Thursday, June 27, 2019

YOU CAN GO HOME AGAIN

...but "the green, green grass of home"
       is gone...and the people...
---------------
"But as for man, his days are as the
      grass...".  Psalms 103: 15

1100 REID, CLOVIS (1940-48)


THE BACKYARD

That nice little two BR home where 
we lived in Clovis for eight years is
almost eighty years old, and still
looks good--with a new roof and new
stucco.

The neighborhood where all we
little kids grew from young 'uns to
teenagers is no longer green with
clover lawns, bushes, shrubs, and
full flower beds. Green is rare...

The elms, many of them thirty feet
tall, mostly all died later on in the
fifties and sixties. Today the 
neighborhood looks a bit barren. 

The whole world was young then,
 it seemed.

The streets are all paved and have
curbs. The vacant lots where the
boys played baseball and fought 
WWII are no longer vacant. There
are no farm animals around there any-
more--no chickens, cows, rabbits,
and horses, with their little white 
sheds  and pens. 

Gardening, such as every house had 
in WWII doesn't seem to be popular
anymore. Not to be heard in present
times are the B24's and B29's which
were  based at the Clovis AAFB during
The Big One and droned around the
outskirts of town constantly...on hot
summer days.

FDR is not to be heard on the old-tube-
Philco radios, with his "fireside chats..."

Gone also are Fibber and Molly, Bob
Hope, Red Skelton, Amos & Andy, 
People Are Funny, Tom Mix, Superman,
Henry Aldrich, Queen For A Day, and
all those good radio shows.

And how could any "go home again,"
to a neighborhood without all our
friends who lived there: Donald, 
Charles, James, Michael, Sherry,  
Sonya,L. Barbara, Frances, Pat, 
Douglas, Art and Bobby Joe? 
Those kids have all gone...some-
where.

And who can ever forget Ms. 
Purselly, an older woman up the
street, who had the only telephone
on the block. Just north of her lived
that cute blonde actress Priscilla 
Lane, whose husband was stationed
at the air base, five miles west of 
town. 

I have thought a few times about 
what it would be like to buy the "old
home place," as the farm folks used
to describe their homes-- and putting
in eight or nine nice trees around that
corner, planting a new lawn (with
clover, in memory of Dad, who liked
clover), shrubs, waxy bushes, and 
even a white picket fence...and having
it as an escape home...seasonal or
 whatever.

But it would cost many times 
the original price of the house in 1940,
and then you've got security, upkeep,
and the problems associated with an
extra property. Renting is iffy.

Also Mom and Dad wouldn't be there;
They are in Beulah Land. So at my age
I'll just remember my boyhood home...
    "You can go home again,"
         if only in happy memory...

(Besides all that, I still see and
correspond with two of my little neighborhood friends--
        Art and Bobby Joe.)
---------
Mil
25 JUNE 2019

SORTING PINTOS AND HUMMING HYMNS

"Take the name of jesus with you...
    Child of sorrow and of woe
It will joy and comfort give you,
    Take it then where e'er you go...
Precious name, O how sweet!
    Hope of earth and joy of heav'n."

I saw my dear mother "a thousand times"  
    in the difficult days of the forties
rocking in her rocking chair     humming
     an old familiar hymn    and picking
the rocks and bean pieces    out of
     tomorrow's pot of pintos  cornbread
would be made fresh and hot   in the
    morning...          the hymn she favored
was oft the one she loved the most
   from her childhood..."Take the name
of Jesus--take it then where e'er you go."
    Forever etched on a young boy's
mind...along with warm family evenings.

As I watched her skill and dexterity,
   tossing occasional little rocks aside
along with the half beans   and one 
   night, after years of being mesmerized
I could stifle no longer   and I said:
        "Mom, why do you throw out
      the half beans? They are food too."

