SO TEXAS ON A SPRING DAY

So, here's what happened today. On a back back dirt road between Magnolia and Navasota I came upon a farm. The cows had the longest horns I have seen in a long time. The manager of the farm stopped in his Gator to check me out. I showed him my camera and all was good. He said these are Butler Longhorns. He told me these are highly coveted breed of cattle. He said the UT type longhorn is this cross bred with others. So, noothing spectacular and grandiose, but yet, it is.

MOMMA DOES NOT CARE FOR A STRANGER IN THE FIELD. BACK OFF!

ONE PERSON CAN MAKE A DIFFERENCE IN THIS WORLD

Winning has always meant much to me, but winning friends has meant the most. (Babe Zaharias)

When looking back over forty-six years of teaching, there are many things that bring a sense of accomplishment and pride. The great majority of those memories center on the actual “art of teaching” in a classroom. The events and students in those many classrooms will always be a part of who I am as a person and educator. However, as in all of our lives, there are times that just stick out as being extra special. It is a strange and “twisty” tale of my extra special memory. Let me begin at the beginning.

In 1975, I was one of the few single female teachers at Cypress-Fairbanks High School. The principal, Mr. Watkins, was looking for a cheerleading “sponsor.” I was a fairly popular teacher, overly enthusiastic about the Bobcats, worked with the band on the side as a private music teacher, and just had my fingers in every little pie on campus. So, whom did he turn to “sponsor” the cheerleaders? Me, of course! I basically had zero knowledge about what these girls did and frankly had the typical band “kid’s” disdain for the girls who shook their pom- poms  However, being the “goody two shoes” I was at the time, I took the job. The first few years, I truly was a sponsor. I knew nothing much, and actually, did nothing much but chaperone. When CFISD started allowing the girls to go to camp in the late 70’s, I had to accompany them. With nothing else to do on a college campus, I began attending sessions for sponsors and watched the really good groups of cheerleaders. Their sponsors were doing more than I was and were winning everything. The band geek came out and I wanted to win everything. I wanted my group to be the best. Over the course of the next four years, I acquired a great deal of expertise on what it took to have an effective cheerleading squad. I was inching away from sponsor towards , dare I say it, coach! From my knowledge gained at Cy-Fair High School, I was recruited to become the cheer coach (yes recruited as a coach) to little Tomball High School.

Tomball High School was the one high school in a very small town 20 miles north of Houston. This was during a time when there were no freeways in that direction, so the little town still bore all the characteristics of a small Texas, semi-isolated/rural community. From 1984 to 1988 I began making significant changes to their cheerleading program. (That process is an entire book). By 1987, we had stepped into the nascent world of cheerleading competition. The cheer world realized the money and recognition that could be made by moving beyond camp competition into the state and national stage. It was a time when ESPN was opening up other athletic type activities to the world of cable television. Remember the times…this was all brand new. The girls of Tomball High School were, that year, hard working, physically sturdy, and I knew just enough about cheerleading that we went to our first national’s competition after qualifying by winning our camp. This type of competition requires a two to three minute “routine” showing all the aspects of cheerleading. From my circle of immediate peers, I pieced together a routine that looking back was fairly crude. Bless those girls. They poured their hearts and bodies into making a “sow’s ear into a silk purse.” We were doing the best we knew how. The first time we went, we placed 16th in the nation. WE tried the next year, a better routine, but in spite of the fact that the girls and I created our own routine; we place second! Seriously, I still don’t know how we did it. And, there were over 75 squads in our competitive group—all girl squad, 12 members and over. As the competition ended, I was sitting on the arena floor waiting for the crowds to clear. At the time, we were happy. Top Ten was great! We would make the “Tomball Potpourri,” the local newspaper. As I sat there, a tall, handsome, well-dressed African –American male approached me. I can still see that he had on a cool hat. He stood in front of me and introduced himself (actually reintroduced himself), “Hi, I am Tommy Amico.” “I worked with your Cy-Fair girls at camp.” WOW! I did remember Tommy. He had recruited Karen M., one of my favorite CFHS girls, to teach summer camps and they were fast friends. Tommy had been working the nationals that week. He sat down beside me and said confidently, “Call me when you are ready to win this thing.”

Spring came along new cheerleading squad made up of eight veterans and four new sophomores. The principal asked me what it would take to win the nationals. He had a flair for knowing that these things, while not the most important in the scheme of school, would help get Tomball High School noticed. He asked what would be the number one thing I would need to win. I did not hesitate one minute. I said “Let me hire a choreographer! And, let me hire Tommy Amico from Kansas City, Missouri.” We went through the usual how much, how long, etc. I contacted Tommy, agreements were made, and I scheduled his arrival at THS for two weeks in August to prep the girls for the routine he would create. The day arrived; early morning on campus. Drill team was practicing, Student Council was there doing something, football players were milling, cheerleaders were waiting, and in walks a 6’ black man! Please understand…this was a school of 95% white students. The African-American students we had were still lived in was essentially segregated areas outside the main part of town. The African-American students that were involved played football and maybe basketball. We had our first African-American cheerleader the year before (shout out to Cassandra B). The did not come dressed to, “gasp,” dance! The girls were both in shock and in awe. They knew from nationals that this guy “knew cheerleading,” but he was different. However, like most students, they gave him the benefit of the doubt from day one. Kids are like that.

