Step forward and sign your name....

In August of 1969 I turned eighteen years old, and like every law-abiding, red-blooded American I hustled down to the Selective Service office and registered for the draft. Yes, the draft.....everyone's favorite way to get matriculated into military service. But wait, I'm going to college and have been granted one of those great incentives for staying in school, a student deferment! No problem here.

Fast forward a couple of years; "Yes ma'am, I'm still in school and should still have a deferment. No ma'am, I have not dropped out. Yes ma'am, I've transferred twice within the last year......What?"

In August of 1971 Miss Elizabeth and I were married and were preparing to move to Tulsa where I would be attending the University of Tulsa. The conversation above took place in October, two months after we had exchanged our vows. Possible change of plans.....

Thirty-four nervous young men from southeast Kansas were huddled outside waiting for the office door to open.  We were told to be there by 8:00am. It was now 8:05, and the lady inside finally ambled to the front and clicked the lock to open the door. I was still holding out hope that my student deferment had been reinstated, but I had heard nothing, so I joined the group as we shuffled through the door and into the large waiting area.

The woman walked to her desk, sat down, and said, "You are all going to be boarding that bus parked outside which will then take you to Kansas City for your induction physical. When I call your name, step forward and sign your name on the sign-up sheet."  She was very matter-of-fact, and very efficient.

As the names were being called, in alphabetical order of course, I stood near the back, halfway listening and hoping my name had not made the final cut.....Wait, she had jumped right past the Ns, and my name was not called.  I knew it, I would be going back home soon. "Westin, David", my good friend's name was called....probably last on the list, poor guy.

"Newcomb, Jack, would you come up here please?" She was looking at me over the top of her glasses. This was it, I was headed back home instead of Viet Nam!

"Mr. Newcomb, you are now in charge of this group of young men! They are your responsibility." she said as she handed me a large manila envelope. Wait a minute, there's been a terrible mistake....I don't even belong here....I'm enrolled in college!  She continued, "In the envelope you will find everyone's meal tickets, bus tokens, room reservations"........her voice droned on, but I heard little of what she was saying. 

A few minutes later we were on the bus and picking up speed as we headed to Kansas City.....a mistake to be sure, but what did I know?

At age five, words like segregation and integration meant nothing...

Recently, there's been a great discussion among many of my facebook friends regarding race relations in the small community of our youth. It's been incredibly interesting to glean from the posts how each of us came away with a different perception of our lives in the fifties and sixties. Some views are very negative, while others are overly rosy. I fall somewhere in between.

How is it that people who grew up literally across the street from each other in our small town have such different memories? I suppose it all depends on which side of the street you were on.

I started elementary school in 1956, just two years after our elementary schools became integrated. At the age of five, words like segregation or integration meant nothing, and color was something we were trying to learn from the old color-wheel. You know, red, green, yellow, blue.....and yes, black and white.

I guess, based upon the facebook discussion, there was indeed racism, bigotry, and segregation in our small town. Looking back, the Black population resided primarily on the east side of town, although there were some Black families scattered throughout the community. I never really gave that much thought, it was just the way it was.

My neighborhood was quite different. I lived in the far northeast part of town, in a modest house situated within the shadows of the oil refinery and set back about thirty feet from the road to the city dump. The tank cars clanged along the railroad tracks about 50 yards from our front yard. But, most of all, our neighborhood was an eclectic collection of people of color. Within two square blocks I had friends who were Black, Indian, Hispanic, and even a few White folks. That was my world, so when integration came along it was simply an extension of my life.

When I started school, I was joined by the friends from my neighborhood and a whole lot of other kids who looked just like them. Nothing different, just more of the same. I know now that the situation was different in other schools, but at the time, that was outside of my little world.


Sometimes I wish we could go back to those simpler times and live like those kids of all colors who played together, fought together, and lived life without regard to race. I know we've come a long way since then, but the young kids in that fully integrated neighborhood of my youth already had it figured out.....

