I Love a Parade

This summer my family got up early the morning of the Fourth of July, drove thirty minutes to a neighboring city, wore silly red, white and blue hats, beads and t-shirts in order to wave at perfect strangers while we walked behind a truck draped in patriotic tissue paper bearing the banner of my employer. We were breathing the fumes of the truck, our feet hurt, we were sweating profusely and getting significant sunburns. And yet, when we were in our car on our way home, we all agreed that we’d had a great time and wanted to do it again next year! What is it about a parade that takes us back to our childhoods?

A couple of my memories of Olton involve parades. The Homecoming Parade of 1967 (or was it ’68?) caused great excitement and worry in my little four-year-old world. My sister and her friends worked on the class float in the evenings after school for what seemed like months. I’m sure it was probably just a couple weeks. I was always eager to ride by with Granddaddy and see the progress being made filling the holes of the chicken wire with little puffs of blue and white tissue paper. The theme of the float was “The Mustangs are Tops” and there were to be two six foot blue and white spinning tops adorning the main area of the float with smiling, waving pep squad members artistically placed around the tops. Then, a few days before the big event, the bad news came. The tops would not spin. I (and I assume the big kids I adored) were crushed. There was a problem with the wiring and they would just have to be stationary tops. But somehow, on parade day (at least as my memory paints it) there was a Homecoming Miracle and the tops spun. Proving to me that, yes indeed, THE MUSTANGS ARE TOPS.

What a Nice Surprise!

What a nice surprise to hear from some old friends at OHS! And, what a coincidence! Actually, my husband and I made an impromptu visit to Olton just yesterday. Most of you might remember that Ronda Gullett and I were very good friends in high school. Ronda overcame many obstacles to get to the place she had arrived at in high school, but because she was shy, she had few friends. Our parents have known each other since we were little children, and before Ronda's accident that almost took her life when she was 4 or 5 years old. We had lots of fun together. To make a long story short, I hadn't heard from her in a long while, so I googled her name on the internet last week. That's when I learned she had passed away 6 years ago. Imagine my shock and regret. So yesterday we made a trip to put flowers on her grave and say goodbye.That being said, I have lots of fond memories of OHS. I was terribly shy in school, but I enjoyed my classes and extracurricular activities. One of my favorite teachers was Ruth Holladay. Being in her speech class helped me come out of my shell and learn to be more assertive and self confident. Being in the senior class play was the most fun of all! Mrs. Holladay was always there to encourage me, and I'll never forget her patience and kindness. I loved being in choir, pep club, and other clubs I had joined. I don't really have any exciting memories to share, but I'll always look back on living at Olton as a fun time.As we made the drive back home yesterday, we came in the back way through Hart so I could see if the old drive-in movie theatre was still standing...and it was! I sure had lots of fun there. then, seeing the cotton fields and familiar farm scenes made me nostalgic. Olton has changed a lot in the past 38 years, but the school still looks the same. How many times did we all drag main with Creedence or the Eagles playing on the radio? How many nights did we come home from the football games , our throats hoarse from screaming "Go Mustangs!" Many fun times, many people who made high school a memorable experience. Thank you for inviting me to share my memories.Vicki (Adcock) GoreStratford, TexasClass of 1969

Summertime!

Finally. We turn off the highway onto the long, straight gravel drive. On one side of us, the putting green and an empty golf cart (too early in the afternoon for farmers to come in from their tractors). On the other side, rows of young cotton, just beginning to bloom in that pounding west Texas heat. Just ahead, the clubhouse and the pool—not a fancy country club, but the ORC—Olton Recreation Center. A whole Saturday afternoon of cannonball splats and breathless dives to the bottom of the deep end. Hot concrete, bare feet, and squeals of pure joy. And after--a little sunburn, a nickel Payday, and the quiet ride back to town with the Spain kids. Sweet exhaustion on a Saturday afternoon. A kid’s oasis right here in Lamb County.

