Margie

I ran a few errands yesterday and ran into Jeannette Spillman.  I bet I haven’t seen her in 20 years but when she walked in the door I immediately recognized her – she is still very pretty.  She told me her mom, Margie was ill and the family has just put her on hospice care.  A flood of memories of my day-care years came surfacing back.

Margie kept many of Rockwall’s grade school children – at least those of us who had working mothers.  She had a red brick house on Joe White Street (just a few doors away from the home of Mr. Dobbs).  Before I was old enough to go home by myself after school or stay alone during the summers I went to Margie’s – my brother and I both did. 

Her children, Jimmy and Jeannette, still lived at home during those days but they were teenagers and kept separate from those of us who were the day-care gang.  Occasionally I would catch a glimpse of them when they came through the front door and headed to their bedrooms, or when they swung by the kitchen for a drink or a snack.  They were the elusive older teenagers and I thought it would have been so fun to hang out with Jeannette, sitting in her room with her, listening to her talk on the phone – but I don’t believe I was ever invited to partake of her teenage wisdom.

I was one of the older kids staying at Margie’s so she let me help her in the house when the other kids went to play in the backyard.  She taught me how to iron; how to fry bologna; and we watched Jack Lalanne and The Guiding Light together.  She could be firm when we didn’t follow her rules but she always had a twinkle in her eye and was quick to laugh when we did something funny.  She always wore a house dress, I don’t believe I ever saw her in anything else.  Funny the things you remember and the things that bring a smile.  I love you Margie!

PS - Margie passed away on September 1st.  She was a good woman and was loved by many and the memories of her will carry on within those of us who knew and loved her!

Before it is gone...

I feel that I am truly blessed.  Before I started this blog I knew I was being gently pushed to go in a new direction but I wasn’t sure what that was.  I wholeheartedly believe the Lord used my friend Brandy to suggest creating a blog and as soon as I created it I knew instantly it would be about my remembrances of Old Rockwall and the people who guided me, who inspired me, and who went before me. 

This afternoon I had what I call a ‘mini-reunion'.  Mama and I met with her first cousins (my second cousins) Peggy Rodgers Jones (who I endearingly call Lees) and Kenneth Payne.  They’ve been reading my blog and wanted to share pictures and details of their recollections of Old Rockwall.

Kenneth is pulling together our family ancestry information and he mentioned names today I had never heard of – Touchstone, Tunstall.  I never knew my great-grandmothers first name of Sallie (she was my granddaddy’s 'Ma') was the same as my great-great grandmothers name on my great-grandfathers side (she was Pa Payne’s mother).  Kenneth has spent years working on our genealogy and still has a ways to go to find all the pieces.  By the way – Kenneth is Glen Payne’s brother –maybe you heard of the Cathedral Quartet - and he is Wanda’s brother and he is the son of my Uncle Burr and Aunt Gertrude.  I have a funny story about sitting with Kenneth at a funeral - but I won't tell it here so that I avoid embarrassing him (and me).

Lees (aka Peggy) is my Aunt Middy’s and Uncle Pud’s youngest daughter (I hope you remember them since they hold the honor of being my first story on this blog).  Lees was my idol in my toddler/pre-school years - to me she was the most beautiful girl in her graduating class, who married the most beautiful guy, and who first let me watch James Bond's 'Goldfinger', and I absolutely adore her.  

The get-together lasted about two-plus hours and we reminisced about the good ‘ol days of Rockwall.  They told me stories of the Payne Hotel – which I had never heard of – but I learned my great-grandfather had a hotel at the corner of Washington and Tyler streets and in the 40s and 50s he rented apartments – primarily to family and friends.  I learned that my great-grandfather also owned a Texaco station on San Jacinto (located where the dry cleaners now is), and it was across from the Ritz Theater (where Community Bank now sits). 

As I sat there and listened to them talk about the people I love and the people I never knew – I realized this is exactly where God wants me to be – capturing the moments – before they are gone…

PS I'll post pictures of the Payne Hotel, the Texaco, and the Ritz Theater as soon as I can locate them!

Seger Hysterics

Radio announcement this morning told me that Bob Seger is coming back to Dallas for a concert.  I love, love, love Bob Seger's music and have most of his tunes on my iPhone or on CD.  When I've had convertibles I would put Seger in, put the top down, and I would groove to his beat; now anytime a Seger song comes on I feel the urge to roll down all the windows in my car and drive really fast, letting my hair blow – envisioning myself on the back of a motorcycle.

When my daughter Laura was younger I would tell her “if Bob Seger ever comes to Dallas I am going to see him!”  Then when she went to school at Texas A&M she told me about all the concerts they have on the weekends there – and again I reminded her to let me know if Bob Seger comes because I AM THERE!

Well a few years ago he came to Dallas and Laura got us tickets.  Our seating was similar to my Elvis experience – in the ‘rafters’, but I didn’t care because (oh my gosh) I was going to see Seger in concert.  We arrived at the venue early; I bought us both a drink; we browsed the t-shirts and I bought one; then we found our seats.  We were definitely up near the ceiling, but we were on the front row of our section so our view was unobstructed.  It was a long way down to the stage and my eyesight isn’t what it once was, but still I didn’t care – I was going to see Seger in concert.  We got comfortable in our seats and the excitement in the room was contagious – of couse, I didn’t need much coaxing to be excited because (OK I know you know) I WAS GOING TO SEE SEGER!

The lights started to fade, the band came on the stage, the crowd roared, the band started with LIKE A ROCK and then Seger came onstage singing “Stood there boldly, Sweatin’ in the sun, Felt like a million, Felt like number one…Like a rock!   I could hardly see him except I could tell he had on a white t-shirt and jeans.  Laura and I stood up on the first beat from the band and I yelled and clapped and acted like a teenager, standing next to my 20-something year old daughter.  Laura beamed – I could tell she was excited too.

