CAR STORIES:


Rex Heselius,1951, wrote:
I remember a time, in about 1958, it was winter & I was hanging
around Gene Ruthe's garage complaining about how cold it was & how I
wished I had a car rather than the motorcycle I was currently riding.
Gene said he would keep an eye peeled for something & let me know as
soon as it turned up (Gene dealt in used cars as well as doing work
on them).  While we were standing there talking (me trying to get
warm before heading for home) a car pulls up with another a car in
tow.  The man said he was having an electrical problem with the towed
vehicle & wanted to know if Gene would be interested in buying it.
We found a battery & stuck it in the car & it fired right up, but the
man said it would not last any time at all.  Gene asked him what he
wanted for the car & the man said $25.00.  Gene turned to me & asked
if I wanted the car.  So I bought a car. What a find it was.  All
that was wrong with it was the brushes in the generator were worn
out, we had a real hard time finding new ones & I don't recall where
Gene finally came up with them but he did & it was on the road in a
week or so.  Someone out there probably remembers the history of this
car better than I, but here is what I recall.  It was a 1939 Packard,
that in the beginning was a convertible that had been wrecked & had a
Terraplane? top welded onto it. It looked like a fast back, similar
to a '48 Pontiac or Olds. It was painted maroon.  Had the classic
Packard grill & emblem on the hood (which opened from both sides),
the spare tire mounts on each side in the fender wells, a windshield
visor, a straight 8 engine & three speed trans, dark green leather
upholstery.  I believe it belonged to the ex-wife of the man that
owned a body shop near where Goose creek crossed under Main St., on
the east side of Main (I can't remember his name).  I believe the
lady that owned it lived on the street perpendicular to Loucks where
the Stop & Shop grocery was.  The man that sold it to Gene (me) I
believe was Randy Huff's father (I don't think Huff is spelled right
either.) The last I remember of the car it was sitting on blocks in
Ancil Tibbets back yard. I had had my license suspended & he took the
car away. He later sold it & I don't know who to, after I went into
the Army.


Milt Cunningham, 1944, adds:
We named our first car, a '41 Plymouth, Spirit of Competition. A decade ago
we owned a little daffodil yellow Fiesta we called Bucephelas. That was the
name of Alexander the Great's favorite war horse. The name of the
present one is "The Car."

Andre Zoutte,1952 added:
Thought that the Joe Driear Dodge touring car was 1926 but I could be wrong.
He had a gold mine/cabin on Duncan lake about a mile and one half north of
Lake Geneva.  Forest Service didn't like that at all since it was within the
wilderness area but he was there first.  Joe, his wife Ray and Joe Jr used
the car for hunting and fishing up on the Red Grade until after Joe Jr moved
away and Ray and elder Joe got too old for traveling in the mountains.  Joe
ended up selling the Dodge to someone in Alaska along with the five engines
and spare parts he had for the car.

Carolyn Drown Schilling 1951
Am I the only member of Sheridan Express who remembers the touring car that a
student drove to SHS in the mid-forties?  That touring car could be one of
those just described!  Anybody know anything here besides the facts that I
related in an earlier e-mail about this car, out of control, careening across
the corner of the property on which our home was located on Lewis Street two
doors north of the  high school grocery store and across Adair from  what
became the Christy's residence?  (Don't remember if they lived there yet or
not at the date of this mishap.)  Anybody remember that incident besides me?
Most certainly it must have been big news in the high school at that time!
(Somewhere between 1943 to 1945.)

Carolyn Drown Schilling 1951

'29 Dodge Touring Car.
There couldn't have been TWO '29 Dodge Touring cars in '55 or so.  I drove
one to school and also into the mountains.  We even took it elk hunting --
but that's another story.  But I wasn't a fellow.

Victoria Pratt Bales 1956

I only saw Stan driving the Packard....is the Packard still in
Sheridan?  How about the old Studebaker...with the spoke wheels that used to
be driven on the streets during the 1950's?  And there was a fellow in twon
that had an old Dodge touring car up Red Grade somewhere...it wouold clear
rocks better than anything I ever saw...Also, there was Butch Kilpatrick's
Ford pick up...very pleasant memories of the back end of that PU!

I had access to my Dad's 1953 Buick Riviera...two-tone...dark,
dark green on the top, a light cream color on the bottom.  Spoke wheels, red
leather (?) and woven black nylon seats.  A great car.
And I can remember a Chrysler Town and Country convertible, blue, I think.
Plaid interior.And, of course, I can remember a place or two those
cars took me!

Bob Sellers 1956 SHS Wannabee
TO JO HAMMOND HOUSE
It was a 1932 Chev. that I bought from you for $25.00.  You, no doubt, have
spent years worrying about overcharging me!!  I drove it for several years.  To
Arvada antelope hunting - all over the Big Horns fishing - and even down Cutler
Hill.  I was told I would never get back up Cutler Hill cause it
wasn't a 4 wheel drive.
Well, I did get back and was told many times that noone had ever gone
down Cutler Hill
before and came back with their car.
Anyway, I kept it for 4 or 5 years and sold it for $50.00.  Doubled my money,
howabout that?  Now I wish I had it back!

