PUPPY LOVE

   

Lady and the Tramp.

      There were rumors going around about sixth grade. Namely about the teacher, Mrs. Arrowsmith. “She’s an old biddy with a smile like a laughing donkey. She’s a strict, merciless General who eats little trouble makers for breakfast and spits out their bones!” Yup, that’s what they were saying. It all sounded pretty scary, but I’d judge for myself.

      I was growing up. I had just turned eleven and had parked my first home run in Little League. Maybe school was about to change for the better. It did, and her name was Olivia Smith. Up to this point in my life girls were nothing but pests out to get you in trouble every chance they got. But Olivia's deep brown eyes and golden hair gave her the look of an angel, an angel that melted away

The "new" Francis in sixth grade.

my wicked ways and nudged me down the road toward Sainthood. As Beverly Burrup so wisely put it, "She tamed the tiger!"

    The question became, not what Mrs. Arrowsmith wanted me to do, but what would Olivia want. Better handwriting, you got it! Turn in my assignments on time, you bet! Baths, clean teeth, nails, deodorant, the works! I even used Vaseline petroleum jelly to keep my porcupine hairdo looking sexy.

Jar of Vaseline Petroleum Jelly

    Up to this point, Olivia knew nothing about my newfound infatuation. But that was about to change. Occasional touching during the "allemande left and dosado,” or “swing your partners" during Square Dancing was egging me on. I had to ask her to a Saturday evening movie. The movie date was set up, and my mother drove us to the musical, "Oklahoma," at the Paramount Theater in Provo.  I wore my Sunday suit and my Converse sneakers, the ones with the big star on the side. We shared

1950s Converse sneakers with the big star.

buttery popcorn and even held hands now and then. Movie over, there was Mom waiting to deliver her safely home. Hand in hand I slowly walked her to the door, and gazed longingly into her big brown eyes when a jolting blast from the car horn snapped me out of my mesmerized state.

     I enjoyed spending time teaching Olivia and her younger brothers how to play baseball. I knew we were making progress when one of them pounded the baseball through our kitchen window. They were definitely getting better! Another time I took Olivia and her friend, Martha, to play tennis at the BYU courts. That was a mistake! First, I spent an hour chasing wayward balls and, second, three was a crowd. The best part of playing tennis was downing an ice cold mug of root beer across the street at Heaps of Pizza.

1950s Heaps of Pizza sign.

    At the end of sixth grade our class was preparing to wow parents and administrators alike by performing "Sleeping Beauty." The boys were making swords and putting together soldier uniforms, while the girls were practicing being beautiful sleepers. The question on all of our minds was who would be Sleeping Beauty, who would be Prince Charming, and would he really awake her with a kiss? When the cast was announced, it was Olivia who won the part of most beautiful sleeper,

The lovely Olivia Smith

and Kent Peterson would be the one to awaken her with a kiss. I was hoping for the part, but I guess Kent was the most Princely. He had the curly hair and lips for the job!

The princely Kent Peterson

        And what about Mrs. Arrowsmith you ask? She was as tough as nails and a stickler for rules. She was just what I needed. I memorized some character building poems, some lines of which I can still remember. Underneath it all she had a soft heart and really cared about her students. 

        Summer finally arrived and it turned out to be the best ever. My neighborhood pals all enrolled at BY Junior High, a private school run by Brigham Young University, and Olivia ended up at Central Junior High on the other side of town. Well, that was that! On to new friends and more charming young ladies. 

 

NEIGHBORHOOD SPORTS and GAMES

       There were a couple of basketball hoops in our neighborhood. The Allens next door had one above their garage, and on the other side the Smiths had a small court out back with a regulation height standard. We would most often play HORSE or “Twenty-one.” I’m sure games on both courts contributed to our Wasatch Wildcats winning the 5^th Grade Championship.

        Our backyard was set up for a variety of games. Volleyball, badminton, croquet, ping pong, tether ball, a swing set with pullup bars, and it also served as an imaginary big time football field.

        When we played in Phil Swenson’s backyard, our dads (Max Rogers, Ab Swensen and Wilford Smith) would watch from the patio balcony and critique our football skills. Em Smith was the best at rushing, Phil Swensen was the best running back, and I was pretty darn good at catching passes over my shoulder.

Willow Tree Line Backer

    Ash Avenue in Provo was the football capital of the world for young boys dreaming of BYU Cougar stardom. No touch- or flag football for us. That was sissy stuff. It was tackle or nothing! Between birthdays and Christmas we had all collected a variety of pads, jerseys, and helmets. Once suited up we felt we were invincible. Nothing felt better than hitting and smacking each other at full tilt. The sound of helmets and pads cracking was music to our ears.

    My helmet was a beauty to look at, white with a block Y insignia on the sides and a blue stripe from front to back. Unfortunately it was a toy, not really made for protection. But to me it was the real thing.

    There were three back yards big enough for imaginary stadiums and ours was one of them. We practiced hard, knocking each other around, and even challenged other neighborhoods, sometimes charging admission. There was an obstacle, however, a large willow tree in the end zone at one end of our backyard. 

     During an intense knockdown, drag out game I was the running back. Fourth down and a few short yards for the winning touchdown. With head down, ball tucked securely, and legs pumping, nothing was going to stop me from scoring, except the immovable object, the willow tree linebacker. I was "in the zone" and didn't even see it. Another bump on the head, and a splitting headache. It was obvious my equipment needed to be upgraded!

Francis in upgraded football equipment

Other Neighborhood Games

       One of our favorite made up games was “Annie-I-Over.” Each team would start out with an equal number of players. They would flip a coin to see who went first. The winner could choose either the front yard or the back yard to start. We’d yell “Annie-I-Over”

and throw a tennis ball over the roof to the kids on the other side. If your team could catch the ball before it hit the ground you would attack by running around the house. Anyone you could hit with the ball before they made it safely to the other side was now on your team. In the end the team with the most players was the winner.

