have tested out as geniuses. Likewise, both of the boys married (David/Carrie and Bo/Alicia) women of intellectual equality who are idolized by their husbands.

Thanksgiving Blessing #2 I am thankful for my wife, Nikki. Yes, love, at first sight, is possible and true. The day that I met Nikki I knew that she was the one. Circumstances got in the way of us having more than our one and only date because it just preceded a most horrific accident that I had in my new Porsche. After daily phone calls for the next two months, I finally convinced her that since I had broken my coffee pot and she had a new one we should get married.  Not wanting to waste time, we made an appointment with my Dad, Judge Sharp, to perform the ceremony 2 days later on December 29, 1979. I think it is going to last!

Thanksgiving Blessing #1 I am thankful for my Salvation. There are so many words that can be used to describe the act of Salvation by the Lord through Jesus Christ. Scripture expresses it best in Philippians 4:7(NIV) And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Over the past three years when my life has been held in balance several times, I do not recall fear or regret but the peace that whatever happened was for His Glory.

Tom's Stories and Memories: The Wonders of a Big City

Tom's Stories and Memories: The Wonders of a Big City: Everything is completely relative. During my early childhood, I grew up in a town that you could literally walk across without the need...

The Wonders of a Big City

Everything is completely relative. During my early childhood, I grew up in a town that you could literally walk across without the need to pack a lunch for the trip. We lived on the east side of the tracks but I could never find anyone who could tell me which one was the wrong side. Virtually all of the neighborhoods were mixed with the rich, the poor, and the middle class. Likewise, there was almost an equal division between those of Hispanic heritage and anglos. In our earlier years, we did not notice the difference between the various people, that would be learned later.

We seemed to have an obsession with two’s in my hometown. We had two stop lights, two movie theaters, two bars, two buildings with elevators, two major highways, and two elementary schools. As time went by some of those would be reduced to one but once a building had established a name, it remained attached to it forever. For example, the Bronco Movie Theatre has had many occupants but they are all in the Bronco building. The significance of this is that when we would travel to what seemed to be the biggest city in the world, Amarillo, Texas, everything was blown out of proportion. Typically upon arrival in Amarillo, we would drop in for a surprise visit with Uncle Clyde and Aunt Bonnie. Since they had created the concept of hoarding, we would only stand in their living room for about 15 minutes before we politely excused ourselves for the next stop. More often than not we would go to the downtown area of Amarillo. Since this was before parking garages had been introduced, we had to be prepared to be back by the car at least every two hours so that we could feed the parking meter. Likewise, there were buildings that were unbelievably tall. In fact, they made the Farmers and Stockmens Bank building look like a single story structure. One of the consequences of combining tall buildings and Texas panhandle winds was a series of embarrassing moments for the women and inexpensive entertainment for the men. Once we hit the downtown, the men (Dad and I) and the women (Mom and Linda) would part company with an agreement to meet back at the Woolworths at noon. The women would window shop and make note of the latest fashions so Mom could sew Linda’s wardrobe. The men would search for the best hat deal for Dad. Since the Herzstein Department Store burned down, Dad was only satisfied with hats from the Amarillo haberdashers. A note worth making. If Linda or I wanted to get anything from Amarillo, it was to be paid for with our money. Our parents consistently gave us an allowance and we worked. Gifts were given on Christmas and on our birthdays. If we wanted anything else, it was our responsibility to find a way to get it.

Perhaps the most interesting aspect of visiting Amarillo was the fact that you could see people who would seem completely foreign in Clayton. First, there was a blind Black man who played the saxophone on the sidewalks around the downtown area. He had a tin cup attached to his sax and Dad would always drop a few coins in his cup.  Likewise, when we would eat lunch at the same location every time, deaf-mutes would come by our table and put a card down on the table with the hand signs for sign language. They would take their cards to each table and then circle back around and accepted any donations. If you didn’t wish to make a donation they would take the card back. To my knowledge, we did not have people who consistently and openly sought donations on the streets in Clayton. I can not classify the people in Amarillo as beggars because they offered something of value in return for your donation. In our area of the country direct and open begging had not been introduced to the landscape.

You could tell that the trip to Amarillo was drawing to a close when we would head out on NW 10th to Wolflin Village. It was Amarillo’s first experiment in mall shopping except it was a series shops with exterior entrances. After Wolflin Village we would go across the street to a hamburger vendor that was the shape of a big cracker barrel. They had, with the exception of my Mother, the best hamburgers on earth. Then the two and half hour trip to small-town America would begin with two kids sound asleep in the back seat.

Ideas

One day I was able to join a wise man on a walk through the woods that surround us. Considering the size of the acreage I hadn’t been able to explore every part of the property. As it turns out we ventured into an area that I hadn’t seen before and as we topped one of the rises in the land what appeared to be a cemetery complete with an entry gate appeared. At the top of the gate was only one word, “Ideas”. My friend didn’t seem surprised with the discovery. In fact, he appeared to be familiar with it. I asked him if he knew what this was and he simply replied, “It is where many of the ideas of man rest.” My curiosity was peaked and I asked him why they were there? He laughed and said, “They were simply talked to death.” A wave of sadness came over me and I asked if they were gone forever? He smiled and said, “Ideas never really die. Sometimes they go into a state of limbo until there are ears that will not only hear them but act upon them.” So the next time you hear what is presented as a new idea, odds are it is simply a resurrected one with a new suit on.

