June Sandlin Sullivan

Dale and I married two weeks after graduation in 1969 and moved to Houston. We lived in the dumpiest apartment you ever saw, but we bought a gorgeous 1969 Mach I Mustang to make up for it. We weren't the only ones who loved that car; in the 3 years we had it, it was stolen 3 times. That was one of the reasons we weren't too sad to leave Houston. Our next move was to Clute, Texas, home of the famous Mosquito Festival! We lived right down the street from Woody and Ann (Dale's mom and dad) for about 10 years. They were awesome grandparents, and our two kids thought the world of them. People make jokes about their in-laws, but mine were lifesavers, and I dearly loved them. In 1983, Dale finished building our home on Buffalo Camp Bayou just outside of the Lake Jackson city limits and we have been there for the last 26 years. I started college just for fun when the kids were in elementary school. Eventually I got serious about it, and ended up teaching 6th grade reading and language arts for 18 years, retiring in 2007. Dale is still graciously working to finance my road trips! He has worked at Brazosport College for 35 years. They once did a newspaper article on us because Dale and I began our educations there, our two children followed, and his sisters, Shirley and Marylou took classes there, as well as their two daughters.

We have a little place outside Caldwell that the grandkids call "The Little Red House." All of our family get togethers seem to end up there because the grands love the place so much: fishing, 4-wheelers, pig hunting, running amuck in the creek, eating all the junk Mom and Dad refuse to buy them. Life is good and I feel blessed...just wish we still had that Mach I Mustang.

Do you remember when the "little white men" were supposed to be living in the wild out by the power plant? I think "The Slab" was out there, too. Everyone was driving out there at night to spot the little guys who only came out in the safety of darkness. **I now recognize this rumor for what it really was: a hormone driven story concocted to seduce innocent and unsuspecting young girls out into the country at night.** Back then, I kinda sorta believed it. One night Dale loaded up his car with clueless victims and we headed out to catch a wild man. We were trekking along the dirt roads when suddenly something little and white ran across in front of us. Dale, like a true hero, threw the car into park, jumped out and took off after the little man, all conveniently taking place in the beam of his headlights. We sat frozen in fear watching the chase until they both went down in a tumble. When neither Dale nor the white man got up, we mustered up our courage and went out to them. Way before we reached them, loud moaning and groaning floated back to us. Dale was bent over the mystery man, who was on his face in the dirt in obvious pain. After standing there a bit, I began to think I recognized the voice of the so-called little white guy. I finally reached out, grabbed his shoulder and rolled him over. Disgustedly pulling the sheet off his face, I uncovered Jerry Grimes holding his nose and swearing it was broken. He'd tripped on a hole and Dale had fallen on top of him smashing a knee into his face! We had to carry Jerry to the car and take him home. Their little plot was foiled and their credibility with me was shot...for about 2 days!