The Way We Were

Each year, Alumni Weekend in Willow Springs, Missouri, (now, the adopted hometown of American Idol winner Hannah Harper) provides plenty of writing material for this column. This year was no exception.

 

The ceremonial unveiling of the wall mural at Bailey Legacy Park, an interactive children’s playground inspired by Howell County News publisher Amanda Mendez, highlighted the weekend. The mural, which covers the entire west wall of the historic Smuck Building, now home to the News, was painted by local artist Tammy Schultz, and commemorates the career and civic contributions of Willow’s favorite son, Wendell Bailey.

 

The dedicated Park property is a formerly vacant lot owned by the News on Main Street, between the News building and the building previously occupied by the Grill Café in the early 1950s, and later known as Lyda’s Café.

 

Mendez, with her husband Ron and children present, emceed the well-attended ceremony that kicked off at 11 a.m. on Saturday. Special chairs were reserved for Wendell and his family, and Wendell, in his inimitable style, entertained the crowd with a few closing remarks. 

 

As I listened, I recalled the numerous speeches I have heard Wendell make, without ever using notes. Once, as a U.S. Congressman in 1982, when he spoke to a boardroom of business people in the Kansas City area, he simply tossed his Congressional voting card on the table and told them the card was effectively an unlimited Mastercard, and they better elect someone who knew how to use it wisely. 

 

Perhaps not surprisingly, he credits his public speaking ability to the venerable WSHS English and speech teacher Jessie Munford. Thornton Wilder's Our Town continues to unfold in Willow Springs.

 

Before the unveiling took place, I meandered to the rear of the Park and looked kitty-corner over the fence at a vacant lot, which fronts on South Center Street, where the tavern my mother and stepfather owned in 1959 was located between Gardiner’s second-hand store and Randall’s Grocery, at the corner of the alley. 

 

We lived in a cramped apartment in the rear that had a seldom-used dinette area, because we generally ate in a tavern booth. Classmate Truman Grogan and I used to play catch in the alley behind the apartment, and occasionally we saw Mr. Smuck, through his rear window, working in his photo lab and wondered what he was doing. Sometimes, we would imagine fantastic ideas about him, such as being a mad scientist. Hmmm? A writer in the making?

 

After the ceremony, I pulled into the parking lot across the street on North Ferguson and noticed the back of the house where Tom Nelson (WSHS,1968) and his brother Jon (WSHS,1965) lived. Another flashback: One evening when I was about fifteen, I was walking home along North Ferguson in front of the McGreer’s dry cleaners, when an apple zinged from the Nelsons’ yard and hit me on the side of the head.

 

Although a bit stunned, I had little doubt who the culprits were. From the Nelsons’ backyard, I heard muffled babbling. Then, both Tom and Jon scrambled over, earnestly apologizing and claiming they didn’t know it was me. They thought I was some old lady (as if that gave them a special dispensation), whom they only wanted to startle and not actually hit. 

 

In short order, there were no hard feelings, and I doubt the event has crossed my mind more than a couple times since then. At a reunion a few years ago, I mentioned it to Tom and he didn’t recall the incident. Then, he wasn’t on the receiving end.

 

Now, a sidenote into how these articles come together. As I was writing about the Nelson ambush, I couldn’t remember who owned the dry cleaners. That prompted me to contact two of my go-to resources, Barbara Sherrill Pigg and Deanna Collins Corn, both members of the WSHS class of 1964. After nearly an hour of three-way back and forth messaging, the name was confirmed, and it also occurred to me that Bill Tandy (WSHS, 1964) made deliveries for the cleaners. By the way, I have numerous behind the scenes contributors. You know who you are, and I am indebted.

 

Next, I headed to the Willow Springs Historical & Genealogical Society Museum on N. Harris, across from the library in the historic Sass house. Docent Bob Chaney and volunteer curator Alex Biehl have done a fabulous job assembling a treasure trove of memorabilia that triggered forgotten memories. A framed essay about our beloved Sambo Hinds immediately caught my attention. 

 

I was fortunate to arrive shortly after classmate Annette Tetrick Johnson and her husband Norm. As we passed displays, Annette and I tested each other’s recollection. On balance, I’d say it was a draw, but my years of researching old Willamizzous allowed me to identify several individual photos from the 1953 and 1958 WSHS group portraits: Ike Lovan, Neil Hanks, and Sonny Stringer (1953) and Wendell Bailey, Jane Bray (Bailey), and Frankie Grogan, our classmate Truman Grogan’s sister (1958).

 

I remember the Museum’s venue, not as the Sass house, but as the home of Hannah Amyx. Hannah was a longtime business woman who owned the dress shop across Harris Street at the corner of Main Street. In the 1950s and 60s Hannah’s was a go-to shop for women. My mother was particularly fond of the Nelly Don dress line and costume jewelry at Hannah’s. Each year, I would go to Hannah’s for my mother’s Christmas present, and Hannah always seemed able to find an appropriate gift I could afford.

 

On Friday night, a score of alumni from the 1960s gathered at the Pasta Place at 308 E. Main Street, formerly the location of the Masonic Lodge, and before that, the Assembly of God Church. Both the food and hospitality excelled. I sat beside classmate Donna Spence Romans and next to old pal Monty Williamson (WSHS, 1966) and Georgia Beltz Williamson (WSHS, 1967). Both Donna and Monty shared good stories. 

 

Donna, a literal world traveler, said she recently got stuck in Nepal for three days because her return flight through Qatar in the Middle East was cancelled due to the war in Iran. Unfortunately, the fine print of her travel insurance had an exclusion in coverage for “acts of war.”

 

Monty told me a story about WSHS teacher Lowell McMurtrey, whom I have written about in this column, that I had never heard. For readers unfamiliar with Mr. McMurtrey, he was an excellent teacher, but one not inclined to suffer slackers or misbehavior. So, Monty’s story surprised me.

 

I knew Mr. McMurtrey raised chickens on the small acreage where his home was located on Highway 137, just past the bypass. In fact, there is a photo in the 1962 Willamizzou of him, his wife, and son Kenny in their chicken house in front of dozens of chicks. Monty told me that Mr. McMurtrey excused him from study hall every day, so he could drive to McMurtrey’s chicken house to make sure the feeder wasn’t clogged up. 

 

Alumni festivities closed with the Alumni picnic at the EAA Hangar grounds. Thanks to Tom and Phyliss White and all the volunteers, it was a tremendous success, with approximately 350 in attendance. I brought a chair, but only used it briefly, as I cavorted around talking to old friends. Although only six members of my class attended, I managed to connect with them all. At first, I didn’t see Leon Brassfield, who was on the other side of the yard, but I spotted his signature white cowboy hat and crossed over to visit.  

 

And so it goes: whenever I drive the streets I once cruised as a teenager, memories rush back like an old newsreel at the Star Theater or the lyrics to the Beatles’ song “In My Life.” Look up the lyrics if you’ve never heard them or have forgotten them, and you’ll see what I mean.

 

CLICK HERE for the photo album.