After the first song we sat down and I just had to see him up close so I pulled out the binoculars.  The second song started up, I raised the binoculars to my eyes and anxiously searched the stage for the man himself.  Then time absolutely stood still.  I could no longer hear the music.  I just sat there staring at this fat old man on the stage.  I was traumatized.  I don’t mean to be cruel, but really he looked bad.  He was unkept; his hair was dirty; I even think his clothes were dirty.  I looked over at Laura and she saw the look on my face, I couldn’t even speak, I just handed her the binoculars.  She took them and searched the stage to look for what I had seen then she burst out laughing - it was the kind of laughter that you can't stop and you laugh so hard you are almost crying; then we both burst out laughing.  Quickly we put the binoculars back in my bag!  We enjoyed our drink and tried to recover from the hysterics.  On OLD TIME ROCK & ROLL we stood back up to clap, sing along with Bob, and act like teenagers together.  We didn’t need to see the face of the man on stage, we could hear him and that was more than enough, and we were together having a great time - but (as the concert continued) occasionally we would make eye contact and burst out laughing.  Great night with my best girl!

you don't know what you got 'till it's gone

At the corner of Goliad and Kaufman is a parking lot and when I drive through town I occasionally catch myself sarcastically humming “they paved paradise, put up a parking lot".  Why?  My most-loved building of childhood is no longer on the downtown square.

Presbyterian Church on the Square

In 1925 Presbyterian parishioners bought an empty lot on the corner and in 1929 the congregation moved their church bell to the new, brick “church on the square” and there they worshiped for the next 50 or so years.

My first and only piano recital was in the sanctuary of the First Presbyterian Church.  In 3^rd grade I was ‘made’ to take piano lessons – I did not want to play piano (I thought) but I adored my teacher Mrs. Glenn.  She and Dr. Glenn were one of those couples who worked together – he was the pastor of the First Presbyterian Church of Rockwall and she was the organist and in her spare time she taught piano.  As much as she tried to entice me to enjoy the instrument I was too stubborn. I spent minimal time at practice and we all know that if you don’t practice - you won’t play very well (unless of course you could play by ear, which I could not).

I miss that lovely red brick building sitting on the corner.  I know we all make mistakes; the building should have been repaired and renovated - not bulldozed to the ground; I should have practiced piano and taken the lessons seriously!  

And with the great lyrics from Joni Mitchell "Don't it always seem to go, That you don't know what you got 'till it's gone, They paved paradise, And put up a parking lot."

It was all about the hair!

The downtown area of Rockwall was a perfect representation of small town America where families worked together to manage grocery stores, furniture and appliance stores, drug stores, hardware stores, and dry cleaning businesses; even churches got in on the sharing of fiscal responsibilities when the husband was the pastor and the wife was the organist.

Mid-way down the block of San Jacinto, between Rusk and Washington, sat Daniel’s Beauty Salon.  The small building stood attached to Rockwall Drug Store and across the street from Leon Smith’s Law Office.  Walking in the front door was a small waiting area, then several swivel chairs faced a long mirror with a counter filled with supplies, and in the back were the shampoo bowls and hair dryers.  The husband and wife team of James and Jackie Daniel ran the shop. 

Connie Rodgers and
Carol Payne McCallum Lawrence
(Mama)

My mama had a standing weekly appointment at Daniel’s.  Wednesday night was beauty parlor night for her.  A majority of the ladies around town had standing weekly appointments at their beauty parlor of choice.  They would get their hair ‘done’ then they would sleep with either tissue around their head to protect their ‘do’, or perhaps they slept in one position all night so they only had to fluff what was smushed in the morning; I expect there were unique and varied methods used by the ladies around town to keep the hair in tact.

James Daniels was tall and thin with a bald spot just starting on the crown of his head.  He was friendly but in a quiet way.  Jackie on the other hand was short and chubby with a zest for life; she was always full of energy and on the go – she still is.  My mama usually had her appointment with Jackie but occasionally if the Daniel’s got to running behind or overbooked then James would work on mama’s hair.  Shampoo, cut, curl, dry, teasing, and tons of hair spray for under $10; her hair was always perfect for the rest of the week.

Now my situation was a different matter -- I had long black, curly, hair – actually it was more of a wavy fuzz than curly and I hated it!  I dreamt of long straight hair, down to my waist, similar to Michelle Phillips (of the Mama’s and the Papa’s).  I wanted my hair to fall straight to my hips and swoosh back and forth when I walked.  Most days I kept it pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of my neck – not really a good look for me, but it was easy.  More than once I went with Mama to the beauty parlor and one day James, Jackie and Mama conspired together and talked me into getting a perm – that was not a good idea.  Although James did a wonderful job with what he had to work with it was not a success.  A perm needs to be tended to and I am what I call hair-handicapped, so trying to manage a perm was just as hard or worse than managing my wavy fuzz of a ponytail.  Instead of having hair like Michelle Phillips I now resembled Janis Joplin on a bad day.  A few weeks later, after I moped around depressed due to everyday being a bad hair day; Mama decided the perm look was just not working for me – so I visited the beauty parlor again.  This time James ‘straightened’ my hair – I was so excited, I was finally going to have long silky hair; I held a picture of Michelle Phillips in my hand and showed James throughout the process what I thought my hair should look like when he finished; but my hair had a mind of its own and the wavy locks won out – the straightening chemicals lost - we tossed the picture in the trash.  I gave up on the beauty parlor that day, but for years I still hoped to have long silky locks - even after Daniels’ Beauty Salon was no longer on the downtown square in Rockwall.  In recent years I’ve reconciled with my hair and with the ‘beauty parlor’; a shampoo, cut, color and blow-dry costs around $100; I now wear my hair short and perky, and to trick the gray I went blond.  Michelle Phillips – look out!

When it was just a ridge...

Occasionally I hear folks around town complaining about the traffic on Ridge Road and they grumble when the road in front of Kroger is shut-down to one lane.  Rockwall is growing by leaps and bounds and various road crews are expanding several of our main thoroughfares – so there is often a traffic jam at one or more intersections. 

