Marvell High School

Reunion of Classes

P.O. Box 52, Marvell, Arkansas 72366

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Guest Book - Share Your Memories!

Updated:  August 29, 2006

          We each have memories of Marvell, Marvell High School, Good Luck School, Trenton School, etc.  Please share some of your memories with the rest of us.  You will be surprised how much fun it will be to share and to read the memories of others. 

Click here to email us, and share your memories today!

The Class of 1937

 A bit of history about the Class of 1937 -- There were 16 students in the class, 7 girls and 9 boys.  Their Senior play was "The Moonstone."  There were 57 ads, some from Helena, in the play program.  The back page was reserved for one large advertisement.  It read:

The Sizzling Steak

Ten ounces of juicy, luscious and tender
steak, cut just right, thick and seasoned
to perfection -- cooked and served on HOT
SIZZLING PLATTERS.  Served with French
fried potatoes and combination salad, for

75 cents
Post Office Cafe
Geo. A. Andrews, Mgr.

 

Here is a little trivia for you. 

1.  What is still the tallest structure in Marvell?
2.  Where is the only elevator for people in Marvell?
3.  Why is Marvell spelled with two "l's"?
4.  When was the railroad track down Main Street taken up?
5.  When did a bike trail replace the railroad tracks?
6.  What was the name of the local train that ran through Marvell to Helena?
7.  Who was the first female mayor of Marvell?
8.  What was the only bank in Phillips County not to shut its doors for any length of time during the Great Depression?
9.  When was Marvell incorporated?
10.  Who is the Marvell American Legion Post named for and in which war was he or she killed?
11.  Where was the Post Office located before it was located  in the building on Pine Street (behind the old Bank of Marvell building)?
12.  When a car full of teenagers from Marvell went to Helena and rode up and down the main retail street, what was that called?
13.  What was the Tri-County Fair originally called?
14.  Finish the name of this late-night local talent show, "Walcott's                             ."
15.  Give the years in which Coach Ernie Crone was the head football coach at MHS.
16.  What was the name of the daredevil car show that appeared for many years during the fair?
17.  Before the Marvell Baseball Park was moved to its present location, what stood on those grounds? 
18.  In what year did Levon Helm and The Hawks play for the Junior & Senior Prom and where was it held?
19.  Name the rock-n-roll singer who performed in the auditorium before he became a major country star.

 

A New Day

(Manford Edgington)

 Sunday, July 11, 2004.   Today I did something I had not intended to do, at least not today.

 My much loved wife, Katie, made arrangements to buy a motorcycle for me.  I had wanted one for a few years but didn’t quite make the jump.  Last year she bought a helmet, then gloves and a jacket for my birthday and Christmas.  Then, I borrowed a bike for a few months.  I brought my Honda Goldwing home on this past Thursday evening.  Of course I had to ride quite a few miles over the weekend to get familiar with it.

 This morning I had to go to the office to work on some extended tax returns, but wanted to ride for an hour or so first.  I took off early with no destination.  I gassed up and pointed the bike down the road.  I wound up cruising Greenville Avenue.  Then I found myself on Munger Street. near Fair Park.  I thought, I can just cruise by and see where the Texas Vietnam Veterans’ memorial is, and visit later when I’m ready for that.  I didn’t think I was ready now. 

 I am a Vietnam veteran.  I was a Navy Corpsman, a medic, assigned to a combat zone hospital near Danang in support of the troops in the I Corps area surrounding Danang.  Battle casualties and other sick and injured were delivered to us daily, all day, all night.  They almost constantly delivered the worst of a war to us for whatever care we could provide.

 I have recently been diagnosed with PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder).  I never thought I would have to deal with such, although I have heard a lot of stories about it.  I am living my life, I am a professional, I have friends and family who care a lot for me.  I am not alone.    I also am far from alone in facing PTSD.

 I have not yet been able to visit the Texas Vietnam Veterans’ Memorial, nor have I been able to visit “The Wall” in Washington.  I have not been ready for either visit.

