"Excellently raw and so far unexpurgated!"

A Westbury High School Heirloom - Gift
from John Boyce 1963

Continuing from his profile page, this amazing work super details Westbury High School culture, circa 1961-1963, as experienced through the life and times of John Boyce. The opus  is placed here at my request. It may take several years to run a spell checker, which I've agreed to do with him. But the writing, and thus the reading, is excellently raw and so far unexpurgated! You'll see!

Administration

The prologue to this Part I may be found in the Westbury Poetry and Prose section under "Introduction to Parts I - III John Boyce Life and Times (Class of 1963)"

Part I

The senior class, although small, was one I could really look up to. Most of the kids were from San Jacinto and I already looked up to them. Those who came from Bellaire, while they were few in number (most seniors decided to remain at Bellaire) were first class. Some of the girls from Bellaire were beautiful – striking even. I mention this here not because I was acquainted with them, but because anyone looking through an old yearbook (for whatever reason) might say, “Oh yes, I see what he means.” Jimmie Ann Ferry, Susan Hood, and Kathy Landry were in this group. There were a few others who opted not to put their class pictures in the yearbook and whose names I never knew. I knew they were there, though, and I admired them from a distance.

Mike Woods was the president of the senior class. Rick Robbins was the vice president.

Some of the kids from Bellaire included Mitchell Martin who seemed like a thirty-five year old man and was one of our first cheerleaders. Annette Ripper was one of the Rebelette officers. Randy and Norman Zator were good natured brothers (fraternal twins, I think). They were people of character.

Norman was in the ROTC but his brother chose not to join. Norman became a police officer in the Dickensen area after school and was later killed in the line of duty.

Judy Canada, tall, quiet, and sweet, was Dick Canada’s sister and they both rode the bus with us. Evalyn Eversole rode the bus too with her sister who was a sophomore. I thought Evalyn looked pretty good in her ROTC sponsor’s uniform.

James Haughton and Charlotte Skelley (boyfriend and girlfriend) rode the bus. Charlotte was good friends with Gerry Lynn Mandel and Carol Landen, my neighbor. Of course, Carol rode the bus. So did Norma Hornischer and Mary Sigford (both very quiet and very sweet) and Brenda Moerbe (also quiet and sweet – and very pretty, I thought).

Pat Dorris and Carolyn Ludeke rode the bus too. Pat had a lazy eye but she was pretty regardless, and really funny. I liked her a lot. Carolyn was outgoing and funny too but something must have happened to her sometime in her life. When I contacted her about the 25 year class reunion she not only did not want to come, she seemed a little confrontational. I hope things turned out well for her.

Doug McCarty and his sister Joy waited with me at the same bus stop. They were minister’s kids but you could never guess that by Doug. His humor was some of the raciest and he WAS funny. Joy exactly fit the mold of the minister’s daughter. She was soft spoken and sweet and I thought she was very pretty. I never dated her in High School but she asked me to escort her some years later to her senior prom. When I read late in the century that she had passed away (from cancer, I think) I was deeply saddened.

I also need to mention Martha Falconer, Barry Horwitz, Frank Leavy, and Benny Smith – all members of Westbury’s first senior class. Martha was kind and gentle and had difficulty dealing with the frequent injustices of high school life. Just like the rest of us she wanted life to be fair but unlike the rest she had yet to accept that it wasn’t going to be. Barry may have been a San Jac Jew but I don’t remember him from over there. He was a very outgoing and friendly guy. Frank was just good, big, outgoing Frank, and Benny, a fellow member of the Booster Club, seemed to be everywhere with Mike Woods and Rick Robbins.

* * *

I was driving home from school one afternoon when a girl walked across the street in front of me at the intersection a block from my house. She wore tight black short shorts and a sleeveless blouse tied at her midriff. Her face was beautiful and if there was any shortcoming, it was her hair. It looked like it had been overworked and probably couldn't be saved, but in my basest of natures this was something I could overlook. I was only slightly irritated as I had to wait while she slowly and deliberately strutted in front of my car. She knew what she was doing and she obviously thought she was something (I did too, I'm afraid, and I wondered why I had never seen her before).