He pulled out his work out tape, placed it in the cassette, and immediately began doing simple dance moves to the current R and B music of the time. He was moving his whole body folks, in rhythm to the music. These girls knew country western line dancing…but this? Seriously…move our hips like that? Would this even be allowed? Please understand there was absolutely nothing lurid about the moves, but they were different. Patiently for two days these white bread girls began to get a sense of what was to come. Step by step, arm motion by arm motion, stunt by stunt, the three-minute routine came together in rough draft form. They went home exhausted, stinky, and back early the next morning. As the routine began to take shape, the milling students began to stand and watch as this man worked with these girls. The drill team even got a little “snarky.” Cheerleaders don’t dance and certainly not with the latest music. Tommy would refine, retune, and edit our routine over the course of the next four months. He became a fixture around the campus as he would fly in for super long weekends or even a week. Once the routine was completed, he would come to school dressed like a professional businessman. Quietly, the African-American students began to walk up to him, ask him his name, what he was doing at THS, and where was he from? As we would prepare for workout, he would be surrounded by these students carrying on conversations. By now, my cheerleaders would get jealous because he was “their Tommy” brought to town for them. As December approached, it was decided that Tommy would come to Tomball and fly out with us on the way to Nashville. He would be with us every step. 

December 1989!

THS CHEERLEADERS WIN NATIONAL TITLE!

Individuals Capture 1, 2, 3, and 5th with $27,000.00 Cash Scholarship Prizes

Tomball would not be satisfied with one national title. Nope. August, 1989, “Mr. Amico Goes to Tomball for SIX weeks!” My principal, once again, called me and I left with a mandate: Repeat the Championship. I called Tommy and said I have more dinero for you , can you stay for a month? We’ll buy the plane tickets, pay your expenses, and pay for you to travel with us again. He did not think twice. So, began the quest for the second nationals title. We reserved a large practice gym at a local church and began that August the long road to repeating. 

He stayed in my home, shopped in Tomball, discovered the joy of Sonic, and found a place to do “his hair.” After lunch Tommy would come up on campus where people began to recognize him and call him by name. He sometimes ate lunch with the girls and visited with the African-American students who gravitated to him. He crafted a show stopping and extremely difficult routine. He took our uniform seamstress to downtown Houston to a fabric store to hunt for the right material for our nationals uniforms. She even made him two custom suits while he was in Tomball! 

December arrived. Round Two, Quest for Nationals; we left for Nashville. This time we had a plane load of parents, community members, school board members, and our entire TISD administration. Not kidding. Had the plane crashed, the head custodian would have been in charge! As we prepared for the competition, people from the staff of the group holding the competition talked to Tommy on the side, asking his opinion of our chances. Knowing Tommy some predictions were made that might have sounded over confident. As we waited, he moved between the various girls saying just the right thing. He kept me calm along with Kimm Carter’s assistance. Not only had Tommy prepared the entire squad for this moment, he had worked with the five girls who had been chosen at camp to participate in the individual competitions. He created cheers and dances for them at no charge. He coached them and gave them just what they needed. Those twelve girls from a small Texas town were poised beyond all comprehension. They demanded the attention of the 1 to 2 thousand people at the prelims. They placed out of prelims and into finals. They would be in the Top 15 out of 80+ large girls’ varsity competition group. The next day I had to let Tommy take over; I was about to toss my cookies. I knew that repeating any championship was difficult. And, now we had all these people who had paid to come watch their hometown girls. Tommy had them calm; Kimm had them groomed, and Peri Copeland who came to watch us from Palestine, rubbed my back. They took the floor and in 3 minutes and 50 seconds, they made history and brought the house down in front of over 5,000 spectators Yes, they won AGAIN! Second National Championship! Four of our individuals placed in the All American category and once again, two of them won first and second garnering another $27,000 in cash scholarships. “Who Rule the World? Tomball Girls Rule the World!” I really don’t think the girls even realized what they had done. Some may still not.

We made the front page of the “Potpourri,” “The Sun,” and the Lifestyle section of the “Houston Chronicle.” We were on “Good Day Houston” morning program. This put little Tomball on the map alright. We would come in third the next year because frankly we could not be allowed win again. We had taken all the trophies and the money for two years straight. But these accomplishments paled in comparison to the real result. In this context of something that many folks perceive to be a silly activity depicted in the movie “Bring it On (parts I and II)” was the forging of lifelong lessons in human relationships.

A world of long established preconceived notions were more open to change and the acceptance of others “not like us.” As a teacher, Tommy Amico taught me more than I can type in this essay about African-American literature, music, cooking, ways of thinking, and friendship. This Texas school teacher suddenly became more aware of the needs of her students of any color. I now had ways to relate to them that gave my teaching more relevance and importance. For once, I was able to connect and make a difference to all of my students, not some of my students. I began to, in earnest, pursue ways to deepen these connections. Thanks to Tommy Amico I took a six week Humanities seminar at the University of Virginia in African-American literature and culture. I witnessed girls’ lives be changed for the better because he came into their world. He pushed them to be better athletes. He gave comfort to those who struggled with all types of personal issues. He chastised those who felt it was their “right” to do certain things in relation to the squad. He spoke of moral and ethical behavior, not just getting that flip-flop timed perfectly. And, when he got on that plane for what would be the last time heading off to Kansas City there were a rivers of tears. I am not discounting my part in this process; however, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Tommy Amico changed lives in that small town in Texas.