 I cruised around the fair grounds, I stopped and checked a directory, and I cruised on by the memorial just to see where it is.  When I saw it I stopped and sat on my bike there for a few minutes, examining my thoughts about it.  No one else was there.  Then, I found myself walking toward it as if pulled by the granite slabs with all those names on them.  I could not stay away.  I was there in front of it, looking at the long list, the names of men who had been killed in that war.

 I had anticipated becoming quite emotional about it, this visit to the Memorial, and did.  However, I choked up but little, and I did not cry.  Though I was very emotional about this experience there was no emotional breakdown.  My thought was, “What a lot of dead guys!  Guys who never had a chance at living a good life back in ‘the world’.  And for what?”  We had no joyous greeting when we came home, those of us who could come home.  Our greeting was nasty, sarcastic, and sad at best, so long ago.  Now, all these guys who did their best and gave the most are represented by a name on a granite stone.

 There were a few decorations on the slabs.  Simple decals of the American flag next to a name, a decal of a Vietnam service ribbon, a sliver of paper with a note.

 As I walked back to my bike I thought about how I felt.  I was really sad for these men who were listed here, and for their families.  I was really grateful that my name was not there.  I was really grateful that I have had such a good life after all of the things I saw during the war.  Things I saw and experienced that caused these other men to miss out on that good life.  Things that would mean an end to their lives, or to any meaningful life, for so many good men.  Men who did not deserve what happened to them.  Men who loved their country, their wives, their parents, their girlfriends, their children.  Men who gave everything for what they loved.

 Yes, I was extremely sad when I walked away.  I was also happy that I could visit that memorial, pay my respects, and think about getting on with my life.  I was relieved that I could make this visit and not feel a crippling, depressing wave of emotions which has visited me before, at less significant times.  Perhaps this is a milestone and a big step for me, one which will help put all things in perspective.  So much happened so long ago, and yes, I will always be a little angry and a little sad that we were sent off to die for a cause which was questionable, for a country that was so ungrateful.

 The difficult part of turning loose of things that happened so long ago is the fact that those scenes are still so vivid in our minds when awake, and so vivid in our dreams when we are asleep.  So many things can remind us.  Vietnam has again become a political football, with a Vietnam vet running for president, a man with a very questionable record of service, with a lot of rhetoric out there to remind us daily that we who served were accused of horrible things that few actually did while the rest of us performed honorably and well.  My only hope at this time is that I can put all things related to the war, my war, into the past where they belong.  Then I can move on. 

 Tomorrow is a beautiful new day and I can only be thankful that I have a job to go to, clients who depend on me, and a wonderful wife and son and other family and friends to stand beside me.  I deserve to enjoy these things.  All the guys who came home, and those guys who did not come home, all deserve to enjoy these things.

 (Posted with permission of the author, Manford Edgington.)

The Reunion

So long ago, and far away
When we were all so young
Tearing through the high school halls
We were filled with love and fun.

And now comes our reunion
Old friends I'll see at last
Excitement fills my mind with joy
My heart is beating fast.

I arrive and I am mystified
I see no one I know
Could these strangers in this place
Be my friends from long ago?

Someone asks my name
Then sticks a name tag on my dress
She hugs me hard and whispers
"It's so good to see you Bess!"

I sneak a look at her tag
And shocked I am to see
This tiny white haired lady
Had been such a friend to me!

I scan the room looking for
A boy that I once knew
I'm looking for black curly hair
And eyes that sparkled blue.

I'm talking, wandering, laughing
Reading name tags as I go
Searching for that special one
That I loved so long ago.

At last, I read his name tag
And my eyes rise to his face
His eyes still blue and sparkling
But of hair...there is no trace!

But in my eyes I soon discover
They look the same as way back then
So we'll laugh and dance this night away
For we may never meet again.

~ Charlotte Anselmo ~

 

 

The Robin Sang Today

This morning the Robin sang!
Daddy came into the room,
Shook me, shook my brother
And called our names:
Manford! Montford! Get up!
It's a school day!