The very next day, I caught sight of her in the cafeteria. In a rare move for me, I went right up to her and asked her about the incident at my car the day before. She told me her name (forever to be undisclosed here) and I thought I was lucky because I got a date with her to the Davis game. There would be no double dating this time, that was for sure. If I had been an intelligent young man that Friday, the things this girl would be teaching me I could have used later in life to make it a little nicer. I didn't learn those lessons though, not then anyway.

I picked her up as the sun was setting. She was beautiful in a cheap looking way - lots of make-up and that hard to control teased hair. Of course, her clothes looked a little too tight on her as always. I knew even then that the reason I dated such girls was for the envy of other guys.

The evening started out with her telling me about her past dates and all the things boys did for her. It was a lot more than I was prepared to do. I heard about this most of the way to the game.

But once at the game she was pretty great. She tried to present the image as devil-may-care and fun loving and she pulled it off well. Most important to me was she showed everyone who her date was. I was happy for that.

And that might have been hard for her to do too. I wore a rebel cap with the orange and green Aardvark A on top and carried the confederate battle flag around. I probably looked as silly as the guys in the twenties with foxtails on a stick and raccoon coats (well, maybe not quite).

After the game I wanted to neck with her, but something strange happened to me. It would happen again many times in the future. She was way too fast for me and I was becoming very uncomfortable. I suppose in part it was because I knew I wasn't in control. So I abruptly cut everything short and took her home.

Our conversation from then on was a little strained. She did point out that all I had bought for her up until then was refreshments at the game. She asked for my flag so I gave it to her. Driving home I pictured a wall in her room where she would hang it along with all her other trophies from fools like me.

But next week I was at it again. Thomas told me about another girl he thought was very good looking. If he thought it was true, then all the other guys probably felt the same. So during the week I made it a point to meet Terry Minor and ask her to the Cy-Fair game. I was a little surprised when she said she would go.

Friday night looked like it was going to be great. Our team was favored against Cypress-Fairbanks, an established school (our line averaged over 200 lbs. a man - big for 1961 - and our opponents' line was a light 170), I had a fine looking girl on my arm and on a triple date I could sit in the back seat with her.

We picked up our dates and it became apparent quickly that things were not going to work out quite like I had pictured they would. Fergy (Bobby Ferguson) was driving and he didn't date much. So his conversation, when there was any, was forced. Thomas Browne tried to take up the slack and overcompensated, saying a lot of silly things. It made anyone following him with an immediate response looking equally silly. Most people now would be careful not to fall into that same trap, but not me. Terry kept her mouth shut most of the time. I figured it was because she was astonished by it all. Or it might have been that she was just somewhat put out by it. The last reason, remote at best, might have been that she sat in such awe of myself she didn't want to say the wrong thing and be embarrassed.

Thankfully, when we arrived at the game, things got a little better. At least there were a lot more people there saying silly stuff. The game didn't go as either we or the Houston Chronicle planned, however. The Cy-Fair line was small but they were very fast, reminiscent of the thing Bear Bryant was doing at Alabama. Right after we got what was becoming our complimentary opening touchdown, Cy-Fair had scored six. From then on the only other consolation was the rebels could stop conversions. The final score was 36-6.

Afterward we went for a soda at 2-Ks in the Sakowitz center across the street from a future place that would one day be called the Galleria. Terry and I had learned a lot more of the social graces by then and it was nice, but we never quite hit it off.

* * * 

We all dreamed of being big-time rock stars. Small time groups in our area back then included B. J. Thomas and Roy Head and the Traits. Those two actually did make something of themselves. A very local group (a neighborhood group) was Little Henry and the Rebel Rousers. Thomas pictured himself as a drummer and he owned a set of drumsticks. He would beat out rhythms on a telephone book and I thought he was really pretty good. Fergy actually had a guitar and he was adequate at what he did. He could play "Wildwood Flower" well enough for me to enjoy hearing him play. All of us were afflicted with the same curse, however - no money. I wondered how far Thomas could have gone if he just owned a set of drums.