TIE A TODDLER ROUND THE OLD PINE TREE

After my mother’s remains were discovered and it was evident that her baby, now about 1.5 years old, would be raised by my grandmother. My father, Charles, was a Merchant Marine captain of oil tankers with Socony Vacuum. His job took him all over the world; he was “at sea” for three months and home for one. His family from Boston was not willing to take on a toddler. Miss Dolly would not even broach the subject of her NOT raising me and made it clear to my dad that she would do whatever it took to take me in as her own child. Her one caveat was the she wanted to legally adopt me as she knew that my father could be, at times, a stereotypical sailor living a very rootless life and had a dangerous job. My father agreed as long as Miss Dolly would not change my last name. He also promised that if she would leave the dirt farm where she had been for nearly twenty years she would never have money worries again. While he was on compassionate leave, he went into Woodville, purchased a house, bought a car, set up a bank account, and sent word to Miss Dolly that everything was done. All she needed to do was go the bank and pick up house keys and the car was waiting at the Ford dealership.

Miss Dolly had remarried in 1931 to a Mr. Sturrock. He was widower farmer and owned a bit land outside of Colmesneil, Texas which is about 10 miles from Woodville. He was not a very good farmer and they lived a “pillar to post” on this isolated farm. Her surviving son was career military and stationed in Europe under the Marshall Plan. She told Mr. Sturrock that she was going to take me to Woodville and he was welcome to come. From what I learned over the years with Miss Dolly theirs was marriage of convenience with very little, if any, affection. He refused to go and did not understand why she would leave. No inside water, out house, no electricity, no money, and a falling down house. I mean really who could turn that down? He told her he would not allow her to leave and how I would have liked to have heard her response. Miss Dolly filed for divorce and took nothing from her former husband, like land. She packed two suitcases, two bottles, diapers, tied me to her back, and proceeded to walk to the main highway which was about three miles. When she got to the main highway and was walking to Colmesneil, about 5 miles, a farmer friend picked her up with me in tow. He drove her to the Ford place where she picked up the car: PAID FOR! Then to the banks where she received the keys for the house also PAID FOR from good ole’ Mr. Feagan. He had to tell her where it was. Thank goodness my father had the bank turn on the electricity and prime the water well. We drove to our first home on Cobb Mill Road and thus the tale gets to the point.

Miss Dolly was 54 years old at this time, going through menopause which meant the health industry had yet to create medicines to help women through this thing. She was, according to her, very undernourished and just plain exhausted. She set about getting some furniture, got a milk goat as I was allergic to cow’s milk. Got some chickens, planted a little garden, and made a nice little home for us. She found her church and we began the routine of being in church three times per week. She would sell eggs and cow’s milk to get her collection plate money. All other expenses were being paid by my father. There’s an entire story yet to be written on Miss Dolly and her stewardship of my dad’s money. But on with the story…

I sure many of you will not be shocked to know that I was a “handful” as a toddler. I wore leg braces until I was almost two and once I was able to move, I moved! (oh! How I’ve changed .) Miss Dolly said she could not take her eyes off of me for even a minute and I refused to take a nap. (another change from then) We had no A/C and in the summer she had to move us outside under these towering pine trees. She would try to watch me, but fall asleep on the front porch from the exhaustion. At one point, the neighbors found me walking with my dog down the street. Mortified and scared, she had to come up with a solution. We had no fence and she would not authorize one being built on my dad’s “dime.” So, her solution…Get ready! Call CPS!

She took small rope of about 20 feet. Tied it around the tree closest to the porch. She then proceeded to tie me with the rope. She configured some type of metal thing that allowed me to circle the tree without getting tangled up. She built a sand box and put some toys under the tree. I could get on the porch if I so desired. If you cannot get the visual, think of an outside dog in the country who is tied to a tree and then runs in circles until the grass is gone around the tree. Miss Dolly would be on a quilt with her Bible and would try to read. I don’t think she ever made it past Genesis on the third day of creation! She would sleep for a couple of hours. Me, I was as happy as a little piglet In the yard. Mr. Harvey from across the road would walk over and check on us. After a year of “tie Twitchell around the tree,” she had a nice fence built with my father’s permission. No more tree…no more freedom

Women in those days had to make things work. There was no day care, no Mommy and Me play group, no intricate toys or wooden playground sets, no IPhone/IPad…it was the mom alone with the children. I don’t know how she managed, being as “ill” as she was “going through the change” to feed, clothe, clean me and the house, take care of the animals and property. She just did it. Women from that time period who had endured the Great Depression and World War Two faced almost insurmountable issues. They did not shirk their duty often to their own detriment. They were independent women when they had to be and God help anyone who stood in their way. Someone reminded me that the movie “Places in the Heart” is a good representation of those women and Miss Dolly. In spite of being tied to a tree, I turned out just fine. Or, at least I think I did.

AN INDEPENDENT WOMAN BEFORE HER TIME!