  
============================


Shalom Br Jim Marron,1957 offered this comment followed by
the trivia question on elevators:Although the first Boyd's Store
wasn't exactly one of your typical "Mom & Pop" operations, I do think
that it was of special interest to me.  As I recall, it was the only
grocery store of it's time where you could get fresh doughnuts.  I
used to stop by there while peddling papers to pick up a bag of
"cripples/holes" for next to nothing.  They really provided a shot in
the arm on a cold winter day like it is today here. Now, for the
"Trivia"  - what were the buildings that had the earliest
elevators/overhead shuttle for money&receipts in Sheridan.  I recall
how as a youngster those "modern conveniences" really fascinated me.
I used to stop in just to watch those things operate and to ride the
elevator.


In answer to Br Jim Marron triva question, I know the New York Store
had the neatest elevator with a real person that operated it, a sweet
little (old, I thought at the time) lady. Wasn't that fun to go up
and down? My Aunt Mary Anna McGovern worked "upstairs" making change
and bookkeeping. My Grandfather and my Dad's ranching partner was
H.C. Stevens  who was like a family member to us. Remember being
little and standing at the bottom of the stairs looking up...watching
the $ come back and forth from the office. You could see the people
working upstairs. I saw never saw one get stuck, always hoping to see
some more excitement.
Do you all remember the machine you put your feet in and you could
see the bones of your feet?  I would run to that to look at my
bones...sure wasn't very safe though. I just loved the layout of that
store and it "smelled" so good too!  Jo Ann Boyd Scott, 1953

Ron Arnold,1952
More elevators brought to mind.  More elevators brought to mind.
Freight Elevators:
Sugar Factory  -  Flouring Mills  -  Sheridan Brewery  -  And as I
remember, there was a freight Elevator in the old Sawyers Store Bldg.
which at one time may have been called, Marshall Fields. and I kinda
remember one in the Northern Seed Building.   

Bob Hylton, 1951
The New York Store had an elevator, which was very populer, though I don't
recall anything of interest to a boy on the upper levels.  I think it may also
have had a pneumatic shuttle system.  Certainly  the Sheridan Commercial
building had the wireborne overhead shuttles (a strong, but not too strong,
pull required to reach the terminus and latch, without offending the cashier),
and an omnipresent, apparently omniscient person presiding over the whole
system (and the store, it seemed!)in the raised, central cashier's balcony.
The Bank of Commerce building also had an elevator, which seemed to me the
only positive thing about going to see the dentist.


Mary Alice Wright Gunderson--1953
Montgomery Ward, where I had my first-ever job at 15, had a large
freight elevator, running from street level up to the 3rd floor
warehouse.  Originally hired to work the second floor/balcony
women's fashion department, I was  soon deployed to work two-
three week  stints everywhere when regulars went on vacation.  I
was known as "Kid," as in "Kid, get over here..."  I  ran the elevator
up and down and  helped unload  small boxes of freight, ran the
pricing machine, attached price tickets.  Sold tires, paint,
miscellaneous first floor items.  Learned to make departmental
reports. Filled in at the catalog desk.  Personnel in the ordering
department never let me forget that instead of placing a regular
order, I  had ordered  by mistake 12 dozen boxes of lead sinkers,
for fish lines.Took up half a truck.  I still remember the store
arrangement and the people I worked with  for those three
summers and Christmas vacations. Sad to think the whole
company, nationwide, is now out of business.

John Brutlag 1958 said:
The Sheridan Commercial store had one of those deals that sent the
money upstairs with the pull of a knob.The Old City Bakery, next to
the MDU office had an elevator to bring loads of 100 lb sacks of
flour and such. There was no motor to run it, strictly a pull on the
rope to go up or down. You had to be strong to do it.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  Bohingi Boys

Bob Sellers,1954

During the 1954 school year, a number of young men, fine fellows all, decided
that a fraternity was needed to keep pace with the offerings for girls at SHS.
Through the efforts of Joe Rulli and Jimmy Orr (SHS Class of 1955) the
Bohingi Boys was born.  Members wore vests to indicate their allegiance to
the "order".  Led by Jimmy, they "translated" the idioms of the day into
latin and spouted this knowledge all up and down the halls.
The sororities accepted the Bohingi Boys with open arms, but, in the minds of
the authorities, the "line" was exceeded when a young male teacher, new to
SHS, was persuaded to become an "advisor".  He was interviewed by The
Sheridan Press, an article was printed, the teacher was reprimanded and the
Bohingi Boys ceased to exist as an open "society".  But, the "spirit" lives
on to today...I'm sure that all can still quote Jimmy's "Id auguam...".
The "spelling" may not be correct, it has been some time since I sat in Miss
Owens Latin II class, but it was all in fun.  Unfortunately, the
"administration" didn't appreciate the humor.  Hopefully, by now all of us
have learned to laugh at ourselves from time to time.

Jim Kelley 1955
Bohingi Boys.......Green vest, white cords,
loafers...............were we ever cool, or we
thought....Right!!!

Ann Mills Morgan 1955
Thanks so much for the "fun" recollection of the Bohingi Boys.  I had
forgotten all about them and your memories brought forth a good chuckle!