Little Henry and the Rebel Rousers actually opened pep rallies and assemblies at school and most of the kids seemed to enjoy them. I thought they sacrificed a little in order to showcase their own personal talents, however. (They sacrificed things like dynamics and a melody for instance.) One time Mike Carter, who lived across the street from me, sang with them. He really had a nice voice and did a lot to help their performance, but I guess they didn't mesh because I didn't see them all together ever again.

* * *

There was a local Saturday afternoon teenage dance show that imitated Dick Clark's American Bandstand, nationally syndicated out of Philadelphia. Evelyn Sizemore was a regular on that show. Thomas had become good friends with her and she arranged for him and me to take a couple of dates as guests on the show.

Since I was going to be on TV, I wanted to have a beautiful date  so I asked Kathy Packard from Lamar. It was the only "date" I ever had with her. She was happy to go with me. I supposed it was because at last I had something she wanted - an opportunity to be seen on TV.

* * *

 Nelda Pollard talked me into joining the bowling club again, this time at Westbury. I was looking for something because I was really bummed out on the booster club and I did like bowling at San Jacinto. I tried to talk Thomas into bowling with us but he didn't want to commit himself to the time.

We met at the Post Oak Lanes and held an election. I was totally surprised to have been elected vice president by people who I mostly did not know. Nelda actually did it for me. She nominated me and politicked for me totally without my knowledge. It was a very sweet thing she did.

Jim Skelton was elected president. He was on my team and was a very nice guy. He was a good bowler too. Our team won the league championship again, just like at San Jacinto. I bought a bowling shirt (which I wore on bowling days) and at Christmas Mom and Dad got me a bowling ball. My bowling had improved to where I just qualified to bowl for the Westbury team.

All this time I really wanted someone as a steady. Nelda would have been nice. I found her attractive. She had a nice figure and she was very fun to be around. But she sent out signals constantly that I was not the one, in spite of all the kind the things she did for me and our friendship.

In the wings were girls who would have loved to have gone steady with me. I would get reports about them, but I wasn't interested. I feel very bad about that now. I know I would have been fortunate to be associated with any of them. They were pretty, they had their heads on straight, and their values were what they should have been. The same could not be said of me. I wasn't looking for a real relationship. I was looking for a knock-out who would make me look good.

* * *

Bruce Voorhies and I were members of the same church so we did a lot of things together. One of the first things I remember about Bruce occurred at the Rice University Pool. A fine man named Eric Schloer was our Explorer advisor then. He was also the Naval R.O.T.C. commander at Rice, so he arranged for us all to have a good time swimming in that pool.

 We thought the pool would be all to ourselves, but when we got there we saw several faculty members and their families there as well. Bruce was still in the locker room trying to find his swim suit so he still didn’t know. Finally, in frustration, he came out in his jockey strap to ask if any of us had seen his suit. We immediately pointed out that there were other families in the pool and he beat a hasty retreat back into the locker room. Some of us got out and helped him locate his suit.

* * *

Kathy Ward (class of 65) was a freshman now and I thought she was very pretty. I asked her out and she said she would go.

Saturday came and as luck would have it, I was having trouble with my car. I worked on it almost all day in frustration trying to get ready for my date. I thought I had it fixed, but the battery was so dead I had to push start it. 1950 was the last year Ford made cars with glass tail lights and that seemingly insignificant fact would have dire consequences for me.

I was pushing my car in the rain down Brookmeade Street, trying to get up enough speed for me to run to the driver's seat and pop the clutch. All of a sudden my hand slipped down the rear fender and I cut it on the taillight. I cut it deeply, all the way to the joint, but I was very lucky. While I laid the meat of the palm on my thumb wide open, I did not cut into the membrane covering my thumb joint. I cut my hand all the way from the tip of my thumb to the wrist. That was bad enough, but in the rain it looked worse. There was blood everywhere. I ran to the house and the front door was locked.

Mom didn't like it too much when we went in and out of the house too often, so to prevent this, she would simply lock us out. This time was even more important to her that we didn't come and go too often as she had some company. If we wanted in, we had to knock... and then we had better have a good reason for coming in (being too hot or too cold, or wanting a drink, was not considered a good reason.)

I knocked and got no answer. Usually when that happened, if it were not too important (like having to go to the bathroom) we would just give up and try again later. This time, however, I wasn't going to stop bleeding any time soon and I was agitated, so when I knocked again I banged on the door.

