Idle American: Same song, second verse

It should come as no surprise to those of us who have reached “geezerhood” that our ear drums are challenged annually by random sounds - from up and down, here, there and all around.

It’s the sounds of New Year’s resolutions crashing against the floor. Sometimes we cry, creating a tear-filled pond enroute to becoming an ocean.

Like comic strip character Charlie Brown always “flubbed” in his football-kicking attempts, we blunder each New Year on the resolution thing. And, thinking we are made of stuff, we fail again. But, at least we try.

Maude, my Uncle Mort’s bride, also tasted defeat early on, and it wasn’t even New Years. Still a teen, she dreamed of a career in sales. She tried selling cosmetics door-to-door as her boss watched nearby. On her very first call, the responding lady said, "I love beauty."

“So do I,” Maude replied. “I can barely wait for every sunrise and sunset, when ribbons of color compete for brightness. I look forward to seeing springtime’s first robins. Roses and daffodils catch my eye, as do flocks of geese, flying in formation on a beautiful fall afternoon. I love to watch ripples in the stream, and on good days, see frogs frolic and water bugs skitter about, as if intent on making the pond even more beautiful.” Abruptly, the prospective customer interrupted. “Why do I need cosmetics? I’ll just look around and claim free beauty like you do!”

That was “the short of it” for Maude. Similarly, Benny Mayo, a college classmate and long-time friend, didn’t spend long in the profession he trained for. For him, the “short of it” was learning to play the guitar at age 13, running track in high school and college and winning the Texas Electrical Company’s statewide talent contest in 1954.

He was one of the “main hoots” at Howard Payne University in Brownwood. Guitar in hand, and songs at the ready, he was as well known in student circles for his talent, then someone might say, “And he runs track, too?”

I heralded from Early and he from Winters, so we could swap country stories until the cows considered meandering home, but, with his musical talents, girls flocked to him.

He majored in education, planning to teach and coach. When he finished college, he and his late wife of 60 years, the former Saundra Snipes, moved to Comanche, where they expected to settle in. She’d continue working for the phone company and he’d have numerous coaching roles at Comanche High School. But, full-time Christian service beckoned, so it was on to seminary, then 57 years on church staffs - mostly in Dallas - until his retirement eight years ago. She died at age 77 in 2016. They have two daughters, Penny Varian of Georgetown, and Kitty Ynterna of Atlanta, Georgia, as well as eight grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren. (It should be noted that Saundra was a basketball star at Early High School.)

Now 91, Benny still handles life “sunny side up,” even if he has to look under rocks. When his doctor sees him coming, he knows a familiar verbal exchange must occur before getting down to business.

“How you doing, Benny?” Answer: “I’m four days older than Elvis, and still vertical and ventilating,” Benny laughs.

They still love him at the church, even though his official duties are completed.

Benny remembers when Elvis came to Brownwood, long before his was a household name.

“We had front-row seats, and Saundra caught several drops of Elvis’ sweat,” Benny teases. “She didn’t shower for a week.”

Elvis was about 3 years old when I was born, and when he was featured at the Brownwood concert, I’d have gone if I’d had the 50-cent admission charge.

Uncle Mort never heard tell of Elvis until he saw him in a news reel they had in movie theaters decades ago. Upon Elvis’ wiggling and shaking, Mort was shocked. “When our hound dogs acted up like that, we gave ‘em worm medicine.”

Dr. and Mrs. Newbury reside in the Metroplex. Speaking inquiries, newbury@speakerdoc.com, phone 817-447-3872.

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