November 22, 1963

November 22, 1963

From Dallas, Texas, the flash apparently official: President Kennedy died at 1 p.m. Central Standard Time, 2:00 Eastern Standard Time, some 38 minutes ago. Vice President Johnson has left the hospital in Dallas, but we do not know to where he has proceeded; presumably, he will be taking the oath of office shortly and become the 36th President of the United States... Walter Cronkite CBS News. It has been almost 55 years ago, yet it seemed like yesterday. I was officially a teenager at 13 and settled into the 8th grade. The day had begun with the usual excitement that is associated with Friday. A football game was scheduled for that night and the tensions were building because the band was becoming a force to deal with and many times the halftime performance was the high point of the game. Traditionally my sister and I would walk home at noon for lunch. Being only a block away it would take only minutes. The moment that I hit the door, I could tell something was wrong. We NEVER watched TV during the day, but it was on that Friday. Before I could say anything my Mother said that the President had been shot in Dallas and she didn’t know his condition. Linda and Dad were right behind me. We proceeded to the dining room but I don’t believe we ate anything. At 12:30, our time, it was reported that The President was dead.

I can count on one hand the number of times that I saw my father cry. This was one of those days. He had a deep love for our country and would react to defend and honor it. I know he had not voted for President Kennedy in 1960 but now his reaction was consistent. In his view as Americans, we are stronger because of our ability to disagree and then embrace each other after the will of the people is expressed. I distinctly remember him saying, “We don’t kill our Presidents”.

Linda and I returned to school and at that time there was an eerie feeling all over the campus. When we returned to class I fully expected it to be basically dismissed but our teacher said that education was very important to The President and that he believed that the highest compliment we could pay him would be to participate in the scheduled math class. Frankly, I think he was in shock and did not know what to do. During the first hour after lunch, the buses for the country kids had been arranged and the schools were closed. Linda and I slowly walked home.

Even though it had been one of the closest elections in our nation’s history, President Kennedy was unusually popular. The torch had been passed. We had won a cold war standoff with the Soviet Union. Our involvement in Vietnam was limited and withdrawal plans were in the works. The economy was good and following the infrastructure boom of the Eisenhower years a challenge had been given to the nation via the space program.

We were at a loss and as we left church services on Sunday word spread through the congregation that the suspected assassin had been killed. Looking back and trying to examine how the country held it together, it really goes back to the Cronkite statement at the beginning. We continue. We get back up. We can not be held down. The King is dead, long live the King.

Practice Makes Perfect

I think every child mentally latches onto a person and elevates them to basically a hero status. Even though you don’t actually know them, the assumption is that whatever they do must be another expression of perfection. My idol in Junior High was an upperclassman from high school who could make a trombone sound like Pavarotti. He had competed in a variety of music competitions and he would hang his medal-laden band uniform in the hallway entrance to the music building. I would glance at his uniform every time we attended band class and the image of my uniform adorned with metals danced in my head. Likewise, he wore glasses with a thick black frame. I bet you have guessed it. I had glasses with a thick black frame.

I believe that we had started in beginner’s band in the fifth grade and my weapon of mass destruction was the tuba. I am sure that if I ever sought counseling on the subject there would be some deep and closely held reason for that choice. My sister had chosen the clarinet and the massive physical difference between the two might have contributed to the choice. The tuba, while being the most obvious instrument in the band, musically it was not intended to be a solo instrument like most of the others. This created a dilemma. To obtain the metals I so desperately needed I had to participate in the band solo competitions that rolled around once a year. When I told Taylor Stephenson the band director what I wanted to do he told me finding anything would be a tall order, but he would try. Consistent with his character he had found a solo piece specifically for a tuba within the week. Rather than take the tuba home to practice and put my family through unbearable pain and suffering I asked Mr. Stephenson if I could practice in the band room after school. Since he didn’t see that as a problem I would show up right after school just as he was leaving. He told me to turn off the lights and he would lock the door so I didn’t need to worry about that. As I had promised myself I would go set up my tuba and the music sheets but the temptation to take a quick look at those medals overtook me. Consequently, I would spend more time in fantasy land in the hallway than practicing on my solo. Before I knew it the time for the contest rolled around and fortunately the judges weren’t like the ones on “America’s Got Talent” where they could hit the buzzer and drive you off the stage. Out of kindness, they gave me a 3.

While I went through a period of major disappointment, the foremost lesson that came out of the Tuba solo competition was that I had become so focused on the prize, I didn’t spend the time needed to win it. In other words, set your goal but execute a logical plan to achieve it.

 To visit Thomas’s Bookstore go to:  http://tinyurl.com/8vfdrgr

When Mama Ain’t Happy…..

