(A tale from 2015 by Publisher Emeritis Bill Cooke.)
An old classmate of mine from Rock-a-dale High in the 1950s, Ken Harris, is a retired band director living in Crawford after a successful career directing bands and writing arrangements used by school stage bands all across the country.
In our RHS days, he was a gifted musician, could play darn near any instrument, but was also strong as an ox and a stellar two-way tackle on the football team.
He got his music education degree at Southwestern University in Georgetown. We both lived in the ancient men’s dorm, Mood Hall. I had walked on the basketball team and was lucky enough to make the traveling squad. All the athletes lived on one side of old Mood Hall and the musicians were on the other side.
Ken’s musician buddies would take him over to the athletes’ side and challenge the jocks to arm-wrestle him. He never lost, and the athletes couldn’t believe a musician kept putting ‘em down so handily.
Back in high school, we were over at Caldwell our senior season when we both had the distinction of getting clocked on the same play by one Charlie Krueger who went on to All-America honors at Texas A&M and a long career as an All-Pro lineman with the San Francisco 49ers.
I was running back a kickoff (Caldwell kicked off frequently that night) and Ken threw a body block at Mr. Krueger who ran through it and tackled me. Ken sustained a dislocated elbow and my nose was slightly rearranged.
Rearranged noses were common in those dark ages before they put face masks on helmets (which they did the very next year). But dislocated elbows were not common. Ken never missed a game, playing the rest of the season, offense and defense, with a big brown leather brace.
It was Ken who got me into playing the drums. Our senior year he organized a band, Kenny Harris & the Dixies. It is one of the biggest favors anybody every did for me. I still enjoy playing in jazz and country groups, although the setting up, tearing down and the hours get more difficult with age.
My year as a college basketball bench warmer was fun, but my fun doubled when the jazz band drummer flunked out at mid-term and I inherited the job.
The jazz band played behind the Pirate bench at home games, so during timeouts I would climb over the rail in my warmups and play drums.
Since I sat on the end of the bench, the coach never noticed my absence. I mean, what was he going to do, yank the scholarship that I didn’t have?
That was a fun year. Next year I was at North Texas State College (now UNT) pursuing a journalism degree. Best move I ever made. There I was to meet one Peggy Sue Adams—my Pegaroo.
When she and I got married Dec. 21, 1957 in Crandall, Texas, Ken Harris stopped whipping the Southwestern athletes arm-wrestling long enough to sing The Lord’s Prayer at our wedding.
Ken and I have stayed in touch over the decades, and still occasionally get to make music together. Good friendships just keep on keeping on, and that’s really a nice thing.
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