Letter from the Editor

A local minister has a talk he gives to civic clubs. It’s all about material goods and what’s left at the end of one’s life. He starts by showing how everything we have fits in a box when we are born. By the end of a life, it’s all reduced to a box about that same size. No car keys. No home. No furniture or clothing.

Jim Pence has been going through his late mother’s things. Like many moms, she kept newspaper clippings. Pence, a longtime Norman attorney, was a newspaper carrier for The Transcript in the 1950s and he was honored in a National Newspaperboy Day ad on Oct. 6, 1955. He shared a copy of that ad with us this past week. (He went by Jimmy back then).

Like many of us, he learned many life skills on a paper route. He learned how to deal with people, how to collect bills, meet a deadline and be dependable. (You also learned how to deal with traffic, dogs, inclement weather, parked cars, early-morning frost and an occasional broken window).

Many of Norman’s leaders were once “newsboys,” according to the 1955 advertisement. It singled out boys but we know many routes were thrown by girls. My sisters filled in for me often. One had a Volkswagen convertible and dropped the top for easy tossing. When I worked in the mailroom here in the early 1970s, Peggy Stockwell, another Norman attorney, threw a motor route for us in a VW.

As times changed and The Transcript became a morning-delivery newspaper, more of our carriers were adults. Few parents want their children out in the pre-dawn hours. Some of our carriers are college students and others are retirees who want an income and want to get out of the house each day.

These are the Transcript carriers honored in 1955. Know any of them?

Ted Henson, Truman Landy, Eric Feaver, Jimmy rule, Eugene Grizzle, Steve Lawton, David Herring, Jimmy Armstrong, Tommy Tiller, Mack McGuckin, Sherman Lawton, John Feaver, Gale Sullenberger, Douglas Feaver and Clark Chatman.

Jimmy Rice, Paul Lindsey, Neal Craig, Bill Ward, Jimmy Pence, Lewis Armstrong, Richard Gunning, John Dragoo, Ray McBride, Phil Hampton, Melvin Jacobs, Larry Young, Eddy Massey, David Lampton, Darell Moring, Lynn Murrell and Charles Dillman.

Harold Witten, Jack Morrell, Larry Wilson, Hugh Franklin, Howard Cordell, Bruce Amspacher, Alan Kems, Elton Williams, Jimmy Townsend, Richard Gunning, Edward Feaver, James Kennedy, Roger McGuckin, Newell Jett, Doyle Richardson, Doyle Womack, Joe McAlister, Larry McAlister and Buddy Constant.

There’s nothing like a big dead fish to bring the family together. Bessie was the talk of the beach at my family’s reunion this past weekend.

It was a recently-dead aligator gar dragged from the waters on the western edge of Lake Texoma, near Pottsboro, Texas.

She got her name from the lad who landed her. Twelve-year-old Austin had one fish tale to tell to his wide-eyed cousins and other kinfolk who watched as he drug the beast to the shore.

We thought the raccoons would take the beast away in the night. Instead, they chose to dig through the leftovers from a Mexican dinner and scatter the trash on our porch. There were paw prints next to the fish so we know they saw Bessie on the beach before opting for fajitas and enchiladas.

Lake Texoma’s water level was down about seven feet below normal this past weekend. Some boat ramps were useless as the water doesn’t come close to the ramp. The wicked heat was punishing and it separated which relatives were used to it. The Oklahomans and Texans seemed to take it all in stride while those from Massachusetts, California, New York and other places didn’t stray far from the air conditioned cabins.

The water was reported to be 90 degrees earlier in the week. Cool spots could be found down deep and the children didn’t seem to mind. We had to remind them to drink some water during the heat of the day.

Our days were spent in or near the water and the evenings were reserved for catching up on the kinfolk. A dance contest pitted families and a sing-along followed. Nothing brings my family together like John Prine folk songs. It’s a good thing he only hits about three notes because none of us can carry a tune. Perhaps, that’s what scared the raccoons away.

The First State Bank’s time and temperature sign on West Lindsey Street at 6:10 p.m. Tuesday was boasting a balmy 111 degrees. That couldn’t be right.

