Seeing Tulsa

What I feared would be a boring day for the girls as their Old Man dragged them around Tulsa saying, "I remember when....we used to....this is where..." all day was instead a day filled with some of the sights of people and they enjoyed it.  Phew!

After a bit of a late breakfast (to come clean, late for me the early riser, probably not so late for those on vacation--breakfast was 9:30 local) at a local diner with Judy Wright and her grandson--Judy being my Dad's cousin's wife, think of her as an aunt since we are talking Tulsa relations, we headed to the Philbrook Museum.  The Philbrook's original building was the home of Waite and Genevieve Phillips, as in Phillips Petroleum.  The 72 room mansion and 23 acres was donated during the Depression to the city of Tulsa as an art museum and center. When we were kids in the '60's my brother, sister and I would go to art classes held in the attic of the mansion.

Today Philbrook is a fabulous museum with Italian art from the 15th Century to modern Native American art.  The tremendous garden has several interesting sculptures and beautiful landscaping.  We arrived before the thermometer hit 90 degrees and the kids did a scavenger hunt finding rubbing-stones at different sites (they were given directions and blank pieces of paper and a crayon, at each rubbing stone they would put the paper on the stone and rub the crayon to get a relief of the picture on the stone).  They enjoyed finding the stones and we enjoyed the walk through the grounds.

Koi pond reflecting gazebo in Philbrook gardens Photo courtesy of Philbrook.org

We then explored the galleries and the kids engaged in another scavenger hunt. The air conditioning of the museum was quite a relief after experiencing the Tulsa summer.

Following the visit to Philbrook we took a driving tour of Tulsa showing the girls where their Opa, my dad, grew up, and very importantly we went to Goldie's.  Goldie's is a mandatory stop for the Smith family on any trip to Tulsa to get what we consider the best burger in the states.  Goldie's is now a franchise operation with several locations, we however go to the original, though much expanded from the original, site at 51st and Lewis.  Also mandatory is enjoying the Goldie's pickle bar.  Like many iconic places, like Dodger Stadium, Goldie's was founded in 1962--sharing the year with a certain someone writing this blog.  Daughter Blaire loves cheeseburgers so I have been waiting quite some time to bring her to our family hamburger mecca.

Blaire becomes another generation of Smith's to
enjoy the Goldie Special with cheese

After lunch we headed north of Tulsa to the Tulsa Air and Space Museum where Glenn Wright, Judy's husband and Dad's cousin and sort of like our uncle in Tulsa relations, is the Executive Director and very much the driving force in getting the museum built and continued operation over the years.  With an F-14 and other planes in the main building, great side exhibits focused on Tulsa's aviation history, from the story of the Tulsamerican, the last B-24 bomber built at the Boeing plant in Tulsa that was shot down during World War II to the bright orange Bell helicopter Glenn once landed in a vacant lot half a block away from where we are now staying, the museum is a terrific site for local and national aviation history.

Meandering back to our digs for a quick change we then enjoyed an leisurely dinner with our hosts Ann and Mickey Wilson, her son Steve Lake and family and Glen and Judy Wright.  A perfect ending to a wonderful day showing off my hometown to my daughters.

How did it go?  Blaire told me, "Tulsa is cool...not the temperature but you know cool." And Jenna told Leslie she did not want to leave, Leslie asked if it was because she didn't want to get in the car for a long trip and she said, no she just liked it and wanted to stay.  Dad's happy the trip went well and the girls did not get tired of the history lessons and trips down memory lanes.

Tomorrow we have a long haul, 650 miles west on I-40, through OKC (home to the Thunder for you Laker fans), Amarillo, Tucumcari and into the Best Western in Albuquerque for a stop over before we head to our final stop before home.

A familiar sign for our family as Dad worked for DX when
lived in Tulsa, when they merged with Sunoco we moved  from
Oklahoma to Philadelphia

It hit 104 degrees in Tulsa today, the restaurant with
West facing doors put napkins on the door handles so you
could open the doors without burning your hands!