In every marriage, there are some rules that even though they aren’t in writing they have the force of the eleventh commandment. In ours, my Mother had made the rule that “Thou shalt not gamble”. Frankly, it was kind of an odd rule considering that they had basically bought their first house after World War II from Dad’s poker winnings from his time in the service. Likewise, Dad would mysteriously come up with the money for her birthday and Christmas gifts, but rules were rules. In our town, the temptation could find you even when you weren’t looking for it. Every year it would rear its evil head when The World Series would come around. One of the favorites was called the Series pool. The number of participants could vary based on the number of slots sold and the size of the bet. Dad’s favorite was a pool that only allowed 10 individuals in and the numbers were from 0-9. The total of the scores from all of the games would be added up and the last number in the total was the winner. In 1963 Dad bought into a $10 pool with the winning amount of $100. His number was 6. The series was between the Dodgers and the Yankees. The Dodgers had won the first three games and the total score number was at 13. The Dodgers pulled off a clean sweep and beat the Yankees in the fourth game with a score of 2 to 1. For the mathematicians in the crowd that brought the total to 16 and that made the number 6 the winner. As Paul Harvey would say, “Now for the rest of the story”.

It was 1963, in the 8^th grade, and even though cable had come to Clayton we did not have a TV. On special occasions, we would go over to Leland Jacob’s home but for the most part, we depended on radio station KLMX, the Amarillo Daily News and the Union County Leader. As I had said in previous blogs my parents were quite frugal and simply would not buy anything unless they could pay cash for it. Since mother was creating Dave Ramsey’s envelope program every penny was properly accounted for except, as you might have guessed, Dad’s gambling stash. Dad wanted to buy a TV and Mom had determined that they couldn’t afford it. Using reverse psychology Dad would openly express his opposition to the purchase of a TV in hopes that Mom would find a way to make it happen. Since it became obvious that this wasn’t going to work he decided to announce that he had violated the eleventh commandment and that HE was $100 richer. Mom immediately demanded that he turn over the money and told him that if he thought that he could afford to gamble, she could afford to buy a TV for the family. That afternoon, still steaming, she went down to Timmon’s Sales, picked out a TV, called the cable company and by the time Dad, with great remorse, came home at 5 we had a new black and white TV operating in the living room. I think Dad learned his lesson. 

Never Look A Gift Santa In The Mouth

It had been the tradition in our family for Mom and Dad to give Linda and me one gift and “Santa” would give us another one. Although it was never said, we knew if we ever expressed a disbelief in that jolly old gentleman from the north, the gravy train would be cut off. Consequently, in my seventh-grade year, Santa gave me a real printing press. It was rather small, and you could only feed 5 ½” x 8 ½” paper through it but the bite of printer’s ink ­­­left a lifetime impression on me. As I am sure you noticed, I had made it out of grade school! Not only did I move up a grade, the walking distance to school was reduced from uphill for a one-half mile to one block. Next, I actually had multiple teachers. It was like going from your General Practice Family Doctor to a Specialist who could operate on just one section of your brain.

Perhaps the one teacher who made the greatest impression on me that year was Charlsie Mae Harding. Known as Miss Harding to her students, she brought the State of New Mexico to life through her phenomenal history class. Born in 1911, she had graduated as Salutatorian from high school at the age of 15, graduated from West Texas Teachers College (now WTSU) in 1931, and taught for the next 50 years apart from one year, in the Clayton system. In 1977 she received the National Teacher of the Year Award and in 1983 she was named to the New Mexico Educators Hall of Fame. Physically a small woman, she was a giant for so many children.

I am sure you are wondering how Miss Harding could be linked to my new printing press. Well, I have a natural tendency to look at almost everything from a business point of view. For example, while a printing press is fun to play with, a printing press that makes money is even better. After I had printed letterheads for my mother and tally pads for my parent’s card club the time had arrived to make some real money. The high school had a newspaper but alas the Jr. High did not have the benefit of a reliable news source. I consulted with Miss Harding about publishing a periodical called “Jr. High News” and since she had been an advisor for the school newspaper she freely provided a wealth of information from the best type of stories to advertising sources and other income. From that point forward all my spare time was consumed interviewing, writing, setting type and then printing the initial FREE issue. The praise sent my ego out of the ballpark. I just knew that I had a winner and went to work the next day on selling subscriptions. If Al Gore had asked me years later about the difficulty of turning a free information source into a money-making proposition, I would have advised him to avoid the word Free! The sad part of this story is that the sale of subscriptions was slower than a crippled turtle. Since everything was prepared to go to press, I did publish a second free issue of the paper, but lessons were learned and filed for later applications.

As a closing note, Miss Harding passed away in 1998 at the age of 86 leaving an unparalleled legacy.

Economics 101

The backyard taught me the principle of barter economics. I was introduced to this concept when I was around six years old. Dad did not like to fish but he loved to eat them. At the same time, he knew fishermen who loved to go out to Clayton Lake and spend the day catching their limit, but they didn’t like to clean nor eat their catch. To these fishermen the belief was that the best bait was earthworms and unless you had a worm source, they were a pain to get. That is, of course, where the Sharp Worm Farm came into play. Dad built a box complete with a retractable lid. He filled it halfway with very fertile loose soil and some seed worms. My job was to take the coffee grounds out there each morning to help the composting process along. As it turns out, worms are better than rabbits when it comes to reproduction. Since there are no male or female worms they can mate with just any worm who happens to be crawling by. It didn’t take long for the word to spread that we had worms that we would trade for fish. Consequently, our freezer was full of trout and catfish and our worms had a happy home for at least awhile. Fortunately for me, Dad cleaned all the fish. Soon the production of the worms exceeded the trading volume, so I would put worms in pint paper containers and take them to Isaacs Hardware Store that would sell them on consignment. This put some extra change in the pocket and sparked my love of the world of business.

