1981 – Wichita Falls

The population of the United States was somewhere in the vicinity of 230 million people. That number was simply staggering to me. I counted as many times as my brain would allow, and the biggest number of people I could fathom was 176. I counted that group in the sanctuary at Faith Baptist Church in Wichita Falls. That was about as large a group of people as I could comprehend. When I heard the population of the world, I was fascinated. I spent weeks trying to count to 230 million but fell considerably short. Ryan swears he made it, but he “did it in his head.”

A postage stamp cost $.15 but would raise to $.20 by the end of the year. I remember my parents saying how expensive everything was getting. To be fair, all those stamps would be a little easier to buy with the new $3.35 minimum wage that went into effect that year. $3.35 for one hour of work. I couldn’t fathom that number either. At the time, I had a really cool change-bank in my room. It was made up of four, clear plastic tubes mounted to a flat plastic backing. Each tube was the same diameter as the coins it was designed to hold. Markings on the sides of the tubes indicated how much money was in each, but that was anything but proof for a scientific young mind like the one God put in my skull. I needed proof from my own eyes, so I dumped each tube onto the floor of my room and carefully counted each pile of coins. After nearly a day of primitive accounting, I concluded that I had anywhere between five and six dollars. (I gave up after counting the dimes!) My mind raced. If I dragged out my chores for two hours and charged Mom and Dad the new minimum wage for my efforts, I could double my net-worth. They re-explained the concept of household capitalism to me but I still feel as though I got screwed.

On TV, a new show called Hill Street Blues was first aired that year. I remember thinking that the show looked a little too grown up for me. It depicted a world I didn’t understand and was quite frankly a little scared of entering. I knew the crime and violence was out there. I assumed there were bad guys in the big cities I saw on TV and in movies, but they were there and I was in Wichita Falls, Texas. I didn’t need to see the graphic nature of a world in which I had no experience.

The Georgia Bulldogs defeated Notre Dame in the Sugar Bowl to win the National Championship. Oakland defeated Philadelphia in the Super Bowl and while I don’t remember the Super Bowl game, I do remember watching both of the conference championship games with Dad and Grandbob. I remember vividly watching the Eagles running off the field, fingers in the air, celebrating…..I thought  “I hope those guys get creamed.” Hey, if you’re and Eagles fan, tough! I’m a Cowboys fan and you’re all scum!

I was in second grade at Episcopal Elementary School by now and school was actually starting to get kind of interesting. Subjects with an adult feel to them were being introduced and for the first time, I felt like I was learning stuff my Mom hadn’t already taught me. Ms. Self allowed us to read newspaper clippings from various newspapers during what she called our “quiet time”. I have always suspected that “quiet time” was implemented shortly after my arrival in Ms. Self’s life, but I sure did enjoy reading stories from cities I had never set foot in. I remember getting to read the story of Philip Hazel in North Carolina. He was an air traffic controller who, when hearing the panicked calls from Judy Newton coming into his radio, took to the air to find her. Judy’s husband, the pilot, had died of a heart attack while in flight and she had no idea how to fly or where they even were. Philip not only found her in the sky, but talked her all the way to the ground. I get nauseous when I have to walk my mother through opening a file on her computer. Can you imagine the patience it would take to talk her through landing a plane?

It was during another one of these so-called “quiet times” that Ms Rodgers (The often visited, embodiment of evil that was my school principal) came into the classroom later that month and whispered something into Ms. Self’s ear. I was busy reading about Walter Cronkite and all of the things he had done in his career before retiring a few weeks prior. Most of the other kids kept their nose in their reading but the serious and agitated nature of their hushed conversation had piqued my interest. The usually solemn face of Ms. Self dropped even further and terror seemed to grip her before Ms. Rodgers backed away from her ear. By now, most of the kids were cautiously interested. After Ms. Rodgers left the room, Ms. Self sat there for a few seconds, gathering her composure before speaking. When she did, she spoke six words that I will never forget. Six words that very well may have changed my life, even if I didn’t really know it at the time.

“Kids, President Reagan has been shot.”