I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel. Maya Angelou

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

Jesus

It is the years right after World War One and women receiving the right to vote my story begins. My grandmother was married at the age of 14 in 1914 to my maternal grandfather, who shall remain nameless here. She was taken from Weldon to Trinity Texas to another sharecropping farm worked by his family. Within the space of three years, she had two children: Clois Eloise G. and James Basil G. The life on this farm was a living hell. First, besides doing “women’s work” in the house, she had to pick cotton with her babies in tow. She made a “sled out of feed sacks and placed my mother on the sled tying the sled around her waist. She made a cross body sling out of yet another sack, and put her son in the sling…Baby Bjorn for poor people. She spoke of picking a 100 lbs. on good days in the Texas heat with two children attached to her. My grandmother was 5 ft. 1 tall and weighed by herself about 100 lbs. She was carrying double her weight in children and picking cotton. In 1919 she had her third child, Valera G. Her husband, who was ten years older than she, was, for the most part, probably typical for men of that period. Uneducated, domineering, and he believed that women must obey or pay the price. Miss Dolly told me that the verbal abuse began almost immediately upon their marriage. Without too much detail, what passed for intimate relations would be called “rape” today. This information was later confirmed by her sisters, and my great grandmother. With her religious upbringing and the life that many women had to endure, poor women in particular, this was her lot in life. Divorce/separation was unthinkable. While pregnant with the third child, her husband who was 6ft 6in and weighed about 225 would grab her by her hair if she did not have his meals ready on time. He would hold her hand over the wood stove threatening to burn it. She said that if he had been drinking, he would hit her so hard that she would leave her feet and land on her back…while pregnant. These were the days of once one left home, there really was no communication with family and 10 miles was crossing the great divide. One of her older sisters left her home to come be with my grandmother to assist with this birth. She witnessed first-hand the abuse and beatings, but at that moment said nothing. She might have been killed by him or he would beat Miss Dolly even more. Once she returned to her family in Weldon, Texas she told her brothers, non- married and younger than Miss Dolly, what was going on. Two were doughboys from WW I and tough young men. The three brothers got on horseback, loaded with shot guns, and great grandpa Harrington took the wagon and mules to get Dolly.

It took them nearly two days to get there. When they arrived, they found her husband in the field, surrounded him with loaded guns, righteous anger, and told to stay put. They were coming to take their sister and her children home. He tried to put up a fight, but according to the legend, he heard three shotguns being pumped…they loaded up their sister, their nieces and nephew and what little was hers, went back “home.” Oh, it gets better.

Several months later, in the middle of the night, her husband, with his siblings, came in the house with their guns and took the son, James Basil. He wanted his boy, but did not even approach the little girls. He had the young boy for a couple of months until the brothers went to the Sheriff in Crockett. He had served with one of the brothers in the war and together in a Model T drove to the G family place. The Sheriff basically told the G family that if they tried to take the boy back again, he would not responsible for what the Harrington men might do. I think that is called “frontier justice.” It was at that point that the Sheriff drove Miss Dolly to Crockett where he gave her the money to hire a lawyer. This lawyer did something remarkable for this time in history…he got Miss Dolly a divorce and custody of all her children. 

She said that while she was relieved to not be beaten and afraid 24 seven, she was a divorcee with three children…she felt like a real burden and failure to her parents as they still had three kids at home. In her early twenties, she had to make a choice. She had to survive and raise her kids without depending on her family to take care of her. The Sheriff once again came through. He knew of a job in Colmesneil, Texas running and managing the railroad depot. This was a man’s job, well just because it was . It also involved running a work crew of 10 black men to do repairs, load and unload freight, etc. Picture in your mind:

1920’s South

A petite white woman, a divorcee, doing a man’s job.

Under her management were African-American men.

A recipe for disaster maybe? People were still lynching black men. 

The KKK had a huge membership in the twenties with the fear of immigrants, Catholics, Jews, and everyone else. Not politics…history.

This did not scare her; she had survived beatings and much worse. She got the job (thanks to the Sheriff.) Her brothers moved her in a wagon to the house provided by the railroad company. She worked that depot job for almost 8 years. She kept the depot running smoothly. She would take the push car on the tracks to work sights to check on the men’s work while taking them water and food. She helped deliver a couple of African American babies as the white doctor would not do it. During these years, she could not escape tragedy. There was a national typhoid epidemic sweeping the country. Her baby daughter, Valera, age 7 took ill with typhoid and died in a span of three days. Having to be buried very quickly due to the epidemic, she had a funeral and buried her child alone in the Colmesneil Community Cemetery where Valera, Eloise, and Miss Dolly are now buried. Guess who dug the grave, built the coffin and stood with Miss Dolly? The black men and their families.

When Miss Dolly died in 1986, the people at Edwards Funeral Home marveled and complained a little about the number of “coloreds” who came to pay their respects. Some were old signing the book with their “mark.” There was at least two full pages of "X's" and the signature of old tired people. They came back for the visitation to see Miss Dolly's little girl…there was some consternation on some faces…just sayin.’ Change moves slow in many places in America even today. But I was determined to be Miss Dolly’s child and welcome them to come sit with me. You must understand that whites and blacks had separate funeral homes and separate cemeteries even in the eighties. Some were the very young boys who worked the line under her; some were the children of these men who talked about her being the only white lady that treated them with respect. I cried like a baby…not for her death, but for the excellent life and example she left for the world. The picture you are seeing is when she was 40 years old. She hated every picture made before that. I can understand why.

BUMP! SET! SPIKE! I FEEL THE EARTH MOVE BENEATH MY FEET.

Coming as no surprise to anyone who has known me, athleticism would not be used to describe any part of my being. I avoided sweating for any reason even as a small child. I was a very internal child preferring reading to going outside to run, skip, and you can just forget anything that required jumping. Moving into the teenage years and college years the most athletic thing I did was march with the band while blowing a horn. So, to everyone’s surprise, including mine, for 21 years I lived in the world of cheerleading. That story line has already been introduced. Having spent 21 years sitting on bleachers of every type and safety level in the cold, rain, even a hurricane in stadiums and gyms across the the Gulf Coast, when I left cheerleading behind, I left athletic events in my rearview mirror.

