The Sweetest Sooner Win!

I have been an Oklahoma Sooner fan since the 1950s.  Like a lot of native Oklahomans, I was raised in the culture of both Oklahoma Sooner football and the unique history that is Oklahoma.  My family roots are in Okmulgee County, Oklahoma per my sister, Geraldine Middleton Williams’ legacy book recording of the Middleton/Morgan/Childs/Eddington family histories, “Converging In Okmulgee County, Oklahoma”, on file in the Henryetta Public Library and elsewhere.

My first personal exposure to the excitement of Sooner football came during my elementary years at Roosevelt Grade School in Henryetta when a classmate, Gary Merryman, brought to school a football autographed by many of the members of a recent OU National Championship team.  That experience brought the true greatness of national pride in Oklahoma Football to life for me and it has been a factor of great importance in my personal life ever since.

In the years to follow, I listened to most Sooner football games on the radio.  During the fall season of 1963, the intensity of my Sooner enthusiasm became firmly established.  Saturday afternoons for the next several years found me washing cars, changing oil, and fixing flats at my Dad’s  By-Pass Texaco gas station in Chelsea, Oklahoma.  The excitement of Bob Barry’s radio voice held me in absolute command as I went about my duties.  Through the 1960s and decades to follow, those radio broadcasts were such a vital connection to Sooner football for me and I am sure to many others of my generation.

Some of the most memorable games involved the greatest names in college football history.  I recall how devastating were the runs of Gayle Sayers.  And all the intensity of the OU/Texas games.  Sometimes I pity the young fans of today who have the luxury of the high definition flat screen television broadcasts of practically every OU game.  Back in the 1960s through the 1980s I desperately struggled to find a radio station within range of my AM radio at home or in the car in order to hear each game.  Sometimes it was not possible or perhaps the reception would come and go allowing only occasional updates.

But the most exciting and surely the most pleasurable of all the Sooner victories have come during those seasons when the teams were challenged by injury or during rebuilding years when they would sometimes lose to teams they should have defeated and yet find a way to beat a supposed championship team or a team assumed to be an overwhelming favorite.

Well the Sugar Bowl game on January 2, 2014 must go down in my log book as the sweetest and most satisfying game I can recall.  Of course, it is important to note that my memory may not be that great anymore.  But the pregame hype, the newspaper report in the Houston Chronicle, the ESPN clowns all climbing on the Alabama/McCarron bandwagon was so disheartening and yet, a fantastic setup for what was to come.  They couldn’t have scripted the program any better for all of us Sooner Fans.

I haven’t screamed, chortled, hollered, yelled, or laughed more in years!  Yes my ATT U-verse on the flat screen TV allowed me to enjoy every second of the action.  And like so many other OU Sooner fans, I was not truly able to relax and accept the outcome until Geneo Grissom scooped up the fumble caused by Eric Striker’s stripping of McCarron.  What a hilarious end to a classic Sooner Magic performance.  BOOMER SOONER!!

The Piano Teacher

Following is a story which has been posted on the back of a piano recital program for several years. The recitals are held each year in early December. Here is the musical legacy of my dear wife Judy DeMoss Middleton:

The Piano Teacher

Judy began piano lessons at age four in the small town of Independence, Kansas. She liked her first teacher very much but the lady soon moved away. After studying under another teacher, Mildred Dean, for a number of years, Judy began, at age thirteen, a long and productive time of study with Miss Regina Schicke, a highly accomplished pianist who was prominent in community music organizations and activities.

Miss Schicke was employed at Hille Music, a longtime family owned store, where musical instruments, accessories, records, and sheet music were sold and a variety of music lessons were taught. Hille Music was located in the heart of town on a prominent corner where shiny band instruments and lovely pianos were always on display in the large windows that wrapped around the entire store front. Judy loved going to the music store each week to take lessons, and a few years later, worked there part-time while a high school and college student.

Miss Schicke eventually married Bob Hille, son of the owners of Hille Music. The couple operated the business themselves and enjoyed many years as community leaders in all things musical. As Mrs. Bob Hille, Regina continued to teach Judy on piano and organ into her college and adult years.

When Judy went away to Pittsburg State University to continue her education in Accounting, she also continued to study piano and organ. A high point in her music experience came when she played the very large and beautiful pipe organ in the university music auditorium as part of the music department’s recital program.

One of her first major purchases, following college graduation, was a very nice organ which she found at Hille Music. The instrument produced such rich sound quality that Bob Hille arranged to borrow it on one occasion for use in a community production of Handel’s Messiah.

Many years later, Judy made another equally significant purchase at Hille Music. She purchased the baby grande piano on which the students in today’s program are taught in the living room of her home.

On each occasion, while shopping for and appraising the organ and the piano, Judy relied on the expert ears and advice of her parents, David and Shirley DeMoss, both skillful musicians, before making the final decision. In honor of her parents and those fine piano teachers who taught, corrected, and encouraged her in the development of strong piano and organ skills, Judy’s piano room is adorned with memorabilia from her home town, the handiwork of her parents, and a painting by Nelle Reneau, Judy’s beloved art teacher.

