'TIL NEXT TIME, JERRY

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die.

~Mary Frye

Jerry Lynn Davis

Friday, October 31, 2008

Jerry Lynn Davis Sr. "Geepaw"

Abilene

Jerry Lynn Davis Sr. "Geepaw" of Abilene passed away on Tuesday, October 28 at his home with his loving family close by. A Memorial Service will be held Saturday, November 1, 11:00 AM at Baker Heights Church of Christ under the direction of North's Funeral Home, 242 Orange. His remains will be interred at the Abilene Texas State Veterans Cemetery when it opens in 2009.

Jerry was born in Ballinger, TX July 10, 1939 to Sidney Estes and Mae Belle. Jerry married Carolyn Marie Green on April 7, 1962 in Winters, TX. He attended Ballinger High School and joined the Army with his brother Gene in 1957. He faithfully served his country in the Army as a Military Policeman in Vietnam, a recruiter and working with young troops as a career counselor. He retired from the Army as a Sergeant First Class in 1978 to San Angelo, TX where he attended ASU and earned an Associate Degree in Business in 1980. He joined the U.S. Postal Service in 1982 working as a clerk, carrier, and custodian during his 20-year career. Jerry served as an elder of the North Main Church of Christ, in Winters and loved volunteering at Hendrick Medical Center. He was a member of Baker Heights Church of Christ for 14 years. Jerry loved High School football, Volkswagens, and visiting people. Jerry was known for his love of people and his sense of humor.

He is survived by his wife Carolyn of Abilene, his three children Jerry Jr., Karen and her husband Steve, DeDe and her husband Vance; six grandchildren Quinten, Madison, Ashten, Avery, Logan, and Meadow; his brothers Wilburn and Gene; his dog Eddie and so many close friends who will miss his friendship and sense of humor. The family would like to give thanks to Dr. Hirsch, and all of the wonderful nurses that cared for him.

Accepting donations in lieu of flowers to Baker Heights Church of Christ and Hendrick Hospice Care.

online condolences may be sent to www.northsfuneralhome.com

*************************************************************************************

I know each of you join me in sending our condolences to Carolyn and her family at this time of loss. JERRY will be missed by all who knew him.

Peace and love,
Marilyn

MORE HITCHHIKING ADVENTURES

Ter Cothran sent the following: “Your blog on hitchhiking was most interesting and brought up an old memory.

It was the summer of 1955 and I was at the Hillcrest Drive-In watching a movie called Lullaby of Broadway, with James Cagney and Doris Day. I went to the snack bar during intermission and started talking to Jimmie Robbins. We somehow got on the subject of seeing the state of Colorado. Before I knew how it happened we were making plans to go THAT NIGHT. At the time I had a 1951 Henry J that was not in the best shape. Jimmie didn't have a car so it was decided that we would set out in my Henry J as soon as we could get home and get some clothes packed. We didn't tell our parents we were going and left about midnight on our journey to see Colorado.

About half way to Winters, my Henry J gave up and the engine blew. We pulled into an old abandoned gas station and left the Henry J behind in the weeds. (I never did go back for it and to my knowledge it could still be there).

We started walking and there was no traffic on the highway at all that night. We walked all the way to Winters and about sunup we were hitchhiking somewhere on the north side of Winters when we caught a ride. When we reached Abilene we caught another ride and continued on going west to Sweetwater and then on to Lubbock. I can't recall exactly how many different rides we picked up before we arrived in Santa Fe. In Santa Fe we caught a ride with a gentleman in a black '54 Chevrolet pickup. He took us all the way to Durango, Colorado and even bought our meals on the way.

Outside Durango we were walking again and had our thumbs out to catch another ride when we were stopped by the Colorado Highway Patrol. Unknown to us, it was illegal to hitchhike in the state of Colorado. When the patrolman found out we were only 16 years old he took us to the station and got on the phone to our parents. He asked my dad what he wanted them to do with us and my dad, being my dad, said, "I guess you had better turn them loose so they can get home ‘cause I'm sure as hell not coming up there after them". Jimmie's mom had a flame-out and started crying and came completely unglued and went to my parents house wanting to know what to do about getting us home. My dad said, "They got up there okay on their own, they can get back the same way", and we did.