I grumbled and moaned,
Montford grumbled and moaned.
We put our feet on the cold floor,
We sleepily moaned again.
And out in the yard, in top
Of the old Catalpa tree,
The Robin Sang!
It brightened our day
While we trudged on to school,
Ready to learn, ready to grow.

Such a happy sound,
So few notes!
The Robin is happy,
It's a beautiful day,
And I'm happy to be alive.

This morning the Robin sang!
Daddy came into the room,
Shook us awake,
Boys! Get up!
It’s a beautiful day, don’t sleep it away!
We grumbled and moaned,
Then sprang from the bed.
When out in the yard,
In top of the old elm tree,
The Robin Sang.

We knew life was good,
The Robin was happy, Spring had come
And it’s time to Sing!
I ran to the church and swung on the rope.
The bell rang out, "It’s Sunday School!
We’re all eager to learn, eager to grow."

This morning the Robin sang!

Daddy came into the room,
Shook us awake,
"Lazy Bones! Get up!
It's a beautiful new day!"

We covered our heads,
We grumbled and moaned.
Mother said, "Breakfast is ready,
Don't be late for devotion!"
Then out in the yard,
In top of the old maple tree,
The Robin sang.

Again it was spring,
Our blood was hot!
We headed for school,
We looked for our girls,
We saw them smiling
As they waited nearby.
Still eager to learn,
Life held so much.

This morning no Robin sang.

The chief came into the hut,
Called out to us all,
"It's reveille, Let's all hit the deck!"
We grumbled and moaned.

It's another hot day,
Our patients can't wait.
We pulled on our greens,
A helicopter landed,
We ran to our stations.

Out in the yard
There was no tree.
There was no robin,
There was no song.

Still eager to help,
And eager to live,
We gave our best
And prayed for the rest.

This morning the Robin sang.

The alarm in the room
Played its harsh tune,
I grumbled and stirred.
Daddy is gone,
But life goes on.

Then out in the yard,
In top of the oak tree,
The Robin sang.

His notes were cheerful,
His voice subdued.
I knew life's still good.
I trudged on to work,
Still eager to live.

This morning the Robin sang!

The alarm in the room
Played its sweet tune.
I sprang from the bed,
With a smile I knew,
Now I'm the Dad!

I awakened my new son,
I freshened his clothes,
I carried him to the door,
When out in the yard,
In top of the cottonwood tree
The Robin sang!

The Robin was happy,
He shared his few notes.
He flew to his nest
And fed his new brood.
I knew life's still good,
I loved my small son.

This morning the Robin sang!

I awakened my small son,
"Trey, It’s time to get up!
Today is a school day!
It’s your first, you can’t be late!"
He moaned softly and stirred,
And sprang wide-awake.
He was excited to go,
Excited to learn.

Then out in the yard,
In top of the peach tree,
The Robin sang!
As I took him to school,
I knew life was good.

This morning the Robin sang!

I awakened my young son,
"Trey, It’s time to get up!
You now have a car,
You can drive it to school!
He moaned and he stirred,
Then sprang from the bed.
He opened the blinds
To make sure it’s still there.

Then out in the yard,
In top of the ash tree,
The Robin sang.

As he drove away,
All smiling and proud,
I knew life was good,
He’s growing so strong.

This morning the Robin sang!

I awakened and stretched,
And smiled at my bride,
So lovely and happy,
She gave me a smile.
When out in the yard,
In top of the elm tree,
The Robin sang.

I knew life was good
And I’m ready to live.
This morning the Robin sang!

I stumbled from bed,
I stretched and groaned.
Another workday,
So much to do.
Then I noticed the house,
So old yet so new,
All painted and fresh,
It’s mine and my bride’s,
Our pride and our joy.
When out in the yard,
In top of the live oak tree,
The Robin sang.

I paused and I listened,
Still sweet his few notes.
Life’s good, you know,
Some things just don’t change.
Life can only be good,
When the Robin sings.