In 1994 I was lucky enough to go back to CFISD, Cy-Creek High School, as senior government/economics teacher. No extracurricular events and no dragging home late at night after watching one game after another, ad infinitum. I will tell you that Cy-Creek had some fantastic male athletes. Young men who would later become NFL players and Olympic swimmers, state winners on teams that did include young women. However, during their time in my classroom very little was said about their prowess on the field, on the court, or in the pool. School spirit had dwindled almost to nothing in most high schools in Texas, with Creek being one. School spirit was motto driven “you just can’t hide that Cougar pride,” and pep rallies were held at strange times only two or three per year. Honestly, that was fine with me. Until…

In 1997 in my fifth period government class, I had an unusual trio of young women. First, let’s remember that I am barely 5”1” on a good day. These three young women walk in my room into my room and they are very, very, very, tall and very athletic. I thought “Oh MY!” “I’m going to have to make them kneel so I can look them in the eye.” This was August so when they told me they played volleyball, I was like “Meh.” Like many standing in the stupid corner, I saw volleyball as the easy sport for girls. At this point, Linda Kubiak and Debbie Jaehne will be cursing me if they were to read this This what people did on the beach or in the backyard or at church camp. I had the same attitude towards volleyball that people had had about cheerleading. There was a part of me that probably thought that these girls were biding their time waiting for basketball to start. (Laveta Christian, you would have killed for the height on these girls.) August begins and they start playing in those early tournaments. On the morning announcements there would be one that would say Creek Volleyball won this tournament; so and so was all-tournament, etc. After a month of the endless wins, save for Friendswood, I thought to myself “I teach Kristy Rhodes. I teach Suzanne Wright. I teach Ashley Sheffield. Heck! I had even taught their Coach!” Maybe I should pay more attention. The other starting seniors were across the hall in Judy Henderson’s (now Thurn) classroom. I think between the two of us, we taught the varsity starting senior line-up. Judy would try to get me to come to the games and I would decline. As September rolled into October, the announcements kept announcing the volleyball team was now first in our district with game after game was being won. I would do my teacher duty and congratulate them. Finally, one of the young women, I think it was Kristy, asked me to come to their game. I figured why not? The one good thing in my mind was that volleyball games were shorter than football or basketball. Here’s what I saw and learned:

You know warm-ups for anything are tedious and boring. That’s why they are done before a game I noticed the gym was getting crowded and my interest was piqued. Here come the Cy-Creek girls in this line by height running around the court. The coach moves to the net where she throws the ball up as if had been “set” by the setter, Marissa. Here come Kristy Rhodes from the far edge of the court…step, step, step, a little hop/skip, takes off from the floor, rises ABOVE THE FREAKING NET and KABOOM! I had never seen anything like that in my life. She lands, no expression, and walks off like it was no big thing. Then here comes the other girls, Suzanne, Ashley, and Danielle, doing their version of getting the ball over the net with one or two matching Kristy’s spike of death. The other team often would just stand there after hearing the first explosion. I’m sure they were thinking “Winter is Coming. Winter is Coming!” [ that’s for you GOT people reading this.] Or to paraphrase Roy from “Jaws” the coach of the other team was thinking “We’re goanna need a bigger boat full of taller girls.”

I, the one who sworn off of attending games, was hooked.

From that moment I went to every game, to play offs no matter how far. It was the same thing game after game. I’m not sure Coach Jaehne’s strategy, but I like to think she sent Kristy out first to scare the living hell out of the other teams and then turned the others loose. It was not all the earth shaking spikes, I began to see the game play in what they did; the movement of people on the floor and how each position was supposed to work. For example, the setter, Marissa, created the ability for the other girls to “lower the boom.” If she missed her set, the thunder was not quite there. Their 5-A state final in Austin was a sight to behold. The gym was packed on both sides and I was crammed right in the middle of Judy Henderson and Diane Meyer. You would have thought we were at a Super Bowl.

Here’s what I learned that year. The girls I taught were called the Triple Towers by me. I hit most of them at the waistline. They sat in a line across in my room. I learned that they had been playing for a long time, some doing the league thing travelling across the states. They played often to a slim crowd because, girls’ sports; yet, they played as if there were on national television stage. Their most loyal supporters were, of course, their parents. I know that Kristy’s mom, Karen, never missed a game anywhere. They were not flashy or always talking about what they had done. As they were winning and killing every opponent, the football team was having a losing season and still garnered all the attention. (don’t hate...it was what it was). They were, to my knowledge, never in academic trouble. In fact, they were really good students. They never were sent to the assistant principal’s office for anything. They were kind to other students and as a teacher, they were awesome to teach.

As they got ready to graduate, the athletic scholarships came pouring in. Four of the starting seniors went on to receive offers from schools in Texas and Tennessee. I think of this from time to time, and once again don’t kill the messenger: had these been four senior young men from one team, the noise would have been heard from coast to coast. We heard about their exploits from the Coach and then had to find out from the girls if it was true. They went on to college, played their sport, and GOT THEIR DEGREES! Some are teachers; some are mothers, and they all have lived and hopefully, will continue to live great lives. Looking back, they were in that first run of female athletes that would change the world of sport In the years to come. We would witness, the USA Women’s Soccer Team, see Mia Hamm idolized, watch Pat Summit and her Lady Vols capture TV audiences and national titles, and the list goes on and on. I look back after 46 years and consider the Creek Volleyball Team of that year one of the best things about my career.