So, that was the great hitchhiking experience of 1955. Jimmie's mom got over it, but never was too cool on Jimmie hanging out with me after that. We remained good friends until his death, ....... God rest his soul. In 1961 while hitchin' from Fort Carson, Colorado to Los Angeles, I passed over many of the same highways that Jimmie and I had traveled on our adventure, and I smiled.” …TER

Keep the memories coming in to me! Does anyone have any ghost stories to share? It's almost Halloween, you know.

Pay attention to all the "good stuff" happening. And don't forget to VOTE!

'Til next time,

Marilyn

HITCHING A RIDE

By GLENN SMITH

“Driving out of Abilene the other day, I saw a man waving a hand-lettered sign. "NEED A RIDE SOUTH," it said. I was doing 70; I didn't stop. Neither did other cars.

Got me thinking. I had driven the road from Ballinger to Abilene and back 78 times in the past 100 days. This was the first hitchhiker I'd seen in that time. Very different from 50 years ago. I wondered how many members of the class of ‘57 had used their thumbs to get rides.

JAMES HAYS and I caught three rides to Guadalupe Mountain in December 1956 (Reunion Handbook). That was my first experience hitchhiking. Eight months later, in the summer of '57, I hitched from Abilene to near Fort Worth to visit NYDAH ELLET whose mother and stepfather had recently moved there. Took five hours and three rides on a Saturday.

Another weekend guest at NYDAH's mother's house agreed to my request for a ride to Ballinger as he was headed there the next morning. He and his wife were from Ballinger. He had a Taylorcraft, a two place, side by side, high wing airplane. As dawn was breaking, he and I bounced down a grass runway on the south side of Arlington. Trouble was he hadn't slept for a couple of days. A few feet off the ground, climbing nicely, his eyes closed. His head hung loose as he went fast asleep. At first I felt panic but, as his hand slipped from the control yoke to his lap, I touched the wheel in front of me and knew I could fly the plane. I hadn't been in a Taylorcraft before, but I had logged nearly ten hours of flying time in similar planes. I spotted the road to Brownwood, decided 1500 feet above the ground was a good altitude, and actually enjoyed the flight. This was before I got lost flying from Brownwood to Ballinger nine weeks later (for those who remember that account in a previous blog entry.)

An hour and a half after takeoff, Bruce Field appeared. I felt sure I could land the plane, was nearing the turn on final approach to the runway, when I decided I ought to try waking him. His eyes opened during the second vigorous shake. He reached for the control wheel, said "looks like we're here," rolled into a left turn and executed a perfect landing. He taxied, parked, shut the engine down. "Guess I had too many beers last night." I didn't think he wanted me to agree, so I kept quiet.

That Taylorcraft trip was the only hitching I did by air. It taught me that when begging free rides the unexpected is usual.

During 1957 to 1959, JERRY EOFF and I hitched our way from Ballinger to Abilene (we both went to Abilene Christian) and back to Ballinger a number of times. Sometimes we joined each other but often it was a solo effort. I don't recall his parents or mine encouraging our thumbing rides, but I also don't remember that they objected.

One day we caught a ride that dropped us off south of Abilene. We stood for about ten minutes before a shiny Ford sedan stopped almost beside us. Usually by the time a driver saw us at highway speed, and took a long enough look to decide we were okay to stop for, the vehicle would be 20 to 40 yards past where we stood. Then we'd run toward it, hoping the driver wouldn't race away showering us with gravel. That happened only once, but it made a strong impression.

The gleaming Ford was immaculate. We both sat on the bench front seat with me in the middle. As the driver accelerated, I noticed that the speedometer went from 0 to 140. "Will it go that fast," I naively asked. "Don't know," he replied. "Picked it up from the dealer a few minutes ago." His foot went to the floorboard. "Let's see. It has the biggest engine Ford makes."

As the speedometer needle passed 126, the right front tire blew. Of course we didn't have seat belts fastened. The driver stayed cool, braked fairly gently and hauled it to a stop on the right edge of the pavement. We climbed out. He grabbed the jack, said we need not help, loosened lug nuts, bolted the spare on, threw the shredded wheel into the trunk, and took us out to the college. We waved and he waved as he rolled on toward were he was headed. We didn't ask. He didn't say. Probably going to see a cute woman I thought.