But then, we grew up and made it complicated. Too bad, but what do I know.

The epitome of cool....

Fall of 1967....I'd just turned sixteen years old and was driving the 1957 chevy I'd spent all summer getting ready. 

The transformation was a sight to behold.....new blue paint, new white interior, new carpet, new chrome reverse wheels, and a V-8 engine with a throaty growl thanks to newly installed dual exhaust with glass packs.

What had started as a $95 "Needs a little TLC" project was complete! I'd spent every penny earned that summer, and had enlisted the help of everyone I knew to get it done, and now.....

Junior year, here I come.....epitome of cool.....at least in my mind's eye.  That's all that matters, right?

The first few weeks of school are filled with all kinds of administrative necessities; changing schedules, home room assignments, class elections, etc. etc.  Of course, we also started football practices right after school, everyday.....busy times.

Typically, we would finish practice around 5:30pm; I'd drive to the A&W for a large root beer (and to show off the car), then drive home where Mom would have dinner on the table by six.

You could always tell when Mom was upset by the way she moved around the kitchen, a little too much clanging of the pots and pans, a little too much force when setting the plates on the table, and not a hint of a smile......hmmm, wonder what's wrong?  I'd done nothing, so I assumed it was something unrelated to me and I could rest easy.  But, as I settled into my place at the table, I was met with "that look"......Uh oh, what had I done?  My mind raced, but came up blank. "What?" I said as she continued to give me the silent treatment.

Finally she said, "How are things at school?" Now I'm only sixteen, but even at that age, I knew this was a loaded question....."Fine" I said, as my mind continued to frantically search for a reason for this interrogation.

"I ran into Johnny's mother at the grocery store today."  Again, I've got no clue. Johnny is my best friend, but as far as I knew we were innocent of any recent wrong-doings, I swear!  Then, Mom said, "The first thing Mary said to me was congratulations on Jack being elected as class president. I was so embarrassed because I didn't even know what she was talking about!"

Ahh, a sin of omission, I can live with that! I'd simply forgotten to mention the results of the election at school.

It wasn't the first time I'd failed to divulge things that had happened at school....like that big fight in the 8th grade, or that time we set off the M-80s right outside the window, or perhaps a thousand other things if I was being completely honest. So, I said I was sorry, she forgave me, and all was back to normal.

A few weeks later, this very same class president, driving his very cool '57 chevy, was idling through the aforementioned A&W. The place was packed.....I was cool....   

I was out of gas!

Everyone who gets a little too big for their britches, such as the sixteen year old "epitome of cool", knows the feeling of wanting to be able to disappear. But, instead you become fodder for the school newspaper, ratchet yourself down a couple of notches, and learn a little humility. 

Could happen.....but really, what do I know?

Traditional Christmas via Fed-Ex

For the first time ever, we won't have anyone coming home for Christmas. I suppose it was inevitable as the boys are now grown, with kids of their own, and obligations pulling them in other directions to celebrate the Christmas Holiday.

We're still Christmas shopping and will make a long drive to Wisconsin where we will exchange gifts, marvel at the excitement of grand kids tearing into their packages, and spend some time with our son's family who lives in Kenosha.  It seems strange to not be decorating and preparing for the madhouse that usually takes place here at the ranch, but such is life.

So, with no one coming to visit, the real question is whether or not we put up a Christmas tree for just the two of us.  It's not like it's much of a chore.  After all, it's one of those artificial types that basically requires me to pull it out of the attic and plug the lights into an electric socket.  Voila, instant Christmas cheer!  But, for whatever the reason, we're not feeling the urge to get it done this year.

When we were younger, and our kids couldn't wait for Christmas to arrive, it was different.  First, we always had real trees.  Whether we went to cut one ourselves, or simply bought one of the pre-cut trees from one of those "Xmas Tree" places, they were always fresh and filled the living room with the scent of evergreen. Sure, they were messy, but it simply added to the spirit of Christmas. 