(Posted by permission of the author, Manford Edgington [3-31-2004]; Manford is from the Class of 1960, his brother, Montford, is from the Class of 1961, and their brother, Stewart, is from the Class of 1967. Their father was the Marvell Methodist Minister from 1957-1958.  They all live in Texas now.)

REMEMBER WHEN --

     A multi-function audio system consisted of a record player that played 33-1/3's, 45's, and 78's.
     Home basketball games were rained out because of flooding in the dressing rooms.
     A 10-ounce coke was the "large" drink and 6-ounce cokes cost six cents.
     Anderson Drug Store sold records and Ford's Drug Store had a pinball machine just inside the front door.
     Batman was on three nights a week.
     Larry Davison could, and would, spit tobacco out Mrs. Collins' study hall windows.
     A "mad" dog roamed onto campus, bit 10 or 100 of us, and we all had to take rabies shots.
     Tommy Watkins bought a pea shooter from Sootoo's Grocery and introduced it to the school.
     Jackie Cheetwood's Thrillcade would tear up the football fiend during the Phillips County Fair.
     Levon Helm and the Hawks played for the Junior-Senior Prom (1964).
     The entire football team tried to tackle Bay-Bay Coleman from Holly Grove.
     We were the Cardinals, Yankees, Dodgers, and Giants.
     We wrote checks and filled in ledger sheets from our bookkeeping class packets.
     They covered the peep hole in the gym dressing room so the girls could not watch the boys.
     Coach Ernie Crone was our football giant. 
     We had a prayer and the Pledge of Allegiance before classes started each day.
     To get to Indian Bay, you had to go through Goodluck.
     Bonnie and Clyde's bullet-riddled car show came to the Capital Theater.
     Harold Jenkins (aka Conway Twitty) performed on the auditorium stage.
     The Nifty Notebook was the thing to have.
     A 4 x 4 was a Willys Army Jeep without a top.
     We had yo-yo contests and marble contests at noon.
     We encountered our first display of a group narcissistic personality disorder when the Class of 1966 came up with "Superior Seniors."
     Larry Davison tried to drive his car to Helena down the railroad tracks.
     The Colonial Drive-In opened.
     WLS was THE radio station to listen to at night (for "The Shadow"); but KAAY was THE radio station.
     We sipped Chipped-Cherry cokes from the Cream Freeze in Helena.
     The CCC club.
     The sit-down strike in the Spring of 1966 to protest no Spring Break; Mike Garner sneaking in to the library to call the Helena newspapers; Mr. Brown declaring that anyone remaining outside in five minutes would be expelled; and all protesters running for the front door.
     Smoking in the hotel halls on band trips to Hot Springs.
     Gathering at the Helena National Bank and catching records being thrown from the building.
     The sawmill yard at the present location of the baseball field.
     The baseball practice field at the present location of the fairgrounds parking lot.

     
 

 OLD YELLOW SCHOOL BUS
By Floye Dean Hollowell Zimmerman
June 14, 2003

Memories of an old yellow school bus lumbering down the road come to my mind.  The road is rutted and muddy from the fall rain, and at each stop the kids pick their way across puddled yards, some laughing as they climb aboard.  Some of the yards have planks zigzagging across the soggy grass and mud holes, some are just hard packed dirt, the rain making the dirt slippery to run on.  Most of the houses are made of cypress, with big porches and tin roofs . . . like the one I lived in, now and then a white painted house.  All look dismal in the winter rain, in the rather poor community of Connell's Point.

I can see myself, sitting next to the window,  my breath forming fog I can write my initials in, or someone else's.  From the fog that is yesterday, I remember them all.  The Hartsfields, Meyers, Jacksons, Griders, Bass, Websters, Farmers, Waltons, Hollowells, and Kirkleys.

In my memory, we will always be bound together by that strange tie that years of riding a bus together can do.  Each one of them is special to me, even now, so many years later.  I recall the laughter, and sometimes the tears, riding through life on the old yellow school bus down on the Point.