I can still “feel the earth move under my feet” when Kristy got the spike just right.

ONE PERSON CAN MAKE A DIFFERENCE

BUILDING CHAMPIONS

Winning has always meant much to me, but winning friends has meant the most. (Babe Zaharias)

When looking back over forty one years of teaching, there are many things that bring a sense of accomplishment and pride.  The great majority of those memories center on the actual “art of teaching” in a classroom.  The events and students in those many classrooms will always be a part of who I am as a person and educator.  However, as in all of our lives, there are times that just stick out as being extra special.  It is a strange and “twisty” tale of my extra special memory. Let me begin at the beginning.

In 1975, I was one of the few single female teachers at Cypress-Fairbanks High School.  The principal, Mr. Watkins, was looking for a cheerleading “sponsor.” I was a fairly popular teacher, overly enthusiastic about the Bobcats, worked with the band on the side as a private music teacher, and just had my fingers in every little pie on campus. So, whom did he turn to to “sponsor” the cheerleaders?  Me, of course!  I basically had zero knowledge about what these girls did and frankly had the typical band “kid’s” disdain for the girls who shook their pom poms J  However, being the “goody two shoes” I was at the time, I took the job.  The first few years, I truly was a sponsor. Knew nothing much, and actually, did nothing much but chaperone.  When CFISD started allowing the girls to go to camp in the late 70’s, I had to accompany them.  With nothing else to do on a college campus, I began attending sessions for sponsors and watched the really good groups of cheerleaders. Their sponsors were doing more than I was and were winning everything. The band geek came out and I wanted to win everything. I wanted my group to be the best.  Over the course of the next four years, I acquired a great deal of expertise on what it took to have an effective cheerleading squad.  I was inching away from sponsor towards , dare I say it, coach! From my knowledge gained at Cy-Fair High School, I was recruited to become the cheer coach (yes recruited as a coach) to little Tomball High School.

Tomball High School was the one high school of a very small town 20 miles north of Houston. This was during a time when there were no freeways in that direction, so the little town still bore all the characteristics of a small Texas, semi-isolated/rural community. From 1984 to 1988 I began making significant changes to their cheerleading program. (That process is an entire book).  By 1987, we had stepped into the nascent world of cheerleading competition. The cheer world realized the money and recognition that could be made by moving beyond camp competition into the state and national stage. It was a time when ESPN was opening up other athletic type activities to the world of cable television.  Remember the times…this was all brand new.  The girls of Tomball High School were, that year, hard working, physically sturdy, and I knew just enough about cheerleading that we went to our first nationals competition after qualifying by winning our camp. This type of competition requires a two to three minute “routine” showing all the aspects of cheerleading.  From my circle of immediate peers, I pieced together a routine that looking back was fairly crude.  Bless those girls.  They poured their hearts and bodies into making a “sow’s ear into a silk purse.”  We were doing the best we knew how.  WE go to nationals in Nashville where we make the Top Ten!  Seriously, I still don’t know how we did it.  And, there were over 75 squads in our competitive group—all girl squad, 12 members and over.  As the competition ended, I am sitting on the arena floor waiting for the crowds to clear. At the time, we were happy. Top Ten was great!  We would make the “Tomball Potpourri,” the local newspaper.  As I sat there, a tall, handsome, well-dressed African –American male approached me.  I can still see that he had on a cool hat.  He stands in front of me and introduces himself (actually reintroduces himself), “Hi, I am Tommy Amico.”  “I worked with your Cy-Fair girls at camp.”  WOW!  I did remember Tommy. He had recruited Karen M., one of my favorite CFHS girls, to teach summer camps and they were fast friends. Tommy had been working the nationals that week.  He sat down beside me and said confidently, “Call me when you are ready to win this thing.”

Spring comes, new cheerleading squad, and my principal asks me what it would take to win the nationals.  He had a flair for knowing that these things, while not the most important in the scheme of school, would help get Tomball High School noticed. He said what would be the number one thing I would need to win.  I did not hesitate one minute.  I said “Let me hire a choreographer! And, let me hire Tommy Amico from Kansas City, Missouri.”  We went through the usual how much, how long, etc. I contacted Tommy, agreements were made, and I scheduled his arrival at THS for two weeks in August to prep the girls for the routine he would create.  The day arrives. Early morning on campus. Drill team is practicing, Student Council is there doing something, football players are milling, cheerleaders are waiting, and in walks a 6’ black man!  Please understand…this was a school of 90% white students.  The African-American students we had, as a rule, were very poor, still living in segregated areas outside the main part of town.  The African-American students we had that were involved played football and maybe basketball.  They did NOT come in dressed cheerleading workout gear ready to teach, “gasp,” dance!  The girls were both in shock and in awe.  They knew from nationals that this guy “knew cheerleading,” but he was different.  However, like most students, they gave him the benefit of the doubt from day one. Kids are like that.

