Preface:
Oakfuskee
Over the next months, even years, the celebration and nostalgia from the Oakfuskee gathering of April 20, 2024 are going to continue, especially, in the hearts of all who shared in the reunion -- even those who had to share from afar who are as much a part of it all as the ones who were there.
During the celebration, many of our great friends encouraged us to continue to write and share our columns based on our great memories of LSHS, and others. Ah, there’s so much to say, so many stories – great and small – that come to mind; and it really is the greatest honor to have a very small part in helping all the memories of the class of ’74 stay alive and to stay as fresh as the dew of the morning.
One writer’s perspective doesn’t cover the thousands of memories – that I understand. But our hope is that our perspective will remind you all of even more of your own sweet recollections, or funny memories, and, in that way, fill your hearts with positive thoughts for any given day. Whatever degree of inspiration you gain from the writings, whatever small encouragement – that will make it all worth it.
So, as you sit with your coffee (or, even better, your sweet tea) and share with us, imagine that we are sitting across the table on the veranda of Oakfuskee, all of us talking and communing together as we did before. In your mind you will see that beautiful Oak Tree overlooking us, with the sun setting on the water at its feet mirroring the glow in all of our hearts.
There’s a glow, because we are together again.
Ah, can we go back there just one more time? 😊
Chapter 6
The Spirit of ’74
I think this weekend was one of the great things of which I, and you, have been a part. It was special.
After it was over (although never really 'over'), and when the amazin’ blonde and I arrived to our Texas home from the weekend of reconnecting and remembering – crossing five states and many rivers along the way – we pulled into our gravel driveway with as many as seventy-four new friends, or even a hundred and twenty-five, for that is the approximate number of great Southern friends who were at the gala on Saturday evening.
I knew from the start that it was a possibility that the weekend might impact us for the rest of our lives.
Think on it, we were blessed to dedicate one weekend to the reunion of the class of ’74, and we walked away with a hundred 'new' friends. Oh, I know, we all knew the young faces from the early 1970s, but to live our lives and never get beyond that would have left a huge gap, at least it would have for me. Are you like me and just needed to get to know each other on a deeper level, to reacquaint with those with whom you walked those halls, attended hundreds of games and special occasions and classes, those with whom you walked as you grew up and began to discover exactly who you were?
On the weekend of April 20, 2024, we all had so many engaging conversations – I observed hundreds of them all around me – and each conversation was more than just the words being exchanged; each was creating a bond that we would all have until our walk here is finished.
'Valuing'
I cannot begin to list my own conversations. My only regret is that, when I glanced back every mile of a seven-hundred and fifty-mile journey home, there were a good many of our classmates and a good many of the spouses with whom I was not able to have that five-minute, real face-time.
As we made our way across those five states, thinking along the way, I could not help but be proud of all the spouses (and one sister, too!) who braved the terrain of a loved one’s reunion and walked away having received a great welcome. That's what the Spirit of '74 is all about.
I am praying that not one of the one-hundred and twenty-five who attended on Saturday night or any other part of the weekend walked away feeling left out, unfulfilled, or unvalued. The one thing we all want to do for each other – and this for the rest of our lives – is to help each other feel valued, or, better yet, not just 'feel' but BE valued.
One day in this memoir, Lord willing, we’ll talk together about “balcony people,” and there were a great many balcony people all around us for those three days.
If, by chance, you did not walk away that way, be assured that it is not because you are not valued to the highest degree, because you are, each of us is, from the least to the greatest. There are barriers in the Class of ’74, whether economic, racial, religious, social or personality. We are all one. That’s what makes us great.
The ‘President Effect’
Speaking of ‘value,’ well, there’s Gary Whitfield.
Gary manned the mic at the banquet with the skill of one who nightly emcees such events.
(By the way, we are all very proud of all of those who stood behind the microphone--Patti, Anya, Sherry, and Sheila. It's not easy, but you were great!)
Gary is cool, confident, genuine, and gentlemanly in everything he does. He is what a Christian should look like, in my book. We are all proud of him, and we are proud of Anya, Sherry, Patti, and Sheila and all others who put such great work into bringing old friends together and paving the way for us all to leave with new friends. The best new friends in my book are the old friends with whom we have the distinct privilege of getting to know better, not once, but again and again.
One trait I noticed in that room Saturday evening, April 20, is that we all tend to love just about everybody – and that special quality extends out to everyone we all have met for the past fifty years. Imagine how many you all have influenced positively in all of your interactions. I would say you have captured “The Spirit of ’74.” That’s a special thing.
That room of Southerners was filled with scholars and with ladies and gentlemen who are worth far more than silver and gold, all raised on the same sweet tea and with the same sweet accents and attitudes that make us Southerners indeed.
Friends, a special family gathered at Oakfuskee that evening, a family that loves each other – whether born into it or married into it – for no other reason than because we have Granger-blue blood flowing in our veins, and Granger-blue attitudes, and a Granger-blue love that started ... well, I guess it stated when we were born. It isn’t something you even have to learn to do or develop.
