The new facility, Little Rock Plant 2, wasn’t scheduled to open until January 20,
but more preliminary work related to coordination of systems between the new plant
and the existing Plant 1 had to be done, so I left Abilene January 2.
I unloaded my belongings into a garage apartment at 1920 South Marshall
when I reached Little Rock; its rental had been
arranged by Joe Stiles, a new TIMEX employee from Galveston, who was
already living in an upstairs room in the main house (the residence of our
landlords, the Claude DeLoach family).
Later, when Joe’s family reached Little Rock, I moved into the nicer room
he vacated.
Arlette and the kids stayed in Abilene until the end of the
school-year, because (1) she needed to finish her last year at McMurry College
and (2) we didn’t want to disrupt the kids’ school lives any more than
necessary (transferring Vicky during first grade back in 1957 hadn’t been good
for her, and we didn’t want to risk comparable harm to Marty, who was in his
first year).
I didn’t enjoy living alone for five months, but I worked long hours
each day, six days per week, so had little time to be lonely. I traveled to Abilene every third weekend,
leaving Little Rock after work on Friday evenings, coming back after Sunday
lunch. The five hundred mile trip took
about twelve hours each way, because little of I-30 had been completed and
construction of I-20 between Fort Worth and Abilene hadn’t been started.
Arlette and the kids came to Little Rock
over the long Easter weekend (saving me a trip to Abilene), to look over the
city. Although they had been through
the area twice before, they had seen nothing except the routes of US 67/70 through
Little Rock and North Little Rock.
Their
biggest thrill that weekend was dropping down University Avenue from Cantrell
to H Street, where Arlette literally gasped, for West Texas towns have no such
hills. I should have taken them down
Reservoir Road from Cantrell Boulevard to Rodney Parham Road, which would have
been even more exciting, but I was unaware of that street’s existence at the
time.
I began looking for a place for our family to live as the end of the
school-year approached, and found a house through the assistance of Sam
Anderson, manager of rental properties for Rector-Phillips-Morse. Having no household furnishings, I stayed at
my room on Marshall Street until the rest of the family, with Muggs the cat, arrived in Little Rock, accompanied by a truck loaded
with our belongings. We moved into 315
North Hughes in early June; it was a nice place, ideally located near Little
Rock’s Hall High School, but, unfortunately, not air-conditioned (shades of
Bucco Homes in Fort Worth!).
June was hot, but July was hotter; the change from dry heat to high
humidity was particularly noticeable to Arlette. We decided to hunt for an air-conditioned house instead of buying
room air-conditioners for the rented house.
Arlette and the kids spent days riding with real estate agents in their
air-conditioned cars, looking at air-conditioned houses.
They eventually found a place we could afford, at 4 Brookside Circle, in the
relatively new Brookfield Addition of West Little Rock; the adjoining community-owned park
and swimming pool looked good to our kids, so we purchased the house in early
August and moved for the second time that summer.
We were
able to escape the six-month lease at 315 N. Hughes because
Rector-Phillips-Morse was also the developer of Brookfield Addition and the agent selling the house we wanted; R-P-M was
willing to cancel our lease in order to make a sale. They lost nothing, for Claude Dauster and his family (just then
moving from Abilene) leased the North Hughes house and moved in soon after we
moved out.
Muggs the cat apparently couldn’t take two moves so close together; he disappeared
soon after the second one. Had he
stayed around he would have been amazed to observe the changes to occur in our
part of town:
·
Rodney Parham, the street north of the park behind our
house, a bumpy two-lane country road in 1964, has been widened twice as Little
Rock has grown miles westward. We lived
near the edge of town in 1964; Treasure Hills Road, west of us a short
distance, was the last intersection on Rodney Parham.
·
The ponds on either side of Reservoir Road just north of
its junction with Rodney Parham have been replaced by (1) the Ashley Square
Shopping Center on the east and (2) numerous small businesses on the west.
·
The Brookfield pool and basketball court (located in the park behind our house),
a major attraction when we arrived, no longer exist. Pool membership declined as kids left home and parents aged, so
it was closed and the park was ultimately sold to buyers who said they planned
to build a quadruplex apartment building, but the property still sits vacant as
I write this, changed only by demolition/filling in of the pool.
Loss of
the pool brought a sense of sadness, but good memories of “old times”
remain. I can still see and hear, in my
mind’s eyes and ears, teenagers sitting by the pool talking while smaller kids
jumped in yelling, “Marco Polo!”