Leslie Holladay Patterson

Basketball

When Title IX came along—giving girls equal opportunity to play sports—I had a special celebration. I was very happy that the girls I was teaching would have the chance for the wonderfully liberating experience of playing competitive sports.
When I tell people today that I played basketball in my youth, they laugh (if they know me well) and look incredulous (if they’re polite). Yes, I played basketball from sixth to eighth grades. I was short, fat, and clumsy, but I remember those years with pride and humor. I can still smell the old junior high gym and hear the eerie echo of hightops on the wood floor. I remember the ugly blue gym suits that we washed once a semester—whether they needed it or not. They had grippers and names embroidered over the left breast—whether we had them or not.
Some people were really good: fast, agile, accurate, coordinated. The rest of us played for the companionship and social status. I still remember my joy when I quit and realized that I would never again be weighed in public. Maybe that’s why I’ve always avoided Weight Watchers, in spite of my obvious need.
I know they say games teach sportsmanship, teamwork, and ethics. I learned other things, too, playing basketball for the Mustangs (junior high girls’ version). I learned:
· There was one place where I didn’t have to care about how I looked.
· The harder I worked, the easier it got.
· Sacrifice (even of carbonated drinks and late nights before games) had its rewards.
· It didn’t matter how good your “man-to-man” defense was when Nazareth played zone.
· What it feels like to do your best and lose, to do less than your best and win, and how to tell the difference.
· Where to sit on the bus if I wanted to gossip and where not to sit if I wanted to sleep.
· How to make it look like I’d showered, even when I hadn’t.
· How to run more laps than I could count.
· To appreciate and depend on my friends.
· That you don’t have to be the best to contribute.
· What sportscasters mean when the talk about “heart.”
· It didn’t really matter how many showed up to watch, and a whole lot of people showed up to watch the boys.

Mostly I learned that title IX was a good thing for women who would encounter the world with energy, creativity, and enthusiasm.

Thanks, Olton Schools, for making the commitment even before federal legislation required it!
Glenda Holladay Eoyang

What Does Summer Smell Like?

Science tells us smell is a powerful trigger for memories. Almost everyone has been in a crowded elevator or plane and gotten a whiff of something that reminds them of their grandmother’s hand lotion or their Daddy’s aftershave. I have certain “Olton” smells that take me back to 1967 and they never fail to make me smile.

• When I open a stick of Wintergreen Gum the aroma puts me at Willie Gene’s knee waiting for him to pull a stick of gum out of his pocket for me. Even after I’d been gone from Olton for over 25 years, he had a stick ready and waiting for me when he came to Mother’s funeral.


• Every time I begin shucking an ear of corn and smell that sweet raw smell I’m sitting on Cotton and Gay’s porch out at the farm and Gay is showing me how each strand of silk makes a kernel.


• As a summer watermelon falls open and the sticky sweet smell wafts up, I’m standing on a chair at our kitchen table, waiting for a piece of one of the many watermelons that would just appear on our back porch all summer long. They were simple gifts from any number of friends who wanted to be sure there was food on our table.

I often wonder what smells my children who are “city kids” will remember. Does soccer practice have a smell? Will they think fondly of their childhood when they drive through a Wendy’s and smell the burgers and fries that are so often supper for a busy family? Will the smell of summer smog on an Ozone Alert Day bring back happy childhood memories when my kids are grown? I’m afraid not. My “memory smells” are smells of the earth and of friendship. They are the smells of a small town.

JoTisa Holladay Klemm

We'll Begin at the Beginning

Recently, while on vacation together, our family was looking at recent issues of the Olton Enterprise. We began to talk about some of the people and events in Olton that had been so very important in shaping who we are. As we laughed and cried at each other's memories, we thought how wonderful it would be to hear your memories, too. After some discussion about the best way to go about this, we have built this blog. If you have a small town memory you'd like to share, please feel free to enter it in the comments or e-mail it to klemm@flash.net and I'll be glad to post it for you. Some of the posts may also be printed, at the editor's discretion, in the Olton Enterprise or other small town papers. By posting to this blog, you are giving your permission for your post to be reproduced. We look forward to hearing from friends old and new.

JoTisa Holladay Klemm
Leslie Holladay Patterson
Ottis Patterson
Royce Holladay