We also had a tradition that's long since ended.  My youngest son's birthday is December 14th, so we would always celebrate his Birthday before we decorated the Christmas tree. It was our way of separating the two events, and making sure his Birthday was a special occasion. Now that he is out on his own that tradition is no longer something we do.

Last week Fed-Ex delivered a small box. Inside was the cutest little live pine tree, complete with a set of lights and a few ornaments. It's meant to serve as a miniature Christmas tree, then to be planted outside where it will grow into a permanent part of the landscape. Dear friends of ours sent it to us, and I think it's an omen.

So, on December 14th, we're going to decorate our little "Live Christmas Tree" and celebrate like we used to do. It may just be the two of us, but it will bring back the memories of many Christmases gone by.  Maybe it will even give birth to a new tradition.  I certainly hope so, but what do I know.

But sir, we're making history.....

Hot and sultry best described that summer in Kansas, and as we approached the July 4th Holiday it just got worse.  Most of us were fifteen years old, had our "restricted" drivers licenses, and were full of mischief.....

It wasn't that we were actually looking for ways to get into trouble, it's just that it was so darn tempting at times. 

That year several of the football players had enrolled in summer school under the pretense that we would have to carry a lighter load the following semester.  The real reason, of course, was that our "restricted" licenses provided freedom to drive to and from school.....with an occasional side trip thrown in for good measure.Okay, lets be honest, the side trips far exceeded the letter of the law, but what the heck!

Our class, World History, was taught by the nicest man you could imagine. He had retired from teaching several years earlier, and looking back, I'm sure this was a way to supplement his retirement income. Regardless, we all liked him, and probably took full advantage of his good nature.

We were situated in a room on the ground floor of a non air-conditioned building, and most days it was stifling. Even with the tilt-in windows opened wide there was little or no air flow to help dry the perspiration dripping from our brows, and sticking the shirts to our backs......like I said, stifling hot.  Our teacher, bless his soul, was old school and wore a coat and tie.....everyday.

As we neared the end of the summer session, a day dawned that was semi-cloudy with a nice breeze that felt almost cool. We convinced "Mr. Nice" to let us open the double doors near the back of the room in order to take full advantage of the welcome breeze, and soon the sounds and smells of summer wafted into the room. Perfect!

During the morning break several of us congregated just outside the open doors until we were called back into the room. The three amigos, Randy, Johnny, and I were the last to saunter back inside and take our seats.

Two M-80s, one lit cigarette, and about five minutes, give or take, can really create havoc in a classroom full of unsuspecting kids......who knew?

I sat across the room near the front, Johnny was a couple of rows back, and Randy was seated nearest to the door. As history was being taught, we were about to make some of our own.  Suddenly Randy's head went down and he covered his ears. -- KABOOM -- Holy cow, was it ever loud as the sound reverberated and echoed throughout the room and down the hall.  Then, heavy blue smoke, carried by the nice breeze, began to find its way inside.....uh oh.

Poor "Mr. Nice" was beside himself as he tried to control the chaos.  "Everyone, outside! We need to evacuate the building, right now!"  We did, and after a short discussion about who, what, where, how, and why (when had already been established).....everyone filed back to their seats. 

But wait, where are the three amigos? 

You know, I really don't recall the details.  But then, there's a lot things from my youth that keep reminding me, what did I know?

Searching for solid ground...

It was May 2, 1983 and yours truly fancied himself as an up and coming young executive with a fortune 100 company. Life was good, traveling around the country on the Company dime, and meeting with other young executives who were spending their company's money as freely as me.

Yes, we were all in the employ of "Big Oil", and money was no object as long as we could come to an agreement about developing the next major oil field.

My job at the time was to negotiate multi-million dollar joint ventures with other companies; pretty heady stuff for a young lad from rural Kansas.  But, I had gone to the "right" school, hit the industry at the "right" time, and was told that I had the "right" stuff.....Who was I to argue.

