Frances Marietta Hubbard and Her Three Oldest: Marilyn Ann, Gerald Elmer, & Clifton LaVerne. Probably about 1939 or 1940.
Friday, February 24, 2006
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Last Game At Gilboa Central Talking Blues
Last Game At Gilboa Central Talking Blues
Though surely not a super-star, I pretty much got by
By playing heavy “d” full court press and man to man
My speed and fundamentals made our coach one of my fans
Behind the back with passes, both hands could dribble well
But every time the game got tight, my shots would go to hell
But still I started every game and did outscore my man
But never really hit the “groove” like better players can
Walt Micha was our sixth man who worked hard to excel
Had all the fundamentals, a good “set” shot as well
He always played consistently if games were lost or won
He always was a real nice guy, gentle, kind and fun.
The home game that was next to last, I played my usual time
Then walked my girl friend to her bus, then I walked back to mine.
And then to be about as dumb as dumb young men can get
As I sauntered to my bus, I lit a cigarette
And just before I climbed aboard I did my best James Dean
And toward the school, I snapped that butt, the flip was high and clean
The fiery sparks lit up the night, “Man”, I thought, “That’s neat!”
Until that cigarette hit down an inch from Coach Hub’s feet
Hub came storming to the bus: “I think you burned my pants.”
“You can’t play basketball and smoke.” “There is no second chance.”
“On Monday, turn your gear in, right now, you’re off the squad.”
So the last game of my senior year, Walt Micha got the nod.
In the bleachers with my girl, I watched the game ensue
As Walter threw up lots of shots and most of them went through
He played the game he knew he could, did everything just right
And most agreed was MVP in the last game on that night
And there I sat a spectator, my senior year’s last game
James Dean, the dark, and the evil weed were all I had to blame
And here’s a thought I can’t put down, no matter how I reason
If Walt had started in my place? We’d have had a better season….
By playing heavy “d” full court press and man to man
My speed and fundamentals made our coach one of my fans
Behind the back with passes, both hands could dribble well
But every time the game got tight, my shots would go to hell
But still I started every game and did outscore my man
But never really hit the “groove” like better players can
Walt Micha was our sixth man who worked hard to excel
Had all the fundamentals, a good “set” shot as well
He always played consistently if games were lost or won
He always was a real nice guy, gentle, kind and fun.
The home game that was next to last, I played my usual time
Then walked my girl friend to her bus, then I walked back to mine.
And then to be about as dumb as dumb young men can get
As I sauntered to my bus, I lit a cigarette
And just before I climbed aboard I did my best James Dean
And toward the school, I snapped that butt, the flip was high and clean
The fiery sparks lit up the night, “Man”, I thought, “That’s neat!”
Until that cigarette hit down an inch from Coach Hub’s feet
Hub came storming to the bus: “I think you burned my pants.”
“You can’t play basketball and smoke.” “There is no second chance.”
“On Monday, turn your gear in, right now, you’re off the squad.”
So the last game of my senior year, Walt Micha got the nod.
In the bleachers with my girl, I watched the game ensue
As Walter threw up lots of shots and most of them went through
He played the game he knew he could, did everything just right
And most agreed was MVP in the last game on that night
And there I sat a spectator, my senior year’s last game
James Dean, the dark, and the evil weed were all I had to blame
And here’s a thought I can’t put down, no matter how I reason
If Walt had started in my place? We’d have had a better season….
Friday, February 10, 2006
Siblings 1949 Or 50
Gerald Elmer & Marilyn Ann Ready For Marilyn's 8th Grade Graduation. I hated those damned pants.......
Friday, February 03, 2006
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