But it’s Oklahoma and it’s July so anything can happen. My fellow cyclists on our weekly Tuesday night ride were trying to steal some shade in Brookhaven Village before we headed north and west to the flats. Most of us had spent the day hydrating so it wasn’t too bad. Heat doesn’t bother me as much as wind and hills. Luckily, we had little of either condition that night.

The ride was a blur but a man standing on a corner in far southwest Oklahoma City is a sight I won’t soon forget. He was tall and thin, with disheveled black hair and black glasses. His skin was like tanned leather and he wore a long shirt and long pants and was carrying two dirty bags. He was hitchhiking, or trying to, and was on the corner of SW 134th and May Avenue. I’ll never know if he got a ride.

It’s likely he ventured off the nearby interstate in search of some shade or even some shelter for the evening. The cyclists had nothing to offer him as we hurriedly passed him as we rode west and then again as we headed back to our cars in Brookhaven Village. His emotionless gaze won’t soon leave me.

Perhaps he found his way to Norman and was one of the dozen or so men sleeping on the sidewalk outside of the Food for Friends building early Wednesday. The sun began to wake them as I drove by on the way to my air-conditioned church-breakfast, then to my air-conditioned office in my air-conditioned car.

On any given day, there are about 800 homeless individuals in our community. The shelter estimates there are 100 homeless families with 325 children. Some stay with relatives or friends. Others get a cheap hotel room for a night or two. During the day, they try and find a cool spot to relax. It’s often in the shelter for breakfast or lunch or in public buildings like the library or the mall. Many are passing through on the way to a more promising locale.

Most of us remember a time when not every home or school or business had air conditioning. An elderly friend from church has no air conditioning. In the heat of the day, she retreats to her basement, much like she has done most of her life. If you’ve never lived with air conditioning, she said, you never miss it.

The Oklahoma Department of Transportation is celebrating its Centennial this month. They’ve been building roads and bridges for 100 years. My great-grandfather has a footnote in Oklahoma roadbuilding. I shared his photo and a brief narrative with ODOT. Here it is:

Nelson Sturgis, an early day Oklahoma engineer and bridgebuilder, was born in Vasselboro, Maine, in 1853. He came to Oklahoma for the run in early 1889. He traveled to Oklahoma territory in a covered wagon pulled by a team of oxen. He camped on the banks of Cottonwood Creek in Guthrie waiting for the day of the run.

The Guthrie Daily Leader described him as a Populist, a first-class businessman, honest and industrious. He homesteaded near Guthrie and at age 43 married 17-year-old Lula King. Her famiy had come from Michigan for the run. Their four children were Alden, Nelson, Jr., Lela and Jessie. Lula died shortly after Jessie’s birth and the Eagleston family of Guthrie took her in and reared her while Nelson was away working. The older children were taken tothe Masonic Orphanage in Darlington, OK. That building now houses a winery. 

Nelson was a participant in the first statehood convention held in Guthrie and he helped move the state capitol from Guthrie to Oklahoma City. When he died in 1937, the Guthrie Daily Leader published a front page article about his accomplishments. 

He was instrumental in starting the Masonic Lodge in Guthrie, with his name on the Charter. His suspension bridge patent was dated Jan 28, 1902.  These suspension bridges were built over creeks.  One was built in Lela and one in Morrison, and several others built near Guthrie. Lela Sturgis Stafford was named because family lore says Nelson was working on a bridge in Lela, OK., when she was born.

Sturgis’ patent ran out after 10 years, and he did not have the money to renew. The model for the patent is on display at the Territorial  Museum  in Guthrie. His early education is unknown. Sturgis’ family gathered at the Guthrie museum in the Fall of 2009 where my mother, Marilyn Stafford Zumwalt presented a brief program on her grandfather’s life.

Sturgis’ work is featured in a 1974 publication, from Oklahoma State University, School of Civil Engineering, entitled “Historic American Engineering Record.”  Both Nelson and his wife Lula are buried at Summit View Cemetery in Guthrie. Nelson died at the home of his daughter Jessie Baker in 1937.

Nelson and Lula Sturgis

A teacher at the Catholic school next door to the city’s Fire Station No. 8 said the additional sirens are causing her to do a little more explaining to students since the station opened earlier this month.

