Pinky Thin Skin

Most rural areas in the Midwest have county fairs but Murray was not the county seat so we had our own celebration -- the Murray Jamboree. It was a two day affair usually, and one of the highlights was a public wedding. I don’t know how they picked the couple, but the young pair would be chosen and all of the costs of the wedding would be paid -- gown, flowers, reception, honeymoon. It was a real honor to be chosen and provide the entertainment for the Jamboree.

For the promoters, it was probably cheaper than hiring professional entertainment. The money was raised by selling lottery tickets -- a chance on a team of horses. Yes, even as late as the early 40s, horses were still being used in farming and a valuable prize to win.

The one other vivid memory of the Jamboree was the year I was riding the Ferris wheel when I realized it was past my curfew. I bolted from the ride and ran lickity-split for home. The Jamboree was held on one square block of city park and a single strand of wire enclosed it. In my haste to get home I hit the edge of the park at full speed and the wire was just the right height to catch me in the Adam’s apple. Needless to say, the blow decked me and I was unable to speak for several minutes and my excuse for being late fell on deaf ears at home. Perhaps, my nickname, Alibi Ike, had something to do with it. That nickname was coined because I always had an excuse when I was late.

And I was late lots because I loved to play croquet on the town’s public course. I have never seen one like it since living in Murray and in visiting there several years ago, I noticed the area was grown up in weeds. The area was surrounded by a wood barrier and the ground covered by sand, which was rolled out daily to insure a smooth surface. The standard wooden mallets and balls used on a lawn croquet court were not employed. Instead, hard rubber balls and short mallets with a fiber striking surface were used. The town’s retirees all played but when school let out, they would let us take over and then bet on the outcome of a particular match. Consequently, I would lose track of time and be late for supper. Thus, the Alibi Ike nickname.

I did pick up another nickname which remained with me the entire time we lived in Murray. I was very light skinned and blond and therefore highly susceptible to getting sunburned. One of my friends called me Pinky Thin Skin, later shortened to just Pinky. I think if I walked in to Murray today and anyone was still alive who knew me, they would say “Hi, Pinky.”

Our school did not have a band but we did have a town band that played each Saturday night in the town square. It was directed by Doc Fuller, a veterinarian. My family couldn’t afford an instrument, so I chose percussion to learn, since they were provided. Marcheta played the French horn for the same reason. Doc Fuller led the band from a motorized wheel chair -- simply an easy chair with batteries mounted in the rear and wheels under each arm. A wheel with a curved bar for guiding was in the front so what you had was the forerunner of today’s three-wheel golf cart. He was paralyzed in the early 1930s when he was shot as a member of a posse chasing a criminal -- but that is another story.

We played at outdoor concerts during the summers but sometimes performances would be in the school gym. Doc Fuller would have to be carried in to direct and that left his motorized wheel chair outside. That was too tempting for youngsters (myself included because I was not a part of the indoor concerts) and we got a thrill from riding that chair around the parking lot. I’m sure Doc Fuller knew why his batteries ran down sooner than usual during those periods.

The school did have both boys’ and girls’ basketball teams. I was too young but both my sisters were starters on the half court, six-girl style of Iowa ball at that time. Marcheta was 5’ 10” and played post. Rose Marie was about 5’ 4” and played on the guard end of the court. Her claim to fame was her scrappiness. She fouled out (four was the maximum in those days) before the end of the first quarter in one game. Some of my fondest memories were waiting for the girls to come home after a game and sitting around the kitchen table talking about it with our parents.