I remember when the Farm-to-Market road ran along the ridge-line at the top of the hill, before the rolling landscape started to slope downward and the hillside fell into the bottom land.  I remember when the road was a one-lane-slab and a few homes were scattered along the ridge with wide open views and space between neighbors - the Park's, Mitchell's, and Peoples' lived there.  I remember how the bottom land looked with various designs of patchwork in the spring, summer, fall, and winter before it became Lake Ray Hubbard. I remember the path before it was Ridge Road. 

Coming south from the downtown square, Highway 205 split approximately where it does now and if you veered to the right you were on FM740 and that is where the ‘good portion' of the road ended.  Within a few feet of the intersection the road became half slab and half dirt.  The slab portion was obviously built for the early automobiles that came to Rockwall. During the 50s and 60s traffic around Rockwall was courteous and drivers welcomed the folks heading in to dowtown - cars or trucks traveling outbound would drive the concrete slab until they came upon a car traveling inbound, then the outbound car would move over to the dirt trail until the incoming vehicle passed.  The concrete slab road at some point turned to dirt and led to Heath. 

Rockwall was a slower paced community back then – I can visualize cars travelling along the ridge, passengers riding with their windows down on warm summer days, looking off into the bottom land where perhaps tractors were gathering hay for the winter.  


Today driving into town I looked across the expanse of the lake toward where the ridge still resides.  Rockwall spans along the ridge as far as the eye can see, and beyond.  I miss the calm of what was.

School Days

Howard Dobbs

Rockwall Elementary School was a wonderful place for a child to be in the 60s.  Mr. Howard Dobbs was the principle of the only elementary school in Rockwall.  He was a gentle loving man to all the students who attended the school and those of us lucky enough to have known him are better because of it.  

The exterior of the school was brown brick; the main portion was the center of the building and was situated north to south with open-air wings of classrooms running east to west from the center.  The classrooms all had exterior doors to the walkway – there was no heat or air conditioning when going from class to class but we didn’t care – it was grade school.  At the front of the building was the Office – upon entering and immediately to the left was a receptionist desk and counter and across from that was a table holding the school’s mimeograph machine and equipment (I believe if I opened the door to that office today I would still be able to smell the mimeograph ink).  The gym was to the west of the office and had an exterior entrance off the parking lot and one near the cafeteria.  Walking down the hall from the office were restrooms to the left, the library (which was started with books donated by Mr. Dobbs), another wing of classrooms, and then the cafeteria where there were rows of tables and chairs, a small stage for assemblies, and the kitchen.  A third wing of classrooms was beyond the cafeteria entrance.

A few days prior to the first day of school we could go to school to find out who would be our teacher and which of our friends would be in our class.  Each classroom door had a window and taped to the window was a sheet of paper with the teacher’s name and the students who would be in that room.  I can vividly remember checking the doors of the 4^th grade classrooms and seeing my name on Mrs. Nebbie Williams door – yippee!

The first day of school introduced us to the routine we would follow for the remainder of the year – in the morning we would recite the Pledge of Allegiance; mid morning we would take a break and walk to the cafeteria where we had a choice between white or chocolate milk; at lunch time we gathered back in the cafeteria to enjoy the special of the day (to this day when I spell yeast rolls baking I think of my elementary school cafeteria); in the afternoon was recess on the playground equipment located in front of the 1^st and 2^nd grade classrooms – and in between all that was reading, writing and arithmetic.

I had the greatest teachers during my years at the school and to justify that statement many of them now have schools carrying their names.  Mrs Pullen – 2^nd Grade (Dorothy Smith Pullen Elementary), Mrs Peck – 3^rd Grade; Mrs. Williams – 4^th Grade (Nebbie Williams Elementary); Mrs Cain – 5^th grade (Maureen Cain Middle School); Mrs Smith – 6^th grade.  I missed having Mrs. Parks (Amy Parks Heath Elementary) as my 1^st grade  teacher, but lucky for me she was my neighbor for 17 years.  Rockwall Elementary School was renamed to Dobbs Elementary School in 1970.  

PS.  Rockwall now has 12 elementary schools.  I think Mr. Dobbs would be proud of us!

  

Broken Sidewalks

Coming home from work last week I made a left at the black and white sign marking Hwy 205 (aka North Goliad) to make a grocery run to the new Tom Thumb north of town.  I drove down Goliad and realized how much the street has changed recently.  In earlier years it was a two-lane road with homes lining each side all the way from Kaufman Street out to the edge of town (which was about where the YMCA is now).  The homes were of various architecture and shades of paint.  The Free Methodist Church sat at the corner of Goliad and Olive Streets and on Sunday mornings you could hear the church bells ring.  The street still has a few homes but it is quick becoming a business district of little shops, art studios, hair salons, and shops filled with (questionable) collectibles.

I drove down the street taking a long look at what the street has become and remembering what was - my goal to get to the grocery store became less important. I turned my car around to drive back up the street a little slower trying to remember the families who had once lived here – families with the names of Payne, Smith, Klutts, Cain, Spafford and others.

broken sidewalk on N Goliad

During my youth Goliad Street was one of the few streets in Rockwall that was lined with sidewalks.  Driving the street I saw a majority of the broken, tilted sidewalks had been replaced – now the walks are wider, no cracks, no lopsided pieces of concrete.  I realized broken and tilted is not a bad thing – it represents those who traveled before us and it reminds us of the lessons we learn each day.  Broken sidewalks reveal character of a neighborhood.  The old uneven slabs were witness to many footsteps in earlier years.  I can recall their faces and remember seeing them walking to visit with each other around the downtown square.  They walked downtown to attend church, to buy groceries, or to work - I wonder what they thought about, what were their issues of the day?

I parked my car and walked the broken sidewalks that still remain near the intersection of Heath Street.  I stood on a tilted slab to reminisce about earlier years, to remember the families who lived here and I took in the view of Goliad today, because I know it will change tomorrow.