That night, after lengthy discussions with both parents about how sometimes, crazy people do crazy things, I was ready for some normalcy. TV wasn’t really a viable escape option but Mom and Dad were obviously glued to the set. They didn’t want to be the last to hear any breaking news about the President that we all seemed to love and trust. He was alive. We knew that. In fact, it was looking as if he hadn’t even taken a direct hit. The bullet that came within millimeters of ending President Reagan’s life was actually a ricochet. I learned the word “ricochet” by watching the news coverage of Reagan’s assassination attempt. Mom explained to me how a bullet can actually bounce off of things and change direction. Her explanation changed my entire scope of the physical universe! Still, I wasn’t finding the normalcy I desired. Instead, as coverage broke away from Reagan for a few moments to deliver “other news” I learned that Edith Wilson had died. Edith Wilson was the large black woman that played Aunt Jemima in the TV commercials. That was the anchoring bit of understandable news I guess my mind needed that day. Is it weird that I still think of Reagan every time I eat pancakes, waffles, or French Toast? Funny how the mind works sometimes.

There was an inordinate amount of discussion, singing, and acting about coal miners in 1981. Mom, who was raised in coal mining country in Kentucky, felt a deep, spiritual connection to these people that I simply didn’t grasp. My mom, as evidenced in the photo at the top of this article, was a happy, beautiful, always laughing or at least smiling, woman. The people that were depicted in the mining world were dirty, miserable and lived where it always seemed to be raining. I just couldn’t picture her in that world. Several mine explosions, collapses, and the movie Coal Miner’s Daughter seemed to rekindle her love of those she had known in her youth. I, on the other hand, had more questions about Crystal Gayle’s hair than I did about the mining industry. (Yes, the two go hand in hand. Loretta Lynn was who the movie was written about. She is Crystal Gayle’s sister. They are of NO relation to Dorothy Gayle of Wizard Of Oz fame, no matter what my mother tells you!) My questions about Gayle and all things mining were quickly forgotten when I heard word of a man in Saint Louis, Missouri who had fastened enormous tractor tires to a normal sized pick-up truck. Bob Chandler called his invention Big Foot and I got to see it roll over a bunch of cars in a field. Of course I watched it on TV as we are not rednecks who support such live events. It was probably during one of these televised events that I first saw a commercial for a new beer, Bud Light. The Anheuser Busch ads were well known in those parts……”Anheuser Busch Beer, brewed in Saint Louis, Missouri; distributed by Ben E. Keith Beverages North Texas.” I was always kind of fascinated with the logistics that must have gone into producing that much beer and getting it into the stores all over the country. They must have done it on Sunday mornings when beer sales were banned in Texas.

I also remember the music of 1981. Grandbob had given me a small transistor radio for Christmas the year before and I kept it on my desk in my room as if top secret orders were going to come through for my heroic mission at any time. I realize now that the Army, the Air Force, and the Super Friends simply weren’t looking for 8 year old kids with virtually no experience but I protected that radio just the same. I remember hearing songs like “Betty Davis Eyes” by Kim Carnes and “In the Air Tonight” by Phil Collins. The music was so different from the country genre my parents listened to. I almost felt naughty for listening to such things. Like they would call an exorcist if they walked in and caught me! It was the first time I remember ever feeling like I was defying my parent’s authority. I would love to say it was the last but such a statement would be untrue in so many ways. It was on that little transistor radio that I first heard the music of Bob Marley. Of course, I only discovered his music when the station I was listening to announced that the Jamaican artist had died that afternoon. I couldn’t really understand all of the lyrics in his songs. He sang with a strange accent. Despite this, I found myself unable to suppress happiness as I listened. I remember it so clearly; like it just happened. It was a ridiculously rainy day in May. It was exactly one week before my Mom’s birthday and I was confined to my room for one reason or another. Most likely something involving mischief and most likely something that Ryan either started or loudly protested.

