Tall Tales of a Shorter Nature
A Tail of Woe Monday, January 2, 1978. The Arkansas Marching Razorback Band was in Miami for the Orange Bowl, affectionately called the Balaba Bowl by band members. Perhaps because of their similarity to oranges, balabas was a band-coined euphemism for breasts, which coincidentally were my primary goal in life at that time. Heedless of …
February 20, 2021
It was Saturday night after the band’s holiday concert. Since I was a groovy band kid, I was invited to a post-concert party at the home of band sisters Carol and Cheryl Mathis. Carol played baritone sax, and I played tenor sax, so we often sat together in band. Carol could chew gum and play …
February 1, 2021
It was a warm Saturday at War Memorial Stadium in Little Rock in late Summer, 1974. The McClellan High School Marching Lion band was lined up side-by-side just a few steps off the sideline of the AstroTurf field awaiting an afternoon performance. We were bedecked in our hot, black woolen uniforms in the blazing …
February 1, 2021
During the resurgence of classic horror movies in the seventies, I discovered the Universal horror monsters. Frankenstein and his Bride, the Wolf Man, the Creature from the Black Lagoon, the Invisible Man, the Mummy, the Phantom of the Opera. Resplendent in black and white, I loved them all. But my favorite was Dracula, the …
February 1, 2021
Ninety-nine McClellan band kids had been dropped off that August afternoon with their instruments at the University of Central Arkansas in Conway. About equally divided between sophomores, juniors and seniors (McClellan was a three year high school), we were there to learn our new halftime show for the fall. As it turned out, I was …
February 1, 2021
In February, 1972, Mom and Dad brought home a little fuzzball to join our family. She was off-white (a color the AKC called “champagne”), a little bigger than a softball, with bright, intelligent eyes. She was a poodle, half miniature and half toy, and she was the cutest thing I had ever seen. Rather than …
February 1, 2021
In August, 1968, after a year of apartment dwelling, our family moved to a newly built home in the growing suburb known as Southwest Little Rock. There were no parks near us and relatively few kids in the neighborhood. There was never even enough breeze to fly kites. I sometimes tried tying a kite to …
February 1, 2021
Nobody in my family was what you would call a serious drinker. Dad had a can or two of Old Milwaukee or Pabst Blue Ribbon at the company picnic every summer. In the cabinet sat a couple of souvenir Hurricane glasses from New Orleans, about the only evidence that Mom ever imbibed. According to her, …
January 31, 2021
In 8th grade PE class, I was relieved to find my teacher was Joe Walker. Coach Walker knew me because his son Duke was best friends with my brother Randy. I had hope for leniency and was planning to throw myself on the mercy of the court, so to speak. Lee Buxton, my 7th grade …
January 31, 2021
Most weekends began promptly after school on Friday when Mom, Dad, Randy and I would pile into our enormous-by-modern-standards, tastefully tan Pontiac Catalina. Dad would point the land yacht northeast and we would leave behind lesser metropolitan Little Rock. Along the 90 minute drive, we passed through several towns no larger than a four-way intersection, …
January 31, 2021