Malt Squared

Rusk Street was a tree-line street that led uphill from Rockwall Elementary to the downtown square of  Rockwall.  It is one of the few streets near downtown Rockwall that has not changed.  During the school year I would carry my books up the street, passing the orange Corner Sandwich Shop, Jacobs Dry Cleaners, the Rockwall Drug Store, Falls Family Store, Shorty’s Barber Shop and push open the door to Payne Furniture & Appliance.  I would head straight back to the office to drop my books, say hi to Grandmama, then I would look for Grandaddy.  If he wasn’t at the telephone counter I would find him on the other side of the wall in his fix-it shop where he repaired radios and televisions.  However, most days he was leaning against the counter and would either be on the phone with a supplier or he would be visiting with one of his many friends that came in.  When he saw me he would stop his conversation, give me a big greeting as if he had not seen me in days, then he would give me a dime or two to go next door to JD Holt’s grocery store to get candy or a Coke.  One day he gave me a quarter and suggested that I walk down to the corner drug store to get a malt.  I hesitated (mainly because I was shy and didn’t want to sit at the counter by myself) but he insisted and was sure I would love the malt.

The Rockwall Drug Store was located on the corner of Rusk and San Jacinto streets (now Zanata's).  It was run by Earl and Ellison Slaughter.  It had two sections within the store – the first portion of the building was the drug store where there was a pharmacy at the back to have prescriptions filled; in the middle were rows of over the counter medications such as cough syrup or Alka Seltzer, plus an array of cosmetics; the second portion of the store had a soda fountain with stools that lined the counter.  Behind the counter were the soda fountains, the malt equipment, containers of ice cream, and glasses and dishes of various shapes and sizes. 

With the quarter tight in the palm of my hand, I sat down on an empty stool and ordered a chocolate malt.  It was brought to me in an old fashioned malt glass – heavy and about eight inches tall.  The malt was chocolaty, thick and creamy.  As I sat there (by myself) I watched as others came and went from the soda fountain.  It seemed that it took me a long time to finish the cold drink because I had to stop several times to let the brain freeze subside – and I was ready to get back to the security of my ‘store’.  Finally I finished, I shyly pushed my quarter to the edge of the counter. The waitress walked over with another malt in her hand and she started to pour it in my glass.  Oh my goodness -- what was she doing?  With eyes wide (and probably horrified) I told her I already had my malt and she said a malt served two glasses and this was my second glass.  There was no way I could drink another glass - I tried to politely tell her no thanks but when she insisted there was another portion coming, I quickly ran out the front door and back to my grandparents store.  When I got there Granddaddy was waiting for me and wanted to know how I liked the malt.  I was mortified to tell him that it was TOO MUCH – and that I had run out of the drug store leaving the malt on the counter.  I remember he gave a big bellowing laugh - he knew the malt came in two servings but had somehow failed to mention that.  He thought my malt experience was funny and laughed for years about it. In fact, years later he would sit in his recliner in the living room after dinner and mention that he was hungry for something ‘sweet’ – with a wink and a slight grin he would say “a malt sure sounds good”.  To this day I don’t order malts and if I were to come across a drug store soda fountain I would be most satisfied with a small dish of ice cream or a cherry Coke.  

Ruh-Roh

Each day I wake up I have an idea on what my blog will be about.  This morning driving to work I had many ideas: a blog about the vote the Rockwall City Council just made to make Rockwall Animal Shelter a no kill community and the dogs I’ve loved (from Tippy to Joplin); several stories about a red 1964 Falcon convertible; maybe a story about ‘the Tree’ at the lake; or a story about too much malt (yes, all are a hook, in literary terms, to spark your interest when they actually make it to the blog).

Today was busy and not enough time to develop a story.  Hopefully tomorrow!

xoxox

My Years with Elvis

Last night the evening news noted that Elvis had died 34 years ago.  It is really hard to believe it has been that long.  Most of us born before 1970 remember the reports of his death - we even remember where we were when we heard it.  

I’ve listened to Elvis’ recordings as long as I can remember.  He was part of my world growing up and he remains part of my world today.  The first recollection I have of listening to vinyl 45 RPM records is at the Wilkerson House.  When I was in the second grade we moved into into the house located at 601 Crotty Street (in the 80s I initiated a petition for the street name to be changed to Parks Avenue – more about that in a later blog).  The house was a brown brick Tudor with a front porch that wrapped around the south side.  At the back was a small driveway with a detached carport and at the rear of the carport was a tiny storage shed. 

One day while playing ‘house’ in the storage shed I found my parents collection of records along with a record player.  While I was setting up my play house I decided I should have music to entertain my Barbie and Ken family so I shuffled through a few of the records.  The stack included Johnny Mathis’ “The Twelfth of Never” which I knew was my parents “song” – you know the one when you hear it as a couple you lock eyes and swoon at each other.  A few others were by Elvis – part of my Dad’s collection - and those were the records I played.  My Dad was a huge Elvis fan; he even had the long sideburns for a few years.  The records had one song on each side (an A-side and a B-side or flip side) and my favorite was the 45 with "Hound Dog and Don't Be Cruel".  I was actually an early version of Forrest Gump - dancing around the little room and twisting to the beat.  I even hoped that I would be Mrs. Elvis Presley someday.

Skip ahead years later to Christmas 1976.  Roy and I had gotten married the year before and were expecting our first child.  I heard Elvis would be in concert in Dallas and I knew the gift I had to get for my parents (and for me).  I bought the best seats I could afford - four tickets in the ‘rafters’ - to see Elvis Presley in concert at the Dallas Convention Center.  When we arrived at the concert (me starting to waddle just a bit) I looked over at Roy and said, “If we have this baby tonight we are naming it ELVIS!”  Roy leaned towards me and loudly whispered, “Like hell we are!”  Our seats were so high up that we all got a little dizzy climbing up them, but it was so worth it.  Elvis had gained a lot of weight but he still was a hunka-bunka-burnin-love and performed a great show. It was a night (and a Christmas present) I’ll never forget.  (By the way, we didn’t have our baby that night – he was born in March and we named him Wesley Denton Singleton after his great-great grandfather and his great grandfather.)

