long ago
many boys came into this world
to face the blade
on the very thing
that made them boys.
they cooed, gurgled, and spit
just like their counterparts;
their pee could shoot up in the air;
they crapped in undesired places
like one who took a dump on a heater vent
causing the heater guy to come clean the piping.

then, they grew to begin to play
cowboys and sports and mumbly-peg,
running barefoot in shorts
over neighborhood yards and empty lots,
playing king of the hill, red rover, and, of course, tag,
getting stung by bees and wasps, bitten by ants;
at night, catching fireflies in bell jars
with holes poked in the top with ice picks,
getting stung by mosquitoes,
playing in the weeds
to acquire poison oak and poison ivy.

then, they walked to school
put chewing gum underneath their desks
went to recess
where
they swung on swings so high there was slack in the chain
giving them a big jerk when they came down,
pushed the manual merry-go-round to the limit
where they or other riders might be thrown off,
playing softball, football, kickball, dodge ball
on the mown fields of grass filled
with pock marks of dirt, weeds, dandelions
they rode their bikes with a basket on the handle,
lickety split everywhere,
baseball cards in their spokes
here and yon,
not knowing there were ten-speed bikes and races
somewhere over yonder;
getting into fights for spurious reasons,
getting spanked for getting into fights.

then, they began to notice girls;
to gather to appoint a captain with hands
on a baseball bat,
choosing players for the team,
jury rigging bases, goal posts
in empty lots, drawing lines or marking landmarks
like a hedge or curb for doubles, triples home runs
before
the people concerned for their safety
ruined it by adult organization
forming little league, pop warner,
until they played school sports,
becoming more serious
actually asking a girl out to a movie,
buying the tickets for a quarter each,
buying cokes for a dime,
sharing a candy bar for a nickel,
eventually, stealing a kiss in the back row,
but failing to cop a feel.

then, they faced academics with a snarl,
admired the older, richer boys who had
sports cars and sported
tapered jeans, shirts unbuttoned past their chests
revealing pubescent hair,
topping it off with ducktails;
they learned to dance
the bop, the chicken, the monkey, the twist, the walk,
hoping to impress the girls,
finding joy in football, basketball, baseball,
afterwards taking a date for a burger,
going parking on top of a hill on a country lane outside of town;
or
gathering with the boys
on the side of a remote dirt road after the game,
finding someone, somewhere that could buy
bottles of country club malt liquor,
sipping, telling stories sitting on the road,
smoking Winstons, cussing:
forbidden things.

then, the boys went to work or college
thinking they were grown,
still chasing their dreams and girls,
drinking a bit too much;
watching sports events and music shows
rather than playing and dancing.

then, they had jobs, settled down;
still playing with their cars and boats,
fishing and golf, slow pitch softball,
mowing the lawn.

then, the aging began,
dripping on them like a leaky faucet
bringing aches and stiffness
loss of hair, failing eyesight, hearing loss, and mottled skin;
watching for signs of something more fatal;
locking themselves into positions from which
they could not move;
grumbling about how much better it used to be.

boys eventually turned into old men;
the good ones
still boys at heart.

When writing my last post about Lebanon Junior High pre-season practice, i copied my mother’s typed label of the photo to capture the names. Most of my memories are carved from Estelle Jewell’s documentation on her typewriter, a Kenwood i think. But my copying is far inferior to my mother’s typed recall.

So, after i posted “An Escape to Yesteryear,” my long time friend John Gamble pointed out i had omitted listing his brother, Jimmy Gamble, in the photo. When i checked it out, i had not only omitted one of my all-time best friends, i also had left off Tommy Palmer, who was probably the only guy as close of a friend to Mike Dixon as me.

Jim and i reconnected in the 90’s while he worked in intel out of Huntsville. i drove over to see him on our annual 2018 Chattanooga Christmas trip. We told stories and relived our glory years talking about our capers and unrealized plan to attend the University of Michigan and play football for the Wolverines together.

It was a good day. Jimbo passed just over a year after our visit. i’m glad i saw him that last time.

So Jimbo, please forgive my oversight and omission on the previous post. i still miss you, buddy.

It’s been tough to write for the past week or so. The heat here, mild to many, has drained me. A visit from my Vermont and Boston family was a wonderful reason to hold off. There are other reasons that will not be discussed here. i don’t wish to belabor my darkness. It’s mine, and it will pass.

So trying to think about good stuff i would enjoy as i sat stirring up my pot of memories, i came up with something that some might consider a bit bizarre for a feel-good memory: pre-season football practice. Weird, right? Now, i must warn you a number of these experiences have come up in many of my writings. This is my escape, weird or not.

The first memory went back to August 1956 in Lebanon. Monday, August 20, to be exact. i had been chomping at the bit to realize my dream of being a football star. Lebanon Junior High School, located in the former high school on the corner of North Cumberland and East High Street was a complete change.

The junior high had been established the year before. After the sixth grade, the two elementary schools, Highland Heights, which was adjacent to the new school, and McClain merged for the seventh and eighth grades. McClain on West Main was where i had attended the first six grades. The transition made me feel i was grown up (wrong!).