Despite my newfound love of alternative musical choices, I have to that I too fell prey to the musical masterpiece that won Single of the Year in 1981. That’s right; I’m referring of course to Elvira by the Oak Ridge Boys. Years later, when I was all ‘growed-up’ I ran into three members of that band in Lambert Saint Louis International Airport. They had aged considerably but were still instantly recognizable. I informed them proudly that I had “giddy up-uh-oom-papa-oom-papa-mow-mow” stuck in my head for most of the eighties. The guy that looks a little like Carla from Cheers just laughed, slapped me on the shoulder (about a nine inch reach for him. He’s kind of tiny!) and said “Thanks.” They didn’t offer to pay for my Starbuck’s as I kind of hoped but they are very nice men, and were very happy to be performing a free concert for soldiers on July 4th that year.

As much fun as it had been to discover my own budding musical tastes, the confusing world outside of Wichita Falls soon informed me that ‘Five Homosexual Men in California had Contracted a Rare Strain of Pneumonia” that seemed to attacking their immune systems. That one headline produced so many questions in my head. It contained the word ‘sex’ which to an eight year old boy is one of those words that adults say a lot but kids are not supposed to hear. But wait…..did he just say men? So…..men and sex? Wait….where does the…..umm….”morning rocket” go? I’m kind of glad no one was there to answer that one. Instead I moved on to the question of this immune system. What’s that? I felt so grown up when I actually understood what an immune system was. Maybe it was simply the fact that Mom explained it really well, but I felt like such a grown up for understanding such a complicated concept so quickly.

My curiosity didn’t remain focused on the first mumblings of what would later become known as AIDS for very long as advertisements for Raiders of the Lost Ark began to appear on TV with more and more regularity. Much like the Great Star Wars / Fingernail Challenge of ‘77, ultimatums were laid down that could have very easily kept me from seeing that movie on opening day. One of them was most likely something along the lines of “if you don’t stop asking us about homosexual use of the ‘morning rocket’ we won’t take you to see it!” I dropped the issue, and was able to see the movie. There is not a man in his late thirties who doesn’t still get the urge to slide heroically under a closing garage door because of that movie. In the same vane, there’s not a 35-45 year old man alive who doesn’t get an overwhelming sense of adventure when being chased down a tunnel or cavern by a big ol’ fat gal, a gargantuan dung-ball, or Bruce Jenner’s hair. I remember the day we finally went to see the movie was the same day that Dad heard about the maiden flight of the new age of “stealth” jets. The Night Hawk (F-117A) made it’s first publicized flight the day before I got to see Indiana Jones for the first time.

As much fun as seeing that movie and hearing about futuristic, almost Star Wars-esque jets soaring silently through the night skies of our enemies had been, my youthful naivety soon accepted more confusing news . Adam Walsh was a six year old boy, kidnapped out of a Sears in Florida. He was later found brutally murdered. The emotions that must have run through that entire family were emotions I knew I didn’t possess. My little heart felt for the first time like reaching out to someone outside of my own family, but I simply couldn’t imagine the kind of misery they were experiencing and I certainly couldn’t do anything to help them. I still feel mesmerizingly drawn to John Walsh whether it be on America’s Most Wanted or just one of his frequent appearances on Fox News Channel. As sad as Adam’s kidnapping and brutal killing was, I found myself more able to relate to the news that Datsun was changing it’s name back to Nissan. Grandbob had a Datsun, so naturally the same fears that had risen to the surface with regards to Granny’s VW Bug were now dancing across my brain again. If Grandbob’s car was destroyed by some unrelenting force, would he be stuck riding a bike all over Albuquerque, or would he be able to find parts for his soon to be obsolete vehicle.

That summer, MTV launched. I know it was summer because I remember escaping the oppressive heat by sitting in the Whitmire’s living room where Jennifer and her sister anxiously awaited the initial broadcast like it was the second coming of Christ. I was still trying to wrap my head around Jennifer’s obsession with The Blue Lagoon as she had brought it up yet again as we all sat there and waited. Why did she care so much that Brooke Shield’s used a “butt-double?” And just what the heck is a “butt-double?” Anyway, MTV came on the air at the pre-determined time. The very first video they ever played was “Video Killed The Radio Star” and I still think of the Whitmire home every time I see MTV or hear that song. They’re the ones that had their roof lifted, turned, and set back down during the tornado. I also remember the launch of another show that year……The People’s Court. I was once again at the Whitmire’s house one afternoon when that show came on. Jennifer and her sister were absolutely enthralled with the reality of the show. I was bored to tears.