My Hometown

Like everyone we have heard about the severe drought in the Midwest and seen the pictures of the depleted corn fields and the ears of corn missing kernels.  Driving through North Dakota, Minnesota and most of Iowa our untrained eyes saw what appeared to be healthy fields of corn, reminiscent of the fields we saw on last year's journey through Nebraska and South Dakota.

As we drove south from Des Moines yesterday we slowly saw more and more yellow and less and less green in the fields until we began to see field after field after field of corn crops that looked like Thanksgiving decorations, yellow and dry.  With severe heat the last month or more and lack of rainfall this part of the corn belt is taking it hard and will take many years to recover financially from their losses on their current crops.

South of Des Moines on Interstate 35 is Kansas City.  To me Kansas City used to mean the Royals and the Chiefs, but today means three words Bar B Cue.  As we were taking a pit stop to fill up and let out north of the city I called the Kansas City Chamber of Commerce.

"Kansas City Chamber of Commerce."

"Hello, we are from California and driving south on I-35 and then will continue south on highway 71 towards Joplin.  Since we are passing through Kansas City we would like to have some barbecue for lunch.  Can you recommend a place near our route?"

"Well we have a rather iconic barbecue you may want to try..."

Before she said it I knew what she was going to say and I started to salivate..."Arthur Bryant's."

Yes! Arthur Bryants! On our route! This is like a baseball fan being told, "yes we do have seats for you...in Yankee Stadium...and you will see a no hitter."  Or a Catholic being told, "yes we do have room for you in Mass...in the Sistine Chapel...and the Pope will conduct the service."

Arthur Bryant is a legend in barbecue and his original restaurant is a mecca for barbecue lovers.  Like me.

Arthur Bryant's

Leslie and I had pulled pork and Blaire had the ribs (Jenna is confused as to whether she is a vegetarian or not since she does not like vegetables, she had bread, pickles and fries--healthy we know).  Everything is served as a "sandwich" which means your meats come with pieces of white Wonder bread.  Delicious is an improper adjective, I'm not sure the English language has a word to properly describe our lunch.

Blaire enjoying her last rib---Dad is so proud!

After KC Leslie took the helm for the drive through southern Missouri as I sat in the "office" and worked on files for clients.

Finally around 4:00 we hit the Missouri-Oklahoma border, I was back in my birth state.  I reminded my daughters of their heritage in the state with their dad, uncle, sister, grandfather, great-grandfather and great-grandmother we all born here.

We arrived in Tulsa around 5:00 and I drove past the house where I grew up, told the girls about the first time I rode my bike, and other childhood stories. We then proceeded to our digs for the next few days, the home of my Godmother Ann Lake Wilson and her husband Mickey and proceeded to chat for hours telling stories and letting the kids soak up their family history.

Today we see the sights of Tulsa and more history lessons for Blaire and Jenna.  It has cooled off some and the thermometer may just crease 100 according to one weather report.

It's feels good to be back home in Tulsa and enjoying the people and places.

Don't Worry About the Chickens...Count Your Eggs!

Tulsa, Oklahoma has some interesting weather. It can get nasty, cold and icy in the winter. Hellaciously hot and humid in the summer. Hail storms and tornadoes or beautiful mild sunny days with soft breezes in spring. I used to think my grandfather Jack invented the phrase, "If you don't like the weather just wait a day, it'll change" describing our weather.

My Mom was from Sacramento and until she married my Dad and moved from Palo Alto and Stanford University to Oklahoma she had never lived anywhere but Northern California--warm, warmer, sunny, sunnier, with an occasional period of mild inclement weather. Married to my Dad she came to know a lot about Midwestern and Southern weather patterns as his career in the petroleum industry took through some of the less populated less populated areas of Oklahoma, Texas and Louisiana in the late 1950s and early 1960s. From a Catholic background with a strong sense of family and traditions, Mom always made sure the holidays travelled with her, where ever home may have been set up at the time.

Sometime around 1965 or 1966 Mom and Dad moved into a new home in Tulsa, having relocated with my older sister Sharon, older brother Michael and me from Oklahoma City. The house would be my third at the ripe age of three or four. It had a great backyard and plenty of room for three kids and whatever kids in the neighborhood were around. A perfect backyard for the Easter Bunny to hide our eggs for a good old fashioned Easter Egg hunt.

