Stories about Gaffney and It's Historic Football Stadium
Click on the following link to put my stories in perspective. And be sure to read the first comment for the story I submitted for publication to the Gaffney Ledger in response to their features Friday Nov 3 and this front page article from October 18, 2006.
www.gaffneyledger.com/news/2006/1018/front_page
Original blog of Monday Nov 6
Stay with me here cause this could be a rich post if I am able to eloquently convey the stories I have all tangled up in my head about Gaffney. I have a professional monitor, couple in fact, so you may want to come back to this post over the next 6 weeks or so to see a work in progress.
I have just sent a letter to the Gaffney Ledger for publication that I hope to copy and paste for this blog by the end of the day. It will give some context to the next story.
Spring of 1984 the Fox family had been exiled down to Zebulon Georgia and a little Country church, Beulah on the Molena HWY. For the most part, like other places, lot of grand folks there, colorful, warm, beneficent and good hearted.
But my goal about the whole time was to find a way to get back up to Rome, Georgia, my Dad's hometown where my Grandmother Fox was still living, cause they had a great area public tennis scene there and I was having more fun in my thirties than I ever imagined possible the way things looked when we exitted Knoxville, Tn just a few years earlier.
So we're--Mom and Dad and me (Bob Newhart was 29 years old before he left home)-- sitting there one Sunday afternoon surrounded by cows and ponds in a very nice pastorium for a church of the size, and there is a knock on the door and it is Wayne Whiteside and Doc Brumbach and their wives from GAffney. They had been to Callaway Gardens for the weekend and we were only about 45 minutes east of there roughly on the way back to Gaffney for them if you wanted to drive through the countryside.
Patsy and Mrs. Brumbach are telling Momma what a lovely pastorium and view we have, and Dr. Brumbach says, Billy let's go out and take a look at your garden.
So Dad and Coach Whiteside, Doc Brumbach and me head out not too far in the backyard for Dad's garden and we get out there and Brumbach says: "Pardon me, Preacher, but if I see another damn flower today I think I'm gonna lose it." Cracked me and Daddy up, Whiteside smiles, and it was great to have some visitors.
As you will see from my contextual letter, all this is spurred by the end of an era in Gaffney, the close of the historic and legendary football stadium there that had a run of 70 years. It is getting wide play in Gaffney with special tribute sections in the local papers.
Whiteside's head coach, Bob Prevatte; Prevatte's wife had some honest stories in the tribute amid all the puff, lot of it credible and true, and it was her truth telling that inspired me to offer a few tales.
In the letter I hope is published in the Ledger, I invited readers to visit my blog here for some added stories.
First time visitors to this blog may want to see my story on the GHS class of 71, in the Fight Him with Words thread below.
SFox, Nov 7, day before the Midterms, 2006
www.gaffneyledger.com/news/2006/1018/front_page
Original blog of Monday Nov 6
Stay with me here cause this could be a rich post if I am able to eloquently convey the stories I have all tangled up in my head about Gaffney. I have a professional monitor, couple in fact, so you may want to come back to this post over the next 6 weeks or so to see a work in progress.
I have just sent a letter to the Gaffney Ledger for publication that I hope to copy and paste for this blog by the end of the day. It will give some context to the next story.
Spring of 1984 the Fox family had been exiled down to Zebulon Georgia and a little Country church, Beulah on the Molena HWY. For the most part, like other places, lot of grand folks there, colorful, warm, beneficent and good hearted.
But my goal about the whole time was to find a way to get back up to Rome, Georgia, my Dad's hometown where my Grandmother Fox was still living, cause they had a great area public tennis scene there and I was having more fun in my thirties than I ever imagined possible the way things looked when we exitted Knoxville, Tn just a few years earlier.
So we're--Mom and Dad and me (Bob Newhart was 29 years old before he left home)-- sitting there one Sunday afternoon surrounded by cows and ponds in a very nice pastorium for a church of the size, and there is a knock on the door and it is Wayne Whiteside and Doc Brumbach and their wives from GAffney. They had been to Callaway Gardens for the weekend and we were only about 45 minutes east of there roughly on the way back to Gaffney for them if you wanted to drive through the countryside.