“Oh, you’re a Granger from the class of ’74,” I can hear someone saying, “or you married a Granger. Aw, I love you already. I’ve loved you since before we met.”
You understand.
Better Than Gold
I know sometimes we may ‘gush’ over each other. And if we don’t appear to be gushing on the outside I know we are within.
Here’s one of many examples: I was blessed to stand and talk to Terry Proctor at the Oakfuskee picnic – perhaps more listened to his story than talked, even – for the better part of an hour, so much so that Dixie, who sat nearby at a picnic table, turned and asked Terry if he needed a cough drop. Terry and I laughed, because, by that time, we both had talked about life for a couple of days until we were a little hoarse.
But, do you know that if you had come to me before we talked and said,
“Listen, Terry is about to walk over and talk to you. But if you’ll just walk away and do something else, I’ll give you five-hundred dollars,” that I would have told you that you were crazy?
That five hundred dollars would be gone in a month: That talk with Terry, hearing his story of high school and Navy adventures and telling a little of my own – why, that will last a lifetime.
How many such talks did you have? We can’t even list them, even though in the chapters ahead I have a number of them I want to share, because they left a lasting impact.
Hanging the Moon
I hope not to embarrass the gentleman too badly, but back to Gary Whitfield.
I was beginning to tell you that I normally don’t get celebrity treatment in life. Oh, we all have certain people who occupy special places in our lives and who think we hung the moon, as we say. For us, it would be some of my old ballplayers or old coaches or a special group of church people who are down to earth.
But I will say that in that room Saturday night, Gary Whitfield demonstrated that rare attitude of treating everyone there as if they hung the moon. I hope you all felt that, because, in Gary’s book – and in mine – you hung it just right.
Tony
Of course, there were many missing in that room, and our hearts and love go out to them and their families, too. One of our most recent losses was Tony Pippen. I wrote after his death of how every time I came to town Tony Pippen came to church to see me and hear me speak at Murphy Avenue and later at Four Oaks Church of Christ off the Roanoke Road. Tony could not have treated the president of the U.S. any better than he treated me -- every time, without fail. He demonstrated as much as any the Spirit of ’74.
Oh, don’t misunderstand: It wasn’t because of anything great about me, not at all. It was just because we were together from the beginning of our lives, even wearing those orange patrol-boy belts and patrolling cars at the intersection on the east side of Southwest Elementary. I did not realize this part until recently, but he never forgot some of the tragedies we went through.
Marilyn said to me after we saw Tony about a year ago, “He always refers to your dad when he talks to you. He remembered that day so well.”
The day Marilyn referred to is the day in the sixth grade that my uncle Alton Bailey came and took me out of class at life's first tragedy. Tony never forgot that day. I never understood how much that affected him, hurt him. It carved a special place – or a more special place – in his big heart for me than he already had. It came out every time he would come to visit me.
Tony carved the same special place for all of you, too.
It didn’t matter if I had gotten rich or had become famous, or won more basketball games than anybody in Texas, or had preached the best sermon he had ever heard (which never happened, of course) – no, no amount of accolades would have made a difference.
Tony loved every one of us for us, nothing else.
The Final Four
So, when Gary took the microphone and introduced me for my “four-minute” presentation, he made it sound like I was Lewis Grizzard or Mark Twain. The amazin’ blonde and I sat by Rick and Beth Spencer, and Paul and Diane Lewis. Paul earlier saw I had some notes written and asked if I was nervous. I said,
“Well, this is a little different than any other speaking I do,” I said. “You get one chance to get it right and you don’t want to mess it up.” We both laughed.
After Gary had poured way more accolades on us than we would ever deserve, he called me up and I turned to Paul and said, “This is the NCAA Final Four.”
I think all night long on April 20, 2024 was the Final Four for all of us.
But with that, we tossed the ball in the air and gave it our best shot.
I can never estimate how well we ever actually play in a 'game,' but I can say that the audience I sat with and looked out over on Saturday evening was one of the most special audiences I have ever stood before. If passion makes for a great speech, then the Mr. Lincoln and the Gettysburg Address will just have to step aside.
Why, if you had offered me and Terry Proctor a thousand dollars apiece before I stood up …
Oh, I don’t even have to finish that statement. You know very well how it ends. Of course, I might've had to have a little heart-to-heart with Terry, but, in the end, no amount of money could compare to those moments.
And it just hit me, just now.
Maybe there’s a bigger lesson here, one I may have missed. Perhaps that is why most of us have always lived generally not-so-rich lives.
Maybe we have had it right all along.
Some things far transcend money, or fame, or celebrity status.
You, friends – You are one of those things.
And there’s something else you could never, ever put a price tag on, or judge its value: That grand Spirit of ’74.
Ah, the Spirit of '74: It lives on today more than ever.
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