The opportunity to share the music and art heritage of her life with children and adults of her community brings much pride and happiness to the teacher.

By James Middleton
December 9, 2007

Garland Benton: Keeper of Special Places

For all who passed that way along the edge of town or were fortunate enough to have lived there, Kraft’s Pasture holds a special place in our hearts. Beyond the railroad track it beckoned us to come and follow the meandering paths of dairy cows across a bucolic pasture toward the distant tree line to that swimming hole on the far side of the pasture. Beneath shady trees of oak and cottonwood on banks of red and gray shale and brown sandstone the naturally formed pool lay nestled in a bend of Coal Creek at the foot of the rugged hill to the west. Many a young man of Henryetta knew the place and swam there. For all of us it was and is, no doubt, a very special place.

But for one of us, the aura and the intrigue of that place was much more. For Garland Benton, mere memories of those days were not enough. Garland always held big dreams. Owning and occupying this place was the ultimate dream. And own it he did, that and even more of the surrounding area.

What was it about the land beyond the tracks that held such appeal to Garland and so many others who grew up there during those golden days of the 1950s and 1960s? Within the boundaries of that property were many of the elements that appeal to the outdoorsman. The pasture and brush made good cover for quail, dove, and rabbits. The woods along the creek and up the hillside held coon, squirrel, and various other critters. A variety of fish, frogs, turtles, and snakes called Coal Creek home. As the seasons changed Kraft’s Pasture offered new views and new adventures. Spring was always just around the corner.

It is both heartwarming and sad to know how much Kraft’s Pasture meant to Garland. Heartwarming because he preserved that special place and sad that his time there has been cut short. Though we can never bring back those days spent beyond the tracks, we can always be grateful for this unique individual, The Keeper of Special Places.

James Middleton
December 4, 2013

A Grandmother's Love

A Grandmother’s Love

There is something special about a grandmother’s love,
For it is unique in every detail.
Known only to a grandmother and those upon whom bestowed,
A grandmother’s love is of the deepest kind.
Its emotions run deep with love and high with pride.
Unbounded by silly things like rules and homework,
A grandmother’s love is focused on one lucky child at a time.
Perhaps only a moment here and there in person,
But hours of her alone time are devoted to those kids,
Telling friends every detail of accomplishments,
Showing pictures and sharing it all on Facebook.
So children grab hold of her hand and gaze into her eyes.
Keep her smile in your heart and her warmth in your memory,
For her time is fleeting and soon only her memory will remain.
Yes, a grandmother’s love is special and lives within each heart.

By: James Middleton October 23, 2013

No Ordinary Joe

Some of us spend much of our lives struggling to qualify, to gain a formal education or certification that will be recognized by some authority and perhaps be our ticket to a career or a better job. This is the story of one of nature’s own, one who was born with an innate understanding, born to plot his own independent course of achievement; shunning authority and formality. This story is about the big brother I never had, my double cousin, Howard Joe Middleton who died unexpectedly on Sunday, May 29, 2011. He was no ordinary Joe.

We grew up in Henryetta, Oklahoma in the 1940s, 50s, and 60s. Since I was six years younger, I saw Joe as a hero figure whose attention I seldom got but whose attention I relished in those rare and special moments when I was in his presence.

When I was just a youngster, he would sometimes greet me with a hearty “Hello Bames” (his pet nickname for me) as he tossed me up over his shoulder and told me he was carrying me like a “sack of potatoes”. While our families were next door neighbors, I was an interested observer as he and other family and friends played sports in our front yard or engaged in snowball fights after building what seemed to me to be the largest snowman I had ever seen.

But the most prominent and indelible image of Joe involves automobiles; his fascination with them and the teenage troubles that resulted from his rebellious nature and penchant for the thrill and challenge of drag racing. These tendencies led to a number of vehicle related incidents including several stripped gears and burnt up clutches. I am sure there was much turmoil and consternation in the house next door over all these problems. But from my point of view, the primary result was the excitement of watching while my dad, Everett, repaired the damages in our back yard at night with help from Joe and his dad, Uncle Robert. These were family affairs with me, my cousins and my sisters providing an audience for the performance as if it were a live production in our own little amphitheater. The memories of cars up on wooden ramps and the glow of the shop light against the darkness of the summer night remain vivid in my mind.

As he matured, Joe developed his expertise in hot rodding. He seemed to always be working on one of his cars. It was an exciting treat for me when he would invite me to go for a spin to demonstrate the effectiveness of his latest modification or adjustment. But Joe was not into custom cars. He was only interested in speed and power. His cars were like him, rugged and fast. These brief rides for me were thrilling and scary experiences as I felt the power of acceleration, the roar of the exhaust, the whining of the gearbox, and the intense heat emanating from the engine. With one hand on the wheel and the other on the gearshift knob, Joe was in his element and master of his craft.