Jane Rice 1956 writes:   Ok, Bob, it's time to "reveal your true
identity"!  And, I have been curious to know who the teacher was who was
persuaded to be the Bohingi Boys' sponsor....was it Mr. Hermanson?

Bob Wakefield, 1955 added:
The Bohingi Boys gave inspiration to our quartet called the Fluorescent Four.
The four were myself, Bob Wakefield, Charlie Harrod, Dave McIntosh, and Phil
Robinson. Our accompanist was Colleen Larson and we made our debut exactly
forty-six years ago, October 29, 1954, when Barbara Barnes presented October
Octaves at the SHS auditorium. I note this fact from my copy of The
Ocksheperida, which I see one could then subscribe to for $1.00 per year, a
real bargain. We members of the Fluorescent Four dressed in pink pants and
sweaters. We made quite a shocking statement. But I don't recall wearing my
outfit anywhere near the Mint Bar. One of our number, whom we called
"Poopsie," was Phil Robinson. Phil was tall, talented, and fun to be around;
he had a fantastic sense of humor. After he was graduated in 1956, I lost
track of him. Dave McIntosh was a great artist and I later saw some of his
work at the Bradford Brinton Memorial. I was a newsman at KTWO TV in Casper
in March 1966 when news came of Phil Robinson's death by small arms fire in
South Viet Nam. Senator Milward Simpson and Republican Leader Everett Dirksen
eulogized Phil, who was then a Navy officer. Simpson noted that Phil had just
written a letter to his father, Owen Robinson, explaining his view of the war
and giving reasons why he had extended his stay in South Viet Nam an extra
year "because he said he believed in the cause of the South Vietnamese people
and in the reasons for U.S. participation in the conflict."
That was Poopsie. He gave it everything he had. Bob Wakefield

Bob Sellers,1954, wrote:
I remember Colleen Larson!  And I remember Bob Wakefield, Phil Robinson,
Charlie Harrod and Dave McIntosh.  Thank goodness I was never exposed to the
pink outfits!
As I give it more thought, perhaps I do remember Dave McIntosh in a pink
sweater...but, could Charlie Harrod sing?  I don't remember his doing any
better in choir than Jerry Pelesky and me...and we were asked to leave,
regularly.
OK.  Now I'm curious.  He knows Colleen Larson and the pink sweater bunch and
got kicked out of choir regularly with Jerry Pelesky ("kicked out of choir"
gave me the gender clue).  Please let me know who you are.
Colleen Rolston

This anecdote is from Bob Wakefield, 1955, and might be called "My last drag
race: a tribute to Gary Rice." During my Hot Dog Days as a fifteen-year-old
and out of sight of my parents' supervision, I engaged in eleven drag races.
These were no doubt due to an overdose of testosterone and stupidity. A kid
of fifteen could drive a car in Wyoming back then, and I did. Fast and loose.
My first car was a 1938 Ford V-8 which I bought at Cook Ford Sales, and Floyd
Songer told me it belonged to Mr. Cook, himself, the car a one-owner deal
with 22,000 actual miles on the odometer. It was hot. The car was to blame.
Myself, I would not have been dumb enough to compete in the races I did --
but the car, painted black and with dual headers and pipes and fender skirts,
had an attitude that just screamed RACE ME! My fellow drag race ignoramuses
would see it and the glove would come out and "Slap!" I was challenged. Fine.
Ten times I went up against the best, including the fabled Harry Larsen.
Always I toyed with mortality. And I put the pedal to the metal and the '38
answered my call: I floored it and speed-shifted and the perfectly blended
collection of pistons and gears and bolts held true even unto eighty miles an
hour in second gear. God, it was a rush! The finale of Beethoven's 1812
Overture with the punctuating cannons was as a lullaby in comparison to the
gut-wrenching vibes of the ratcheting pipes echoing behind me.
KnowwhatI'msayin'? Then came that night on North Main when my car screamed at
Gary Rice and a friend of his in Gary's brand new 1955 Cadillac convertible.
"Oh, yeah," I said, in answer to his challenge. "Let's meet on the Girls
School road." And there we were, side-by-side on a moonlit night facing north
just around the curve below the Girls' School. No headlights could be seen up
the road, and we went for it. I slap-shifted at eighty and Gary's Caddy just
eased ahead of me at the intersection that heads east to the flour mill. I
was beaten by a hair, but I was beaten. We slowed, turned around and parked
side-by-side at a wide spot in the highway. Gary and his friend got out, and
so did I. "What do you have in there?" he asked. I opened the hood and said
"Nothing. It's stock. I got it with 22,000 miles on it." Gary and his friend
looked at my '38 Ford's engine and shook their heads. We parted, the victor
and the vanquished. And that was my last drag race. I never wanted to be
beaten again. I heard years later that two boys were killed in my '38 Ford in
a head-on collision just north of Buffalo. Figures. That car was a
crazymaker. I am living proof.

Everett McGlothlin,1955
Bob:  I have a drag race every day going from school to home in Lahore,
Pakistan.!!  Trucks, motorcycles, all want to beat my Toyota
Corolla......remember the days in Sheridan  when Ed Wilkerson and I would
cruise in his jeep..30 mph max. Am looking forward to spending some time in
Sheridan this Christmas...