Ë
My most
vivid memory involving the pool comes from a June morning a year or two after
we moved to the community. When I arose
at six o’clock that morning I looked into Marty’s room and noticed he wasn’t
there – nor was he anywhere else in the house.
I soon remembered the pool was to open for the summer season that day,
so walked to the pool and found Marty lying at the locked gate, wrapped in a towel, ready to be the
first one in the pool at its nine o’clock opening.
Ë
We had
great times on the basketball court, but it eventually deterioriated (partially
because of vandalism) to the point that backboards and goals were unusable.
This segment is captioned, “SETTLED IN – FINALLY,” but I had no idea the
settling would be so lasting in 1964, when we moved to 4 Brookside Circle;
Arlette and I have lived here more than forty years. Our house, like the park behind us, has deteriorated, but I
combat the deterioration as best I can, with occasional help by outside
contractors (e.g., added attic insulation and storm windows, plus
reshingling). For years I’ve expected
the central heating and air-conditioning equipment, all original, to expire at
any time, but periodic repairs have kept it operative.
◊◊◊
No representative of any public utility has been in our house since
services were connected in August, 1964.
Our telephone number, 225-4260, has stayed the same, but some years ago
I had the listing changed from “Kenneth Miller” to “Ken and Arlette Miller”
because most calls to our number are for Arlette, particularly since she has
gotten more and more involved in artwork, and inclusion of her name is helpful
in distinguishing us from other Ken and Kenneth Millers (at one time seven such
listings appeared in our telephone directory); we should have had both names
listed with the first telephone we ever had (i.e., 1950, in Austin), plus all
those since.
Our
telephone number, 225-4260, is similar to that of the T.J. Maxx store in Ashley Square (225-6240). We’ve received many calls through the years from people wanting
to reach T.J. Maxx, having transposed the last four digits while
dialing. What is worse, T.J. Maxx
sometimes runs ads with the numbers transposed, causing more calls for us. I learned years ago to answer, “T.J. Maxx,”
when the phone rings a second time soon after I’ve been told, “Sorry, I have
the wrong number,” thereby giving me a chance to explain the reason for the
caller’s problem.
◊◊◊
Mail in our neighborhood was delivered to boxes at the street the first
few years we lived at 4 Brookside Circle; I mounted our box on a 4 x 4 post and
“planted” it near the end of our driveway.
A year or two later Mrs. Helen Hogan backed her car across the circle, hit the post, and broke it off
at the ground; I removed the “stump” and “replanted” the post and box (a foot
shorter, of course). All went well for
some time until she backed into it again, breaking the post off so short I
couldn’t replant it. By that time,
carriers would deliver mail to the house, so I hung a mailbox beside the front
door and planted an oak tree in the hole left when I removed the remains of the
broken-off post at the end of our driveway; that tree is now over six feet in
circumference, and probably wouldn’t “give” much if someone hit it.
We laughed
about Mrs. Hogan’s breaking our mailbox posts, but one of her experiences on
our place wasn’t so funny. She joined
us in playing volleyball one evening, barefooted, and had a good time until she
somehow painfully stubbed a big toe; she declared the toe was broken.
The “mail box tree” was only one of numerous oak trees we’ve planted in
our yard, which had only two trees when we moved in; neither provided much
shade for the house. Summer sun heated
the brick walls and concrete driveway to oven-like temperatures; our air
conditioner seemed to run continuously as kids ran in and out, to the pool and
other activities. Deciding we needed
shade, I began transplanting oak trees from the wild, and even started a few
with acorns I picked up under a big, nice tree in the park behind us.
Dr. Bing
Cosgrove, an opthamologist whose
family lived across the street from us for many years, told me as I tended a newly-sprouted
oak, “Ken, it’ll take thirty years to grow that tree!” I laughed and said, “Well, I guess I’ll just wait on it.” More than thirty years have now passed, the
tree is quite tall, and exceeds five feet in circumference.
I planted three pecan trees in our front yard. All
grew well, and ultimately produced many pecans, but none matured because
squirrels removed them while still green – usually eating only a little from
one end of each pecan and throwing it down.
Realizing my effort to grow pecans was an exercise in futility, I
removed the trees as nearby oaks began crowding them.
Our house, driveway, and yard are mostly shaded nowadays, making
everything cooler on hot summer days.
However, the price of having shade has been the loss of most of two
lawns (first Bermuda and then San Augustine); I’m trying to grow Asiatic
jasmine and English ivy in places where tree roots and shade have killed the
grass.
