The frog, you ask? NO!!!!!!!!If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that over the years……...although Kermit the frog did celebrate his 50th birthday in MY HOME TOWN on November 8, 2005.
I was not in attendance for the commemorative festivities.
Local town “elite” replaced the mighty fightin’ Yellow Jacket on the infamous water tower with the graven image of the birthday frog. Not a popular decision in my humble, yet obviously feeble, opinion. Downright sacrilegious some would say. Although I'm sure it was ideal to the Disney crowd.
Despite notoriety as MY birthplace and where I spent MY formative years, Winkler County seat, Kermit, has several additional claims to fame:
- It was named for Teddy Roosevelt’s son after a visit from the President to the county in 1910.
- Roy Orbison hails from 7-mile-away neighboring community, Wink.
- Two-time PRCA World Champion Bull Rider Jim Sharp is a Kermit High School graduate.
- NBC Heroes deceased character Meredith Gordon (Claire/Hayden Panettiere’s birth mother) resided in K-Town.
- Actor Jay Thomas, better known as Eddie LeBec, Carla Tortelli’s love on Cheers, was born at Kermit Memorial Hospital in 1948.
- Miss Jane Hathaway of Beverly Hillbillies prominence, Nancy Culp, was a frequent visitor as the guest of long-time resident Thelma Carr. Many a Kermit citizen, me included, thrilled over catching a glimpse of Miss Jane in Skaggs Grocery from time to time.
Not so one-horse after all, you muse.
Oh, I can assure you it was/still is.
Everyone knew everybody’s business. I couldn’t make a move Saturday night without hearing about it Sunday morning at church.
My gate keeper, Mr. Hale, fellow church board member of my dad’s, had a scanner. “Why was your car parked at Phil Campbell’s warehouse last night?” Yes, indeed…….why? At seventeen, that was for me to know and my parents NOT to find out.
My best friend, Victoria, and I rode our bikes all the way to East Primary everyday it wasn’t too cold or raining in 2nd grade – no locks required for those bicycles to return us home again after school. I broke my right arm in two places when I fell off the top rung of the high slide at the park. I walked the cinder block fence enclosing my home on a regular basis. I ate persimmons from Walter and Joyce Anderson’s tree. Our circular driveway was ideal for roller skating with metal skates requiring a key. I worshipped Donny Osmond and the Osmond Brothers from the poster-clad shrine in my bedroom with a 33 long play record player.
1960 Downtown Kermit -- the year I was born Friday night football held an aura of reverence for me from the age of 3. Since I couldn’t play the sport, I settled for dreams of leading the band and being in the homecoming court when I grew up. To a little girl, smiling, parade-waving homecoming nominees with their dazzling LIVE gold and white mums seated regally atop Mustang convertibles riding in parades and around the football field track were the most exquisite creatures ever.
Alas, I was never to become one of those goddesses. To be nominated you had to be (1) popular and (2) have a football player boyfriend. I had neither. Funny thing, though, when you actually KNOW the nominees their allure falls short.
Yet, I had two close friends who made homecoming court my senior year. I was quite proud of and for them both. They each represented with the pomp and circumstance of my childhood reverie.
I did fulfill my other goal, however. I was a 3-year drum major. No one loved a position more. Nothing rivaled my exhilaration for “kelping” (an older military-style tradition) onto the field with all eyes focused on me performing a short salute before tweeting the band to follow. Yes, you could say I was a “ham” or a professional photographer’s daughter accustomed to the spotlight. Either way, it’s about the same.
Senior year, twirling my stave one Friday morning practice, I hurled it to the ground in disgust as the band director stopped to re-start us for the umpteenth time. It retaliated in a major way. The tip of that spinning staff bounced off the ground impacting the corner of my eyebrow. Blood spurted everywhere to the tune of “ewwwww” and “gross.” A trip to the doctor yielded a butterfly bandage, no stitches thankfully, and a massive black eye with a walloping powerful headache. I performed that night as a “true professional” would. I looked like hell, I’m sure.
We “made the drag,” a large square route around town. You drove one direction for awhile, then turned around in the high school parking lot to go the other way to see who’d you’d missed. This was a HUGE deal. Undoubtedly the most important duty of the Kermit teenager.
My experiences include a most embarrassing pre-driving drag blunder. My homecoming nominee friend, Laurie, and I were with my mom and her best friend, Jean Adams. Since Mrs. Adams was chauffeuring, Laurie and I convinced her to drive through the high school parking lot so we could look at boys. Windows down, discretion was mandatory. Who could chance being seen with two old women? Jean, the red-haired character she was, dutifully obeyed our wishes, quietly and inconspicuously navigating the prestigious parking lot. However, things changed when she reached the end. “Oh my goodness, this is SO MUCH FUN, let’s do it again,” she squealed. To our horror, Jean threw the car in REVERSE and backed-up all the way! Laurie and I hit the floorboard, but I’m sure it was too little too late. We were quite the spectacle.
Kay Crawford's mother was more hip than that. She agreed to remain "invisible" while taking four unlicensed slumber-party girls to the drive-in theater. A light-weight blanket her cloaking device, Katherine read a book by flashlight underneath that blanket for the duration of the movie! She only re-emerged after most other cars had driven away, bless her heart.
A wonderful K-Town tradition was painting the street in front of the high school. It’s literally like it sounds. We painted such iconic statements as “Seniors ‘78” and “Beat the Mustangs” or “Patti –n- Mickey 4-ever” and “Sting ‘Em Yellow Jackets.” I wonder if that’s still allowed or if changing times reversed a right of passage into vandalism and destruction?
With this stroll down memory lane, it appears I've been enrolled in the “good ole days” school. I’m not sure what age qualifies you for this group, or when I arrived at it. I still remember thinking age 30 ancient and it seems not that long ago!
Here I am, nonetheless, stuck between new memories I’m making and appreciating the old ones.
Maroon and gold roots run deep. Memories live forever. Kermit was a wonderful place to grow up. I couldn’t wait to leave when I graduated, nor can I think of a better place to call my hometown.
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