Tina and I were best friends from sixth grade through high school. She lived six houses down the street, where, over the years to the consternation of our families, we spent countless hours "walking each other home". She came to Claremont from Arkansas ~ which to me, might as well have been Neptune ~ and her true Southern dialect included "Y'all" and such wonders as" Don't make me no never mind" in place of my much more prosaic "It doesn't matter to me".
Her mother, a self-styled "just a Southern cook", created exotic and incredibly tasty things like fried fruit pies, black-eyed peas with ham, biscuits and gravy, and melt-in-your-mouth chicken fried steak; I was at her house as often as possible, eating my way through the years. Tina and I went on dates together, consoled each other when romances soured and cheered each other on in new ones. We went to family funerals and weddings and laughed and cried. She pretty much bullied me into running for mascot, something I doubt I would have done had she not been there to encourage me.
When she married the inimitable Bill Meeks the summer after we graduated, I was her maid of honor ~ and spent a fun weekend in Santa Barbara with, among others, Dianna Woy, doing what we thought we grown-up things. Bill later bought an old but working ice cream truck to keep his clay in. But it was merely functional, gray, and boring until one night while he was at work, Tina and I found dozens of gallons of paint ~ oil, water, acrylic ~ in an old shed and repainted the truck ~ and each other ~ with rollers and our hands and laughed ourselves sick. As we'd expected, Bill loved it.
Their marriage was short-lived, and I lost touch with Tina when we were in our early twenties. I know she remarried and had two tall, handsome sons of whom she was very proud. I can still easily bring to mind our laughter from those many years ago. Rest well, old friend.
Marsha G. Lomax (Sanders)
Tina and I were best friends from sixth grade through high school. She lived six houses down the street, where, over the years to the consternation of our families, we spent countless hours "walking each other home". She came to Claremont from Arkansas ~ which to me, might as well have been Neptune ~ and her true Southern dialect included "Y'all" and such wonders as" Don't make me no never mind" in place of my much more prosaic "It doesn't matter to me".
Her mother, a self-styled "just a Southern cook", created exotic and incredibly tasty things like fried fruit pies, black-eyed peas with ham, biscuits and gravy, and melt-in-your-mouth chicken fried steak; I was at her house as often as possible, eating my way through the years. Tina and I went on dates together, consoled each other when romances soured and cheered each other on in new ones. We went to family funerals and weddings and laughed and cried. She pretty much bullied me into running for mascot, something I doubt I would have done had she not been there to encourage me.
When she married the inimitable Bill Meeks the summer after we graduated, I was her maid of honor ~ and spent a fun weekend in Santa Barbara with, among others, Dianna Woy, doing what we thought we grown-up things. Bill later bought an old but working ice cream truck to keep his clay in. But it was merely functional, gray, and boring until one night while he was at work, Tina and I found dozens of gallons of paint ~ oil, water, acrylic ~ in an old shed and repainted the truck ~ and each other ~ with rollers and our hands and laughed ourselves sick. As we'd expected, Bill loved it.
Their marriage was short-lived, and I lost touch with Tina when we were in our early twenties. I know she remarried and had two tall, handsome sons of whom she was very proud. I can still easily bring to mind our laughter from those many years ago. Rest well, old friend.
Ron Werner (Werner)
This was a nice girl. We dated for a short period back in the day. The memories are good memories.