At one stop, we would pick up the Kirkleys.  There were many of them, all blonde haired, and the bus driver would wait patiently as each got on.

I remember Frankie Kirkley.  He was older than me, and he would be leaning against the post on the porch, looking so cool in his wheat jeans, his plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up just right, his hair combed just so, the front dipping a little on his forehead as was the style then.  He would leap off the porch and stroll to the bus and step aboard, his face breaking into a bright smile . . . his teeth so white against that tan lean face.  Frankie would light up the bus with that smile.

I saw Frankie a few Christmases ago at my Aunt Bett's house, and I am glad that I shared a last smile with him, and the happy hug that had passed between us, acknowledging that remembrance of an unspoken time of "riding the bus" together.

Then, today, I saw Frankie's name in the paper . . . he has boarded a different bus, one that will take him where there are no more muddy roads.  The initials that were once written on the school bus window, by a young girl in the fog of her own breath, are now written forever in the pages of the Good Book, and Frankie will be missed by us all.

(Reprinted by permission of Floye Dean Hollowell)

CONNELL'S POINT REMEMBERED
By
Floye Dean Hollowell

Has it been so long ago?
I remember my childhood days . . .
Papa took me by tractor to catch the school bus,
down a muddy road . . . . . .
where cars could not go,
bread sacks mama saved,
covered my socks,
so the tractor tires, flinging mud
would not mess up what.
Mama and Aunt Cissy had washed,
on the old back porch
in metal tubs with something blue in the water,
before they pushed them through the wringer washer.
A cool place for kids to run,
from the edge of the Cypress,
with crawly things to throw on them,
so they would run off screaming . . . . .
long enough to,
put sweaty little kid arms in,
up to dirty elbows . . . . so cool.
We would grab a biscuit
Granny put on a plate for us,
under a rag cloth on the big table.
Poke in a finger and fill with sorghum.
Laughing, we had run back to the edge of the
Cypress to . . . . dig our way to China.
The hole always filling up with
murky water that could,
rise in the spring to the porch,
built high off the ground with holes
bored, so it would not buckle.
My brother, Alan, and I played a game as we
brushed our teeth from the back porch.
Colgate came in a can, and
we dipped our toothbrushes in the
water bucket, then the powder in our palm . . .
"I can spit further than you, Alan?"
If it did not rain, our efforts would stay
on the hard packed dirt . . .  for days.

And, we would go to town on Saturday, sometimes.
Marvell seemed far away from
Connell's Point, and jaw breakers
were make to last a week.
Red ones, yellow, green, and orange
came in a clear plastic sleeve . . . ,
Only five cents . . . . and,
I loved the orange best.

We knew to watch for Miss Ethel,
bundled in her winter coat in August,
coming down the road . . . .
We would pull over as she went by
on the wrong side,
everybody did.

Sometimes, we would stop and look,
at the day's catch hanging from
hooks above the plank porch at Uncle Harold's store.
One time, a gar captured our attention,
hanging there, its fearsome teeth were ugly,
like some prehistoric reminder,
and we told stories of close calls in Indian Bay with,
reptiles from another time . . .

Fraut and Toe would warn us,
"Your mama's gonna git yal"
as we threw rocks on the old tin roof,
of Uncle Harold's store . . .  just to
watch them roll down again.
Once, I broke the windshield of a car,
and, got a lickin'.

But, not as hard as the one Mike and Ronnie got.
Childish artists who,
one Sunday painted Uncle Richard's new red truck . . .
with tar,
while he and Aunt Pearl
sat Sunday visiting with Pop and Gran.

Times were good then  . . . we didn't know,
as we padded down the dusty road,
dry Delta dust, ankle deep,
felt like powder between our toes.
We didn't know . . . .
about cancer, and death  . . .
and hurt, and being grown up was far way.

I wish jaw breakers lasted longer  . . .
and, that I had let Alan spit further than me.

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