         “Kick the Can” was our favorite night game. We could have played all night, but our parents would eventually drag us home kicking and screaming.

Marbles

        At Wasatch School playing marbles was a big deal, an early introduction to gambling I suppose.

“Pots” was my favorite. It was like golf in a way. Taking turns each player would shoot his best marble into a series of holes in the ground. The last hole contained the “jackpot,” a collection of ten or twelve marbles anteed up by the players. Winner take all! The first to shoot his taw into the final hole took home the jackpot. “Snudgees,” in other words thrusting the marble forward with your hand, was a gross violation of the rules. Sometimes the game became so intense that we had to assign a referee to keep fights from breaking out!

WASATCH WILD CATS and OTHER FIFTH GRADE HIGHLIGHTS

EXPELLED FROM SCHOOL

Wasatch Elementary School. Provo, Utah.

    Fifth grade was coming to an end and leaving behind some great memories. I hadn't started out in Mr. Walker's class. The school had intentionally separated me from my pals and hooked me up with Mr. Scofield. My mother made such a fuss about me not having any friends in my new class that Principal Denham conceded and moved me into Mr. Walker’s class with Dick Thomas and company. I’m sure he was thrilled to see me!

        It didn’t take long before Dick Thomas and I were expelled for a day because Mr. Walker "Couldn't take us anymore!" Our constant chattering about things important to us was interrupting his teaching. Despite his warnings we couldn't help ourselves. Baseball WAS more important than his boring lessons. Oops! We had crossed the line. It was the last straw. We had stepped on the one and only nerve he had left! He yelled, "You're both expelled. Go straight home. I'm calling both your parents."

    That was it? Go straight home? We were free for the rest of the day? Whoopee! We would go home alright, straight to Dick's house. His mom was working and wouldn't be there for hours. We could play Indian Ball to our hearts' content! With a broom stick and a whiffle ball we played all afternoon. We had a blast! But it wasn’t long before Dick’s mom came home and I was sent home. Our parents weren’t happy, not one bit. We both learned how to spell “GROUNDED” and our behavior? Well, in baseball terms it went from a strike out to a grand slam.

LOUISVILLE SLUGGER

Genuine Louisville Slugger Baseball Bat.

        Any boy growing up around baseball knew what a Louisville Slugger was. A hardwood bat made for slugging home runs. I was considered somewhat of a baseball expert among my 10 year old peers seeing how my Dad was our Little League coach. So, one day at recess I was teaching a small group of future power hitters how to swing with ultimate gusto when “KAPOW”

I was blindsided by a muscle bound fifth grader practicing his swing. I think the Louisville Slugger insignia is still tattooed on the back of my skull. I stumbled back to the classroom with a giant goose egg and a splitting headache. And what did Mr. Walker have to say you ask? Not a heck of a lot! I think I detected a sly grin as he peeked out from behind his reading book.

THE BIG FIGHT

    There was the fight I had with George Taylor, the recognized fifth grade “tough guy!" His team had made a mistake. They had kicked their ball too close to me as I wandered across the playground. I picked it up and was giving it a quick inspection -- you know, room number, teacher’s name. When I heard, “Hey, kid, give us that ball!” – Well, if they had asked politely. But since they’d shown me no respect, I booted it away from them as far as I could. “Get him George,” his team screamed. George hit me like a pit bull on steroids. 

 

      We fought wildly until teachers stepped in and broke us up. George's nickname, The Terrible Termite, was well deserved. He was only 10 years old, but strong enough to have fought midgets in the WWF. The year rolled along, and by basketball season we were best friends. 

WASATCH  WILD CATS

5th Grade Wildcats Basketball Team. 1956.
[Front Row] Francis Rogers, Mickey Muhstein, Bruce Coles, David Beck, George Taylor:
[Back Row] Steve Summers, Jerry Sutherland, Van Simmons, Coach Max Rogers, Dick Thomas, Les Brown

    By far the best part of 5th Grade was our Wasatch Wildcats basketball team that was coached by my Dad. With the help of George Taylor, Les Brown, Dick Thomas, Bruce Coles, and Dave Beck  we had destroyed the competition and were set to play the Joaquin Giants for the city championship. They weren't called the Giants for nothing. They must have all slid down the "Beanstalk" to go to elementary school!

    At the end of regulation time our teams were tied. It had been a hard fought battle! Now we were face to face at center court, ready for a sudden death fight to the finish. The first team to score would be the champs. Looking up at their five starters left little doubt who would win the tip. Sure enough, they grabbed the tipped ball and were on their way down the court for the winning basket. Their shot went up, bounced from rim to rim and finally rolled off, only to be snagged by another Giant who launched it back up. This time the ball rolled around the edge of the hoop and tumbled off, again into the arms of a tall Giant.

    But Dick Thomas was determined that this ball was not going up again. He snatched the ball away from the would-be-shooter and tossed it out to Bruce Coles who was well on his way to our end of the court. Now we could take our time, get the best shot, and win the game. So we thought! Bruce had other ideas. With visions of heroic glory he streaked down the sidelines followed close behind by an angry herd of charging Giants. We all knew what was coming. His sky hook from the far corner. He rarely made it. In unison we all screamed, "Nooooo!"

     But there was no stopping him. The ball was launched. It floated high above the basket, began its downward arc, and then swished through the hoop touching nothing but net! WE HAD WON! We had won! We had beaten the unbeatable Giants! The Wasatch Wildcats were the city champions, and Bruce Coles' winning shot would be remembered by every Wildcat forever!

March 27, 1956. The Provo Daily Herald.