By the time I was ten I felt a tremendous need to expand my business interests. Since the high school was only a block away from our home, all of the school owned ground around the high school was within walking distance of our house. To keep the growth down, the school would hire someone to come in a few times in the summer to basically mow the vacant lots with a tractor pulled mower. Frankly, it didn’t look much better after the mowing simply because of the method used. Seeing the need for a better way, I finally convinced my father to get me an appointment with the Superintendent of the schools, so I could offer my services. In early May of 1960 at the age of ten I met with Don R. Wood and we reached an agreement that I would mow the high school vacant lots twice a month during the summer months in exchange for $70 per month. In today’s dollars that would amount to over $550 per month. I went down to Isaacs Hardware and they agreed to finance a lawn mower to be paid for over the summer. This arrangement with the school continued until I was old enough to get a driver’s license. Since the school work took approximately one week to complete, I was able to mow several little old lady’s lawns during the off weeks. Did all work and no play make Tommy a dull boy? I think not!

Moving on up to the North Building for more Life Lessons

Fourth grade: “I am free at last!” My sister has moved on to Junior High so I can walk uphill to school without her feeling obligated to tell me how to do it! Likewise, I will have to be completely responsible for my coat, gloves and galoshes. For my friends in the latest generation, galoshes were rubber boats that you put over your shoes so that you could walk through blizzard like weather conditions and we liked it. Of course, the lessons of life continued to unfold. One lesson is that you can make anything scary if you give your mind enough freedom. After leaving the house in the morning I would cut over to Oak street so that I could avoid walking through the high school grounds. About four blocks from my house was what we referred to as the Peyton mansion. While the style of the home was unique within itself, the original owners had molded concrete into what appeared to be petrified wood that was intertwined around the property. On the top floor of the property one could see what looked like a look out post. Stories would swirl and magnify themselves about the mansion. My pace would always quicken when I passed the property. Once I made it to the school grounds spirits were usually high and in the fourth grade the deeper matters of world affairs were left to the outside word. We were very honored to have a member of our class who was without a doubt the fastest runner in the world. I will save her the embarrassment, but she could run faster than a BB. I know for a fact that she did allow herself to slow down because years later she permitted a boy with a fast Mustang to catch her and I double dated with them on one of my rare dates in high school. For the most part as 4^th graders we had moved away from the big slide and merry go round but on occasion we would lose ourselves on the swings as we soared to greater heights and then bailing out to return to earth. The big event that still weighs on my mind from that period of time was the fact that I made a B in spelling. I really thought I had it down. You know, i before e except after c and the other rules that had been formulated over the centuries of literary composition. To others my grade would be a blessing but, in my mind, it created a lifetime of doubt and the need for auto correct.

Fifth grade: “All Politics is Local”. These were confusing times for a ten-year-old. Earlier in 1960, a U2 spy plane had been shot down over Russia and tensions between the two great powers grew each day. As kids we would hear estimates of how many times the world could be destroyed during an attack by the Soviet Union. While it was impossible to imagine the devastation of that type of war, awareness of the danger was brought to small town America. Dad was the Civil Defense Director for Clayton and he conducted surveys of buildings in the area to try to determine the best possible shelters for the community. Strangely enough our house, due to the two-foot-thick adobe walls and it’s lead roof, was deemed one of the safest places in the area. Since the likelihood of a direct attack was remote, the presence of the weather station at the airport gave Dad a way to calculate time windows for potential fallout. Yes, we did talk about things like this and my imagination contributed to my concern.  

In other ways 1960 was a pivotal year for me. This was the first Presidential election that I really remember. Vice President Nixon was running as the Republican nominee and Senator Kennedy represented the Democrats. Politics had always been a part of our family life. We were Democrats and it was not unusual to attend a party pot luck supper at the airport. The candidates from all across the state would descend on Clayton and rub elbows with the locals. Dad always told us that he had only voted a straight party ticket one time in his life and that was in 1932. Otherwise, he tried to vote for the candidate rather than the party. Just as in the nation the Presidential race was extremely close in New Mexico. While Union and Bernalillo (Albuquerque) Counties went to Nixon, the state was won by Kennedy. I learned several valuable political lessons that year. First, if you want to know how the parents feel about a candidate, ask their children. The children will parrot almost word for word what they heard at home. Second, political opinions are rarely based on real issues but rather on emotions. To demonstrate this point, I remember several fights broke out on the playground over who would win the election. Third, a stump speech from one candidate sounds a lot like a stump speech from another. Fourth, in a primary you can say just about anything you want about the opposition but when the primary is over you become the best of friends. For example, one day I could accuse you of being a cannibal but at the end of the week and after I had won, we would both agree that you were really just eating your hat.

