Vermicelli

This summer when Leslie (Holladay Patterson) and Ottis Patterson came to visit us in Minnesota, we got to talking about foods from our youth. Watermelon and mountain oysters were there, of course. Corn on the cob straight out of the field, gooseberry jelly, strawberry rhubarb pie, and cucumbers washed in irrigation ditches made the list. Any West Texas town could (and probably does) boast of these wonders, but others do not have the Givens’ Vermicelli.

I never knew, but I assume that all the other churches had covered dish dinners once a month. We called them Family Night Suppers in the Methodist Church. In Minnesota they call it “hot dish.” Some families had their signature dishes, while others trusted the creative suggestions of sales at the Piggly Wiggly or leftovers hiding in corners of the fridge.

Delmer Givens (though Ottis says he wasn’t the first) would show up every month with a good-sized casserole of his hamburger vermicelli. It was the most delicious food I could imagine. Rich and crunchy and heavy and thick, it brought with it the excitement of a dish my mother never made and the security of a never- varied recipe.

When I married in 1977 I received a recipe for the dish. It came as part of my most treasured wedding gifts—a recipe box stuffed with cards that carry the foods, names, and handwriting of the community of my memory. I tried to make the vermicelli dish once when I was living in Oklahoma and feeling homesick for the community of the Fellowship Hall. It was terrible. Somehow the magic was left out of the recipe, or my adult tastebuds had outgrown the delight. I despaired of ever again experiencing that sight, smell, and taste that marked a truly successful covered dish supper.

Today I stand corrected. During their visit, Ottis made a batch of vermicelli. It was wonderful. We stretched the leftovers out to travel with us to our mini-vacation/family reunion up at the Burntside Lodge. I don’t know whether Ottis brought the magic or the recipe, but his vermicelli carried me back to the fellowship hall. I was even tempted to break into a chorus of Bringing in the Sheaves. I think my sisters and many old friends would have joined in.

Thank You, Mr. Ford

THANK YOU MR. FORD

I have learned—and forgotten—many things in my life. Guess it started with Mother defining words and diagramming sentences on the windshield of the car as we drove to football games. One particular learning moment sticks out for me. It was the first time I realized that science lay at the intersection of mathematics and nature. In many ways, that moment has framed my life’s work. It was a moment of intellectual awakening that still keeps me up at night.

Thank you Mr. Ford!

I have no idea why you decided to show our eighth grade math class the film on the discovery of the speed of sound. What was your inspiration? Maybe you knew I was bored. Maybe you needed the time to grade papers. Maybe they sent you the film by mistake. Maybe no one else remembers it, but it was a defining moment for me.

Part of the thrill was the speed and the math and the mathematization of space and time. Part of the power was that something was unknown then it was known. Part was that I didn’t understand and then I did. That day I learned that nature was knowable, and even I could come to know it.

I didn’t become an aeronautical engineer or applied mathematician or jet pilot, but I did learn to challenge my own assumptions, to explore different ways of knowing, and to engage in inquiry of nature in the company of others.

Thanks!

Is it Olton or Is It Youth?

I always think of Olton on a summer evening when the smell of a thunderstorm threatens. It starts with the hazy lights over the dusty diamond, then many adolescent adventures come back to me. “Watching” the baseball game while showing off my new shorts set, trying to catch the attention of some and avoid the attention of others. We drank pickle juice over ice and nursed fresh sunburns. These leisurely evenings always followed days of working or playing in unrelenting sun.
Making the drag, we drove in endless circles when gas, gossip, and time seemed unlimited. Who brought that traveling carnival to town? Who chose the music at the roller rink? Why did they both smell the same—cotton candy, stale cigar smoke, bad perfume, and sweat?

Then there were the stars. I never have gotten accustomed to living where the sky isn’t the most interesting feature of the landscape. The stars were so close and clear; they stretched from horizon to horizon. Fabulous. A friend in college asked me what the Milky Way looked like because his childhood skies were full of smog and city lights. Even now I am aware that the Big Dipper of the Minnesota sky is not where it is supposed to be.

The smell of the coming storm carries me away, then I come back to the land of 10,000lakes where mosquitoes, road work, traffic jams, and humidity are the signs of summer. I used to think it was youth I missed. Maybe it was Olton.

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