In the old Catholic faith, a siren meant someone needed help and a prayer and many of us still make the sign of the cross when we hear one. This teacher routinely does it, causing her students to ask why. Some are copying her. They’ll be crossing themselves often as the station will be a busy one in the growing northwest corridor of Norman.

I had the same problem growing up at St. Joseph’s Catholic School. The city’s Fire Station No. 1 moved from Gray Street and Peters Avenue to Main Street, just east of Porter. The sirens could be heard at morning Mass and all day long. The nuns always respected the tradition.

One of the school’s choirs sang, “Those Who Serve,” at Wednesday’s fire station opening. In a few months, we’ll open the new Cleveland County Detention Center on Franklin Road between Flood Avenue and I-35. A wag at the ribbon cutting suggested the students be booked for that grand opening and merely change the words, “Those Who Serve Time.”

The fire station cost about $3.1 million to build. It’s LEED certified, meaning it’s about as green a public building as exists in Norman these days. Firefighters will enjoy lots of natural lighting, big open areas, lower water usage, carpet with a recycled backing and natural landscaping that won’t need watering once it gets established.

Kirkpatrick Architecture Studio out of Denton designed the building. Contractor was Diversified Construction of Edmond.

Summer’s coming and the booksellers know it’s time to slow down, grab an hour to read something besides e-mails all day long.

My bedside shelf contains a couple of new reads. Both are from authors that I have the pleasure of knowing.

 “Shooting from the Hip,” by one-time photojournalist J. Don Cook of Oklahoma City. His stories and essays are published by the OU Press and are a great read.

When I began my professional newspaper career at The Daily Oklahoman and Oklahoma City Times more than 30 years ago, Cook was the special projects photographer at the newspapers. He got the assignments that took longer and allowed him the freedom to develop subjects.

His personality profiles were legendary. Reporters knew that if Cook was assigned to your story, it was valued by the editors. Do your best work because it’s likely to end up in a contest somewhere.

Cook cut his teeth in the newspaper business on at the Ada Evening News. He was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize three times. He left the daily newspaper business years ago. Now, he’s an artist, writer, poet and entrepreneur. Actor James Garner of Norman wrote the book’s introduction.

Another one started this month was written by former Norman resident Gary Chartier. “Wrigley’s Wars,” chronicles a seedy side of the insurance business. Life insurance policies are taken out on a distant family member who then becomes the victim in a murder-for-hire scheme, all for a few thousand dollars.

 It’s a tragic tale of a selfish, cash-strapped grandmother who needs $20,000 to pay for plastic surgery. Chartier’s latest work reads like a journal that takes you through the killer’s home to the investigation. His background as a deputy Oklahoma insurance commissioner comes in handy here. He works as an expert witness in the industry, something he has in common with the lead character.

 Gary and I played softball together at Reaves Park back in the late 1970s and early 1980s on a team sponsored by Security National Bank. His first published work, “Tulip the Toad,” sits on my first child’s bookshelf. Perhaps some day he’ll read it to his own children.

The Jumbles puzzle in today’s Transcript caught many of our readers by surprise today.

The creators announced that Friday would be the final Jumbles. It’s a strip that tests your wordsmithing ability. We added it many years ago after a suggestion by Bob Barry Sr.

He traveled often and enjoyed working the puzzles in other Big 12 city newspapers. Why couldn’t The Transcript carry Jumbles?

Enough said. We have been carrying it ever since. It’s a panel of garbled words that have to be unscrambled. Some of the letters then spell out the catchy phrase that explains the cartoon.

Friday’s puzzle was an April Fool’s joke and those who worked the puzzle figured it out. But some folks called to complain — before they worked the puzzle.

It won’t be the worst April Fool’s joke in a newspaper. Years ago, a small weekly published a photo of the Pope visiting the town, with the town’s familiar water tower in the background.

Since seeing that, I’ve warned students and staff members that it may seem like a funny thing to do but there are consequences to cuteness. The newspaper that had the fictitious April Fools edition fired the editor and the assistant who gave him the idea.

I don’t fly that often but I’ll start picking Delta when I have a choice. It has nothing to do with the fact that the airline turned a profit in 2010.