Sixth grade: “Words are more powerful than swords”. In the sixth grade I actually had a teacher who was not a woman. That certainly thru charm and flattery out the window. After being one step behind the Soviet Union in the space race the United States successfully sent Alan Shephard into space. This just fueled my infatuation with rockets. Initially I sent compressed air missiles into the sky followed by solid fuel Estes rockets and then I built my own using vinegar and baking soda to create the thrust necessary to leave the confines of this earthly plane. Meanwhile back in school I was presented with a tremendous learning lesson. It was the policy in our classroom, that if you made less than a 60 on any exam you were punished with a pop from a ruler for every point less than the minimum acceptable grade. God had blessed me with the ability to stay above that mark but we had one kid in our class who just couldn’t make it. Consequently, after every exam you knew what was going to happen next. This really bothered me to the point that I felt a need to take a stand against what I considered an injustice. For several days I worked on a speech that outlined my position. I did not tell the teacher the reason nor the subject, but I asked if I could make a speech to the class. He said that I could have the floor that afternoon. Needless to say, I was a bundle of nerves by the time the afternoon rolled around. It was a rather short speech, but I stated that I felt that any punishment for a bad grade was simply wrong and that should never be used as a measure of a persons worth. I acknowledged that it certainly wasn’t my decision whether the practice continued but that if the teacher felt a need to pop someone for a bad grade that I would offer my posterior as a substitute. The speech was over, and you could have heard a pin drop. After what seemed like an eternity the class resumed. At the end of the day the teacher asked me to stay. I really didn’t know what was going to happen, but he was quick and to the point. He said that he had really thought about what I had said and that he believed that I was right. The practice stopped, and I believe it marked a turning point in my life. I learned that the power of words can be astronomical, and that admitting fault can end up being a virtue. My respect for my 6^th grade teacher continues today.

Life Lessons from Lower Grade School

Perhaps the first but not the most important lesson that I learned in grade school was that each teacher had one of three first names: Mr., Mrs., or Miss. Mr. was easy enough but the other two could be a little confusing. The most important lesson was that my sister was going to be a hard act to follow. To provide a sense of order in this epistle, I will break the lessons down by the grade at Central Ward School.

First Grade: “Never day dream when you are taking a test”. Early on in the year our teacher gave us a test that contained two parts. The test was easy enough and I quickly went through the first section. Suddenly my mind took me outside to get on the worlds tallest slide and begin the exciting ride down as you could hear the metal in the slide moan and groan as you traveled with increasing speed towards earth. Needless to say, the time for the test was up before I finished my own recess. Since we lived in a small town where everybody knew everybody my teacher called my mother and said that this was performance was so unlike Tommy’s usual work but since she felt so bad about giving me a F perhaps I could retake the test during the next recess. That seemed more than reasonable to me so the next day I stayed in during the recess period ready to take the exam. This time to ensure that I completed the test, I started with the second part first. Unfortunately, our classroom had big windows that looked out on the playground and I could see all of my friends having a wonderful time. Again, my mind played tricks on me and as soon as the recess was over the teacher collected my test before I had a chance to finish. This time she called my Dad at the power plant where he was the City Engineer. The recess retake was again offered but she said that she hoped that Dad would find some way for Tommy to keep his mind focused. Since Dad always felt a need to explain why he was going to spank me, the speech was rather short this time when he told me to never day dream when taking a test. Contrary to a popular myth, I do believe that it hurt me more than it hurt him. The good news is that it worked and I was able to move on to the second grade.

Second grade: “When you start something, you finish it”. Grade school can become such a drag. This is especially true when you have big plans and the drudgery of day to day work on things like the alphabet, addition, subtraction and who know what else gets in the way. The day came in March that I had taken all that I could, so I told all of my friends that I would be going home at noon for lunch and that I wouldn’t be back. Good luck, so long, farewell and some foreign phase that never made much sense. Lunch at our house was a production. My mother would prepare a three-course All-American meal that included meat, potatoes and a vegetable of some kind. Likewise, she would have prepared a dessert. Dad would drive home for lunch and Linda and I would walk home from school. I can count on both hands the number of times that I ate at the school cafeteria. Strangely enough I looked at that as a treat but my classmates who dined there everyday would disagree. Back to the story. Halfway through the meal I announced that today was my final day at school. My mother promptly said that it wasn’t. This went back and forth a few times until Dad failed to see the humor and simply announced that we didn’t quit things, we finished them. Swallowing hard I could see that I was defeated but now I had to figure out something to say to my classmates when I got back to school. Of course, telling the truth would have been the correct course but it is so much easier to create a believable but unconfirmable lie. So by the time we went back to class, everybody in my circle of friends felt really sorry for my poor mother who had broken down in tears over the possibility that my life would go down the drain like an uncle who had not finished the second grade.

