Poems by Joe


I received avery strange letter today

It was from Wichita Falls and it went on to say

Something about a twenty year reunion or some such junk

and as I read further on, I thought, "God, this is pure bunk"

This must be to the wrong guy, this couldn't be me

Because don't you see, it couldn't have been TWENTY years

To hell you say, damn I just left there yesterday

Just ask me who the starting backfield is

I can tell you their names and their numbers, well gee whiz

I can hear the cheerleaders cheering, losing or winning

Except for George Gilman, who was picking up pennies

Getting apples at pep rallies, the after game hop

Even the smell of yesterdays gym socks

I remember Don Rector, he was really a game sort

Once I asked him for a loan, but he said he was short

I can remember the crowds in the halls

And watching the behind of Rose Marie Defenbaugh

The rush at the  bell when it rang for dinner

Because the spoils and best seats always went to the winners

And what about P4, it's still there I'm sure

And Coach Reed still abides, teaching Trig I, with jokes on the side

And what about Tommy Harbison, our President

Who by the way was elected without my vote or consent

And even Leonard Jeter - the Huckleberry Finn looking football center

And speaking of that, remember the play about Huck Finn

Who played the lead  I thought I'd never forget him

But as I understand, his true life it herald

I'm thinking that guy still lives in a barrel

And Jon Jones, I bet he still has that Chevy he owned

Except when the law had it - it was mostly on loan

And the Senior Dance, Lord you think I was drunk

That poor Richard Humphrey was shit out of luck

And was it hot or not in those rooms, or was it my imagination

I think it was before God invented Refrigeration

Did any of you go to the "Woodseys" they held

Its a wonder the lot didn't end up in jail

And the best looking girls in Texas we had

And the Juniors and Sophomores wasn't half bad

A & W root beers and red draws at P6 or even P5

If the cops didn't catch you and you got out alive

And the guys with the Levis hung low on their ass

The crew cuts and white socks, God that was CLASS

But now that you mention it when I got home

There was grey in my hair and an ache in my bones

And tonight if a good time is held in the balance

I'd just soon stay home and watch the reruns of "Dallas"

So maybe you're right it could have been TWENTY years

But even if its so, let me say this, my dears

My heart will remember you all even while my mind forgets

And I'm caught up with everyday living with the pain and regrets

And my wife and little girl, that take all the time and love

I have in this world

Yet there will always be a little nook in my heart

That the Class of '61 will have as its part

TWENTY Years! to hell you say

Damn I just left there yesterday

by B. J. Molock (Joe)           



Fifty Years

One half of a century?  Now that just couldn't be right!

We can still do the bop, just not so late at night.

And we can still go to the Canyon to yell, cheer and holler.

The Skyline Drive Inn south of town only costs a dollar.


Five Decades?  You must be kidding me!

We studied math, economics and world history.

We can tell time, man, we've seen it all go by.

Let's all go down to P4 and have a little cry.


Six hundred months!  My, that's a long, long time!

Rider? Hirschi?  Sorry son, those names don't come to mind.

We were the last of the greatest high school ever!

Don't know if that makes us smart, or just a little clever.


Eighteen thousand two hundred and fifty days!

That puts a different perspective on it, is all that I can say.

How did we manage to stay so young and beautiful, huh?

Cause we were in the right place at the right time, duh?


Fifty Years!  The years went by so, so fast!

We are so damn proud to be a member of this class.

And when the years run out and our time on earth is done,

we can get by Peter at the Golden Gate by shouting, "Class of '61!"     

                                                                                         by B. J. Molock