A few years later in 1980 we had our second child, Laura.  My Dad would occasionally pick her up to make a Sonic run or to go on errands with him – just to spend time together, riding around and (by that time) listening to Elvis on cassette.  One summer when she was five Daddy taught her the words to “Can’t Help Falling In Love”.  We had a recording made of her singing that song and gave it to my Dad – he cried. 

A few years later I got involved with the local community theater.  My first production at Rockwall Community Playhouse was NUNSENSE.  We performed in the Rockwall High School Theater (that was before RCP owned its own building).  Sometime during rehearsals it surfaced that I was a big Elvis fan.  I even saved a chair in the audience for Elvis in case he decided to show up – he never did.  On the last performance the cast and crew had a special surprise for me – Elvis came out on stage and sang to me – of course it was really Jack Cecil in an Elvis costume and a really bad wig, but it was an amazing finale to a wonderful show. Every show I’ve either been in or directed has had Elvis onstage somewhere.  Either a picture of him on the living room wall of the set, backstage hanging over the stage managers podium, in my Bible when I played Miss Maudie in TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD, in a frame on Truvy’s wall in STEEL MAGNOLIAS, disguised in a picture frame on the desk in JAKE’S WOMEN – well, you get the idea.

PS.  I didn’t become Mrs. Presley (I got better than that), but I am thankful my love of rock-n-roll began with him and my Dad’s record collection.  Thanks E!  

Room Upstairs

Walking outside in the early mornings when the soft breezes blow, remind me of the time I slept with the windows open in the room upstairs.  The room was located at the top of the stairs and to the right.  My grandparents room was first and the guest room, my room, was second.  I can't remember the exact details of the room.  I expect it was not nearly as big as it is in my mind.  It had several pieces of furniture although I can't recall what they were.  I don't remember the pictures on the walls or the colors of the drapes and bedspread.  What I do remember is that the room had windows facing east and windows facing south. In the spring and summer, my grandmother opened the windows to allow the evening breezes to cool the room.  The bed was placed in front of the southern windows.  This is where I slept.

At bedtime, Grandaddy would sit in his recliner in the den and wait for me to come kiss him goodnight.  Then Grandmama and I would head for the room upstairs.  She would tuck me in and kiss me goodnight and before she left the room she always turned (with a wink) to tell me to make sure the bed bugs didn't bite.

As I laid quietly in the room waiting for sleep to come and praying that there were no bed bugs, I listened to the sounds of nature.  The insects of the night hummed outside and the breezes rustled through the tress and flowers in Grandmama's garden below.  The fragrances of the blooming garden floated through the room.  I could hear my grandparents talking softly to each other as they got ready for bed.  One of them always turned on the radio before getting into bed and they listened to their favorite Christian broadcast before turning out the lights.

Many years have passed since I spent the night in the room upstairs, but when the gentle summer breezes blow I am back safely within those walls.

Goliad PO and Inez

I went to the Rockwall Post Office today - the one on Goliad.  I needed a roll of stamps and I stood in line for at least 15 minutes.  There were three clerks working the counter.  I’ve never found the people who work the counter at that post office to be very friendly, and there is always one clerk with someone at their counter who never moves – a person with an issue that seems impossible to solve.  So with mission impossible at the counter, the rest of us wait in line.  A little later in the day I ran into Inez Smith.  I told her I was writing my memories of Old Rockwall and I asked if she wanted to visit with me about the Post Office, but with a grin and a  hug she said that was too long ago for her J.  But really, seeing her in the service window at the Post Office on the downtown square does not seem so long ago to me. 

Inez was the lady who kept the Post Office humming.  She had a smile for each person who came in the front door.  She knew our families and always asked about them (even today at 86 she asks, “How is your Mom?”).  She celebrated with the people of Rockwall during happy times and grieved with us during the sad.

The Post Office was located at the corner of Kaufman and San Jacinto streets. I never remember a line that we waited in if we went to buy stamps.  I never remember the window blocked with mission impossible.  Back in those days we actually wrote letters and most everything went through the mail – it was what the federal law called “personal, educational, literary and business correspondence of the people" – pre FedEx, pre Email, pre Internet.  The year I was born the cost of stamps was 3 cents and when I graduated from Rockwall High School the cost had escalated to 8 cents.  Rockwall had a zip code assigned in 1963 but we didn’t use it on our mailings then, we didn't have to -- Rockwall was small and the folks at the post office knew everybody.

Seeing Inez today made it a really good day and dissolved my irritation of standing in line for a roll of stamps!  Maybe I won’t go to the Post Office on Goliad anymore – perhaps I’ll try the new Harbor location, or maybe even the Fate Post Office (where I hear the lady behind the window is friendly and efficient – just like Inez).

PS.  Inez passed away in January 2021 due to COVID.  I will miss seeing her around town.

PSS.  I only use the Fate PO now.

I AM SECOND

Every morning at my house it is the same routine.  I wake up, Buddy (our long-hair dachshund) jumps from his bed when he sees me, and Roy sleeps in.  I head into the kitchen to start the coffee then Buddy and I head out for his first walk of the day.  We walk up the driveway to the top of the hill and Buddy picks his ‘spot’.  I look across the pond to my Mom’s house to see if she is outside watering her flowers or on her patio drinking her morning coffee.  If I see Mama, I will holler ‘YOU-WHO’ across to her, and she will respond with the same.  Each generation has carried the tradition of signaling when we see each other.  We ‘YOU-WHO’ very loudly, the signal carries and the recipient turns in quick recognition to wave or ‘YOU-WHO’ back.  This tradition started with Grandmama, carried through the years by Mom, from me, to my daughter Laura. 