He pulls out his work out tape, places it in the cassette, and immediately begins doing simple dance moves to R and B .  He was moving his hips folks, in rhythm to the music.  These girls knew country western line dancing…but this?  Seriously…move our hips like this?  Will the Lutheran Church allow this?  Please understand there was absolutely nothing lurid about the moves, but boy were they different.  Patiently for two days these white bread girls began to get a sense of what was to come. Step by step, arm motion by arm motion, stunt by stunt, the three minute routine came together in rough draft form. They went home exhausted, stinky, and back early the next morning.  As the routine began to take shape, the milling students began to stand and watch for hours this man work with these girls. The drill team even got a little “snarky.”  Cheerleaders don’t dance and certainly not with the latest music.  Tommy would refine, retune, and edit our routine over the course of the next four months.  He became a fixture around the campus as he would fly in for super long weekends or even a week.  Once the routine was completed, he would come to school dressed like a professional businessman.  Quietly, the African-American students began to walk up to him, ask him his name, what he was doing at THS, and where was he from?  As we would prepare for workout, he would be surrounded by these students carrying on conversations. By now, my cheerleaders would get jealous because he was “their Tommy” brought to town for them.  As December approached, it was decided that Tommy would come to Tomball and fly out with us on the way to Nashville.  He would be with us every step.  WE flew in, we competed, and came in SECOND!  Whoa, what a leap in placement.  We made the front pages of the “Potpourri” and the “1960 Sun.”  That spring, same conversation with the principal. Negotiate with Mr. Amico, as my principal called him.  No other choreographer was considered.  July, 1988, Mr. Amico Goes to Tomball for SIX weeks!  He stays at my house (gasp), shops in Tomball, tries to find a place to do “his hair,” comes up on campus where people begin to recognize him and call him by name.  He eats lunch with the girls and visits with the African-American students who gravitate to him. He crafts a show stopping routine.  He even takes our uniform tailor to the fabric store to hunt for the right material.  She even makes him two custom suits while he is there! December arrives. Round Two, Quest for Nationals, Leave for Nashville, and this time we have a plane load of parents, community members, school board members, and our entire TISD administration. Not kidding. Had the plane crashed, the head custodian would have been in charge J As we prepare for the competition, I see these various people talking to Tommy on the side, asking his opinion of our chances, laughing with him about my quirks, and on and on.  He moves between the various girls saying just the right thing.  He keeps me calm.  Not only had Tommy prepared the entire squad for this moment, he had worked with the five girls who had been chosen at camp to participate in the individual competitions. He created cheers and dances for them at no charge. He coached them and gave them just what they needed. 

December 1989! 

THS CHEERLEADERS WIN NATIONAL TITLE!

Individuals Capture 1, 2, 3, and 5th with $27,000.00 Cash Prizes

We made the front page of the “Potpourri,” “The Sun,” and the Lifestyle section of the “Houston Chronicle.”  We were on “Good Day Houston” morning program.  This put little Tomball on the map alright. We would repeat this performance again the following year including the individual placements.  We would come in third the next because frankly we could not win that year.  We had taken all the trophies and the money. J  But these accomplishments pale in comparison to the real result.  In this context of something that many folks perceive to be a silly activity depicted in the movie “Bring it On (parts I and II)” was the forging of lifelong lessons in human relationships.

A world of long established preconceived notions was suddenly more open to change and acceptance of others “not like us.”    As a teacher, Tommy Amico taught me more than I can type in this essay about African-American literature, music, cooking, ways of thinking, and friendship.  This white “under tall for her weight” Texas school teacher suddenly became more aware of the needs of her students of any color.  I now had ways to relate to them that gave my teaching real relevance and importance.  For once, I was able to connect and make a difference to all of my students, not some of my students.  I began to, in earnest, pursue ways to deepen these connections. Thanks to Tommy Amico I took a six week Humanities seminar at the University of Virginia in African-American literature. And Culture.  I witnessed girls’ lives be changed for the better because he came into their world. He pushed them to be better athletes. He gave comfort to those who struggled with all types of issues.  He chastised those who felt it was their “right” to do certain things in relation to the squad.  He spoke of moral and ethical behavior, not just getting that flip-flop timed perfectly.  And, when he got on that plane for what would be the last time heading off to Kansas City there were a bunch of tears.  I am not discounting my part in this process; however, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Tommy Amico changed lives in that small town in Texas. 

FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS TOMBALL STYLE. : Living in a Small Town

FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS: TOMBALL STYLE

In 1982, Hap Harrington, superintendent of schools for TISD, called Carlos Watkins to see if the Tomball High School cheerleaders could come observe one of the very famous CFHS pep rallies. Mr. Harrington, when principal of Klein High School, had seen the CFHS cheerleaders in action at a football game and was very impressed with the whole BFND atmosphere. On A Friday, eight cheerleaders and Kit Pfeiffer, an assistant principal, stood in the gym and witnessed a very typically packed gym going wild with school spirit. [and CFHS had a losing season] After the rally, she talked to me about the cheer program, what I taught, and CFHS’ BFND attitude. They left; I went to class. Into the spring semester, I received a phone call from Mr. Harrington who promptly reminded me that we were actually third cousins on Miss Dolly’s side. Tried to pull the family card; yes he did! He asked if I would come to Tomball to interview for a cheerleader coaching position. Yep! You heard correctly. Not a sponsor, but a coach. By this time, I had become a coach: I attended workshops; watched our coaches at CFHS in how they worked with their athletes, etc. I also had grown a bit bored teaching American History for 12 years and wanted a change in subject matter. It was evident that I was not going to move to another course, so off to Tomball HS I went. I had déjà vu all over again :O Out Telge Road (no houses, farm land, and turned on 2920 which had no businesses like you see today. There was the four corners where the same flag installation stands today. A Gibson’s store (non-existent today), turned left on 149—not 249. Turned at Sandy Lane and there is was. A small one story high school: compared to CFHS it was small.

