Hayter for June 15, 2025
“The Long Road”
Do you think much about the time you spent with past friends? I see in movies and read in books stories of that nature. From what I’ve learned, our old stories will be the only ones we’ll remember. Of course, your brain may not do that on its own. The One who was with you the whole time may help out.
Kay and I spend less time with our friends, Virginia and Freeman. We met them in 1972 and traveled on short vacations many times and went to the same church for decades. I’ve got the articles to prove it. Digging up the stories would be a struggle.
It’s so much easier for me to remember Virginia and Freeman, but pain to recall the names of most of my school friends. I remember certain events, but not so much about the names of those with me at the time.
I do remember the night of my high school graduation. It took place at the Pasadena High School football stadium. When the final prayer or speech was over, everyone cheered. Of course, not that many of us tossed our square hats in the air. Everything we wore, other than our shoes, slacks, and skivvies, were rented. Our school colors were green and white, and our robes were gray. I imagine the rental place chose the same color for each school.
What I remember most about the night was what happened while I walked back to the family car. One of the girls I knew walked up to me, bawling. She hugged me and said, “Mark, it’s over! None of us will ever see each other again!”
Ginger about broke my heart. I tried to reassure her of our better times ahead, but I did a lousy job because I didn’t even believe it myself. I have long since remembered Ginger crying. It was the only time I ever hugged her. And the last time I ever saw her.
That week, I managed to get a job at a company that made pipe insulation and coatings. It was a horrible summer job. I worked there for four summers. Today, I occasionally get a visit from my best friend, Johnny Sutton. He worked at the same factory for only one summer, the lucky duck.
Johnny and I were friends in high school and college. In our senior year at Stephen F. Austin College, we rented an old yellow house, so we wouldn’t have to stay in the dorm or apartment. The rent was $60 a month. I don’t know why that stuck in my head. Johnny visits us from Livingston on occasion. Kay gets to listen again to our old stories.
I don’t enjoy referring to my current age, which is 75, for fear of losing both of my younger readers. Of course, most of you are younger than I am, but I’m talking about college and middle-aged readers. I remember writing about the time on “Career Day” when columnist Leon Hale came to McCullough High School, and I was assigned to be his host.
On Career Day, dozens of speakers were chosen to talk to the different groups. After introducing him, Leon had little to say other than answering questions. Hale was a writer but not much of a public speaker. I was proud that he agreed to show up, though. I think he started out writing for the “Houston Post” and ended up with the “Chronicle.”
Most of the students had never heard of him. The list of speakers included both the name and profession of each of our guests, so I suppose several students were interested in working with a newspaper or being a writer. I must wrong. Since there were few questions asked, I had to come up with my own. That went on with four different classes.
I’m a different writer from Leon Hale, and not nearly as good. I was a better speaker … as are you. However, I’ve always been proud that I met the Chronicle’s greatest columnist. I also enjoyed Lyn Ashby; he supposedly went to a different school on “Career Day” because I can’t remember seeing him in the flesh.
I don’t remember Pasadena High having a Career Day. Nor do I recognize, by sight, the names of the many friends I had in High School. I’ve got a photo of the class of ’67 rolled up in my closet, but rarely do I take time to look at it. I do recall a lot of the faces, but most names are hidden too deeply in the gray matter hidden above my neck.
I told the story once about my plan when I retired to drive my old pickup down I-45, past the turnoff to Oak Ridge High, and continuing on to the Galveston Seawall. I dreamed of that a lot while I was teaching. (Again, I loved the students, but the preparation was a bear.)
I waited until October of 2004 to make the drive. I went at the same time in the morning as that I always did when I was teaching. The weird thing is that the drive didn’t make me feel all that accomplished. I sat on the seawall for about 30 minutes. I had breakfast before driving home. The result of my idea turned out to be a depressing event.
In fact, the only pleasing moment of what I just wrote was the time Ginger walked up to me after high school Graduation. It just broke my heart to see her so sad. I had been looking forward to graduation since my Sophomore year. And finding a job in a factory that made pipe insulation and coatings so I could go to college.
End
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