Because of the crazy weather patterns in Tulsa in the Spring we never knew when we were decorated our eggs with that vinegary smelling PAAS egg dye stuff whether we would be having an indoor or outdoor egg hunt. So depending on the weather Easter morning, or Easter eve night, we would wake up, grab our baskets and tear through the house or head out to the back yard.

One year, in retrospect it must have been our first or second Easter with good weather, Mom gave our eggs to the Easter Bunny to hide outside because it was very nice spring weather. Sharon, Michael and I--ranging in age from five or six to nine or ten--headed out and starting finding eggs. In the log-cabin playhouse. Under the umbrella (pronounced UM-brella in Tulsa please) on the patio. Between logs in the log pile. On the birdfeeder. Running from spot to spot we looked until we could find no more. We gave the eggs to Mom who would then use the hard boiled eggs for all sorts of gross and disgusting dishes--to this day I cannot bear the site or smell of hard boiled eggs.

Story over. Easter in Tulsa is done.

Not quite.

Tulsa can, and does, get really hot in the summer. A day with hundred degree heat and hundred degree humidity with no rain is not something unique. One summer as Michael and I and our friends played around in the backyard we began to notice a smell. At first we thought it might be a frog that had died from our frog farm (we would scoop frogs eggs out of the pond across the street in a big plastic tub and leave them in the backyard where we would watch them go from eggs to tadpoles to frogs and then there would be none left in the tub but all over the yard). Or maybe some other critter had crawled under the log-cabin playhouse and died. As the summer wore on the smell got worse and worse.

Finally one day a ball or something rolled over by the fence with the neighbors. We went to get it and Phew! The smell was horrible. Being boys we became more curious about what could make such a horrible smell. After a little looking we finally a found the source.

Faded but still distinctly colored by a small child, an Easter Egg that had been in the Tulsa weather, and heat, for several months just rotting away. Evidently we had not found all the Easter Eggs during our fervid hunting back in March or April.

Mom wasn't real thrilled with our discovery, but less thrilled that we brought it to her so she could see, and smell our treasure. From then on Mom knew, always count your eggs before handing them over to the Easter Bunny for hiding and make sure the number found matches the number hid!

Oh, and be careful what gets left out in the Tulsa weather.


DCS 0401210

Visiting Jack

JACK NORTON SMITH


I wrote this story November 4, 1995; kind of rough but I still enjoy the sentiments. I hope you enjoy it. DCS

It had been almost one year to the day since I had last seen Jack. This time I had taken my bride of two months to Tulsa to visit with him, and his wife, in their large home in Tulsa. The weather was exciting, we flew through enormous clouds peppering a deep Midwest autumn blue sky. As soon as we climbed into the rental car I turned on the radio and learned the area was under Tornado Watch. Leslie felt this was an exciting alert, never having had to spend the night sleeping on the couch with her brothers and sisters as mom listened to the radio to see if she needed to bundle us into the bathtub for safety.
On our short drive to Jack's home I felt the nostalgia build as I drove across the town of my birth. Leslie was unusually silent, perhaps sensing my reflection, perhaps merely absorbing the sights along our route. The trees were wearing their autumn colors, branches swirling as the winds became stronger. As we entered Jack's neighborhood, I was pulled between speeding up so that I could see him sooner or slowing down so Leslie and I could enjoy the large homes with their immense yards, so rare in our part of the country, yet so prevalent in Tulsa. I opted for the latter, to please myself and to give my wife a sense of what my birth town was about.
We pulled into the circular drive and knocked on the large door. So many times I had entered this house, with its 1950s design and layout. The by now faded coral, avocado, and gold colors telling of a past time when the home was new and stylish. Jack opened the door, stooped with his age, clutching his keys in his bathrobe pocket, shuffling in his tattered slippers. He smiled that large smile; as I got older and surpassed Jack in size he seemed to physically shrink but his smile seemed to get bigger.
As I hugged him and introduced him to my wife I appraised his deteriorating physical condition. He was thinner, his once thick white hair had thinned considerably as well. He moved very slowly and apparently with caution, stooped and teetering. His face was etched even further marking the map of his life. Physically the man had never been, in my mind, in the best of condition and now he was frail.
What really interested me however, was the state of the man's mind. Jack had always been able to regale us with endless stories of his youth, as well as ours. Life had not always been kind to Jack, but all my life he had always been able to entertain me with stories that inevitably ended with us both laughing. Jack saw humor in many things, and told about them often. This was what I was hoping he would be able to do with Leslie, tell her many of the stories I grew up with.
Jack did not disappoint, he told the stories. A sign of his age entered as he repeated a few, as he misplaced me and my uncle in a few, but for two hours he sat, smoked and spoke. About his family and growing up in Tulsa and Oklahoma at the beginning of the century, about his son and grandchildren, everything I had hoped he would tell her. Leslie listened, questioned and laughed. I was happy, my wife had been able to sit and visit with Jack.
Over the next few days we had several visits with Jack. Fighting the thunderstorms as we made our way the few treacherous miles from where we were staying to his home. Each visit filled with Jack telling stories and Leslie and I listening as we watched the rain pelt the windows and lightening crease the sky. I left Tulsa feeling content that my grandfather had met my wife and that, although aging rapidly, he was still capable of story telling and giving her the history of her husband's family. I had been able to share part of my life, my birthplace, with Leslie and my own stories of living there as a small boy. The feeling stayed with me for a long time, I had visited with Jack.