I interviewed with John Neubauer and Hap Harrington. The entire conversation was how to build school spirit and an outstanding cheer program. I gave them my thoughts; we talked salary, facilities, and the last question was twofold: What classes would you like to teach? Can you start cheerleading work in June? I said senior government and yes. I walked out of THS stunned and by the time I got back home to Cypress, I had a bit of “buyer’s remorse.” I called Miss Dolly and she was apoplectic! Leaving a very secure teaching position to start over. She called Hap and I still don’t know what was said. But, she gave her blessing. I went to Mr. Watkins and explained what I had done. His hands were tied for there were no openings in either World History or government departments. I resigned my position, and signed a contract with TISD.

Many of you live in what I call the Tomball Greater Area which absolutely looks nothing like the Tomball Lesser Area of the 1980’s. There was “old” Tomball, the movers and shakers of the city. Down 149 to the South was the “new “Tomball who had moved into Lakewood, Gettysburg, Heatherwood, and other new subdivisions. There was nothing at all except mobile home sales places coming into the city. THS had approximately 700-800 students, one junior high, and maybe four elementaries. THS had a relatively new coaching staff headed by Coach Lynn Etheridge. New band director and new drill team director for the Cougar Charms. Hap’s plan was this: BUILD IT AND THEY WILL COME. Let me explain

Hap was a visionary. The Willowbrook area, 149, etc. was about to explode due to the Compaq computer campus at Louetta and 149. It would become HP and is now Lonestar College, University Park. TISD would be “competing” for new students with CFISD which was setting a very high standard for school districts at the time. More people=more tax dollars=better schools, etc. He wanted TISD to be the best in the state.

His philosophy today might seem a little out there in these days of testing, accountability, state mandates, bureaucracies, etc. But then, those things really did not exist and it was still local districts controlled most of their destiny. The philosophy was:

Have a great athletic program that wins and gets attention from press.

Have a great band program.

Have a great drill team program.

Have a great cheer program

Have a great choir program, and on and on.

Fill the stadium on Friday nights and people will start wanting to move to TISD.

Realtors will start pushing the district.

Home builders will start looking at the land surrounding Tomball for future development.

Which equals what? Say it with me! More tax dollars, better schools.

As in CFHS I had a marvelous 12 years in Tomball. I got to finally teach Seniors and I had some of the greatest students in the world. My cheerleaders starting in 1982 to 1994 were some of the neatest, most hardworking athletic young women I worked with. They were two TOTALLY DIFFERENT experiences from which I grew as a teacher and a person interacting with others. I have many tales for Tomball as I do for CFHS. I had the honor of teaching at what I like to call the “MOTHER SHIPS” of school districts. No matter how many high schools are built the heart of a district always remains in the first. Take a look at Klein ISD. The mother ship: Klein High School. CFiSD: Cy-Fair High School. Tomball: Tomball High School.

I read where Hap passed away last year. If you went to THS in the 80’s, can you remember he was IN every pep rally, at every athletic event, or any event that involved THS students? My hope is to write about my experience of working in a “small, rural (at the time)” school district and the joys that come with that experience. Get ready! I have great stories. GO! COUGARS!

On A Backroad You'll See the Most Unique Things

So, here's what happened today. On a back back dirt road between Magnolia and Navasota 

I came upon a farm. The cows had the longest horns I have seen in a long time. The manager of the farm stopped in his Gator to check me out. I showed him my camera and all was good. He said these are Butler Longhorns. He told me these are highly coveted breed of cattle. He said the UT type longhorn is this cross bred with others. So, nothing spectacular and grandiose, but yet, it is.

YOU NEVER KNOW WHERE SOME ENCOUNTERS WILL LEAD

Each time I see my dog from in a perspective, I am reminded of how people come into our lives in random and fantastic ways. Several years ago, I was contemplating moving after having lived in one place for eleven years. At the same time I had taken on this puppy, Dolly, forgetting the time and commitment they take from their humans. My main dilemma at the time was "dog sitting services" as I work part-time as a college professor. This requires my being gone for many hours a couple of days per week. She, who would NOT be crate trained, created this need for a "sitter." My first thought was "this is just stupid." There are children who don't have reliable care...Cutting to the chase; I was sitting on a stair by the condo I was thinking about moving in to with dog in tow.  She had to meet the future landlord. As I sat there, I heard the tinkling of dog tags, looked up, and there was a woman with two Yorkies! She stopped and indicated she lived next door. We chatted for a bit and I asked if she knew of any dog sitters/walkers in the complex.  "Well, I am a dog walker." SERENDIPITY!!!
I am embarrassed to say that she begin to refuse payment after a month.

After one month Dolly stayed with her and her husband many days. She would go over for "playdates." Fast forward to 2014 when I was diagnosed with cancer (now long gone). My #1 worry...Dolly. I knew that this would require Dolly being not with me for stretches of time as she is little and my feet are slow.  Debbie and her husband had moved by this time to a nearby home. When I told her of my diagnosis, she quickly put me on notice that I was not to worry that Dolly would be well taken care of.

Indeed she was and is well taken care of! Not only did Debbie take care of my dog, she became my driver, grocery shopper, prescription getter, and on and on and on.  Today she or her husband texts to see if Dolly can come over. She goes and sometimes spends two or three days😊😀😀 I had others who could and did help me. However, Debbie had the ability and time to put me at ease about the life's daily requirements. She is one of my dearest friends whom I would have never met if not for a dog and a move.