Everett '54 -- God I hate to acknowledge my age....as my sister would
say... are you ever going to grow up..NO!{;

Bob Wakefield,1955
Everett, your drag racing sounds like white knuckle city, for sure. Here in
deep by God South Texas we have a phenomenon known as tailgatiing. They don't
simply tailgate; they flash their lights, hang on your bumper, and stick the
left front of their vehicles over the yellow line. If there are two cars on
the freeway, one will be tailgating the other. I saw a tailgater pull up
beside a car at a stop sign and throw a 64-ounce Big Gulp through the other
driver's open window. Then he burned out through the red light, followed by
the other guy who also burned rubber. I followed for awhile to try and
tailgate them, but they were long gone. There is also a guy here in a red
pickup whose job it is to go around cutting people off. I can never catch him
for an interview. I had a bumper sticker that said IF YOU CAN READ THIS
YOU'RE TOO CLOSE, but it got rubbed off by tailgaters. Well, a little is
left:  I was wondering why that Big Gulp came sailing in the other day.

Bob Rolston,1953, said
Everett - You've got to be tough to do it every day. Our youngest daughter
lives in Kuwait, and we found out last spring what it's like to drive there.
Makes Denver driving seem like a Sunday drive to Big Horn.

Jon Brooder,1955 wrote:
I remember you singing at my sister's wedding, Bob.  I wonder if you ever
hit high C while you were drag racing?

Bob Wakefield, 1955Jon, the closest I got to high C in a car was with
a buddy when we were
double dating. It was a dark night but not a stormy night. He was driving. I
was in the back seat with my date. We were hauling it down Massacre Hill at
about eighty when he decided to turn out at the Massacre Hill Monument. He
hit the brakes at the same time, 'cause he realized the asphalt ended by the
obelisk. My date and I involuntarily flattened our faces on the back of the
front seat and I thought what an appropriate place to die! The front end of
his car came to a stop just a few inches from the last dribble of asphalt,
the tires reeking of tortured rubber. We pried his fingers off the steering
wheel and the four of us got out, each in a daze, religion newly infused deep
in our teenage craven souls.

I knew the minute I hit the send button that I had overshot my headlights,
but I can't spell the actual composer's name, anyway. B Wakefield

Jon Brooder said
Tchaikovsky, was the dude's name.

Jane Rice,1956, remembers
That was quite a story, Bob, and fascinating.  Appropriate that I
read it on a day that I heard a tribute to James Dean......!  I
worked through all the messages on Shr. Express with my brother's
name in the subject line with growing anxiety of what may have been
the story about him until I finally got to your story.   I wonder
whose new Cadillac convertible he was driving, because he never had
one!  And I wonder who was with him?  "Mac" McEwan? 
Gary's first car was a new '49 powder blue Ford, later a '51 2 tone
green Mercury coupe.  When he went to Air Cadets, he left a '54 red
Plymouth convertible.
Sorry to correct you, I just don't want anyone to think Gary could
have had a new Cadillac!   He did like to drive fast!   It's in our
blood!  We learned from riding with our Dad, who always told me
"Learn to drive well slowly, then you can drive fast"!
Jane Rice, Gary's little sister who misses him a lot!
Andre Zoutte wrote: A beautiful story!!  But you might want to check
out the composer of the 1812 Overture.  My 40 chev could just make a
block in a minute.

Andre (52)

Malcolm Hutton added:
My hotrod story is a bit different than Bob Wakefield's.  My first
car was a '29 model A Ford, no hot rod, but I painted it, fashioned
seat covers out of Indian blankets, and it was mine.   Senior
Distinction day was coming up and a party was planned at Story.  The
principal held an assembly to advise us of the dangers of
over-celebrating our graduation.  Jimmy Bondi got up and said
something like he agreed that we should abstain from demon rum or
some such nonsense and his speech irritated Ray Hobbs, Captain of the
Football team, best athlete, fastest runner, of the Class of '47.
Bondi had made arrangements to ride with me to Story and I had heard
about Hobbs being mad, but I thought it would blow over by evening.
Bondi and I and a couple of other guys pulled up to Ladore, where the
party was being held in the middle of the street, and I heard Hobbs
yell out "there's Bondi", and he came after us.  Bondi yelled "get
the hell out of here" and I started down the street with Hobbs
chasing us and gaining on us.  Finally I got ahead of him and by the
end of the block he quit chasing us.  We went back to town and missed
the senior party.  That old Model A just never did go very fast.







Bob Wakefield, 1955
During all the high school years that I worked as a produce man at Boyd's,
only one customer remains in memory as strange, baffling, yet totally
interesting. I don't recall her name, but despite her advanced age, she
bounced into the store once a week to claim the two pint bottles specially
ordered from Jersey Creamery. Boyd's served lots of customers. The whole
community eventually passed through the checkstands. But there was nobody
like the little old lady in tennis shoes. And the contents of the two pint
bottles was like nothing I had ever seen. It was an off-white concoction with
black specks that looked like coal slack. Unbelievable. Eventually I looked
it up: "Fermented, semifluid milk product. Fresh whole or skim milk, boiled
and concentrated by evaporation." Yuck. "Fermenation is caused by the
addition of cultures of two bacteria -- lactobacillus acidophilus and
streptococcus thermophilus. New batches can be produced by introducing into
concentrated milk a portion of a previously prepared batch." Double yuck. I
could never bring myself to sample the stuff with black specks. But now,
whenever I order a TCBY chocolate cone or buy frozen yogurt at the market, I
think back on the special customer and those pint bottles of white stuff with
black specks. Goes to show you: make a better yogurt and the world will beat
a path to your freezer. But white stuff with black specks: ixnay. Bob
Wakefield, '57.





