Whoooeee!

        For many years and from various quarters the rather disconcerting news has been circulating that more than a few Narrows residents are the red-neck type of homo-sapiens. You know--- crude, uncultured, jagged around the edges. Some critics have even depicted our town as the only hole in the world that’s above ground. All such charges are completely groundless and without basis for truth, therefore the record needs setting straight.

         Those unfounded , wild rantings which insinuate we’re an uncouth town has created a totally unfair situation, and the time has come to lay bare some foolish but nonetheless widely-held misconceptions. Only when the air is cleared can truth be known. After all these years the ill-advised and poorly informed will come to the sudden realization that yes---Narz has been home to many debonair, suave, urbane and widely-traveled people. In this present day, and it’s past as well.

         This story goes back to those murky ages past, and had there been such a thing in those days, there can be little doubting the central character in this cast would have been one of those elitist “international jet setters.” Hopefully this story can serve as an illustration in helping to erase  some of those long-held myths. Most probably though it will be ignored and discarded just like so many other instances over these past 50 years when I’ve gone public and offered information I felt could be helpful. I truly thought I was doing a civic-minded duty…

         The time is the early 50’s…Ike has just entered the White House. But the star attraction here is a chap who had been born and reared on Wolf Creek. He’d completed his grade-school education in the Penvir school, passing thru the hallowed halls of that venerable institute with flying colors. During those formidable years his world boundaries were Penvir on the east, and in the far west, Round Bottom---a thriving metropolis 3 miles this side of Rocky Gap, Virginia with a teeming population numbering 33 souls. Only one state, but just think! Areas in 2 counties!

         His graduating from that elementary school alma-mater started in motion a set of circumstances destined to bring sweeping and drastic change into the life of this young man. But he was self-confident, feeling sure he could meet and master any challenge that might loom ahead.

         Further pursuit of higher learning would take him “way off down yonder to Narz”---to the High School located there. For a 14 year old Penvir lad, a “fer stretch” away from home. At first the very thought was frightening and somewhat un-nerving, but those moments of anxiety disappeared in only a few short weeks.

         His freshman year could best be described as a period of adjusting to things foreign and alien, but mostly it passed in uneventful manner. Excepting those two instances when he dared venture out to the downtown business district of Narrows. Getting lost both times, a police escort was needed to return him to the classroom. Shucks man---“that wuz a big place!”

         But his sophomore year! Now that was a cat of an entirely different color. This boy had heard some vague talk about something called football, and decided to try his hand at it. Having been accustomed to tedious farm labor and sawmill work, he was rough-hewn, strong as a bull. He didn’t even break a sweat qualifying for the squad. The coach liked what he saw, as a matter of fact he was tremendously elated. Many years of experience with “them there Wolf Creek boys” let him know that, quite possibly, this latest of a long line might be one of his better “finds.”

         Let it be known here and now that the central character in this story will remain anonymous; revealing his identity would serve no useful purpose. That was my solemn vow to him in getting his O.K. to do this saga   of high adventure.

         And now to the focal point. The year was 1954, and the first two football games of the new season were played in the friendly confines of a home field setting. The third had them going to Galax, which to this lad from Penvir was the same as a journey to “the ends of the earth.”

         Loading aboard a school bus at 3:00 P.M., our globe-trotting figure opted for a seat in the rear. Trembling with anticipation, he looked forward to bright new horizons this day would surely bring. There would be many things to tell family members on his return home.

As that yellow bus approached the bridge spanning New River the

Wolf Creek lad began craning his neck. Man alive!… that body section between shoulders and chin became elongated like a stretchy rubber band!

Egad!…new and unfamiliar territory! Halfway across the concrete span the young man looked down to the turbulent waters of New River, a rampaging body swirling far below.

         Now mister, let me tell you somethin.’ Wolf Creek is wide in places, but at no point could it compare with this. Why hellsfire, this had to be the biggest body of water in the world, and the lad couldn’t restrain himself. Leaping to the center aisle, he shrieked in a voice audible for 4 miles: “Whooopeee! Att- lann –tick Ocean!” He didn’t merely say Atlantic Ocean; he placed great emphasis on each syllable ( which is still, to this very day, his pronunciation for that body of water.).

         Needless to say, the uproar in the rear was an unexpected outburst. The driver quite naturally was distracted, and the bus went careening wildly and bounced off the sidewalk curb 4 times. The violence caused 40 humans to become temporarily dislodged from their seats.                                                       The coach of this football team, Mr. Harry C. Ragsdale, had been at the helm for 23 years, thus was fully aware that each and every fledging season brought with it new and added perils.