Third grade: “When you know something it may be best not to be a public-address system”. This was the final year of the lower section of grade school. We were the lords of our section of the playground and sacks of marbles measured our wealth. Once in awhile we would have homework but generally everything was accomplished within the regular school day. We had an arithmetic workbook and one day we were told to take the workbook home and complete an assignment for the next day. After supper that evening I felt rather grown up because I had homework just like my 6^th grader sister. After I finished the task I started looking at the workbook in greater detail only to discover that in the back of the book were sample tests that the students could take. There were two problems with that discovery. First, in addition to the tests there was an answer section and second, when I examined the sample tests they looked exactly like the tests we had been given in class. Looking back, I know that the correct thing to do would have included going to the teacher and pointing out my accidental discovery. However, I am a sinner and if you aren’t, cast the first stone. I couldn’t wait to get to school to share my wonderful discovery with EVERYONE in the entire class. Needless to say, the chicken came home to roost. On the next arithmetic test almost every person scored a 100. You could tell something was wrong when we came into the classroom the next morning. The teacher looked so ticked off. The first thing she wanted to know was how could all of her students could do so well on a test? I could have answered that, but I opted to keep my mouth shut. However, one of my classmates was quick to point out that Tommy had shown her the answers in the back of the workbook and that she felt really bad about it. My, my how the tide can turn. Just 24 hours ago she had told me that I was a hero. Well the wrath of the teacher soon followed. She went by every desk in the room and tore out the sample tests and answer sheets. She threw out the results of the test from the previous day and made us take another test. Since it was handwritten I can only assume that the hand of an angered woman wrote it. Even though things remained tense for a period, it did smooth out as we worked to move on to the 4^th grade. I think the incident helped me formulate my opinion about entrapment. 

Dad – The Early Years

My Dad, Frank Sharp, was not an ordinary man in fact I know that I am safe to describe him as a man for all seasons. He was born almost 110 years ago in Independence, Kansas to a couple who would be known as Grandpa and Grandma Sharp. He had three brothers John, Victor and Vernon. Vernon passed at an early age due to an enlarged spleen. Listening to Dad talk about the loss of his brother, I know this influenced some of his life decisions. After Vernon’s passing the family moved from Independence to a home site in Apache Valley just north of Clayton, New Mexico and on the south side of the Rabbit Ear Mountains. Initially the family lived in a dug out, but actual structures were soon constructed. Decades later Dad would stand at the crest of the mesa on the Clayton Lake road and look at the valley and mountains. Lost in his own world, he could have been riding the pure white horses through the tall grass or watching in wonder as his father negotiated the path to the house in their Model T. Grandpa Sharp or Ralph C. Sharp never mastered the braking system on the Model T so they had put a log in the barn, so the car could coast in and let Mother Nature stop it. He supported the family with his real estate business that extended from New Mexico down into Texas. Vowing “Good Dirt, Dirt Cheap”, I remember Dad pointing out various properties that his father had been involved in when we would travel from Clayton to Amarillo, Texas.

He loved to play tennis. Through years of practice, he developed a serve that was almost impossible to return. Likewise, his defense strategy concentrated on control of the ball. Everything was a lesson for him to convey. When I would play him, he would emphasize that if you could control the ball, you could control the game. It could have been a lecture in Machiavellian political philosophy. He would never let me win but in the few times that I did, the praise lasted a lifetime.     

He was ethical to a fault. I think he had an inner gauge of right and wrong. He would sacrifice for both what he believed was the right thing to do and to correct the littlest wrong. His word was his bond. The greatest example that I can think of was the fact that his mother was completely anti-alcohol and she pleaded with each of her three sons to sign a temperance pledge in the family Bible. Two signed and my father refused simply because he didn’t feel that he could absolutely honor that pledge. As it turned out, my two uncles did have problems with alcohol, my Dad did not.

He graduated from Clayton High School and headed to Norman, Oklahoma where he enrolled in the School of Medicine and joined the OU football team. The future seemed bright, but the forces of nature would re-chart the best laid plans. Due to the depression and the Dust Bowl, the money promised for tuition dried up and Dad was forced to return home. One day the pure white horses died in a dust storm and their blackened carcasses were buried near the home site. Soon the family moved into a house in Clayton that was furnished with projects that Dad built in high school. Grandpa Sharp’s real estate business continued, and Dad found work through the WPA that included sidewalks and the Clayton High School complex.

In the late thirties two major events occurred. Dad leased a gas station on Main Street and met a charming waitress at the NuWay Café. Ada Bell had moved into Clayton at the age of 16 from Sofia, NM. She worked at the café to support herself while she pursued her high school diploma. Upon graduation she continued working there as a waitress. I can only assume that his charm and wit impressed her because they were married on November 11^th of 1939 when he was 31 and she was 22. They worked together in their business until the day that changed the world forever, December 7, 1941.   

A LOVE STORY

          You could tell there was power, just by looking. His stance was solid and when he moved those around him deferred often in awkward clumsiness. On cold mornings, you could see the steam bellowing from his nostrils as he shook his massive head from side to side. Yet with the power, you could feel the loneliness that accompanied his position in the community. No one dared to talk directly to him. Eye contact was never made. Opposition did not exist even though challenges did humor him from time to time. This was his kingdom, his realm. Even his owner walked with caution around Elmer. There was an understanding of position. Hours were spent alone at the top of his hill. Elmer was a bull’s bull.

          Social ranks had been established within the community. First, of course, was Elmer followed in descending order by the eldest male dog, then the cattle, the sheep, the goats, the rest of the dogs, the cats, the chickens, the field mice, two transient hawks, a duck, the pigs and at the bottom, the farm frog, Irene.

          Irene, like other frogs, had begun her life as a little tadpole. Since she was not really noticeable, Irene demonstrated her shyness by not demonstrating her presence. In fact, there were members of the farm family that did not know that she even existed. For all practicable matters, many felt that the pigs were the lowest form of life and that was that. Consequently, Irene passed many a long day idly sitting on a Lilly pad in the middle of the farm pond. The cattle would come to get a drink and would never acknowledge her.