Subject: Wakefield Lotus Cafe
Date: Fri, 02 Mar 2001

Having impressed my date with a ride in my dual headers and glass packed
mufflers classy Ford V-8, and having spent almost three dollars taking her to
a movie at the classy Wyo Theater, I decided to top off a first-time classy
date by taking her for an after-movie snack at the classy Lotus Cafe next
door to the Wyo. The two of us were shown to one of the classy booths. I
ordered banana cream pie for us. We sat looking across the classy table at
each other, and I knew this had to be impressing her to the max. Soon the
gum-chewing waitress arrived carrying two plates. She set one plate down in
front of my classy date. Then, as she slid the other plate in front of me,
she looked at the sploosh of bananas and pudding spread out from rim to rim
and said, shaking her head,  "I sure crapped that up!" - Bob Wakefield.



Bob Sellers, 1956
One last car story, with a different twist.  Does anyone remember the
afternoon in the mid-fifties when the "bigger boys" took the small car (an
Austin?) upstairs in the high school?  As I recall the story, the principal
demanded that the owner, a female, get it down.  I also seem to recall seeing
this same car parked on the sidewalk by the theater et cetera from time to
time.  I have often wondered whether the young lady who drove this car was
excited when she received it...was still exicted a few months later after the
"bigger boys" began playing with it.
Surely someone will remember the Packards of the fifties and their ability to
"level" themselves.  I "heard" that if a group of guys jumped onto the back
of one and waited a short time, the "leveling" aparatus would "kick in" and
level the car.  Then, when the guys jumped off, the rear of the car would
rise up...significantly.  It wasn't so much an amusement as an awe inspiring
display of technology...a promise of things to come.  The group of guys with
which I am familiar could not dismiss a Packard so equipped without giving
the demonstration to passersby.
Surely some of us are not so old as to have forgotten the "service" available
to those needing gasoline.  One Sunday, a lovely, young lady and I had access
to the Buick.  We drove into the station and purchased $1.00 worth of
gas...an ample supply to "cruise the drag".  Then, when a block or so away,
we decied to drive into the mountains rather than stay on Sheridan's main
street.  We returned to the station and requested another $1.00's worth.  The
attendant, "Jim", I think, asked, "What do you want to do, go around the
block again?"  It's not all bad that we fill our own tanks these days!
A good automobile equates to FREEDOM...of expression and movement!  That's
all they are to guys...and some girls (didn't Jane describe quite well a
Caddy owned by a member of her family?).


Jane Rice, 1956
Bob,
That must have happened when we were Freshmen.  And didn't that
Austin (Crosley?) belong to Pat Hamilton, a young teacher?  Do I have
my wires crossed on this memory?  Some of you "older" alumni will
have to straighten us out on this story!  Actually, the way I
remember hearing about the car that got carried upstairs, I thought
my brother who graduated in 1952 "knew" about it.  Or maybe it was
Bill Woolston who told me about it.  He was in the class of '53.


Subject: Gulfport/Biloxi Airport
Bob Sellers, 1954
On Saturday I was at the airport to pick up some Brits coming to the area to
repair a Lightning Fighter jet...a young man was there with a baseball
cap...King Ropes???? or something like that...from Sheridan...but he was from
elsewhere...


Malcolm Hutton,1947
King Saddlery in Sheridan is known the world over for their ropes and that
is their specialty.  Cowboys from everywhere use King Ropes.  They also make
great saddles and carry a full line of western wear and cowboy needs.  A
visit to the store should include a look through the King Cowboy Museum.
The people of Sheridan honor the Kings with a rodeo called Don King Days in
August.  Don has been in Sheridan most of his life and King Saddlery has
probably been here 35 years or more.  I can't remember for sure.  The Queen
of England stopped at Kings while shopping when she visited Sheridan.  One
of the things I like about Kings is that they don't carry any junk.
Everything you get is highest quality.  King hats have done a pretty good
job of replacing the Stetson around here.



Jane Rice,1956 added:
To add to what Malcolm Hutton wrote, King Ropes caps are seen the world over,
and are collected by anyone who hears of their "cowboy" gear.  Don gained
considerable recognition making the trophy saddles for the Professional Cowboys
Rodeo Assn. and the family business has been growing ever since.  I
can remember
seeing these saddles in his little shop next to the Mint Bar in the
late 60's if
my recollection is right.   Then, his unique method of ropemaking
became famous.
Pictures of his rope stretching in his pastures on his ranch East of Sheridan
give a new angle to the use of pastureland in agriculture!

