Starting in Mrs. Melchor's Cafeteria

January 7, 2003

Mrs. Melchoir and her assistants

 

 

The cafeteria was located in the basement of what was later the administration building of Pan American College on the corner of W. McIntyre St. and N 8th Ave.  We filed down the steps and waited patiently, with a tray in hand for someone to slop the daily rations onto our plate.  It was a noisy place, with kids often yelling to be heard over the other yelling kids.  Pranks were played – but unfortunately, I can’t remember any specifics.  When it appeared that shenanigans were spiraling out of control, Mrs. Melchor would arrive swiftly on the scene to restore order. 

One day, while standing in this line, the fellow behind me struck up a conversation that was likely rather one-sided.  Young Jerry Kaml and I were maybe in about the sixth grade and were in the same class.  That conversation started a friendship that has lasted over 50 years.

Jerry Kaml

 

Jerry was a handy friend.  He was much more socially adept than I and was unafraid to talk to girls.  He soon was organizing horseback riding adventures on the roads and pastures out west of Edinburg.  We would saddle up the horses on the Reising/Sterling Ranch 4 ½ miles west of Edinburg on Hoehn Road, and ride to Margaret Matthews’ home, where her mother could size us up to determine if her daughter was safe in our company.   (Little did we know that the Matthews farm, parts of which had been the farm of my Grandfather J. W. Heacock back in the 1920's, would become the site of today’s Pan American University.)  Then we sometimes rode north on Sugar Road, turned east on Schunior Street and picked up Avis Louise Massey and Edward Starnes who lived on the same street.  Then we headed out of town, turned on Jackson Road and continued north to Monte Christo Road to the Scarborough residence.  There, Martha Scarborough joined our little entourage.  Continuing west to McColl road, we stopped at Frances Herndon’s home – but she was not home.  Then we all rode around the country roads for a while, finally ending up again at the Matthews’ home.  I don’t remember how Avis Louise and Martha returned home, but assume that their parents picked them up at Margaret’s.

These were heady times!  Just a group of 11-year-olds enjoying each others’ company.  Of course, I was in love with all the girls at the time but found conversation difficult.  Likely any conversational subjects coming from me were restricted to the names of horses (Buck, Pinto, and Nellie) or some hunting adventure.  You know, the sort of stuff girls find uninteresting.  Jerry, on the other hand, kept everyone entertained with his lively chatter.  

I don’t remember how many times we took these rides, maybe only a couple.  But nobody was bucked off my unruly horses and we all survived as we all tried to hone our social skills.  No great or enduring romances evolved from these rides together.  They were just good, clean fun!

As I remember, there was one guy and one girl on each horse – one riding in the saddle and one behind the saddle.  We were still small enough that we could have both fit in the saddle at one time.  But, Margaret (after reading an early version of this story) insists that such behavior would never have been permitted.  Any boy-girl touching was likely restricted to helping a girl up into the saddle.  Probably, we took turns in the saddle position and guiding the horse.  

Buck had a habit of taking the bit in his mouth and running away – sometimes running under low tree limbs, where riders were unceremoniously dumped on the ground.  But he was reasonably well-mannered on these excursions  Pinto was a big horse, so it was a long way to the ground if the rider fell off.  He had a very stiff-legged gait that jolted the backbone with every step.  But otherwise, he was a very gentle and well-behaved horse.  Nellie was likely the most docile of the horses. 

Anyway, Jerry and I became close friends.  After the Mercedes Stock Show, I sold my calf and, after paying the feed bill, still had enough money to purchase a new Western Flyer bicycle.  It had a rack on the back so that one of us could ride on the back and help pedal.  Our feet were still narrow enough so that both sets of feet could fit on the pedal.  Jerry remembers that one of our great challenges was to get past Mrs. Watson’s wire-haired terrier on McColl Road.  Every time he saw us coming, his residual wolf genes kicked in and he must have been sure that we and our bicycle was a Cariboo to be chased, caught and eaten.  His sharp teeth lashed out at our tennis shoes and we tried desperately to escape.  We could have ridden around the block to avoid him, but that added 1 ½ miles to our trip, so we always chose to take our chances with Mrs. Watson’s terrier instead.  We found that it was necessary to develop a strategy for energy conservation.  At the sprint speed necessary to outrun the dog, we tired rather quickly and the dog was fast, with considerable endurance.  

Thus, it was necessary to approach the Watson’s home relatively slowly.  When this terrible Terrier started sprinting toward us, we could time our own sprint to be at top speed when the dog came close enough to take a bite out of our legs.  His strategy was apparently to rip out the tendons in our ankles so that we would be hobbled – then he could come in for the kill.  This attack was not an easy task because our feet were spinning rapidly and that Western Flyer was living up to its name.  Our second line of defense was for the guy on back to kick at the dog if he got too close.  But the cost of kicking meant that there was some reduction in speed, so our primary investment was in speed, and we used the kicking strategy only as a last resort – when the snapping jaws came too close.  

Invariably, the dog would soon tire, and we would triumphantly leave him in the dust.  Then we could slow down, catch our breath and allow our adrenaline levels to subside.  Mrs. Watson’s terrier was never humbled by the experience of seeing his potential prey pedaling off down McColl Road.  It always seemed, from the haughty expression on his face, that he was thinking, “Just wait till next time!”