There once was a town
Of such great renown
The other schools dreaded to play.
One must search far and wide
For such spirit and pride
And winning tradition today.To have lived and learned
With a heart that burned
To be "always the best", we'd sing,
"May we rise to the skies",
Keep our eyes on the prize
In whatever life may bring.
We were happy and blessed
To have lived in the best,
A small, close community,
Neither poor, neither rich,
Yet we all found our niche
In that classless society.
Each house was the same,
White shingled, wood frame,
Front porch, elm trees, and a lawn.
When at someone's home,
There was no need to roam
Their house in search of the john.
We knew all our neighbors
Who helped with our labors,
Good, friendly folks, and upright.
No crime to endure,
A place safe and secure,
Our doors were unlocked at night.
We often would rant
How the stink from the plant
Would cause us to gag and sputter.
But despite all that smell,
We knew all too well
The same was our bread and our butter.
Our bicycles we'd take
And ride in the wake
Of white smoke the trucks would spray.
Plus asbestos in the ceiling,
And plant gas we were breathing.
Small wonder we are alive today!
When Fridays rolled around,
We were stadium bound
To watch the Hawks play and the band.
Sometimes chilled to the bone,
Yet we cheered our team on.
Warmed up at the concession stand.
From amid the throng,
We sang the school song,
When the game had come to an end.
We were happy and loud
And mighty darn proud
That the Hawks had just won again! |
No collarless shirts
Nor knee-showing skirts,
Dress code for those days back then.
No chewing gum or sass
Nor talking in class,
Things we look back on and grin.But we had the best school,
Teachers, too, as a rule,
To equip us for life we were told,
And for college...for most,
Of which Kimmins would boast.
Things clearly seen now we're old.
The blackboard, the slide rule,
The hawk in the vestibule,
You'd think forever would last.
Typewriters, fountain pens,
Paddles that bust rear ends,
Like the school, are ghosts of the past.
Our band, cream of the crop,
Was very hard to top
At ball games, contests, and concerts.
But what set us apart,
Wasn't our flair or our heart...
The other bands' twirlers wore skirts!
At Enid's music fest,
Our band fared the best,
Sweepstakes could not be denied.
Hotel capers were a blast,
Which left many aghast!
The sponsors were fit to be tied.
Summer days at the pool,
A great way to keep cool,
No worries or cares in sight.
Then off to the park
Where we played til dark,
We did see our parents at night.
We hiked in the canyons
With fellow companions
To find treasures, and to explore.
Watched shooting stars at night,
Wish I may, wish I might,
Could relive those times once more.
There were many of us,
Who would pile on the bus,
From the park to the Morley we'd go.
On one measly thin dime,
We had such a great time
With our friends at the picture show. At Garrett Little League Field,
On ball skills we were drilled.
Lots of practice, the name of the game.
"Throw it 'round the horn!"
And "It's a can of corn!",
You could hear Mr. George exclaim. |
Then along came the fair,
Most everyone was there,
Lots of booths from which to pick.
Had our first-time big thrill
From top the high Ferris wheel.
The tilt-a-whirl, though, made you sick!
Park picnics, knock-knock jokes,
Comic books, vanilla cokes,
And homemade strawberry ice cream.
Firecrackers, Free Fair week,
Red rover, hide-and-seek,
These seem like only a dream.
We were oblivious, sad to say,
Of the privilege ours that day.
Yes, Phillips was one of a kind.
Having seen life elsewhere
To which we now can compare,
How could we have been so blind?
Bad things happened as well,
Explosions scared the hell
Out of folks, when the plant went kaboom!
On one cold wintry morn
The whole town was all torn
By the Big One that sealed its doom.
Now "Once a Blackhawk,
Always a Blackhawk",
It's been said many times, many ways.
"Birds of a feather
Will flock together".
The adage still holds true today.
The town is no more,
But we've memories galore
And homecoming each year to share.
With old friends we gather,
Who else had we rather
Be with as these times grow rare.
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