Whenever PRCA cowboys come through Sheridan, they stop at Kings
store, I'm sure!
They have quite an operation that has expanded from his little narrow shop to a
beautiful authentic store on the West side of Main Street, then
across the alley
into a big building that houses the saddle shop and the warehouse of ropes on
two floors, I believe (I haven't been in the basement).  I have been
told they do a
large mail order business also, and, as Malcolm wrote, they sell nothing but
high quality merchandise.  The adjoining Museum that began with his
collection of
saddles (now over 450) and related gear is beautiful.  They have Indian, rodeo,
and local interest Western collection.  Anyone who has worked at Eaton's Dude
Ranch would be interested to go upstairs and see the photographs up there.  Any
time there is an auction sale here that lists antique saddles or related gear,
you can expect to see Don King there, or his son Bill, who now has an adjoining
store where he trades outstanding art of the West.

As you can see, I have a great admiration and respect for Don and
Dippy King and
their 4 sons.  They are indeed an asset to this area, and, a connection to our
heritage.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


Subject: Louie, Ilene, and Tommie
Date: Mon, 6 Nov 2000 15:13:57 EST

Bob Wakefield,1955
When I came back to Sheridan as a nine-year-old fourth grader in March, 1949,
I had little confidence. Louie befriended me when I needed a friend. My
fourth grade teacher at Central School, Miss Johnson, encouraged me, too. She
read aloud to class every day, leaning on her big, wooden desk. Somehow, I
knew she was from the country, too. The Wakefields lived on Water Street
beside the Little Goose, which was still covered with ice. When summer came,
I rode my second-hand bike around town and hung out with Louie and some other
new friends.

Louie was quiet. Said he was an altar boy at Holy Name. We
didn't say much. Just rode and rode. Then I met Ilene, and we hung out, too.
I rode my bike to her huge house on West Loucks and we sat around and read
books together. Early in the fall of fifth grade, I heard that the Sheridan
schools had called my mother to tell her I was in the top five children in
the district in I! Q. She said "top five per cent"? They said no, one, two,
three, four, five. I heard about it and said to myself, "Bob, if you are
smart, why don't you speak up?" By then, as a student in Mrs. Reddish's fifth
grade, I vowed to put myself in situations where I would be forced to speak
up. Then everything changed. I represented the fifth and sixth grades in the
district spelling contests. Began to sing for relatives and friends as my dad
played the piano for me. Came out of my shell. Then, just before I started
seventh grade as an eleven-year-old, Louie died. I heard it was from polio.
Afterward, I remember sitting on a window ledge at Central waiting for  the
bus, wondering how that could happen. I did not talk to anyone about how I
felt.

  For weeks I dreaded going to school. I was afraid I, too, would die,
just like Louie. After days of my staying home, my parents suggested that I
take a dime with me to call home from school. ! That gave me strength. Two
months later, I was selected to represent the seventh grade in Armistice Day
ceremonies in the Central School gymnasium. I gave half the speech, Kenneth
Moore the other half as a representative of the eighth grade. I remember how
I felt, kind of floating across the gym floor to face the entire seventh and
eighth grades gathered in the gym. What a victory over my fears. Then in
March, 1952, my friend, Ilene, died. Just up and died. One day I was at her
house reading books with her, the next day she was gone. All my old fears
returned. I got busy working as a busboy at the Sheridan Inn Dining Room,
working six days a week from 4:30 'til 11. Then Tommie and I became friends.
He was a laughing, joking, bandy rooster kind of kid whose gregarious,
outgoing personality made me feel good. We double dated on moonlight rides in
the backs of pickup trucks at Kendrick Park and his raucous laugh filled the
air. ! I started studying voice after singing for Barbara Barnes and hearing
her say "We've got to get you voice lessons." The summer of 1954 -- I was 14
-- my confidence led me to enter a talent contest. I made the finals at the
Orpheum Theater, going for a $50 first prize. August 21, 1954, I won the
talent contest. I remember standing on stage as Monte Blue came out to
present the check. He played Geronimo in "Apache," the movie premiering that
night. He asked me how old I was. I said "fourteen," and Tommie laughed his
raucous laugh out in the audience. I said to myself, "Tommie, I'm gonna get
you, buddy." Thirteen months later, Tommie was dead. He had lost a leg in a
freak accident on Main Street, then he was killed in another auto accident.
Guess who was asked to sign at Tommie's funeral. There I was, standing at the
foot of his casket at Champion's Funeral Home, his friends and relatives
gathered around.