It was a felt rule, not written anywhere, that it wasn't polite to ask questions. The driver could ask. Others in the car could ask. The one seeking a ride should answer differentially and put up with whatever smells, noises, idiosyncrasies, and silences happened to be present.

I had fantasies of being picked up by a beautiful girl driving a fast car. It never happened. All the drivers from whom I got a lift turned out to be male. Just as well. I was too shy to know what to say to a glamorous woman anyway.

I never had any really bad experiences while hitchhiking, but there were two occasions that put me off. In 1959, late on a Friday, I was headed to Ballinger. I waited endlessly for someone to stop. Hardly anyone was on the road. Finally the worst looking auto I've ever seen outside a junk yard clanked and jangled and smoked its way to a stop. It had plenty of rust, a shredded rag top, torn seat covers--the old grey felt kind with springs sticking through--and four occupants dressed in rags. I failed to understand what the man driving or his spouse said to me, but I climbed into the back seat with two screaming kids. Took two and a half hours to get to Ballinger. Each of the four seemed to speak a different tongue from the others. In compensation for their seeming not to comprehend each other, they yelled nonstop. I swore I'd give up hitchhiking but two nights’ sleep and classes waiting to be finished at ACC had me back on the road the following Sunday afternoon. A pleasant man in a pickup took me the whole way.

The other off-putting experience happened in Patzcuaro, Mexico about fifteen years ago. I was there with my wife and her sister, both born Mexico. We needed a ride to the airport in Morelia an hour away. Cab drivers were on strike. On the town plaza, my sister-in-law talked to a group of men who had a truck and asked them to take us to the airport. I found myself feeling thoroughly uneasy. I kept thinking--you may find this odd but it is what I was thinking--"if only there could be an angel to show us what to do." Across the plaza, maybe 300 yards away, a woman walked rapidly toward me. "The men you see there," she said looking at the guys my sister-in-law had talked with, are known to be thieves. You must avoid them!" (She worked at a local cultural institute that owned a small bus which she offered.) She told the men they would not be needed for the airport trip. I thanked her, asked her name. "Angelica," she replied.

I have no idea, except for JERRY and JAMES, whether others in the class of '57 resorted to thumbing rides. I've picked up hitchhikers off and on across the years, but I didn't stop for the man headed south the other day. Something intuitive gets my foot on the brake--or not. I don't argue with that.”...GLENN

********************************************************************************

EDITOR'S NOTE: I was never in a position to hitchhike when I was young, but I remember during World War II that every trip anyone in our family made to California or Missouri, no matter how crowded our car was (with gas rationing, you took as many folks as needed a ride) we always picked up any service man who was hitchhiking. Often they would drive while others slept. As a small child, I spent many a mile trying to sleep with my head on the hump in the back floorboard.

I also heard my mother tell how her mother hitchhiked home to Missouri taking my mother and her younger brother with her during the Depression.

And we think times are tough now!

Marilyn

FROM MY JOURNAL AND MY SCRAPBOOK

It's fall, the changing season. We still can see many of the beautiful flowers from spring and summer; and most of the leaves are still on the trees. The cool -- and often cold -- nights are a welcome relief from the long, hot summer nights. There is such a big difference sleeping when it's cool outdoors than with the coolness of air conditioning, don't you think? There is a crispness about nature now that hints of the coming winter. Of course, I am speaking of the days and nights here in Ballinger. Some of you are still experiencing summer weather, and some of you in the northern parts of the country may even be feeling as though winter has arrived. I love this, my favorite time of year! As a young girl, the end of summer meant the start of school, parties to attend, new friends, football games. Now September and October bring new TV shows! No more reruns. Well at least not for awhile.

I keep a journal off and on in order to "unblock" my creativity. Recently, I wrote the following: "The ugliness outside this little rent house -- the weeds and overgrown yard, the peeling paint, the broken swing... Is it a metaphor for my aging? The outside deteriorating... the body becoming undesirable? The inside is still colorful, warm, comfortable, and inviting. Isn't it that way with most people? If we can get past the not-so-young or -pretty exteriors, and allow ourselves to enter -- to seek out the warmth and beauty within, how much richer our lives can still be. The body may be aging and wrinkled, and it may be broken somewhat, but the heart is still pumping away. Life 'til the very end has some rewards for everyone if we open ourselves up and look for openings to know others."

