Hayter for May 25, 2025
“Remembering Then and Now”
Until I reached the age of six, my memory wasn’t all that acute. You may remember how, on my first day of school, I didn’t remember where my class was. Sad with a happy ending.
Mom walked me to school the day before, to
show me my teacher and classroom. My teacher showed me where my class was. The
lady’s name was Mrs. Smith. I likely wouldn’t have remembered that, had the
following not happened. You see, after Mom walked me home, I figured that was
the end of school for me. – You may wish to reread the first sentence of this
thing..
The next day was the real school day. Dennis, my brother, was a third grader and had to walk me to school. Even I felt sorry for him. Dennis didn’t know where his room was, but third graders didn’t have to know, because they could read big-lettered stuff on the wall. As soon as the bell rang and doors opened, Dennis said, “Your room is probably two hallways over. Mother showed you yesterday.”
You remember the rest of the story, how I entered the wrong room and wasn’t found out until 30 minutes or so into the class. I was taken to the front office, where I waited for the principal. I knew that right off, because the mean lady sat me down and told me to wait for Mr. Somebody, who was going to take care of me. That didn’t sound good.
You’ll recall that the principal turned out to be the nicest man I had ever met in my life, from then to now. That’s why I remembered his name -- Mr. Bozart. He gave me a tour of the building, just like I was the mayor. I like the cafeteria with the characters painted on the wall. He took me to the cafeteria and bought us both a lemonade.
After I finished my drink, he took me to the playground and showed me the swings, monkey bars, and the kickball field. After that, he took me to my class and introduced me to Mrs. Smith, a rather serious-looking lady. That was the moment school started for me. – By the way, those who remember Mr. Bozart are his family, close friends, and Mark Hayter. The man was my Hero.
The last time I saw him was when I was playing football at Pasadena High. I was a tenth-grade defensive safety, waiting for Smiley High’s 10th graders to call a play. A few seconds before a particular play started, one of the referees walked over and whispered, “Hayter, look out for their wide receiver, number 87.” I looked at the ref immediately and recognized that he was Mr. Bozart, the school principal, who was earning money in his spare time by being a football referee. However, knowing that man, he was likely there just for the fun of it. And he remembered my name!
That man made a nobody feel so proud. – Oh, and number 87 was tall and fast, and he was never thrown a ball while in my vicinity.
Fortunately, that experience helped me to be on the lookout for people walking toward me. When I was at Branson, it was usually just little kids. I could’ve tackled every one of them. They each looked so happy. Speaking of Branson, on our trip home last week, I studied the countryside from Southern Missouri through Central and Western Arkansas.
It is miraculous, the number of homes that are located just a few yards off the highway. At the time the homes were built, there was no major highway. Just a two-lane dirt, shell, or cracked asphalt road. That left plenty of room for the front yards. They looked a lot like the ones I saw on our family trips through Oklahoma
As the population in the area of Arkansas increased, the roads were widened, and some lanes were added. This took up a considerable portion of the front yards of many of those older homes built near the road. Now there’s not enough room to pitch a baseball in the front yards of some houses. Heaven help any kids who decide to play Freeze Tag in the yard. I can only hope that most of the homes belong to the elderly who likely sit on the porch.
Of course, there are plenty of homes with long winding driveways lining the hills. In the late evening of our drive, I wondered about the different jobs the residents might have had. When I was young, Daddy always drove us to Oklahoma, starting in the late evening when it was cooler. We’d arrive in the early morning. Two of the older kids in the backseat were in a constant battle to keep the two little squirts from touching them.
As for the four Branson travelers, we left Branson at 9:00 a.m. and made it home at 9:00 p.m. We didn’t have a single fight. We did have to stop at Walmart a couple of times or a dozen times for restroom breaks. At times, we stopped at cafes to chow down or just eat ice cream. Our trip home was uneventful
In 1967, the Hayter family piled into two cars to make it in time for a funeral in Oklahoma. It was the same night that the first of two episodes was to air, showing Richard Kimble finding the one-armed man. It was 8:45 p.m. and Larry was hauling us down a dark, dusty highway. Unless something big happened, we were not going to see Episode One. Life, as we knew it, stunk on ice.
Oh well, that’s all I’ve got time for. Now
you know how I felt on the trip to Bristow back on August 22, 1967. It was a
tough time. Kind of like right now. -- My time is up.
End
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