"What do you want?", Mom yelled when she came to the door. Then her eyes widened when she saw all the blood. 

"Don't come in," she shouted. "You'll get blood on the carpet."

So I waited a little longer, feeling a little less important than the new carpet (we got it as part of the insurance settlement when Hurricane Carla damaged the house. We also got a new roof and sheetrock too.) Mom came back with a towel and told me to wrap it around my hand.

I had been a Boy Scout for over five years and I thought I knew enough to know that just covering up a major gash on an appendage wasn't the thing to do. Hiding the wound with a towel wasn't going to make it go away or make it better. To my surprise, however, it did. I wrapped my hand tightly with the towel and we went to the emergency room.

All the time I was there I kept looking at my watch. I still didn't have my car running and this injury was wasting precious time. Mom finally asked me why I was so anxious about the time and I told her I needed to get ready for my date.

"You’re not going on a date with your hand like that!" Mom said. I told her I was and I wasn't going to let my hand bother me. She asked me how I could drive and I explained I never used my right hand for driving when I was dating anyway.

Finally we reached a compromise. Mom said I could go if she would drive us. At first I objected. I didn't want to be chauffeured like I was in junior high school, but Mom suggested that Kathy and I go to the Village. That way we could eat and take in a movie, and when we were done, Mom would come and get us. That sounded okay to me (as bad as all else seemed to be going). I sure didn't want to miss my date with Kathy, so I was willing to put up with this. I just hoped Kathy didn't think it was too weird.

We (Mom and I) picked Kathy up at twilight and Mom and Kathy both made my situation as pleasant as it could possibly be under the circumstances. Mom dropped us off and we had time to walk around and talk a little before the movie started. This was turning out well.

I can't remember what we saw, but after the movie we went to the One's-A-Meal just down University Blvd. All the buildings that housed those places are gone now as time marches on. I guess we had hamburgers but I all I remember is I was enjoying the company. Kathy looked great and was very pleasant to talk to. We sat and talked long after we finished eating but too soon it was getting time to get her home.

The problem was that there were four guys in the back booth by the telephone. I waited for a while, hoping they would leave, but the hour was getting desperately late and it was becoming obvious that these guys weren't leaving soon. So I had to make the call in the midst of them. It wasn't pleasant.

"Mom, you can come get us now," I said as softly as I could, but it wasn't soft enough.

"Mom, you can come get us now!” one of them mocked, and the rest broke out in exaggerated laughter. It was as bad as I imagined it might be - for a couple of seconds.

Then Kathy rose from the booth and came back to the phone, took me by the arm, and looked at me admiringly. I walked back to our booth feeling like a king! Yep, these guys could laugh all they wanted, but they were alone on a Saturday night and I had a class act at my side. I will always appreciate Kathy for what she did. She turned what could have been one of life's more embarrassing moments into one of my most memorable.

* * *

Now I am going to ramble a little. I was involved in so many things my junior and senior years that some of this is a jumble now. I know I had intended to make those years the best of my life and I was doing a good job of it. I knew I was having a good time and I think I even knew it wasn't going to last forever.

My science teacher (Chemistry) was Mrs. Maycock. Somehow she convinced me I should be a lab assistant in the spring of my junior year. I was supposed to get some special consideration or something - I don't know. As it turned out, I just did all the work of keeping the lab clean, preparing the days experiments and washing the beakers and test tubes. And I lost a half a credit for not having a class that hour.

John Kelley was one of the big soft spoken offensive linemen on the football team. I knew him from history class although he sat on the other side of the room. He was a very nice guy and by his demeanor seemed to be your typical big dumb jock. He married Carol Butterworth, his high school sweetheart, as small as he was big, and they settled in Joplin, Missouri, where he became a gynecologist. 

I got off the bus with Vicky Deutsch, Alice Chadwell, Karen Clark, and Pat Angier. All these girls were attractive but I was an idiot. Of the four I considered Pat to be the prettiest, and Alyce (as she later spelled her name) was the sweetest. Vicky was the most mischievous and I suppose Karen was the one who was the most combative, although Vicky gave her a run.

End Part I

Go to Part II of "John Boyce Life and Times"