I love coming into my little house. It is filled with mementos, photographs, gifts, and art work from friends and family. Nearly every item has a story behind it. And lots of loving memories. Even if it means clutter to some folks, I always make room for more -- especially from loved ones. And that creates a home full of loving energy that welcomes all.

I recently ran across some pictures taken in Midland in 1965. I think this one of Diana (BHS '64) and WALTER THOMAS is particularly good. I forwarded it and one of their first son, Gregory, to Diana. I was sad when she wrote back that Greg has just finished chemo and radiation treatments and is to undergo surgery (called the Whipple procedure) for cancerous cysts on his pancreas. I know you will all want to join me in sending our love and prayers for his complete recovery.







Gregory Thomas's first Easter 1965. (Left) Mr. and Mrs. Greg Thomas, Spring 2008. (Below)











MEDICAL UPDATES:
IRENE PIEL BATTS will undergo another "marathon" chemotherapy treatment this coming Monday. Please hold her in your thoughts and pray that this treatment will not be as rough on her as the last one was.

Last weekend I received the following email from JAMES HAYS:
"Kay had a total hip replacement yesterday and is doing well. She has been crippling around for the last year like an old mare with a half-thrown shoe. The good news is that she is determined to not go back to smoking cigarettes when she leaves the hospital. She is able to get out of bed with minimal assistance tonite (October10th) and walk with a walker. Hopefully she will be able to go home by Monday.

I'm going to take a stress test next Friday in preparation to try to get my flight physical back. Did 18 pushups and 25 situps and walked one and a half miles today."

I asked how he did on the stress test, but I haven't heard back from him. Good luck, JAMES. Let us know how both you and Kay are doing.

All of you who personally know JERRY DAVIS, love him for his great sense of humor. Anytime I have called him to cheer him up, he has ended up cheering me up! Well, not today folks. I am so sorry to announce that JERRY received the worst news he could receive in the hospital this week. That dreadful cancer just refused to be beat this time around. He is at home now with Hospice care and surrounded by his loving family. He was very weak when I spoke to him this morning, but he had the strength to tell me to tell everyone of you that "I love those '57 Bearcats!" I told him we love him, too, and will be praying for him. Even if you cannot speak to him, you may wish to send him your love via email or a card. Please pray for Carolyn and his family as well during this difficult time for all of them.

JUNE HASH CURRY reports great success with the physical therapy she has been receiving. It has relieved her pain so much that surgery on her spine will not be necessary. Hallelujah!

I'm thinking of all of you, and hoping there is still a lot of "good stuff" going on in your life. Let me know.

Until next time,
Marilyn

FROM MY SCRAPBOOK

Eighth Grade Graduation Photo -- Ballinger, Texas (How 'bout those petticoats?):

Someone recently asked me if I moved to Ballinger the first time from Louisiana. No. Actually, in the summer of 1952 my parents divorced and shipped me and my sister Jean off to northern California to live for a while with my mother's dad, his wife, and their three children. We lived in the country surrounded by huge pine trees and beautiful mountains. Mt. Shasta was the largest of these, and the name of the little town in which I started 8th grade.
Optimist that I was, I quickly joined a team of cheerleaders and spent two months rehearsing routines for the tryouts. I was very petite, so they had me be the acrobat of our team of five, as I was easy to toss into the air and catch. (Not many cheerleaders did that in those days unless they were at a college level.) The kids in that school tried out by teams rather than individuals. I loved being a part of this school where I had started first grade, when my mother sent us to stay with Granddad for the first time at the end of WWII. We pulled out class photos from first grade and nearly all the original class members still attended.

A week before tryouts, we were informed that my sister and I would be leaving California to join my mother and her new husband in New York state. I was devastated, as were my classmates. The wanderlust in my family's blood would later become something of pattern in my life as well. The plans for our trip across country soon had me filled with excitement. We were going to FLY!! I was 12 years old and Jean was 10, and we were flying alone. I was so naive that I made promises to all my classmates that when we flew over the school I would throw notes to them from the plane!

The first leg of our trip was from some airport around Mt. Shasta to San Francisco. This was a very small prop plane, and I remember my ears popping. When we got to SF, we had several hours to spend in the huge airport. As the oldest, I was responsible for listening to the announcements that would let me know when our plane was to depart, and at what gate. We did not leave until 11:00 pm, so after we ate and explored every single shop in the airport, I found sofas on a big mezzanine. Jean stretched out and slept while I kept watch. I remember how grownup I felt, and how nervous I was that I wouldn't hear the flight being announced.

