Miscellany and more of the same old stuff
On the move…
California, here I come! Ann Johnston McEwan
writes that she is moving to California to live close to her daughter. My recollection is that Ann worked in the Austin environs from many years, collecting a paycheck from our state government, and recently retiring. She has lived in Hutto for a while, east of Austin. Ann says she will miss Texas and all her friends. Best wishes, Ann.
Also on the move…
Frances Folkes Porter
is moving (or already has moved) from Midland to Saladao, between Austin and Georgetown or somewhere in that vicinity. Again, proximity to children is the reason for uprooting. At our age, picking up and moving a few hundred or a few thousand miles is uprooting. Frances said she intends to come to the next class luncheon in October.
More from the Grim Reaper
Mary Lee Tiller Dunn
February 8, 1937 – November 29, 2014
Mary Lee Dunn, age 77, passed away on Saturday, November 29, 2014 in San Antonio, Texas. Mary Lee was born February 8, 1937 to Nellis Van Ness and Mildred Lee Tiller in San Antonio, Texas. She is preceded in death by her parents. Mary Lee is survived by her son, Jeffrey Dunn and wife, Cari Beer; son Todd Dunn and wife, Lori; daughter Kelly Dunn McCaslin and husband, Steve; grandchildren Shelby, Katie, Joshua and Jacob McCaslin and Jackson and Alexis Dunn; sister, Elizabeth Ann Bruchmiller; brother Nellis Van Ness “Van” Tiller, Jr. and wife, Cheri and numerous nieces and nephews and other family and friends.
Service: Saturday, December 6, 2014 10:00 A.M.
Porter Loring North Chapel
Interment will follow in Mission Burial Park South. In lieu of flowers, memorial contributions may be made to the San Antonio Feral Cat Coalition or to God’s Dogs.
April 1, 1936—September 26, 2000
When I recently published the lost list with Doug Steubing’s name included, Nancy Stover, Cleve Stover’s wife, sent along information that Doug had died a few years back. Per Nancy, Doug married Jean Betz, and they had a son, Scott.
With the internet, you can find out a lot of information about someone, for better or worse. Here is what turned up about Doug: Doug and Jean Betz married in 1958 and were divorced in 1969. In 1972, Doug married Patricia Ann Weir. At Jeff, there was a Jeff librarian named Laura Weir, but I don’t know if there was a relation to Patricia. Doug married once again in August 2000 and died on September 26, 2000.
On a Brighter Note…
Photos from the April lunch and other events in the past.
Left to right: Dottie & Charlie Griffin, Don Martin, Harry & Cerene Wharton, and Bob Blake
John Patmore and Irma Scriaffa
Patsy and Tom Patterson
Photos from past events:
Jerry Harris Pat Padgett Wiseman Era Mae McFarland Scarborough
Ron Bridges Dick Brusenhan Kay Matteson Gregory
At Jeff: Jim Worley, David Frazier, Jane McRoberts Cobb
A couple of recent posts have been rattling around in the empty spaces in my cranium left, I’m told, by the shrinkage of gray matter that used to lurk there.
LEARNING TO FLY:
Although not at all as adventurous as ‘gator wrangling, one episode from our years together was gleefully recalled by ‘friends’ at a reunion, happy to regale my wife with tales of what must be described as adolescent idiocy or, more simply, daylight madness.
She was not surprised.
It seems that one hot April afternoon, following a Fiesta parade, a group of us were heading back to school to return various band items. One of said items was the bass drum. Since it occupied rhe entire middle of the rear seat of [name redacted]’s top-down convertible, I found myself sitting high up on the cowling behind the seats with bandmates on either side. Wool coats off, fresh breeze drying damp shirts – what could go wrong?
What indeed! Well, the folowing, in fact.
Another driver, crossing our path and ignoring a stop sign, caused our vehicle to make an urgent, unplanned stop. Everything stopped — except yours truly. In those palmy, pre-seatbelt days, I had nothing to hang on to and therefore took flight, leaving behind the back seat, the bass drum, my colleagues and my sanity as I executed a full 360 degree loop over the front of the car, clearing the windshield, the (lethal) hood ornament and the front bumper, landing in the street in front of the car on the only possible part of my anatomy that would not be brutally damaged by the impact. My rump. Lying in the street, gasping for breath, I was attended by one of the guys who’d been to enough football games to recognize the situation. Lifting me up by my belt exercised the right responses to restore breathing.
Total damages; ripped band uniform pants, broken rear-view mirror probably hit by a flailing hand, and a bent ring (same hand) probably by contact with said same rear view mirror.
Now and then, in reflection, I can be grateful for having survived adolescence. More about that in another post.
The use of this arcane term came up in a recent issue, recalling the only time (other than the occasional reference in musicology) I recall its use.
A risque English music hall number by Flanders and Swan, ‘Have Some Madeira, M’Dear”, made great use of it in clever lyrics:
Then there flashed through her mind what her mother had said
With her ante-penultimate breath:
“Oh my child should you look at the wine that is red
Be prepared for a fate worse than death!”
Having lived in the heart of Northern California wine country for the last half-century or so and having looked upon substantial amounts of that red wine, if such fate did come along I must have missed it.
Love all your blogs and comments of others. Noting Jay’s accident…..isn’t it amazing that we could cram 8 kids in a car and go to the movies and then to the Triple X Root Beer Stand and never spill a drop. I learned to change gears by always sitting in the middle.