Sunday, October 23, 2005


(Run originally 4/17/04 on our old site)

Anita Hart Fuller

I remember picking strawberries for about 2-3 days - that was all I could take. Talk about back-breaking work! Judy Deener and I picked for a Mr. Martindale, who was the father of a boy in our class early on (he didn't graduate with us), Leon Martindale was his name. His "patch" was on highway l6, the road to Pangburn. With my earnings, I bought a ukulele and I learned to play it, and kept it with me even through college and beyond. But don't have it any more; wish I did. I remember actually being very reluctant to part with the money I made, it being so hard earned. What were we making? 5 cents a quart?

JoAnn: I remember that store. Jolene Abboud had a charge account there (I really thought that was something), and we'd go get baloney, bread and dill pickles and go back to her house and eat ... we thought that was a feast.

Do you remember walking to school? You would go by for Jolene, then you'd get me, we'd then get Marlene Garrison and when we got to the corner we'd yell down at Mildred Taylor, who would "lope" off her front porch and join us. That was the five of us walking to school each morning and, most times we also walked back for lunch, which was an hour. You were the last to get home, and therefore the first to have to leave - so you had the shortest lunchtime. Those were indeed good old days, and I think there is some of the original sidewalk still there on Arch Street.

Tom Pry

When I think of a gaggle of girls heading to Searcy High of a morning, I remember redheaded Draxie Jean Horn, whose father, Postmaster Louie Horn, had from somewhere procured for her, by her sophomore year, a used Anglia, an English Ford product, probably one of the first made after WW II.

It was small and really fit one of my father’s favorite descriptions: “So ugly it’s cute.” It was also rather underpowered, and some mornings had problems making it up the little hill towards the Band Room.

I always, in my mind referred to it as The Clown Car. NOT, mind you, because of the looks of the passengers but, rather, because like the little car in the circus, sometimes when the doors opened, you lost count of the number of attractive young ladies who appeared out of the magically capacious back seat, far beyond any capacity the Anglia people would’ve cared to advertise. It preceded phone booth stuffing by quite a few years.

At least, that’s how I remember it.


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