Fortunately, however, Irene did have one friend, the duck. Known as Quacker III. How they came up with Quacker III is anyone’s mystery. As far as anyone knew, Quacker III was the first and only duck that had ever graced this farm. Likewise, since there weren’t any other ducks around, it was doubtful that there would ever be a Quacker IV. Quacker III had met Irene by accident one spring day while out for his morning swim. Lost in his thoughts Quacker III failed to notice Irene on the Lilly pad and the collision caused quite a commotion. Irene was dumped into the water as Quacker III proceeded to entangle himself in the undergrowth. It was not until Irene dove deep into the pond waters to untie the roots from Quacker III’s feet that Quacker III was able to make his way to the shore. From that day forward the two of them could be found at the pond often discussing their world affairs and the personalities that made up their known environment.

Both of them questioned the positions that the two transient hawks held. After all they were no better than the other itinerant farm workers that came and went as the seasons passed. The most disturbing thing about the situation was that it was obvious that they were with egg and that could only mean more beaks to feed, fewer worms to till the soil and the noise day and night. Further, the unspoken fear was when you looked at the mom and dad you knew that these babies would break the “all babies are cute” rule.

Both Irene and Quacker III had had a run in with Billie the Goat. Sadly, Billie was almost blind and had to be helped around the farm normally by one of the dogs. But typical of his stubborn nature Billie would attempt to make it around on his own. As long as he would stay within his area, everything was fine. However, last week on one of his excursions Billie inadvertently ran into Quacker III. You can well imagine the response. Quacker III quacked, Billie started jumping around and Irene ended up between Billie’s hoof and the ground. The entire farmyard came alive. The dogs circled around Billie who could only tell who they were by their bark. The sheep in turn, came to Billie’s defense because of their closeness in nature and the fact that they remembered that years ago Billie had eaten all the tin cans in the sheep pin. The importance of that matter is that Elmer had told the sheep to either clean up their pin or decide which one of them would be forced to sing “Baa Baa Black Sheep” in front of the entire farm family. Since the sheep were known for their consistent monotone all of them knew that they would rather spend the night being counted by the owner than face the embarrassment of a solo concert.  It looked like the situation was at a stalemate but then Quacker III let out the loudest quack that had ever been heard in the farm. This caused Billie to jump and Irene was freed from under his hoof. Irene quickly hopped to Quacker III’s side. It was at this time that they all heard the distinctive and reverberating steps of Elmer as he descended from his hill. Everyone knew that trouble was on it’s way and they could only think of those days when what seemed innocent to them had somehow irked Elmer to the point of calling a Farm Council. A Farm Council was kind of like a criminal trail where you had to prove that you were innocent rather than the other way around. Irene had moved behind Quacker III’s web feet and started to weep real frog tears.

As Elmer entered the farm yard you could hear a pin drop. Except for Irene’s tiny sobs there was stone cold silence. Even the field mice had curtailed their usual mouse blabber.  Although he never said it, everyone knew just by his look that Elmer wanted to know the cause of all the ruckus and how it would come to an end. Since Quacker III played a major role in attracting Elmer’s attention all eyes moved to the duck. The intent, of course, was to direct Elmer’s cold stare away from them personally. So while Quacker III wasn’t a goose, the farm animals wanted his goose cooked rather than theirs. Elmer, of course, was used to this tactic and slowly walked through the grounds making direct eye contact with each of the animals. In the past this approach would reduce any defense a culprit might have, and the truth would flow out of their mouths like a river. Initially Elmer looked toward the transient hawks. Since they were the most recent arrivals they were naturally suspected of upsetting the domestic tranquility that normally prevailed. The two hawks held each other in a fear only known to other fowl and the husband had gently placed one of his wings over his wife’s belly who by this time was swollen with what might be a double yolk. Elmer could see that they had nothing to hide so he moved on to the dogs. The dogs of the farm came in a variety that could only be matched by an upper end pet store. It goes without saying that the eldest dog received an automatic pass but the preforming, seeing eye, and rescue dogs all were subjected to Elmer’s review. Not seeing any unusual movements among the dogs, he passed by them and the cats were cleared simply because they were standing next to the dogs without any appearance of hostility. Sadly because of limited attention span, the chickens, cattle, pigs, and the field mice had already resumed to their usual activities. Elmer had never really suspected any of them but an appearance of reverence, even for a short period, was good for law and order within the farm structure. Since Billie was basically one of the victims in the farm chaos, Elmer simply walked over to Billie and their noses touched in a sign of mutual respect. In Elmer’s mind this left only one viable suspect, the duck, Quacker III.

Frankly Quacker III could see the writing on the barn wall. He had been disturbed since childhood with visions of his demise. They ranged from being shipped to Peking to simply having the heebeegeebees squeezed out of him and being served as Cold Duck. As Elmer approached Quacker III felt that he had to say goodbye to Irene before the hoof came down. He stepped away from Irene, wiped the little frog tears with his wing from her green cheeks and just as he started to speak he could hear a distinctive bull gasp. Quacker III quickly looked at Elmer who appeared not only frozen but completely star struck. In Elmer’s mind the thoughts were running amuck. He had never seen such dazzling brown eyes coupled with the most symmetrical legs he had ever perceived. He knew all of this was simply crazy because things like this never happened. His owner had introduced him to many potential mates but after one date the farm gate was always shut. On top of everything else, this was a frog. But since love is never logical Elmer found himself conversing with Irene and even though there was an obvious language difference they understood each other completely. Irene was equally smitten. She automatically turned on that hidden frog charm and started hopping between Elmer’s hoofs, but it was only to tease Elmer.