Our house
was the last built/sold in our neighborhood, and, according to Edd Taylor, who
grew up across the street, the part of the lot that is now our front yard was
covered with crushed rock and used for customer parking while
Rector-Phillips-Morse was showing neighborhood houses for sale. That layer of rock makes digging in our
front yard difficult, and hasn’t helped with growing a lawn; I’ve disposed of
hundreds of granite chunks as they’ve risen to the surface over the years.
I visited several Baptist churches during the five months before
Arlette and the kids arrived in Little Rock, then we visited Calvary, Markham
Street, and Second as a family, but Calvary was the nearest to our first
residence, so we joined there within a month of the time they reached town.
Arlette and I attended Calvary for over twenty-three years, then left in
October, 1987 to help start Pinnacle Baptist on Highway 10, five miles west of
its intersection with I-430. I will
have more to say about Pinnacle (see “THE SUCCESS OF PINNACLE” in the segment
entitled “INITIAL RETIREMENT ACTIVITIES”)
and subsequent church memberships later in these writings.
A nearby resident offered the kids a puppy some months after we moved
to Brookside Circle. I wasn’t keen on
the idea, for I remembered having had to leave Butch to the ministries of the
Abilene pound, but the kids were insistent and Arlette thought it would be nice
to have the puppy, so they brought her home and named her “Tippy.” She looked much like Butch, but was
different from him most other ways:
·
Butch almost never did as commanded, whereas Tippy nearly always did what she was asked to do; she seemed to
understand English.
·
Butch didn’t like riding in cars; his first trip made him
sick. Tippy loved riding, particularly in our pickup; she sat in the seat just
as if she were “people.”
·
Butch escaped our yard at every opportunity, and had to be
tricked into returning. Tippy loved to explore the woods west of us, but wouldn’t leave home if
told not to, and returned to the yard upon command; she spent all but short
periods of her thirteen-year life in our back yard, beating a path around the perimeter
as she patrolled her territory.
·
Butch barked, as did Tippy, but Tippy also liked to
“sing.” We would howl and bark at her,
and she would match our sounds, providing hilarity for all of us.
Tippy’s nose was sun-sensitive, becoming seriously burned quite early
in her life. The veterinarian suggested
we keep her out of the sun until her nose healed, which meant inside our house,
normally a “No, no!” She stayed in the
den during daylight hours for a time, until we discovered hundreds of tiny
ticks in books racked near the spot where she snoozed away the
hours. Insect spray rid us of the
ticks, but we decided to run no further risks; Tippy would have to escape the
sun by staying in the shade of trees.
(Jim Johnston, supervisor of one of my groups at the office, loaned us a
doghouse, but Tippy would stay in it only when bothered by flies. She slept outside even on the coldest of
winter nights, “nesting” in a bed of leaves at a fence corner.)
Tippy’s sun-sensitive nose and eyes ultimately became cancerous; the
vet said treatment would be painful, and advised againt it. Tippy had never caused pain for anyone, and
we weren’t about to cause pain for her, so decided to have her put to
sleep. She jumped willingly and excitedly
into the pickup with Arlette for the trip to the vet’s office, but Arlette
wasn’t excited about going, for she knew it would be Tippy’s last ride.
I noted earlier that our two girls began piano studies in Abilene, when
they were second graders, and had progressed well during about four years under
Les Rowland, so we hoped they could resume lessons quickly in Little Rock. Months passed, however, before we found a
capable piano teacher near our neighborhood.
We eventually learned about Mrs. Monita McLemore, a
superb teacher who held a Master’s degree in music from the University of
Mississippi, lived within walking distance of our house, and was willing to
take our kids on; all three took piano lessons under her, starting some time in 1965. Terry stayed with Mrs. McLemore through high school. Vicky switched to organ lessons under Mr. Norman
Webb, organist for Immanuel
Baptist Church, in late 1967; Marty switched to Mr. Webb at the same time, but
at piano, not organ. Their change to
Mr. Webb followed our purchase of a Conn Caprice electronic organ from Gerald
Neal Piano & Organ Company, where he worked.
I had told
the girls I would buy an organ when they could sightread any song in THE
BAPTIST HYMNAL. I don’t remember ever
testing their sightreading prowess, but by 1967 I was confident enough of their
abilities that I thought it was time to keep my promise.
Vicky took organ lessons for about a year – until that interest was
superseded by her desire to learn the guitar.
Marty took piano lessons from Mr. Webb during the months Vicky took
organ lessons.
The organ
was mostly an expensive toy, used much less than our piano, but its purchase
led to my having an opportunity to learn enough basic music that I developed
the “ability” to stumble, by ear, through songs I know well enough to play
their melodies and accompanying chord structures. I discuss that in the “ON DOING THINGS DIFFERENTLY” section of
the segment entitled “REFLECTIONS.”