On a flight from Atlanta to Oklahoma City Monday night, the seasoned crew performed remarkably well in what could have been a tragic situation. I had just helped move an adult daughter to a Tennessee theater and had flown from nearby North Carolina to Atlanta.  About 30 minutes after takeoff from Atlanta, a man stood up about four rows in front of me. He was on the aisle and I looked up as he got up.

He had a large book in his hand and he placed it in his seat. He then started toward the first class section, probably towards the rest room. He never got there. He began rocking back and forth as he passed into first class and collapsed into the lap of another passenger.

He was as white as a sheet. The flight attendants, who were busy serving drinks and snacks, hurried to his side. They called for medical personnel to help. There was no panic among the crew or any passengers.

 At least three trained persons rushed to first class and began administering first aid where the attendants left off. It appeared they started an IV, removed the man’s shoes and helped him regain consciousness. At one point, they asked for someone to loan them a glucose meter.

By the end of the flight, the man was talking to the crew and fellow passengers. (One man gave up his first class seat). An ambulance met us at the gate and helped him off.

The crew performed in textbook fashion. Hats off to you, Delta Flight 2159.

Oh, how I wish grownups could take snow days

School kids get them all the time. What about grownups? All this talk about a foot of snow for Norman Tuesday got me thinking about how we spent our snow days. 

Growing up our transportation offerings on snow days amounted to three very differnet modes of travel: A 1965 Rambler station wagon, an old sorrel mare named Rachel and a 1970 Honda Trail 90 step-through motorcycle. Both the Rambler and the Honda could really move in the snow and ice. Rachel was steady but pretty slow.

The motorcycle had a set of really low gears that would pull a string of sleds up any hill east Norman threw at us. It was like a magnet. I’d pull the sleds up the hill and then follow them down and pull them up again.

 The heaviest kid on the block would sit on the back seat of the trail bike and hold the back tire from sliding. My favorite hill was the most dangerous. It was on 12th Avenue NE, north towards Tecumseh Road. We usually had a lookout to watch for traffic. On an icy day we could get those sleds going 25 miles per hour.

My first real newspaper job on the Oklahoma City Times brought an interesting snow day reality. Reporters work no matter the weather. The only problem was getting to work.

The Times had a policy that allowed reporters and photographers to stay at the Skirvin Plaza hotel during periods of inclement weather. We were supposed to pack extra clothes in case we couldn’t get home. The concern was putting out the paper the next day.

The newspaper paid for our rooms and food but not the bar tab. That was on your own. They discontinued the practice after it was determined that reporters were going home, getting their spouses and more clothes, and coming back to the “party” at the hotel.

A relative wrote with a Norman trivia question. “What was the name of the motel that was located on Porter Avenue at Robinson Street?” The Braums is located there now.

It just so happened that I had been reading the late Charles Long’s “Across Boyd Street,” A Journey of 65 years. He had been working on the manuscript for many years and had come to The Transcript many times to read old bound volumes of the papers.

Mr. Long includes a chapter by T. Jack Foster, Jr. He writes about his father building the Norman Courts which opened here in 1939. Before that, Norman only had a small hotel on Main Street which dated to 1926. The Lockett Hotel at Main Street and University Boulevard came later.

The Norman Court was among the country’s most modern hotels. It cost $85,000 to build.  The coffee shop, Courts Grill, was across the street and food could be delivered to guests. OU faculty member J. Craig Sheppard painted murals in the lobby.

Room rates were $2.04, $2.55 and $3.06. Suites cost $6 a night. Roll-aways another $1. There were 65 rooms. The presence of the Navy in Norman assured rooms stayed rented, albeit under the rent controls of the Office of Price Administration.

The buildings were great examples of the Art Deco architecture that the city’s Porter corridor wants to preserve. They were torn down some time in the 1980s.

Norman Courts was landscaped with rose gardens, box hedges and lawn and garden furniture. The place was written up in Duncan Hines’ book, “Lodgings for a Night.”

When the place opened in 1939, a typographical error in the brochure put the place on the map. The hotel boasted of “private bath room with tiled showers, wall to wall carpeting, air conditioning, telephones in every room, and Venetian blonds.”

The embarrassment soon become a collectors item. Readers Digest quoted it and added the comment. “With all this equipment, who needs a telephone.”