Home Depot had it’s IPO that year. Opened at $12 a share. I did the math because I’m a nerd; if I had invested $5,000 in Home Depot stock in 1981, it would be worth over $6,000,000 today after the numerous stock splits and consistent returns. Not too bad! Caller ID was also invented in 1981. That technology still fascinates me. I remember hearing about it and thinking how cool it would be to see who was calling before you answered the phone. That would save me from always having to use the dreaded “Giles residence, Jason speaking….” greeting upon which my Puritan parents insisted. In an interesting side note – when I was in my mid-twenties, living in Denver, Colorado, I rented a house owned by one of the men credited with the invention. Never met him but it was widely known that the guy owned 13 different homes in our subdivision.

The band, Metallica was formed in 1981 when Lars Ulrich answered an ad in the newspaper by James Hetfield. They were the original two members and they’ve been together for the last 30 years. Their music still gets me ready to tear something up when needed! Usually it’s at the gym these days, but hey…..Metallica’s wearing suits and selling video games! Times change.

That’s 1981 As I Recall……oh one more thing…..we almost nuked Scotland on my birthday that year! (Yes, that’s sarcasm. That story provided me my first taste of liberal lunacy corrupting the news I receive!)

To Be Continued……..

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1980 – Here Comes the Eighties

After the tornado and the other confusion of the late seventies, especially in North Texas, everyone in my little world seemed more than ready to usher in a much calmer, more respectful, era. Enter the eighties……not exactly what the doctor ordered but hey; that horrendous decade made us who we are today. For better or worse.
As Wichita Falls continued it’s rebuilding efforts throughout the often harsh winter of 1979 and welcomed in the new decade, changes could literally be felt. It was the first time I remember ever feeling like an “American”. The Iran Hostage situation had been going on for a while and the images of Americans being held by these strange people in a strange land made me angry. They dressed differently, they spoke another language, they believed in a different God……and they were holding people that looked like ‘me’ against their will. Why couldn’t we just give the poor, dust covered people what they wanted and send a plane for our hostages? It didn’t make sense to me.
The other story capturing the minds of Americans in 1980 was the infamous shooting of JR Ewing? Who shot JR? Of course, the show that brought us the entire Ewing family was Dallas. I didn’t really understand why everybody seemed so obsessed with this JR Ewing character. Even as a kid, he seemed like an exaggeration of character. He seemed like the Hollywood vision of Texas. Of course, I never watched the show that I remember so he may have been exactly like a dirty oil-man. On the night that the world was set to find out the answer to the question posted on billboards, TV ads, magazine covers, and minds, Mom and I delivered cheesecakes. Yeah, that’s right. I’m not real sure how the relationship came to exist, but somehow Mom and Dad met a family of Brit’s that had just moved to Wichita Falls, Texas from England for some reason. They had opened up a restaurant and somehow, Mom had accepted the request to make cheesecakes for them to sell on their dessert menu. She did this for a few months as I recall. Anyway, I remember her carefully driving that piece-of-crap, orange Toyota across town, with cheesecakes in round, buckled tins in the back. I remember the excitement in the voice of the DJ on the radio as they talked about the big episode coming up that evening. I think one of our friends even wrote and sang a song about the Ewing family crisis that was played on the radio that night. I could be wrong, or simply imagining that though.
On Mom’s birthday that year, May 18, 1980; Mount St Helens erupted. I was in first grade at Episcopal Elementary school by then. I remember learning all about ashes, and ash clouds, and lava. I was fascinated, but I was also a little bit nervous to find out that a lot of volcanic activity takes place in Hawaii and my grandparents liked to go there every year.