I did hear the flight announcement, and we boarded a huge United Airlines plane. Remember, this was before jets. The next leg of our journey would take 7 hours for us to reach Chicago O'Hare airport. I remember the stewardess placing us at the back of the front cabin. Our seats would not recline. Directly behind us was a cabin full of "sleepers" -- just like a pullman car on a train! I was envious of the people who got to sleep in their own bunk that night. We were two very sleepy, mussed, and wrinkled little girls who got off that plane the next morning. A stewardess from American Airlines was there to meet us and quickly whisked us away to catch our flight to Rochester, New York where our mother and new stepfather were waiting.

We ended up living in a little town called Dresden, near Seneca Lake in upstate New York. Mother had a photography studio in nearby Geneva, NY, which they bought from a man who was caught peeking through a two-way mirror in the women's dressing room. They didn't prosecute him, as he had been there for many, many years -- a respected citizen, but they essentially ran him out of town! While there, I attended a two-room schoolhouse in Dresden. First through fourth grades were downstairs, while fifth through eighth were upstairs. In the midst of writing a Christmas play for the school and rehearsing for the Christmas pageant at church, we were saddened to hear we would be returning to Texas.

After an exciting train trip to Texas by way of a lengthy stopover in St. Louis, we started our third school that year in San Antonio. I also hooked up with classmates I had been with at different times in my elementary school years, as San Antonio was our "home base" it seems. By now I had learned to jump in with both feet, get involved, and enjoy the good times while they lasted. Sure enough, by March of 1953, we were informed of our parents' remarrying and moving us as a family to a little town called Ballinger. I said goodbye for the last time to my classmates at Mark Twain Junior High School. This would make four schools in three states in one school year. Imagine -- California history, New York history, and Texas history. Kind of boggles the mind to think about it now.

Recently, my son Matthew made the comment that "at least you got to spend all your school years in one place"!! I don't know what he was doing when I was telling my tales through the years, but he obviously wasn't listening to me! I promptly told him the above story. He got quiet, then said, "well, at least you didn't have to walk 6 miles through the snow!"

(Photo at right: MARILYN and DOROTHY BISHOP ROGERS -- 8th Grade Graduation Picture)

DOTTIE was my first friend here in Ballinger. We had some good times together, and her photos were labeled "My Best Friend" in my scrapbook. The ones below with the rattlesnake were taken at my dad's sand and gravel plant in South Ballinger. I thought the guys would get a kick out of the old cars, and girls, get a load of the pin curls! Remember those?

****************************************************************************************

Now for some some health updates. I spoke with JERRY DAVIS this past weekend. He has been having some severe back pain, but Carolyn padded all around him with pillows and they took off to visit JERRY'S best bud, CHARLES FIKES. He called me from CHARLES' house and said they were having a great time. He had been taken on a tour of the place and around the barn on CHARLES' four wheeler. JERRY has finished all the radiation treatments and is waiting on the final results from his doctor.

IRENE PIEL BATTS has asked me to post the following note from her to you all:

"I've been so touched by the prayers, warm thoughts, lovely cards and emails I've received from many of my '57 classmates. Thank you for all your many ways of making bright occasions out of ordinary days. I'm so grateful for all your thoughtfulness and caring." Love, Irene

IRENE has shown so much courage during the weeks of difficult treatment and much pain she has endured. She is in Week 4 of 6 weeks of radiation treatments, and has had one full day of chemotherapy. There will be at least one more chemo treatment.

JUNE HASH CURRY has been undergoing physical therapy three times a week to alleviate back and neck pain, and hopefully, to circumvent further surgery.

Please remember these warm, beautiful people in your thoughts and prayers. I know for some, prayer may not be something you practice or that comes easily for you. I recently read something in my Daily Word magazine that I thought was a beautiful way of expressing your good wishes. It went like this:

"Praying for others is as easy as holding loving thoughts.. My prayers do not have to be formal or lengthy. A declaration such as 'I love you,' or 'I see you healthy, happy, and whole' is a prayer from my heart."
From my heart to yours, I love you guys,
Marilyn