Joe never needed a college degree or much formal education. He was a natural man; an independent soul, born to discover. His life was a continual quest for practical knowledge of all things mechanical. His classrooms were real life workstations such as under the hood of a car, the locomotive, the aircraft, and the various technical workshops of 20th Century America. Joe was secure in his own abilities and determination; things they don’t teach in school.

He was at once a rebel, a loner, a storyteller, a rambler, and a teacher. I was fortunate to receive guided tours of more than one of his motorhomes which were given rich in detail of each and every feature and accessory. To share these things seemed to be a source of pleasure and pride for Joe.

Here is my tribute to Joe:

No Ordinary Joe

Oh to be a natural man,
To know what I want and pursue it;
To have little need for instruction
Yet be the one to teach and instruct.
No, I am not a natural man,
But I was lucky to have known one,
And to know what one looks like.
I marveled at his talent
And shared brief moments;
Moments of excitement and pride.
I captured the thrill of speed,
Felt the rush of power ,
Caught the racing wind on my face,
And in my life gained inspiration
From the one who knew the source.
The one who never had to ask;
It seems he already knew.
And my life was richer I know,
Because he was no ordinary Joe.

By James Middleton
June 2, 2011

Memorial Day

Memorial Day brings memories of friends and family who have passed away and of time spent at various cemeteries on this day. Besides my own family and loved ones, I most often associate this day with my high school and college friend George Brian Allison. His is one of the 50,000 or so names engraved on the Viet Nam Memorial Wall. It is his death in that war that has left me always questioning the minds and the motivations of leaders who decide to send young people into battle. How does one differentiate national defense from something different than the desire to dominant regions and resources for purposes of national self interest?

George was a complicated guy; an impish redheaded, freckle-faced boy. He was simultaneously funny, friendly, sarcastic, smiling, sneering, creative, aloof, and downright difficult to deal with. We spent a lot of time together through junior high and high school. Shop class is one of the memorable scenes I associate with George at school. We talked a lot as we worked on our projects. We stuck pretty close together, always working at the same table and doing similar projects.

Driver's Ed was another similar case. George had the most hilarious laugh. When he got tickled, his nose and lips would curl and contort and his pale complexion turn a rosy red, as a humorous or tense moment got the best of him. And believe me, Driver's Ed provided us with many a funny time as we sat in the back seat while some very inept students attempted three-point turn arounds and parallel parking in the 1962 Chevrolet stick shift vehicle. The harder we tried not to laugh out loud, the more difficult it became.

Heading off to college at Northeastern State in Tahlequah is another unforgettable time. We each had packed our stuff into our cars and drove our two car convoy down the main street of Chelsea and out Highway 28 toward Adair. He was driving that green 1953 two door Chevy, the one his folks bought new and then gave to him when he turned 16 in 1963. I was driving the 1951 Ford two door hardtop that I had bought from the Simmons family after it had sat parked along Route 66 in Chelsea for quite a while. It was a solemn but exciting Sunday morning.

When George was killed in Viet Nam in April, 1968, I felt so bad for his parents, John and Mildred. I only saw them a couple of times after his death. Years later, on a Memorial Day in the late-1990s, I called them and enjoyed a nice talk.

More recently, I saw Wayne Stinnett, who is now married to George's sister and enjoyed talking about George and getting an update on the family. John and Mildred have passed on by now. Last year, I also talked to Lloyd Huffman who still lives in Chelsea. He is friends with George's nephew, Donnie McPheeters. Lloyd obtained some pictures of George and the 1953 Chevy which George had done a lot of work on prior to his death. I am now happy to have electronic copies of those photos.

In earlier years, my memories of Memorial Day involve time spent with my cousin Bobby Middleton at Salem Cemetery, a small rural cemetery southeast of Henryetta, Oklahoma. I recall the two of us sitting in his family's red 1959 Rambler station wagon listening to the radio broadcast of the Indianalpolis 500 race while the older folks decorated the graves of our ancestors. A large family gathering of aunts, uncles, and cousins was usually held at Nichols Park in the afternoon.

TWILIGHT TIME IN THE GARDEN OF EDEN

Twilight time in the Garden of Eden and surprised I have not been
thrown out.

Heavenly shades of night surround me, sitting on a lawn chair in
the doorway of my garage.

Towering pines across the street form a majestic silhouette against
the whitish gray sky.

A cool evening breeze caresses my face as I admire once
lowly yaupon scrubs; since transformed into massive sculptures.

The gas light by the walk lights up the coy faces of pansies and
highlights the grille of the new Civic, dwarfed beside an aging Acura.

Yes, at times like this, I do believe, I occupy a better place than
Adam or Eve.

For it is my choice to rest here and be the one who decides,
when from the garden I will leave.

Will I return? Who can say?

But for now I dwell here at the end of a beautiful day.