As I capture the Moments each day I realize how grateful I am for the family and friends I have had along the way, and I thank God for being in my life.  Two strong grandmothers and my grandfather taught me about Jesus.  I learned the lessons I was to learn, but to be honest, I didn’t always practice them. So over and over God patiently reinforces the lessons and reminds me that He is always there.  Looking back I can see that He stood over me during the ‘crazy’ high school years, He sent me a wonderful man to marry, He carried me through my son’s illness and subsequent death, He held me up when my Grandfather died, He allowed me to have both my Grandmothers for over 50 years, He allows me to visit my Dad and realize forgiveness and love, He allows me to walk up the hill to look for my Mom each morning.  He walks beside me everyday, even when I choose the wrong path.

This morning’s blog is to say Thank You Lord – for the blessings you give me each day.  Thank you for a wonderful family and friends.  Thank you for allowing me to capture the memories.  

Norwegian Wood

Many of my classmates have rediscovered each other on Facebook.  It has been a great way to reconnect with my old friends.  This year we decided we would start meeting quarterly – we are building up for our 40^th reunion, and lately I have been remembering those who will be there in spirit only.

Rockwall in the 60s seemed to maintain the status quo of the 50s.  The unrest of the nation had not quite seeped into our little town on the hill.  During the summers we played outside or we went to the Rockwall public swimming pool to hang out all afternoon.  We watched Ed Sullivan and Bonanza on television.  We listened to the music of the time (The Beatles, The Dave Clark Five, Petula Clark, The Supremes) and we danced the Jerk and the Locomotion.  We were baby boomers, and we didn't think outside the box - we didn't foresee the possibilities we each had.

During my elementary and junior high years I would sometimes walk home with one of my friends.  Several of my girlfriends had ‘stay at home Moms’ and it was fun to go to their house where a special snack or drink awaited them after school.  Walking from the school, turning left on Clark and heading right up Munson Street would take me to the home of Maude Hall.  Maude was the grandmother to my friend Becky.  Becky lived with her grandmother, her dad, and her brother.  Her mother had left the family after Becky was born.  We would go into the small brick home, drop our books and head to the kitchen where Maude awaited us with ‘butter and sugar bread’.  The recipe is easy -- white bread, spread with butter, and an ample coating of sugar on top – sometimes she toasted it and sometimes she didn’t, but either way it was delicious!  Then we would head to the living room where the piano was.

Becky Hall 1971

Becky was tall, thin, beautiful and had long blonde hair.  I would watch her sit at the piano and start to play.  With her long fingers touching each key she would play the music of The Beatles.  Sometimes she would sing along, but mostly she just played.  At the time, my favorite song was Norwegian Wood and that was the one she would play first.  I was always so envious that she could play by ear – she didn’t need the sheet music.  Once she heard a song on the radio, she could play it.  I always expected that she would make it big in the world – either as a model or as a musician.

After junior high Becky and I grew apart and once we graduated I didn’t keep track of her.  A few years ago I heard she had passed away.  I heard that she had a really hard life.  That is so sad to me – she was so beautiful and talented.  I’m sorry she had a hard time finding her way in life.

Becky will be in spirit at our 40^th.

John Lennon said "The thing the sixties did was to show us the possibilities and the responsibility that we all had. It wasn't the answer. 
It just gave us a glimpse of the possibility."

The only things that don't change...

There should be a signal for us when it will be the last time we experience an event.  For instance, you should know when it will be the last time you pick up your baby so you can savor the moment, but instead you look back years later and realize that one day you just stopped picking them up.  There are lots of times I wish I knew that it would have been the last so that I could mentally sponge up the moment. 

I wish I had known when it was going to be the last time I stood in the house on North Goliad.  I would have captured the smells of each room.  I would have roamed from room to room to touch the walls and to recall the way the furniture was laid out.  I would have gone to the room upstairs and laid on the bed one more time.  I would have walked out to the backyard to memorize the gardens and to flick the water in the lily pond.  I would have crossed to the storm cellar, opened the door, and stepped down into the cellar to try to remember how big it was.  I would have walked out to the back fence to look at the pasture where the crawfish pond was and where the spot was that I fell off my horse and broke my arm.  But of course we don’t know in advance when ‘last times’ will be, we can’t plan for them, we just look back on them with the memories they leave for us.

N Goliad

The house on North Goliad was a red brick two-story set back off the road.  The front yard was long and lush and a planter of a donkey pulling a cart stood under one of the trees.  The long driveway led to the two-car garage, the front door was on the right and faced the driveway.  As you entered the house there was a small entry way, to the right was a small half-bath, and to the left were the stairs that went up to the second story.  Directly across from the front door was the living room with a large picture window (where the aluminum Christmas tree stood each year).  Passing the stairs and to the left was where the telephone was located and a small dining room which then led to the kitchen.  Taking a right in the kitchen would lead you to the enclosed back porch which held a dining table and was where we had family meals during the Holidays and special dinners such as birthdays.  Crossing through the enclosed room led you back to the living room.  The stairs led to the den and the bedrooms upstairs.  At the top of the stairs and to the right was my Grandparents bedroom, next to it was a guest room where I slept when I stayed over.  Turning left at the stairs you would pass the full bathroom on your right, on your left was the den where we watched TV, and the hall ended into the second guest bedroom. 

I have thought many times about going to the house and knocking on the door to ask if I might step inside, but I’m afraid to do that.  The house is no longer the home that it was during my youth.  I think there is a reason we are given memories – it is so years later we can reminisce about the days of our lives.  I’ve learned that memories are the only things that don’t change when everything else does.  

I Choose GRAY

I recently read “The Help” by Kathryn Stockett which is about three extraordinary women in 1962 Mississippi.  The story is timeless and significantly addresses the various shades of colors in our lives and how we (if we are smart and aware) can change our views and fine-tune the color hues each day.

I turned eight in October 1962 and was in the third grade at Rockwall Elementary.  Rockwall was segregated and I remember there were ‘places’ for the whites and ‘places’ for the blacks.  I didn’t understand why there was a difference, and as I recall those days I know that my mind questioned the reasoning for the division of color – even at a young age I knew it was wrong, but because those I loved and those who taught and guided me saw the differences, I followed their direction. 