Quacker III was completely confused. Only minutes ago, he was having thoughts of seeing all of his relatives who had flown to the pond in the sky but now his best friend and the ruler of the farm were playing like baby goats in the park. Fortunately, Elmer and Irene maintained enough sense to realize that their meeting and relationship would have never happened if it hadn’t been for Quacker III’s resounding quack. Turning to Quacker III they, in their unique ways, ask him to join them in a march around the farm to announce the inconceivable new order in this farm’s affairs. Sitting proudly between Elmer’s massive horns and with Quacker III waddling proudly by their side, Irene greeted the farm animals with the style and dignity of the finest royalty the world had ever seen.

From that day forward Elmer was a new bull. Each of the animals could freely approach him and every day he would spend at least an hour at the pond while Irene sunbathed. Irene was no longer shy and would happily serve as hostess for all of the official farmyard functions. Likewise, Quacker III replaced the eldest male dog as Elmer’s closest confidant and adviser. In all the valley one could not find a more peaceful farm. It was united in understanding, forgiveness and a true testament that love at first sight is true and real. 

The Backyard

When I look back at my childhood I realize that to a certain degree my parents had, through hard work and frugal management provided me and my sister with the American dream of a childhood home. Dad had constructed, literally from scratch, a playground that was the envy of the neighborhood. It included a self-propelled merry-go-round, swings, a glider, a slide and a teeter todder. The trees were large enough to build tree houses in and my sister had a bona fide play kitchen at the back of the yard. It was attached to an apartment Dad had constructed for my Grandmother on my Mother’s side. Likewise, an old tractor tire served not only as a sand box, but the neighborhood cats properly relieved themselves there. For that reason, we would rake the sand box to eliminate the more solid waste but after that the germs had a field day. For some reason my mother would always “encourage” a bath when we came in from backyard. They had a concrete slab poured that was large enough to create a small basketball court that later would double as a dance floor for parties.  Surrounding the yard and the exterior of the fence my mother maintained a variety of flowers that would often grace the dining room table during the spring, summer and early fall months. Always thinking of the most efficient way to do things, Dad created concrete barriers around every flower bed. This accomplished two things. First, it allowed one to water the entire flower bed without the need to continuously move the water and second, I was able to mow the lawn with virtually no need to trim the grass. The yard was encased by a white metal picket fence. The fence was so strong that it literally stopped a line drive that I hit during a backyard baseball game. Later, Dad had to pry it out because the ball was lodged halfway between two of the pickets.

After my Grandmother passed away when I was 6 years old, my parents decided to rent the apartment. The tenants ranged from a woman who was recovering from a nervous breakdown to a high school coach to a rancher’s twin daughters who lived there for their senior year. I think the twins were my favorite tenants simply because they would come out and toss oranges back and forth between the three of us so that we could make orange juice. When the oranges were perfect we would get “juiced” in the backyard.

Early Entertainment

It was a different time in America. We actually had sidewalks that served the art of walking, wagon dragging, bicycle and tricycle riding.  The sidewalks had been there for years and were often uneven from the overgrowth of roots from the Chinese Elms that lined the streets of the small town that served as my introduction to this world. Saturday mornings were usually spent at my maternal grandmother’s apartment that my Dad had built on the back of our property. We would watch Roy Rogers, Dale Evans, The Lone Ranger and any other westerns that could be received by antenna from the televisions stations that were one hundred thirty-five miles away. Of course, the shows were in black, white and snow but with my trained eye I could imagine myself taking part in the taming of the Wild West. That segment of my life ended when my Grandmother passed when I was 6 years old. Since we didn’t have a TV we would, on occasion, go over to a family friend’s house to watch Disney’s Wonderful World of Color on Sunday night.

From that time on the early Saturday mornings where spent by the radio listening to a variety of children’s radio programs. There were usually biblically based, and they came from faraway places like Kalamazoo, Michigan and Chicago, Illinois. Another standard was the Wednesday night Salvation Army Hour that lasted thirty minutes. I ask my Dad why they called it an hour and he explained the meaning of “poetic license”. After lunch my sister and I would walk to the library to pick up the next week’s supply of reading materials. Linda was kind of a book worm who would even read under the blankets with a flashlight late into the nights. Generally, my interests included history, biographies, and political novels. These were left to read until the sun had set because during the daylight I was constantly building and rebuilding project after project. My Dad had given me all of the wood that he had used for concrete forms and a can of used nails. Initially I had to straighten out the nails from the last project and then I would draw the plans in my Big Chief tablet and then proceed to build a variety of things that ranged from boxes to gallows complete with a trap door in memory of Black Jack Ketchum. For some reason my Mother didn’t appreciate the gallows. During the winter months more, time was spent reading or practicing the art of marble playing.