Hayter’s Article –
October 27, 2016
The Wendy Effect
ROOFTOP -- A
well-known New York Tribune editor once urged Americans to seek a new life out
west. About 150 years later, a little-known, local columnist urged himself to
climb up, young man. From there, I thought to rise above the fog for a clearer view
of what the Sam Hill life was all about.
That upward
summons led me to write my first article from the rooftop. The few dozen previous
articles almost made sense. But, my grab for that ladder, is pretty much
responsible for our 30+ year journey into the region known as The Nutzoid.
During my
first rooftop experience, my view into life’s meaning was hazy as all get out. However,
I did manage to get a good look into my childhood. One of the characteristics
of youth is a belief that friends never change. We imagine ourselves one day
growing up, but never our friends. They are forever.
The friends of my youth were never
all that much accustomed to having money. We were forced to use our wit and
whimsy to figure out fun stuff to do. When you are one of a group of friends
who daily share one another’s whimsy… well, you form a bond. Nothing we said
was viewed as too stupid to consider. Occasionally, we came up with stuff too
dangerous to seriously contemplate. But, that was, as Abe Lincoln wrote,
because of the better angels of our nature. Something like that.
While
sitting on the roof remembering my childhood friendships, I saw the gradual waning
of our friendship as the Wendy Effect crept into each of our lives. – Beg
pardon? Oh, Wendy? Peter Pan? Becoming too old to maintain the vision of youth?
Right.
So, the bonds of friendship became frayed,
and before I knew it, I had lost nearly all my childhood friends. I remember their names and what was special
about each person, but I doubt the truth in my memories of what all we did.
That’s what psychiatrists call “an indication of sanity.”
Over the
past couple of years, one of my childhood friends kept appearing in my dreams.
I had known Johnny from the time I was in the 2nd grade. We remained
buddies through high school and college.
The first bicycle I ever rode belonged to Johnny Sutton. The first and only firecracker that blew up in
my hand was while playing around with Johnny and his kid brother Craig.
Johnny, Craig, Dennis (my big
brother) and I shared more than good times. We each shared an ongoing feud with
the infamous Smith brothers. Some people are born leaders. Some are born
followers. A very few are born to beat you up. You could not talk yourself out
of a fight with the Smiths. Speech just seemed to irritate them.
After the
third grade, my family moved away from Pinewood Lane. For awhile Dennis and I
would ride our bikes across town to visit Johnny and Craig. In time we, too,
succumbed to the Wendy Effect.
Johnny and
I befriended one another again in High School. We were on the football team,
played baseball together, and shared a few classes together. We both saw a UFO while
camping on the beach at Freeport.
In the fall
of ’67, Johnny, Dennis and I went to Stephen
F. Austin
University. Because of
something I wrote while in a Sociology class at Pasadena High, Johnny and I
decided to major in Forestry. It’s a story that I’ve shared before, and will
likely do again.
After
graduation, I miraculously ended up with a job in District 6 of the Texas
Forest Service. The district office is located in the Jones State
Forest on 1488. Johnny
got a forestry job managing a forested estate headquartered in Livingston, Texas.
We managed to stay in touch for a few years. The occasional visit turned into
the annual Christmas card. Eventually, the cards even stopped.
But, out of
the blue, the dreams kept coming. Both Johnny and I had changed residence and
phone numbers. I don’t think Johnny ever had an e-mail address or a site on
Facebook. Recently, my friend, Joe Harper, managed to get Johnny’s phone number
from one of his acquaintances in the forestry business.
I called Johnny
last week and we talked on and on about old times. The bond is still there.
Frayed just a bit, but it’s holding. I could tell from his voice and from our
laughs. Telling signs.
Johnny and
his lovely wife, Marilyn, are going to visit Kay and me sometime between now
and the holidays. We’re each counting on it.
By the way.
Horace Greeley, the newspaper editor who wrote, “Go West, young man!” is also
known for writing -- “Fame is a vapor, popularity an accident, and riches
take wings. Only one thing endures and that is character.” – Perhaps not THE answer to life itself. But,
it is AN answer. – Next time.
.
end
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