The ‘store’ is where I recall my first awareness of color.  My grandparents owned Payne Furniture and Appliance, located at the corner of Rusk and Goliad.  Granddaddy sold new furniture and appliances and worked on televisions, Grandmama kept the books.  The front doors faced Rusk and there was a side door (the back door) that opened onto Goliad.  Each day after school I would head up Rusk Street to ‘the store’ to play office while my grandparents ran the business.  The front of the store held appliances and furniture, the back-portion of the store is where Grandaddy's fix-it shop and Grandmama's office area were -- a long counter marked the division between the back and the front.  Most everybody used the front door.  Occasionally the back door was used but usually by the service crew or by Grandaddy’s friends from that side of the block (Mr. Klutts, Mr. Stevenson, and Mr. Shaw).  The back door was also occasionally used by an older black man who came in from the back, stopped at the end of the counter and waited for Grandaddy to see him.  When Grandaddy saw him he would greet him in a friendly manner and walk over to shake his hand and there they conducted business – the man never entered the front portion of the store.  I remember asking Grandmama why he used the back door, and why didn’t he come into the open area - she told me it was because he was ‘colored’.  My grandparents treated all their customers with total respect.  The back door rule was not my grandparents rule – it was a sign of the times.  

My second remembrance of segregation - the Rockwall County Court House.  It had a basement where the restrooms and the water fountains were.  There were two water fountains – one marked for “Whites Only”, one marked for “Colored Only”.  I can remember being in that basement and staring at the signs located on the walls above the water fountains.  I didn’t know it was supposed to be any other way than separate – but my instinct told me it wasn’t right.

The most vivid memory I have of color difference is the day I realized there was not a difference– they are just hues of colors – and when you blend black and white together you get gray.  By the time I got to Junior High the Rockwall schools had become integrated.  Physical Exercise (PE) was one of my classes and occasionally we would walk over to the old gym at Rockwall Elementary for our class.  One day during our ‘integrated’ PE class, Margaret Linville, who had a new pack of Juicy Fruit gum, asked me if I wanted a piece.  I quickly said no.  My stomach flip-flopped and I’m sure my face flushed (I was so embarrassed – why had I said no when I did actually want a piece of gum?).  I adored Margaret – she was smart and beautiful and was a sweet friend.  I have thought about that day many times since – was my response because of the teachings of my community?  Maybe.  I do know that is the day I realized there was not a difference between us and it was the day I knowingly made the choice to fight discrimination. 

I’ve had some wonderful accomplishments, but the things I’m most proud of are my children, my family, my career, my volunteer work, and the day I chose GRAY.

Orange On The Corner

This past weekend I went to a new restaurant on the ‘Downtown Square’.  The downtown area is becoming a great place for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but prior to Restaurant AVA’s, Zanata’s, The Fatted Calf, and Bin 303 opening there was a dry spell of good restaurants in the area around the square.  However if you are from 'Old Rockwall' you probably ate at the Yellowjacket Grill, the Mecca Café, and Harvey Sanders' Corner Sandwich Shop.

The Corner Sandwich Shop was located at the corner of Fannin and Rusk streets (just across from the ‘old’ Methodist Church – I’m working my way up the street to Payne Furniture).

The exterior of the building was wood and inside was a row of booths on the right, a counter on the left with the kitchen in the back, and somewhere in the middle of the room or in the kitchen was Harvey Sanders - a short heavy-set man with a wide grin.  Did I mention the building was painted orange - probably not a color choice for most people but if you grew up in Rockwall you know orange is a perfect color for everything - and if you are privileged to be from 'Old Rockwall' then you probably select orange as your favorite color when you select the answer to the secret internet question of “What is your favorite color”.

My friends and I went to the Corner Sandwich Shop when we were in the 7^th & 8^th grade (we could actually leave the school campus back in those days).  The Junior High School was located in the building that had been the High School (the old two story red brick building).  We would walk the five short blocks, crowd into a booth together or stand in line to order one of Harvey's burgers, and be back in class before the tardy bell rang.

I don’t recall the full menu but if I close my eyes I can still smell the room and taste the greasy burgers – and I recall that Harvey loved Rockwall High School football and Rockwall football loved him.  Rockwall's Wilkerson-Sanders football stadium is a tribute to Harvey’s dedication and generosity to the community.

Growing up Methodist

I recently attended HELLO DOLLY auditions at Rockwall Community Playhouse. Several of the auditioners sang AMAZING GRACE as their audition song and I caught myself humming it the rest of the evening.  I love that song and I’ve sung it in many church auditoriums since I first heard it, but my most vivid memories are singing it in the Rockwall United Methodist Church with my Grandparents (JD and Paralee Payne) or singing with my Grandmother McCallum (Helen) at the First Christian Church in Rowlett.

The Rockwall United Methodist Church was located in downtown Rockwall at the corner of Rusk and Fannin Streets.  The building is still there and, sadly, now sits empty.  Sunday was always church day for my grandparents!  When I spent Saturday night with Grandmama and Grandaddy Payne (which was often) I would watch television while Grandmama studied her Sunday School lesson (I would like to note that she led the Harvester Sunday School Class each Sunday morning for 50+ years.)  

Back in the 60s (and before that) everybody had their ‘pew’ of preference and my Grandparents were no exception.  The church pews were made of wood, stained a dark brown and were arranged in rows facing the pulpit.  They had benchlike cushioned seating and slots behind each pew to hold Bibles, Hymnals, or other church literature.   We sat about eight rows back from the pulpit on the center aisle.  From my viewpoint in the sanctuary, the pulpit was elevated on a platform and stood center, the choir loft was to the preacher's left and stained glass windows surrounded the entire room (which later were moved to the 'new building').  There was a large lighted cross that hung at the back of the choir loft.  The preacher and the choir all wore robes and the preacher had a special overlay (or banner) that distinguished him apart from the choir. 

Paralee and JD Payne

My grandparents owned a local business and since Rockwall was so small they usually knew most everyone in the congregation and spoke to them before the service started. Grandmama was a very tall, attractive woman and a bit reserved, where Grandaddy always had a grin, a handshake, or a slap on the back for his friends.  


