As you know it has been a while since I have written for the blog ... since anyone has written for the blog for that matter. But after a recent request, Nicki has agreed to reopen the Voices blog for occasional updates of interest, and so I return with a sense of "visiting" an old friend ... or several, depending on how many may read this ... though the joy of again writing for this venue where I found so much wonder and delight for two years is bittersweet as we now remember and say farewell to some who have passed from us and from this life. It is quite possible that more than these three have gone from us, and their lack of inclusion here is not intended as any slight to them or their memory, it is simply a fact that we did not know of their passing at the time of posting. If any of you know of someone who should be remembered and memorialized here, or if there is some momentous news of general interest which should be imparted, please contact me or Nicki as we strive to maintain an ongoing thread and record of the lives, and deaths, and times of the CHS Class of 1963.
JoAnn Neel Lathram
September 15, 1944 - February 22, 2011
I'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places
That this heart of mine embraces all day through ...
That this heart of mine embraces all day through ...
The beautiful Irving Kahal/Sammy Fain song I'll Be Seeing You, a standard from World War II, was movingly rendered by Jimmy Smith, our friend and husband of our dear Raenell Wynn Smith, at the services held for JoAnn nearly a year ago, following darling Joby's death from breast cancer after her valiant battle. Joby's cousin, Shirley Neel Cromartie, told me that Joby had requested that the song be specifically dedicated to her grandchildren, whom she loved dearly ... but even as I felt tears filling my eyes as I thought of that, I felt such a strong sense that the song was indeed for all of us ... a vision, a promise if you will ... that though this life may be finite, eternity is not.
Most of the world's great religions and many philosophies posit the idea that there is something beyond death, differing only somewhat in their interpretations of what that "something" may be. Some espouse beliefs in Heaven, or Hell, or transcendence, or multiple lives culminating in ascension to a higher plane. But for many of us, whatever our ideas of an afterlife may encompass, there seems to be a deeply rooted belief that we will once again find, will be reunited with, those whom we have truly loved and who have reciprocated that love. And JoAnn told her friends, and her children and grandchildren, that she knew well that one day they would see each other again. I likewise embrace that belief.
Joby was the third (one third!!!) of our Naughty Nine to embark from this life on that ongoing journey through time and space, following our beloved Paula Leach Schubarth (2002) and Lynn Purcell Durham (2008), previously memorialized in the Reflections and the Voices blogs, along with others of our classmates also remembered there, who left before we or their loved ones were ready (as if anyone could ever be ready) to see them go.
I'll be seeing you in every lovely summer's day
In everything that's light and gay
I'll always think of you that way...
In everything that's light and gay
I'll always think of you that way...
When I think of Joby I do see her in the golden light of summer, with the sun illuminating her dark hair, her eyes sparkling, full of humor and fun ... that brilliant smile and that low laugh ... loving and delighting in her friends and family, generous with her care and concern and kindness for others. The last time I saw her, in October 2010, at lunch with Raenell and Linda Bridges Cook, I knew that I would not see her again in this life. But though the knowledge was heart-breaking, the reunion of the four of us was warm, and sustaining, and a beautiful testament to lifelong friendships, and to the singular bond of the Nine. We were girls together sharing birthday parties and other rituals of childhood, then young women giggling over secret and not so secret loves, then wives and mothers and grandmothers, observing the phases and stages of each others' lives, reveling in the pleasures, sharing the sorrows, supporting whichever of us needed a boost when life became difficult. We were the Nine, as I wrote at the time of Paula's death ... and as noted then, we will always be the Nine, even after all of us have departed this plane.... And I believe to the depths of my soul that we will meet again ... as Joby believed.
I'll find you in the morning sun
Or when the night is new
I'll be looking at the moon,
But I'll be seeing you.
Mike Spradley
1944 - March 17, 2011
Less than a month after Joby left us, we were saddened to hear of the death of Mike Spradley, who though he did not graduate from CHS with our class was our classmate through many years of school in Childress. I particularly remember his stories of one memorable if short-lived stint as a freshman cheerleader for the CHS Bobcats in 1959, a tale which Mike told with relish and with that wonderful deep laugh as he detailed the frustrations of Imogene Pannell (later Murray) in trying to inculcate the esprit of cheerleading into him and Don Seal and Jimmy Czewski.
Mike graduated high school in Lubbock, but always insisted that his blood ran Bobcat Blue, and I know from many conversations with him that he had a deep-seated love for Childress, which he maintained throughout his life.
Mike's parents, Jim and Lornadee Spradley, and my parents, Keith Johnston and the former Billie Harp, and Lyman and Neysa Davenport, Pat Davenport Shapiro's parents, were great friends when we were kids, and I have memories of childhood play and pranks (a fondness for which Mike never lost to my knowledge). After Mike and his family moved from Childress we lost touch, but reconnected again in early 2001 when we were both coincidentally living in Houston.
A few lunches and after work get-togethers, as well as conversations with Sheila Davis Martinez, led us to plan the wonderful October 18, 2001 Wimberley Weekend in Wimberley, Texas (just over a month after the horrors of 9/11). A group of us including Mike and his beloved wife Ada and dad Jim, and Sheila, and Clara Robinson Meek, and Joe Don Hopkins took over a Wimberly bed-and-breakfast and spent a great couple of days reminiscing and catching up. We were also joined for dinner Saturday night by Jeff Jeffers, and placed a group long-distance call to John Danner in the Philippines (both CHS 1960). Subsequently there was a memorable weekend spent with the Spradleys in Childress visiting old friends including but not limited to Najla and Mary Saied, Lynn and Dana Purcell Morris (CHS 1960), which was the last time I saw Mike.
Mike graced the Reflections blog with some of his wonderful cartoons and with some side-splittingly funny blogposts, and if you have not read these you have missed some wonderful offerings from a natural raconteur.
Yahn Smith
August 6, 1946 - August 28, 2010
Although not a member of the CHS Class of 1963, I have also been asked to post a notice of the death of my former husband, Yahn Smith, who also contributed many pieces of his artwork and some writings to the blog. Yahn was an incredibly talented artist, a graphics designer and a much sought-after teacher at the Art Institute of Houston before he retired. He graduated from Bossier High School in Bossier City, Louisiana in 1964 (though as we used to joke he was still older than I), later from the Dallas Art Institute, and took his Master of Fine Arts degree at Syracuse University.
Yahn and I had been married for 42 years at the time of his death, although there were many unforeseen changes in his and our lives during the last few years, and a reflection on those times reminds me again, as it should remind all of us, that the future is unknown and unknowable, sometimes taking twists and turns which cannot be conceived in the most fertile imagination. And that too is a part of life, and death.
I end this trilogy of remembrance by adjuring all of you to make the most of each and every day you are given, to freely love those whom you do love, and to tell them so with some frequency, to take pains that your actions match your words, to treasure your friends ... in the hopes that when we all take that inevitable journey we carry with us golden memories, and leave behind memories of love and laughter and blessed days, until we meet again. And I share with you the beautiful thoughts of poet Mary E. Frye....
Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there. I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die. )O(  |