As brutal as the weather had been the previous year, it seemed to come in bursts. We had the tornado, but nothing that seemed to last too long. Obviously, every time a Springtime thunderstorm rolled into Wichita Falls in 1980, people got a little bit nervous. The few times that the tornado sirens were activated, there was a state of near panic, but we got through tornado season unscathed. No, 1980 didn’t deliver a crushing blow like 1979 had done. 1980 was more like a drawn out battle in terms of weather. The summer of 1980 brought record setting heat to North Texas. 27 days in a row of 100+ degree heat with a ONE DAY break before another 42 days in a row above the century mark. The highest temperature ever recorded in the state of Texas was 119 on June 26th AND June 27th 1980. As ridiculous as those numbers seem now, I remember playing soccer and being a happy, 7 year old kid all summer long. Couldn’t pay me to go outside and play in 119 degree heat today.
As summer gave way to the much welcomed cooler temperatures of fall, outdoor exploration was increased. One day, probably in late September sometime, Ryan and I were walking down the alley behind our house. It was a poorly paved, one lane road that separated the backyards of the houses on Sherry Lane from the backyards of the houses on Chuck Drive. (No, I have no clue who Chuck and Sherry were.) It was where the city garbage trucks came to pick up garbage on the assigned days. It was also where a large number of tornado shelters could now be seen, built into the ground beneath some of those aforementioned backyards. Anyway, Ryan and I were walking along and all of a sudden we heard the tiny voice of a kitten. After listening for a few minutes, we determined that the source of the panicked ‘mew’ was the roof of the tool shed just behind the fence on the Chuck Drive side of the alley where we were standing. I climbed up the backside of the fence, and pulled myself up onto the roofline of the shed. What I found there was a defenseless kitten.
She was tiny, but old enough to have quite a voice and an equally impressive set of claws. She came to me rather easily, but on the way down the fence, her claws dug into me pretty good. Ryan was very excited at the prospect of a new kitten in the house as we scampered down the alley to our own backyard. We burst through the gate in the chain link fence and sprinted across the expanse of the yard to the house. Ryan was now holding the kitten and seemed to believe that she would stop being so scared if she could just go for a nice, relaxing swim in our above ground pool. I couldn’t argue his logic. Swimming always relaxed me, so in she went. That was the day Ryan and I discovered that cats don’t really like water. She swam the diameter of the pool pretty quickly, but as soon as she made it to my waiting arms, the flesh-shredding began! Finally, after somehow getting her to calm down enough to let us dry her off, we brought our quivering new friend inside the house to meet the rest of the family. Dad was sick, so he was laying on the couch in the living room. Green and white paisley couch on red shag carpeting. Nice! Anyway, the kitten must have been cold because she cuddled up to dad and forced her way between his chest and chin. She fell asleep instantly and we had ourselves a new cat! Not sure how she survived, but we had Sunshine for the next 15 years.
The cooler temperatures of fall also brought about another significant and memorable change. 1980 was the first presidential election that I clearly remember. I knew that there was just something that didn’t seem right about the whole Iran hostage thing and the way our bunny fearing Commander In Chief was handling it. I didn’t understand many of the things that happened in a grown up world but I knew it was time for a change. Man did we get it!
I clearly remember sitting in a Burger King on Kemp Boulevard with my Dad on the morning of November 5th. Ronald Reagan had just won the Election and Dad explained to me some of the terms that excited men and women were murmuring all over the place. A ‘landslide’ for example, as I learned while eating my first Croissan’wich ever, was when someone wins by a lot. President Reagan got 489 electoral votes, which dad tried to explain to me. It was the first time I had ever felt like I was having a somewhat grown-up conversation. I actually understood what he was talking about. I understood something from the adult world. I couldn’t wait to rub it in Ryan’s face later that night. I had just celebrated a birthday after all. I had been 8 years old for all of two days, and I felt like my political lesson that morning was kind of a rite of passage. I was now entering the downward spiral into maturity. Time to start reading the paper, drinking coffee, and staying up late to watch the news. There was work to be done and metaphors to learn.
1980 was a good year.

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