Little did I know that the date, May 2, 1983, would be just the first of many events that were to "shake my world".

Earlier that year our company had been shaken up by a couple of hostile takeover attempts led by the infamous T. Boone Pickens, and like most companies at the time, management elected to pay a huge sum of money to make him "go away". A practice that came to be known as paying "greenmail".....a not so subtle reference to paying blackmail money to have a hostage released.  The trouble with playing the game was that it made a company even more vulnerable to the next takeover.....and so it was with us.

Suddenly, we were no longer in control of our own destiny, and our futures were shaky at best.  Employees began to abandon ship and search for solid ground as our new management asserted its influence. Being the eternal optimist, I stayed on to perform the same job with the new company, and thus, made that fateful trip to California.

I landed at the airport and caught a cab to the hotel where I checked into my ground-level room.  I had no more than sat down on the bed when it was apparent I was no longer in Kansas.  My first thought was that I had activated one of those old coin-operated vibrating beds, then, I saw the lamp swaying back and forth and watched as the mirror rattled on the wall.  What the heck?  Earthquake!  A totally new experience for me.

The little town of Coalinga was the epicenter of a 6.2 earthquake, and I wasn't all that far away. Geez, where I was from tornadoes might blow everything away, but the dad gum earth stayed put!

Like I said, that experience was just the beginning of many challenges for me.  Our new owners began to systematically dismantle their acquisition, and it soon became a very unpleasant place to work. I lasted until 1989 before parting company with "Big Oil" forever.

Last week Miss Elizabeth and I were sitting on the sofa watching television when the house began to rumble and shake.....Hey, I've felt this before, but we're in Kansas where the earth is rock solid....right?  I guess not, as we've experienced another trembler since then.

My only hope is that this earthquake doesn't set off a similar sequence of events that led to the demise of a fine company back in my youth.....I think I'm much too old to start over now, but really, what do I know?

Was the outcome ever in doubt......I think not.

This month is one when many high schools and colleges hold their homecoming celebrations.  It's a chance for alumni to return to their respective schools, spend some time with old friends, relive some old memories, and hopefully, celebrate the event with a victory over a fierce rival on the football field.

Usually the week preceding the game is filled with activities as well. There's the obligatory spirit week contest, pep rally, and usually a homecoming parade.  Of course, the main event occurs at half-time when the Homecoming Queen is crowned, and receives the celebratory kiss from the captain of the football team. Afterward, at least at most high schools, the finale is a big homecoming dance.

At least that's the way I remember it from "back in the day".....

My senior year in high school I was selected as captain of the football team.  Actually, that's not quite true, as for the first time in team history we had tri-captains. I'm not really sure why or how that happened, but it did and the duties were shared among the three of us.....can you see where this is going?

As the Homecoming festivities approached, the voting for the Queen was on every one's mind.  Of course the only candidate I remember from that election ended up being my current bride, Miss Elizabeth, and in my mind the outcome was never in question.

The week before Homecoming, one of our captains incurred a season ending ankle injury...out for the season, but still available to perform the captain's duty of crowning the queen. Not In This Lifetime!

When I heard that the decision had been made to have our injured captain crown the queen, I was shall we say "concerned".  I've always been a pretty easy going guy, and I don't suppose the principal and guidance counselor had ever seen a different side of me before that day. I'm not sure my argument was all that persuasive, but in the end it was agreed that "if" the crown went to Miss Elizabeth, I would do the honors..... 

Again, if my memory serves me correctly, the senior class won the spirit week award, we had a fine pep rally that whipped everyone into a frenzy for the big game, followed by a somewhat haphazard parade around the school. We then played a big game against a team we were supposed to beat, and yes, there was a big homecoming dance.

We lost the game to Fort Scott 14-7, and the dance was a dud.

However, in the fall of 1968, one of the tri-captains crowned the homecoming queen, and life's been a celebration ever since.

I believe it was the right selection......Yes, " I do."