In this wonderful building and under the guidance of these wonderful people I learned the scriptures to guide me the rest of my life, I sang the classic hymns, and I recited the Apostles Creed

I believe in God the Father Almighty,

maker of heaven and earth;

And in Jesus Christ his only Son our Lord:

who was conceived by the Holy Spirit,

born of the Virgin Mary,

suffered under Pontius Pilate,

was crucified, dead, and buried;

the third day he rose from the dead;

he ascended into heaven,

and sitteth at the right hand of God the Father Almighty;

from thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead.

I believe in the Holy Spirit,

the holy catholic church,

the communion of saints,

the forgiveness of sins,

the resurrection of the body,

and the life everlasting. Amen.

And when I recall those sweet Sunday mornings of my youth, under the wings of my Grandparents, I still sing the Doxology

Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;

Praise Him, all creatures here below;

Praise Him above, ye Heavenly Host;

Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.

#45

Christmas 1970s

Usually traveling home at the end of the day I follow the straight path to my garage door - but today I turned off before the final bridge into town.  I pulled in the parking lot and walked into the white brick building, through the lobby, turning right at the first hallway, and entering the room on the left at the end of the hall.  That is where #45 now lives.  He is dressed in a long sleeve t-shirt.  Before coming here to live he wore long sleeves but always kept the cuffs rolled up to mid-arm.  His face is chiseled but still handsome and his hair is gray.  His eyes are piercing blue -- I don't remember them as blue while I was growing up.  I pat his arm and he looks at me, then he just continues to watch me with those blue eyes.  There is a little book on the table beside his bed and it contains a daily diary on his progress "Sunday - not responsive", "Monday - ate a good dinner and was responsive", "Sunday - Darrell and Sharon came by and he knew that Darrell was his son".  I picked up the little book and wrote "Mon 8/8 - no response but he watched me the entire time".  I told him I loved him and he slightly grinned.  Even after all these years of our two personalities clashing - I love my Dad and I pray that God holds him tightly in his arms.  I also pray for a cure (in our lifetime) for Alzheimer's!  

PArkway 2-3263

Joplin barked a big portion of last night, even up until my alarm went off.  She finally went quiet and I thought I'd catch a few more minutes being lazy until she started barking again but this time it was more of a frenzy than the usual barking at a passing animal along the creek.  I got up to car lights shining through the bedroom window and by this time Buddy was going bezerk - so I grabbed Buddy and we headed to the door and as I opened the garage there were two Rockwall police there with guns drawn.  Seems our home phone is dialing 911 and when they try to call us back the line is busy so here they come.  (Also happened yesterday while we were at church)

I wonder what we did before Rockwall had a police force of many -- remember WJ Price?  Would he have come in the wee hours of the morning if we had called him? (My Mom says of course he would!)

I can recall my Grandmother explaining to me how to use the telephone - back then her number was PArkway 2-3263 but you only had to dial the last four digits.  I should do research to find out why Rockwall's prefix was PArkway -- I don't get that -- why wouldn't it be ROckwall?  Then our number would be 762-3263 instead of 722-3263?  Was there a neighborhood back when that was the "Parkway" neighborhood?

Later today I'll call the phone company and report our rebellious phone line - if I get a live person on the line I might ask them where PArkway evolved :-)

BTW - I still have my grandmother's phone number.  When it was time to disconnect her line I just couldn't give it up. I'll always remember sitting in the room just off her kitchen and her patiently explaining to me how to use the telephone.

Fun way to start a Monday, and a great start to the day with such a precious memory!

M&R

Aunt Middy & Uncle Pud

Someone on Facebook created a page "You know you grew up in Rockwall if" and my first thought to post was "if you remember M&R Grocery" (but Mitzi beat me to it).  M&R Grocery was owned by my Uncle Pud and Aunt Middy (Monte & Mildred Rodgers were their official names, but I only knew and loved them by Uncle Pud and Aunt Middy).  I recall Uncle Pud as a quiet soft-spoke man who was loved by his family and friends and Aunt Middy was a loving, vivacious little woman who made the best Rice & Cheese casserole - she is still going strong at 96!  Prior to Uncle Pud buying the grocery store in the late 1940's it was owned by my Grandfather (JD Payne - who was the greatest man I've ever known and more to come about him in later posts) - where my mom remembers old Mr. Andrews keeping the soft drink container organized, playing on the feed sacks in back of the store, and watching a tornado move across the bottomland.  In the 1950s and 1960s, the store was located on the east side of the downtown square on San Jacinto Street.  Neighboring stores were The Rockwall Success, Smith Dry Goods, and the bank was down on the corner.  You could park in front of the store and then climb, what appeared to me then to be 12 foot steps, to the sidewalk to enter the store.  The store had dark wood floors with what I thought was a coating of sawdust on them, lights down the middle of the building, counter at the front, fresh meat counter to the side, and feed sacks in the back.  Uncle Pud opened the store early each morning, went home everyday for lunch and a nap, then back to the store.  M&R moved to the north side of the square in the 70s and Uncle Pud continued to run the store until Brookshires opened at the south end of town and the little family owned store eventually closed.  I don't have a specific memory of an event at the original store - I just remember that I was there and it is a memory of old Rockwall that I don't want to lose.  

Aunt Middy - 96 years young!

Monte Rodgers

First day to blog

I believe I'm being led to follow a different path, but I'm not sure what that path is.  When I was in my 20s I loved to write - mainly stories about the happy memories I had growing up - and I think that perhaps that is where I'm headed.  Today I had lunch with my friend Brandy and she suggested I start a blog.  Of course my first response was "I don't know how to do that" but she told me to go to Google and it would tell me how :-)  Thus - my first blog.  I hope to write each day -- I want to recall the stories my grandmothers told me, I want to capture the moments I had with my son and to write the things he taught me in the 5 years he was here, and I want to share the memories of my little town on the hill (that never grew and never will).  BTW Brandy - I had a great time at lunch and you looked absolutely fabulous!