  The kid who couldn't utter ! a sound as a five-year-old
without crying stood there and sang expressively in honor of his buddy. Weeks
later, Tommie's uncle tried to give me money. We stood in front of the
Orpheum, which he managed. I said "I just can't take the money. He was my
friend." I have often asked myself why three of my friends died before my
sixteenth birthday, why I have been blessed with sixty years of a most
interesting life. I did not know until recently that all friendships give
meaning to one's life, even friendships long forgotten. In many ways, my
friends have lived through me. For Louie, I have given friendships to others
without expecting anything in return. For Ilene, I have allowed silences to
express worlds of meaning. For Tommie, I have simply been myself. What you
see is what you get. And now, at age sixty, I have discovered that all of my
friends are together, not in separate graves, but in me. Bob Wakefield.
     Louis Raymos Lopez - October 28, 1938 - Sept. 14. 1951
     Florence Ilene Belish - July 20, 1939 - March 26, 1952
     Thomas Lyle Campbell - February 11, 1938 - September 9, 1955








Subject: When the Cold War came to Sheridan
Date: Fri, 1 Dec 2000 12:13:42 EST
Bob Wakefield, 1955:
Many of us who survived the Forties and Fifties' Cold War against Communism
recall that we had to endure viewings of Atomic Bomb Castle Films in our
elementary schools. As a fifth-grader at Central School, I was among the
innocents given the opportunity to see first-hand. One day in 1949, we were
lined up and taken down the hall to the "movie room," where the windows were
covered by black bunting, plunging us into the eerie gloom of darkness at
midday. I recall sitting in my folding chair with my fellow students as the
Castle Films movie began. Tomb-like tones of the announcer filled the room as
the images of an atomic bomb explosion covered the screen. "The atomic bomb
explosion lasts long, almost a minute and a half," the voice said. I watched
with my friends as the unbelievable primeval horrifying chaos erupted before
our virginal eyes. I wondered where I was when the bomb exploded, w! hy I
hadn't heard it and felt its rush of blast-furnace air. Then the calm voice
explained how the bomb was designed, and the screen showed a two-story house
as if at dusk, and I thought of our house on Water Street with Little Goose
running beside it. Suddenly, there was a blinding light, followed by a pause,
then the house exploded toward the left, then back toward the right as if a
giant vacuum cleaner passed nearby. The Cold War Gargantua was loose, and its
immense appetite would affect my life and my friends' lives until the end.
Then the film showed horrifying scenes of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. One that
stuck in my mind was of the black, carbonized shadows of passersby on a
concrete bridge, the only remnant of their lives left behind. After school
that day, riding my bike home, I focused on my shadow as it flitted along
sidewalks, fences and walls. I thought, "That would be all that's left of me
if the atomic bomb goes o! ff right now." Later, when the Duck and Cover films
were shown to us innocents, with the announcer intoning, "When you see the
flash, get under your desks and cover your eyes," several of us  shared the
joke, "when you see the flash, bend over and kiss your ass goodbye." It was
no joke, however, Cold War fears of sudden death from the atmosphere haunting
me and my friends, and it all began with the gathering of innocents in a
darkened movie room at Central School in Sheridan, Wyoming, in 1949. Bob
Wakefield

Bob Sellers, 1954
Thanks for your sharing your memories and fears of that time in our lives.
As haunting as such things were for us here, think what the dissolution of
the USSR meant to those Soviets in their fifties and sixties and older.  The
break up of the USSR and a new form of government and economy must have been
an unthinkable thing to endure for those who had lived under communism all
their adult lives.
The other scary thing about the early years of the atomic age were the
numbers of individuals who really thought we (the world) could survive such
things.  I was in Alaska in the early sixties (1st Battle Group, 23rd
Infantry)...our job was to "deter" the Soviets when they came across the
Bering Strait.  There were enough of us to "wave" as they went by, but we
couldn't have slowed them had they come in force.
Later, I was in Washington, D.C. and received notice of where I was to go in
case of a nuclear attack.  I always thought it was foolish; how would one
have gotten there...it was miles outside the city?
Later still, I was in Viet Nam...as a civilian.  We had elaborate plans to
evacuate...the plans filled 4-inch loose leaf binders.  When the time
arrived, there wasn't sufficient warning to reacquaint everyone with the
PLAN...some drifted down the river on whatever would float...such wasn't in
the plan!  I was in Saigon when some of the PLANS were developed, explained
and justified...by bureaucrats in suits and ties!  Some of those planners
could not accept that their "product" wouldn't work.  We abandoned people (VN
and Montagnard) and vast amounts of materiel and structures...things that
"volunteers" had to go back and destroy...skirting the NVN troops...exciting,
but not covered in the PLANS.
We lived through some strange times and had to think strange thoughts.  The
world is a better place now...hopefully, we can now think better thoughts!
Will the Packers win on Sunday?