         Now, as he pulled himself up from boarding steps of the bus to finally regain his seat behind the driver ( Allen C. McClaugherty) and even before getting his hat re-adjusted, was calling for his two co-captains to come forward. Their first huddle was held even before leaving the corporate-limits of Narrows.

         “Here’s what I want you to do,” the veteran coach told his two leaders. “When we get off this bus in Galax, you two and about 8 others surround that boy…keep him hemmed in. Don’t let him out of your sight for one minute. He might become disoriented, get lost and hurt some innocent bystander. The whole bunch of us could wind up in jail. Have you got that?”

         His two captains, while trying to hide their glee and retain a tad of composure, replied in unison; “Yes sir!”                                                     

         The veteran Narrows mentor listened to giggling and whispers about the ATLANTIC OCEAN all during the grueling 55 miles bus ride. Ordinarily such a mood would not have been tolerated prior to a crucial contest, but then, reflecting back on the incident, a broad grin spread across his own face. Not just once…several times.

         Already he was wondering what next Friday might hold in store. “Certainly,” he said in a muted voice, “I hope it’s at home so we don’t have to cross that bridge.” And it worked out exactly like that.

         A peculiar thing happened in the land of the Maroon Tide that long-ago night. The rising young sophomore from Penvir broke into the lineup. From his guard position he set a school record of 23 solo tackles and 14 assists. Once he straightened up to see an errant enemy aerial spiraling right to his jersey numbers.  Picking it off, he rambled some 45 yards to the end-zone and 6 points. To make it short, he played like some supernatural power had possessed him.

         That sterling performance didn’t go un-noticed, and the person absorbing it most of all was the veteran coach prowling back and forth in front of the Narrows bench. An idea struck him like a thunderbolt from the blue.                                                                                                           

         The game of football is intense and filled with violent contact. The coach of this team had known many seasons, his eyes had been witness to countless hard-hitting contests of gridiron warfare. All that experience hadn't gone for naught...he was foxier than a fox.

         One fact stood glaringly out in front of all others, and this sly coach had long been aware of it. Perhaps more so than any other in his profession. The pertinent fact was, quite pure and simple…not always can it be guaranteed that a superior team loaded with the very best of talent will turn out to be a consistent winner. He recalled the old adage and was a fervent believer---“the ball will many times take a funny bounce.” Especially, he knew, this was true of football. A second idiom then entered into his thinking---“on a given day.” Other words, the rooster on the bottom rung will many times knock the crowing bird from his top roost. Coach Harry C. Ragsdale had seen that happen many times. He’d been on the receiving end of more than a few upsets, and in similar fashion had dished out many.

         The very nature of this coaching job caused him to be dealing with impressionable 17 and 18 year old minds ( they are very easily influenced ). Every coach has his own bag of tricks, and in most of those pokes can be found a commodity known as psychology. In this instance he would later use that psyche in a most advantageous manner.

         Because he followed up, a curious sight unfolded in Narrows every Friday afternoon for the remainder of the 1954 season, and the following two campaigns as well (until the ATT-LANN- TICK athlete from Wolf Creek graduated). A few folks were in on the secret, but a far greater number have been wondering through these many years about the strange happenings lasting nearly 3 years. I think now might be the time to reveal that long-held secret.

         It seems that in those bygone days a lone school bus was observed on Friday afternoons in the vicinity of, and on, New River bridge in Narrows. This sight could be seen around 5:00 P.M., long after all school kiddies had been transported home. And too, this particular scene unfolded only on those crisp autumn afternoons when Narrows was playing football right here before the hometown crowd.

         The really odd thing was the way the vehicle with bold lettering and flashing lights was driven. It would cross the concrete span, turn around on the north side, and return to the railroad station where it did a similar maneuver. About 4 round-trips in all.

         The weirdest thing of all, however, was the way that bus was loaded. Just a driver up front---and a lone figure seated in the rear. The ride across that bridge had once caused the solitary passenger to get really pumped up. It had started his adrenaline to flow in a most profuse manner.

         Coach Harry C. Ragsdale wanted many repeats of the sterling performance this lone passenger once turned in on the alien and hostile environs of a Galax athletic field.

         Each and every Friday --- the wily coach reasoned---the lad from Penvir should be afforded another look at the “AAATT-LAN- TICK OOOH-SHUN!”

         And so, as Paul Harvey would say--- that’s the rest of the story---except for a final paragraph.

         It is my earnest hope this saga will bring to a halt---once and for all times---those foolish notions that “Narz” is a town of redneck hillbillies who’s citizens “ain’t never been nowhere.” A goodly percentage of people who live here have traveled extensively in far-flung places.

The End

M. L. Wilkinson

May, 1987