“Sometimes this old farm feels like a longlost friend, Yes, and hey, it’s good to be back home again.” ‘Back Home Again’ song lyrics by John Denver (1943-1997) Thoughts of skipping town for a long weekend are looming in the back of my mind again. Weekend trips are therapeutic at a small newspaper when finding time for a whole week’s vacation is like looking for a needle in a haystack.
My first thought was about heading north to Mount Pleasant. Something about where we grow up never leaves us. Doesn’t matter how long we’ve been away or where we’re calling home now. Except for those five years in the Hill Country burg of Boerne, I’ve lived and/or worked in Center since 1978. That’s 39 years compared to 14 in Mount Pleasant where I entered fifth grade, graduated from high school, and lived during college years.
Then there’s this ongoing thing between my childhood hometown and my adopted hometown. They keep connecting with each other. The first time I set foot in Center, about 1975, I had never even seen the city limits sign. And that trip was without any intention of staying. I just came to town for lunch. While editor at The Sabine News in Many, La., Tenaha was a frequent stop because both newspapers were owned by Lloyd Grissom. With the mention of lunch one day, someone said, “Call the Sonic down at Center.” So, I did and was subsequently sent to get it.
“My boss wants to know if you are Leon Aldridge from Mount Pleasant,” the car hop said. Thinking I knew no one in Center, I jokingly responded, “Yes … unless I owe your boss money.”
When Mount Pleasant native Leroy Newman came out to say ‘hello,’ I learned I had a friend in Center and didn’t know it.
As destiny dealt her cards, just three years later I was living in Center. During a weekend trip “back home” to mom and dad’s house in Mount Pleasant, my sister, Sylvia, and I were catching up. “I met two sweet little ladies in Snyder that used to live in Canter,” she said.
“What’s their names,” I asked? She recalled that they lived in Center in the early 30s and taught dance. As the story goes, their father was a vaudeville dancer in the 20s. When G the depression era put him out of work, the family settled in Shelby County where a dance studio put food on the family table.
“They’re the cutest things,” Sylvia added. But she couldn’t come up with a name.
“I’ll ask Mattie at the office Monday,” I said. “She’ll know who they are. Probably knew them when they lived in Center.”
Saturday morning in downtown Mount Pleasant, a crowd of runners was stretching and warming up in the parking lot of a local bank. I scanned faces, looking for old friends. I recognized two, but they belonged in Center.
Getting ready to run was my Sonic buddy, Leroy from Center. With him was Cecil Jones, minister at a Center church. But the Center and Mount Pleasant connection that weekend didn’t end there.
Sunday morning at Southside Church of Christ, a familiar voice asked, “Do you ever see my brother down there in Center?” It was Vernon Bailey, a guiding influence throughout my youth. He extended a hand to shake. I grabbed it and asked, “Who is your brother?”
“Leo Bailey,” he said. “Sure,” I acknowledged. “He brings in senior citizen news to the paper. I guess we just haven’t discovered that Mount Pleasant connection yet.”
The tale of two cities doesn’t stop there, either.
A few years later, Steve Waters entered Center’s banking business scene. Steve attended school in Mount Pleasant, where his father was a minister at the Methodist Church. We shared Mount Pleasant memories before I found that friend’s wedding anniversary mention on social media. The one with a photo of that ceremony I attended at the Methodist church in the mid-1970s. The discovery did certify, however, the connection when Steve’s father was spotted in the picture as the minister who married my friends.
Maybe I’ll go “back home” again if I can get away. Although time or life has taken my parents and many of my friends from the Northeast Texas city where I grew up, that memory call thing kicks in regularly.
I see friends. I cruise the streets to see what’s changed. I scare up memories by driving through old neighborhoods. I visit the cemeteries. Yes, it’s still good to go back home again.
And who knows, I might find someone there from Center.
BY LEON ALDRIDGE