         "I don't know. I never thought 
                about it. My mother 
                     always did it."
----------
By MIL

26 JUNE  2019

Thursday, June 20, 2019

THE GREATEST SHIRT IN THE WORLD




My favorite shirt in life (since summer
  is here) is upstairs in the
           cozy attic room...resting...

all clean and folded and nice
   on the pillow of my surplus 3/4
GI bunk, the one with the folded
   quilts at the foot...

It is a splendid shirt made by the 
   excellent F. Co. of 8.5 oz
cotton flannel and will last and last
   even after "a thousand washings"
(and will gain character as it ages...)

It is a shirt to be worn even as a 
  light jacket and has two 
flap pockets...the colors seem
   to never fade     and check this:
A spare button is sewed on
    at the bottom...

Summertime is here and
   the cozy times upstairs 
with the little wood stove in the
   attic are over---no more good
books read in the bunk bed 
   with cups of hot soup...until
the first cold norther of fall
    whistles around the slightly
open window    up there...

And tho' the Old Poet is oft-times
    a bit cold-natured
he misses the cold times,
   times to escape and think
"long lost thoughts" 
   and wear his favorite winter shirt
once more    it makes life
   worthwhile.
---------

(SUMMER is here---
  on the Rio Grande)

By MIL

21JUNE 2019

Monday, June 10, 2019

THE LAST RECIPE




 B.E. got me to thinking today when 
 she was reading a cooking magazine
    and she said: "More recipes! You'd
think the world would run out 
    of them...")

A TOMATO PIZZA...BY B.E.

O, if you were
    gonna write
"The Last Recipe"
   in the whole 
       world
(remember "The Last 
  Picture Show"
and those kinds 
    of stories)
What would be your
   main ingredient?
I bet I can guess....
        like---
Artichokes...cucumbers...
   anchovies...or even
         rhubarb...
Read on to  the end
    of my poem
to know MY ingredient!

It is       TA DUM"
   Tomatoes...
Ah, but that pizza also
      needs
            BACON!
----------

MIL'S PLACE
10 JUNE, 2019

MY FRIEND BEN





MY FRIEND BEN
A Poem by Billy Gilbreath, Guest Writer

As we journey through this path on earth 
Often there is one who walks with us
One who inspires, encourages and models
Encouraging us to enjoy and  enrich our mind
To become aware of the beauty around us
Inspires us to delve into the world of words
Knowing the value of positive thinking
Never, can we find a greater earthly model
Always feeling that this model was given
And received from the ULTIMATE model
Passion is a trait which cannot be forgotten
Why his success in teaching?  Passion
Why the  love of those he taught?
A gift of the ability, given from above.
How can one forget the many examples
Mr. National Honor Society, Man of words
Many will remember, vocabulary development
Passion and love for his family, so dear.
Thank you for walking the path with us
Sharing knowledge and  giving direction.
Although that path has completed here
It will be continued in your new home
My friend Ben,  Benny, Mr Cason, Mr NHS
Thanks for that walk and road taken.
...................................................
My Friend Ben

FOR MIL 'S PLACE
10 June, 2019
Written in memory of Ben Cason

By: Billy Gilbreath   May, 2019
Photo:  Betty Bynum
......................................

Friday, May 31, 2019

MEMORIAL DAY 2019 CHS, CLASS OF '51



MONDAY, MAY 27, 2019

MEMORIAL DAY 2019...CLASS OF '51

"THOSE MATCHLESS DAYS"





  CLOVIS HIGH SCHOOL  CLASS of 1951

Once a year it is fitting to remember our friends from
"THOSE MATCHLESS DAYS," as our friend Donald
Todd has so aptly characterized them.

"EVERY ONE OF THEM WAS DEAR TO 
    MY HEART!".....JIMMY BLAIR
*****************************************

"SO MANY FRAGMENTS OF THE SPIRIT 
   HAVE I SCATTERED IN THESE STREETS..."
      .......K.G.
*****************************************

"BREAK, BREAK, BREAK,
    ON THY COLD GREY STONES, O SEA!
AND I WOULD THAT MY TONGUE COULD  UTTER
   THE THOUGHTS THAT ARISE IN ME.