Pop Warner Football or any youth program earlier that junior high did not exist back then. There were no football camps, no coaches working on techniques, no videos to explain the game and the basics of how you played different positions. There were only pickup games, listening to college games and watching the few college and pro games available each weekend. And, most importantly, the high school games on Friday nights. In the late 40s and early 50s, the high school field was located on the northwest side of Fairview/North Greenwood Avenue where it intersected with West High Street (for you young’uns, the Baddour Parkway did not exist then).

i was excited i would be playing on the field here i watched my idol, Clifton Tribble, race to touchdown after touchdown during the Blue Devils 1951 undefeated season. i was about to face reality.

We reported to the gym behind the school’s parking lot and between the junior high and Highland Heights. Being August in Middle Tennessee, it was humid and hot, “95/95” as we grew fond of saying. i remember laying on the living room rug in shorts. That’s all: shorts. in our living room with the front door open, hoping for a breeze and futilely hoping even more the heat would break.

We received our uniforms and donned them in the locker room. i’m not sure anything they gave me fit. i think i could have turned 360 degrees and the helmet would not have moved. i swear my high tops cleats flopped because of so much room in the toes. The inserted knee pads on my pants drooped below the knees to my shin. Undeterred, i un-majestically jogged behind the elementary school to the north side of the playground bordered by what i believe was Highland Park.

Awaiting us were the coaches and the practice field, aka, the recess play ground. There was some grass but it was sparse to non-existent on that north end. They lined us up and began with calisthenics, the old kind. We did jumping jacks, toe touching windmills, sit-ups, push-ups, and leg lifts for what felt like an eternity.

Then they lined us up and taught us the basics. i was the fullback on the second string. T-formation. i learned the splits between the center, guard, tackle, and end were numbered, even to the right, odd to the left. Mule directions, “gee” to the right and “haw” to the left told us the direction of the play. The first number was the number of the back who would be carrying the ball, quarterback 1, right halfback 2, fullback 3, and left halfback 4. Thus, Gee-24 meant the right halfback would go through the number four hole, between right guard and the right tackle.

i thought that was the coolest thing that existed.

We walked through several plays before gathering for blocking and tackling drills, brutal even for a 12-year old boy. The final drill was using the blocking sleds, trying to push them around while another player was resisting on the back. i don’t recall ever feeling so awkward. We concluded the practice with 40-yard wind sprints, wondering if the coaches would ever call it quits.

And then we walked back to the gym where we would gulp from the water fountain. Back in those days, you were a sissy if you drank water and were encouraged to take salt pills. Nobody died. i think it made us tougher. But it wasn’t fun.

This was repeated for two weeks of weekdays with the scrimmages advancing to full play.

The morning after the first day, i wasn’t sure i could move. i had never done any physical fitness exercises before. Every muscle in my body hurt. i forced myself to put on my clothes and go to practice. By the third practice, the soreness was pretty well gone.

It was time to do it for real. i believe our first game was a home game on Thursday night, September 6. Somewhere, i have the name of the opponent and the score, but now, i just know we won. That’s pretty easy to remember. We won all of them that season. i got in a few games, waiting for the next year. But boy, it was fun.

And so, that brutal two weeks of pre-season practice was worth it, and it was a giant step in my moving toward manhood.

The characters in this pre-season photo: first row- Billy Jennings, James Manning, Jim Jewell, Tommy Wood, Jimmy Gamble, Tommy Palmer, Buddy Boyd, and Reed Oliver; second row – Townley Johnson, Frank Moody, Mike Dixon, Frank Newbell, Eddie Taylor, Earl Majors, and Eddie Sellars; third row – Henry Harding, Mike Gannaway, Paul Thomas, Jimmy McDowell, Ronnie Wooden, David Hall, Jimmy Howell, Jimmy Hatcher, Steve Organ, and LeRoy Dowdy. The coaches were Jimmy Allen and Don England.

Other preseasons to follow.

Hey, Henry and LeRoy, at this stage of my life i am now wondering if you two didn’t have a hand in ensuring i got a uniform that didn’t fit. Anywhere.

A couple of days ago, i sent a birthday wish to one of my almost-cousins. The Lebanon Leftwich’s and Jewell’s are possibly related through the distaff side. My mother was a Prichard. Jo Doris Leftwich a Prichard.

The Leftwich and Jewell siblings figure there has to be a connection. “Prichards” without the “t,” Tennessee. Has to be. We are still looking for the connection. Close families from pretty much the beginning of my generation. Great folks. And, of course, Coach JB Leftwich was more than just a mentor to me and one of father’s closest friends.

The cousin was Barbara Leftwich Froula. A wonderful woman. When wishing her a happy birthday, i told her there would be a bit more later. Then, i couldn’t find it. Today, i found it.

One my jobs was being the county and sports correspondent for The Nashville Banner while gathering up my life and re-pursuing my college degree at MTSU. My article below, in my opinion, reveals i was still a learning sports writer. The men’s scores of the two games were the lead. The real story was the Lebanon High School Blue Devilettes beating a superlative Murfreesboro team. That was subjugated to second tier in the story.

One of the stars for the LHS women was Barbara Leftwich, my cousin. There is a bit of redemption here as the photo with the story shows her at her best.

She’s still a star.

Happy Birthday (again), cousin.