Marty was still in Junior High when he stopped taking piano lessons
(being more interested in sports activities), but he had learned enough to play
for his own enjoyment. Vicky had
reached her last year of high school when she discontinued keyboard
training. Terry stayed with piano study
through bachelor’s and master’s degrees in music education (at Ouachita Baptist
University and the University of Arkansas, respectively).
◊◊◊
Both girls were involved in musical pursuits of all sorts as teenagers,
in addition to the keyboard instruction each received:
·
Each accompanied the Henderson Junior High School glee club.
·
Vicky was an accompanist for the Hall High School glee club, and made the alto section of the All-State Choir her last two years in high school.
·
Terry accompanied the Parkview High School glee club, whose director was Art
Porter (of the professional Art Porter Trio). She was thrilled and complimented when Mr.
Porter asked her to substitute for him as pianist with the Trio one evening
when they and the Parkview glee club performed jointly.
·
Vicky and Terry each accompanied the youth choir at Calvary
Baptist Church. Terry was accompanist
under both Frank Arnall and Ray Holcombe, under whose leadership the choir went
on tours performing religious youth musicals.
·
Each was our church pianist as a teenager – first Vicky, then Terry. On a few occasions Vicky was at the organ,
Terry at the piano. (Those were times
Arlette and I were most happy that we had encouraged them to work at the
keyboard.)
·
Vicky learned to play the guitar when religious youth
musicals gained popularity during her high school years. Her first public performance as a guitarist
was with the Second Baptist Church youth choir in its performances of “Good
News.” She also did “Good News” with Calvary’s
youth choir, plus at least one more musical (“Tell It Like It Is”). She learned “strumming” techniques
accompanying youth musicals, then learned to “pick,” largely with a telephone
at her ear, receiving guidance from her friend Milo.
The girls were competitive
as teenagers, because (1) they were only two years apart in age and (2) they
had many of the same talents and interests.
Vicky had a second keyboard competitor; classmate Harry Scherr was also
a talented musician, so the two vied for accompanist of their school glee
clubs. (In her wisdom, “Miss Pinky,” the well-liked director of the Hall High
glee club, let Harry and Vicky share the duties.)
[As
adults, the girls have grand pianos in their homes; Marty has had lesser
keyboard instruments, but still plays.
Terry taught piano students for many years, but more recently has taught
music in the public schools of Gillette, Humphrey, and Stuttgart (all towns in
Arkansas).]
Arlette and I had to transport the kids to musically related activities
(or any other place they needed to go) until Vicky turned sixteen and had an
unrestricted drivers license, after which she drove herself and often took
Terry or Marty to activities away from home.
Vicky took driver’s education during the summer she turned fifteen
(1966). However, our vehicles had
standard transmissions, whereas the cars used in ”Drivers Ed” were equipped
with automatics, so I taught Vicky to drive “stick shift” vehicles in our old
1956 Ford. We made many runs up and
down Pleasant Valley Drive as she perfected clutch engaging and shifting
skills. She passed the driving test in the old Ford, and her underage restriction (driving only
with a licensed driver beside her) was automatically removed when she turned 16
on July 7, 1967.
Terry’s route to unrestricted driving was, with one exception, the same as Vicky’s. We had acquired a well-used 1963 Ford
Galaxie, with automatic transmission, before she learned to drive the summer
she was fifteen (1968), so she didn’t have to go through the process of
learning manual gear shifting and clutch operation before passing the driving
test.
Marty’s route to unrestricted driving was totally different.
Whereas the girls had bugged us to let them (1) attend “Drivers Ed” when
fifteen and (2) practice driving skills while waiting to turn sixteen and have
unrestriced licenses, Marty said nothing about driving, even as his sixteenth
birthday approached. He had never been
behind the wheel as late as three months before he was to turn sixteen, when I
finally realized he should be learning to drive; I suggested he take the
written portion of the Arkansas driver’s license examination and obtain a learner’s
permit, so I could teach him. He
obtained the permit, we began practice on the wide parking expanses at War
Memorial Stadium, then moved to country roads, and ultimately city streets, to
perfect his clutch operation and shifting skills (we again had only vehicles
with standard transmissions). He
learned quickly, passed the driving portion of the state test within a couple
of months, took “Drivers Ed” in June, then on June 26, 1973 (his sixteenth
birthday) finished the Drivers Ed course, his driver’s license became
unrestricted, and an old 1965 Fairlane I’d bought from Jim Johnston became his.