BREAK,  BREAK, BREAK,
    AT THE FOOT OF THY CRAGS, O SEA!
BUT THE TENDER GRACE OF A DAY THAT IS DEAD
   WILL NEVER COME BACK TO ME."

-----ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON, 1835
       (Elegy written in memory of a dear friend,
             A.H.)
*****************************

IN MEMORY OF:

Jimmy Abernethy
Jimmy Blair
Don Campbell
Zeno Crosswhite
Bruce Davis
Geraldine Edwards
Billy Harwell
Billy Hasty
Thomasina Ingram Murrell
Charlotte Kelly
Marlene Lancaster
Donald Mardis
Robert Roberts
Jerry Robert
R.G. Snipes
Pat Thompson
James Timmons
Jimmy Whatley
Bobby Wilhite
Jo Ann Williams
Sherman Williams
Noel Douherty
Vera Lou Priddy
Engle Southard
Dorothy Trigg
Dixie Sanderson
Jerry Crook
Wanda King Snipes
John Thorn Marshall
Rita Gayle Delaney
Charles Mason
Marcia Stebbins
Earl Riley
Jackie Pearce
Gene Walker
Albin Covington
Dave Collins
Teddy Blair
Bobby Griffith
Johnny Jacobs
Gene Clemens
Glen Barfield
Coyt Calder
Carol Melton
Donald Lee
E. Levi Brake
Nell Summers
Donald Thompkins
(Mary Lou Powell, '45)

**************************
SOME CHS TEACHERS:

Ms. Tennyson, Ms. Bledsoe, Ms. Ballou,  Dr. Gaddis
     Ms. Holloway, Ms. Broiles, Mr. McDougal, 
Ms. Jenkins, Mr. Elms, Ms. Macfarland, Mrs.. Martin

Ms. Buchanan, Ms. Atchley, Mr. Stockton, 
    Mr. Norman, Ms. Barton, Ms. Clarke, Mr. Norman
Mrs. Putnam, Dewey Miller, Coach Brock, Mr. Moser

Mr. Barton, Beloved Senorite Dora Russell, 
    Dave St. Clair, Ms. Bayless, Coach Harmon...
Mr. Hudson....
*********************
"I returned and saw under the sun, that
the race is not to the swift, nor the battle
to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise,
nor yet riches to men of understanding,
nor yet favor to men of skill, but time and 
chance happeneth to them all.

ECCLESIASTES 9:11
***************************
BY MIL

MEMORIAL DAY, 2019





SPRINGTIME ON THE CAPROCK




Springtime on the Caprock
A poem by Billy Gilbreath

No flower or prairie dogs to tell us
Often the days or hot and next cold
I see that the cotton rows are beginning
Wondering, how those rows are so perfect?
Knowing that spring is near, soon summer
Yes, at last and the last one to sprout
Those tough and some say useless, Mesquite.
Perhaps those in this modern millennia age, 
Will remember those from years past
No more frost, freeze as they are out.
Remembering in the fall and migration
Wondering if those on that long trip
Would have a pleasant winter and return
Looking above the front entrance, gladly
They are there, she on that mud-built nest
In and out he flies in and out with food
Nightly perched on the ledge, protecting,
Like an anxious father, I wait the hatching.
Are these the same who migrated earlier?
 This day and with sadness, I remember those
Friends, who migrated to their new home,
No Mesquite to remind them of spring,
Me thinks:  It is always spring- time there.
Now on the Caprock, and spring has arrived,
So thankful to be able to see and enjoy,
Spring is here says ”The Useless Mesquite.” 
......................................................
FOR MIL'S PLACE
By:  Guest Writer, Billy Gilbreath,  May 12, 2019