Thursday, May 16, 2024
In some of my past columns, I have mentioned Miss Jayne. She is 92 years old and my dear friend and substitute mother, now that mine has passed. She was born and grew up in Durant, Oklahoma where she attended grade school, high school, and college. Miss Jayne’s Dad was a telegrapher with the railroad. He was a smart and industrious man who realized way back in the 40’s that there were no dormitories at the growing Southeast Oklahoma State University and very few apartments in Durant. He purchased a city lot located just two blocks from the college, which already had a house built upon it. He then proceeded to take the roof off the house and built a series of boarding rooms on the newly created second and third floors. Miss Jayne’s family lived on the first floor, and the second and third floors were rented to female college students. Many of the renters made the house their home for their entire 4-year collegiate career.
Because of age and failing health, Miss Jayne had not been back to Durant for quite a few years. I decided it might be a good idea to take her to see the “old home place” one more time before her health failed to the point where she could not travel.
I could tell Miss Jayne was excited to make the trip. She could not recall the last time she had been to see the place where she grew up, but the thought of seeing her childhood home and reliving her family memories was nearly more than she could bear. As we drove, we talked about her folks, her brother, and the times they shared. We talked about her deceased husband, Marcus, and how she had met him at Durant when she was in college. Clearly, it was important to her to share with me, her close friend, those intimate memories, and the reality that she was the only one left to tell the stories after all these years.
When we got to Durant, we drove to her childhood address and were surprised that, while the old house was vacant, it was still standing and in good shape. The yard was mowed and obviously cared for. Miss Jayne began describing how as many as 16 girls had lived upstairs at her family home and detailed the adventures which occurred. She smiled, giggled, and regaled me in tales. She told me of the time she and her brother were playing with their pony, and it fell into a ditch which had been dug by the city to install a new water line. The pony had landed upside down in the trench and could not get itself out. Miss Jayne was sure it was going to die until some college students got shovels and managed to free the animal. She showed me the street corner where her three childhood friends would meet to join her to walk up the hill to grade school. The same girls would meet and walk up the hill to high school, and then to college. “I don’t know how many steps I took over the years but everything I ever learned in school was on that hill, and I had to take that sidewalk to get there, from kindergarten through a master’s degree,” Jayne told me, “And, I even met my husband and fell in love up on that hill.”
We drove around Durant, and Miss Jayne remarked on the changes. She told stories about old stores and businesses as she marveled at the evolution of the college campus - even pointing out to me the music hall she and Marcus would visit to “make out” when they were dating.
As we drove back home, we talked about life and those things which were important to value. She told me that, at her age, memories were all she had left. She was so pleased she got to see one more time the place which held so many memories for her. She also let me know how important it was to her to share those stories, so I might better understand exactly who she was and where she had come from.
As I drove back to my home, I thought about the hill Miss Jayne climbed when she started school. I tried to picture my 92-year-old friend as a 5-year-old going to kindergarten with her three childhood friends: giggling as they walked, carefree and unaware of what travails life had in store for them in the years ahead. Little did she know where the sidewalk would lead her or what her life would become. She had no idea she and I would become friends so many years later.
We all have climbed our “hills” and one day will look back and recollect and smile at the past. My hope is when you do, you have someone close to share those memories with. They will enjoy hearing your memories as much as you will enjoy reliving them.
Thought for the day: Old memories are like coffee with cream and sugar: when stirred both can become mellow and sweet!
Until next time…I will keep ridin’ the storm out!
sam@hcnews.com