Patsy and Mrs. Brumbach are telling Momma what a lovely pastorium and view we have, and Dr. Brumbach says, Billy let's go out and take a look at your garden.
So Dad and Coach Whiteside, Doc Brumbach and me head out not too far in the backyard for Dad's garden and we get out there and Brumbach says: "Pardon me, Preacher, but if I see another damn flower today I think I'm gonna lose it." Cracked me and Daddy up, Whiteside smiles, and it was great to have some visitors.
As you will see from my contextual letter, all this is spurred by the end of an era in Gaffney, the close of the historic and legendary football stadium there that had a run of 70 years. It is getting wide play in Gaffney with special tribute sections in the local papers.
Whiteside's head coach, Bob Prevatte; Prevatte's wife had some honest stories in the tribute amid all the puff, lot of it credible and true, and it was her truth telling that inspired me to offer a few tales.
In the letter I hope is published in the Ledger, I invited readers to visit my blog here for some added stories.
First time visitors to this blog may want to see my story on the GHS class of 71, in the Fight Him with Words thread below.
SFox, Nov 7, day before the Midterms, 2006
posted by foxofbama | 8:54 AM
1 Comments:
Letters for Publication
The Gaffney Ledger
Gaffney, South Carolina
The Editors:
I was in Gaffney the weekend of Nov 4 for the funeral of my friend Allen Dawkins, visiting the Upstate for the writer Tim Tyson of Blood Done Sign my Name event at Furman Nov 8. As an aside I join former Duke Chaplain and Wofford Grad, now North Alabama UMC Bishop Will Willimon in commending Tyson's book to all of you.
I picked up a copy of the Friday Ledger and thoroughly enjoyed the Tribute to the Reservation section. But I wasn't all Glory.
EVerybody who knows me now or knew me then knows I did not play football at Gaffney. I played Trombone and I'm proud of it. But I do have one "Reservation" story I want to share and intend to blog a few more you can easily find in a few days just googling up all one word "asfoxseesit". If the Ledger finds any of those noteworthy, feel free to publish them as well. I would be honored. I think you will especiallly like the one about the time Coach Whiteside and Patsy, Dr. Brumbach and his wife stopped by to see us in Zebulon Georgia after a trip to Callaway Gardens.
But here is my story. It's a rank cold day in Gym Class 2nd period Feb 69. I honestly remember it being in the 20's. Coach Whiteside is the PE teacher; he comes in the locker room and says there are some golf clubs in that closet under the stairs, yall go in there and get em and get some balls and go out there under the scoreboard and work on drives. I'll be out there to check on you before the period is over. Maybe he named one of us in charge that day, of activities, I can't remember
So we all amble out there. About 40 minutes later, 5 minutes before the bell rings. Whiteside comes out. All the class except me and Rajesh and a few other boys had scattered to various parts of the football field. We're out there about numb in the cold and Whiteside says: Fox, is that Arthur Frady down there under the visitor's stands, smokin.
I said I think so, Coach.
He says, you're in the Band aren't you. See if you can name this tune.
So Whiteside nails this 60 yard drive down into those old wooden visitors stands and Frady is deep with some other boys in the stands holdin his cigarette with the lit end in his palm like the guys did who smoked in the bathroom trying to hide it.
When the ball started bouncing in those stands, Rat tat, tat, Frady clamped down on the cig and burned himself, kinda tried to jump out of there, hit his head on one of foot ramps, as he was getting out.
When he kinda got his composure, Whiteside hollered off the Hill: "Frady, you weren't smokin down there, were you?" And Frady said oh No Sir, Coach.
And Whiteside Said: "I didn't think so."
That is my favorite Reservation Story. I did not have a chance to get waivers on it from ARthur Frady before I sent it, but I think it is one he cherishes as well, and for sure will never forget.
Stephen Fox
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