Subject: Wakefield rock
Date: Fri, 02 Mar 2001 16:46:59 -0700

Subject: When Rock 'n Roll Came to Town
Date: Fri, 17 Nov 2000 19:54:11 EST

It happened gradually, the Rock 'n Roll revolution in Sheridan, probably
because television wasn't widely available in 1956-57, and KWYO was dominated
by network radio, Ma Perkins, The Shadow, Sky King, and the like. I was
probably one of the few teenagers who liked Bob And Ray, by the way. I knew
about radio 'cause I had my first show as a 16-year-old the summer of 1956, a
live 15-minute opus called "Teen Tunes" -- 6:15 p.m. Mondays. But it's not my
debut in radio that I write about. Rather, I recall the way the Rock 'n Roll
revolution reached Sheridan. It was not on the radio...but 45 rpm records.
Berdon's and Mossholder's and Totman's sold records and Elvis hit town like a
bomb. I remember going to a buddy's house to listen to Hound Dog and Don't Be
Cruel and just losing it. After dark, we drove our cars onto nearby hills to
pick up KOMA "Mighty Pretty in Oklahoma City" and catch Elvis and the other
revolut! ionaries. That's how I remember it, but I am now selectively senile
and perhaps in error. I remember when "Loving You" came to the Orpheum
Theatre in 1957. It was a sensation. We packed the house. The first time
Elvis showed up in character on screen, every guy in the theatre hooted and
hollered their contempt. It was quite an experience. Elvis would say a line
and the guys would make rude noises. It was a real bonding experience with my
fellow jerks. Then I was graduated and went back east to summer school in
Mass. and Rock 'n Roll faded in mind as I met The Weavers, played basketball
with the Modern Jazz Quartet, saw Ella Fitzgerald and Joe Williams, and
otherwise was corrupted by modern music. Then I went in the Army (on our
side), and ended up in Munich, finding out that Elvis was in Frankfurt at the
same time. Hey, life was good. I found out that his outfit trained at
Grafenwoehr, in central Germany, near the Czech border, a! t the same time as
my outfit. Hey. One day, at a wash rack outside the impact area, I took a
break from hosing down my deuce and a half truck and went to a two-hole
outhouse nearby. I sat down to read the handwriting on the wall and there in
front of my frosted eyes was carved in the wood: ELVIS PRESLEY 6 MO. TO GO. I
sat in a daze, the cold German breeze frosting my buns. The King had sat
where I sat. To this day, I can see the indentations from his knife in the
raw wood. He was just a G.I. like me, a short-timer anxious to get back to
his home town and his loved ones. Whatever else happened in his life, he was
a United States Army soldier, serving his country in the godforsaken
wilderness, a Veteran. God bless him and God bless America!

For those few of us who were not swept up by the rock 'n roll revolution,
there was great jazz to be heard in Sheridan on Bill Emery's show on KWYO,
"Willie's Waxworks".  Bill was and is an authority on jazz, having worked in
the jazz recording industry in Los Angeles in the early 50's.  He and Jim
Harrod are currently collaborating on a book on the history of the Pacific
Jazz reocrd label. For a brief period, jazz ascended as the music of choice
on college campuses, in film and TV scores and even in high schools, and
then came Elvis...  Well, some of us still prefer the sounds of Duke
Elllington, Louis Armstrong, Miles Davis and Billie Holliday.

For those of us who also loved classical music, Bob Wilson had his fine hour
of the great classics on KWYO.  Bob is still active in the community.  He
was wonderful about playing some of the modern composers that weren't his
cup of tea, for those of us who were his young pals, and I got him to do an
hour of Bach every few months.

Bill Emery and Bob Wilson have contributed so much to the cultural life of
Sheridan.  They served as mentors for many of us who were a bit out of the
mainstream in our great little city.

Aretha Willis, 1955, wants to know:
Have to ask Ginny, Bob, Gwen and all you 55 ERs, Do I remember correctly that
at our Senior Prom some kids from Casper were there and introduced us to rock
and roll? How did those kids from Casper get into our Prom to begin with?
Maybe I'm cracking up but that happened somewhere in my past.  Any of you
remember?  We had never seen dancing like that before
My Freshman year of high school was 1954-55.  My Father wanted to go
to California to see some of his older children from his first
marriage & wanted me to go with him. So, a week or so before
Christmas vacation we went to CA.  My Father had three older children
living in or near LA & we stayed with a daughter that had a son about
my age.  Although we did not get along very well he did take me where
ever he went.  There were a lot of teen hang outs, soda shops,
hamburger stands that were having price wars, lots of good burgers &
trimmings for a quarter & the ever present playing of rythmn & blues
& something they called Bebop on jukes everywhere. One in particular
was Fats Domino, I really liked his style of music, still do.
Needless to say by the time I got back to Wyoming I was a changed
person.  I went to CA a skinny kid wearing rolled up jeans, high top
black tennis shoes & an unruly mop of hair. I would guess generally a
hick from the sticks.  When I got off the bus in Sheridan after being
in CA for a little over a month my own friends didn't recognize me.
Dressed in pegged pants with the belt loops cut off & the the top of
the pants rolled over & worn low on the hips, a solid colored pastel
shirt buttoned to the neck, platform wing tip shoes, a duck tail hair
cut & a black leather jacket, I was real cool or at least I thought.
I had also learned to dance what they called the Bop.

Bob Wakefield,1955 added:
  I remember when the word "Jazz" was a dirty word...sometime in the early
1950s. Whatever, I had jazz in my bones, having listened to Debussy's
"Golliwog's Cakewalk" on 78 rpm records at my Aunt Dess's farm in Johnstown,
Colorado, when I was five. BTW, I talked with Bill Emery in June of 1999 at
the Fullmer Library in Sheridan. He remembered my teenage visits to his
record department at Mossholders. Now retired, he said he was frequenting
garage sales to find records...which treasures he donates to the library's
collection. I sang forever in Bob Wilson's choir at the Presbyterian Church
on South Main. He is an amazing self-taught man. Listening to Rev. McClure's
stentorian sermons on Sunday mornings got me interested in classical
rhetoric, which I studied later at the University of Colorado under Wayne
Brockriede, who was my dissertation adviser. Et tu, Bubba.