I was tremendously excited, having trouble concentrating and completing routine tasks. Finally my brother called, waking me in the middle of the night, he told me Jack was with him. I cried and could not go back to sleep. Later that day, as morning broke I kept thinking how much I wanted to see Jack and my brother. Unfortunately my schedule dictated my presence at home to attend to business, causing my mind to wander as to Jack's appearance and well being. I awoke early the next day and quickly showered and dressed. Leaving Leslie I began my drive to Ventura. Similar to my visit to Tulsa last year, it was raining and the traffic was slow. Jack was pulling me through the traffic, across the miles and over the hills. The usual drive was doubled by traffic and after several hours I arrived.
As I walked in the room my brother beamed at me and we did something we never do, we hugged. Not the pat on the back men at times concede to, a real hug. Mike, stepped back and said, "Jack, Dennis is here."
I looked down at him with his body wrapped in hospital garb, eyes shut as he slept, head barely covered with thin hair, and tears welled up in my eyes. This was Jack! How long I had waited for this moment, and here he was. I sat and visited with him for a few hours, most of which he slept through as my brother and I talked and caught up. He appeared healthy for his age, and Mike was excited about his condition saying he would be leaving the hospital later that day. As I left to drive home to tell Leslie about my visit I was elated, the emotion would carry me through the remainder of that day and several to follow. I had visited with Jack.


My dad had called in the spring and told me that Jack had died. It was not a surprise, but a bit of news I did not want to hear. It had touched us before, death. But that was so long ago, another life. I learned about it too abruptly and with too much repetition. High school ended with the death of my mother, freshman year of college with the death of her mother and fall of sophomore year was greeted by the news that mom's brother had died. These were not expected, at least not by a teen ager trying to figure out too many things about life to spend any time thinking about death. Jack's death was not a surprise, but still a shock, and we were able to better understand the tragedy. I was happy that Leslie had visited with him and relieved that his pain and suffering had ended. Our family had become a little less uncomfortable with death, we had experienced this before.

My brother's call that had awoken me to inform me of Jack's arrival had occurred almost one year since I had last seen my grandfather, and about seven months since his death. Jack was the first of the next generation, quite a burden for a little eight pound boy. In a few years he will start hearing the stories of his namesake and from his grandfather, father and uncle. Perhaps one day he will bring his wife to visit my father so he can introduce her and have him tell the stories he had heard growing up.
My excitement and emotion from my brother's call was due to the lack of experience my family has in birth. To this point I was more experienced at losing members of the family instead of gaining them. My older brother, Mike, taught me how to add instead of subtract. What a relief to be crying tears of joy rather than sorrow.
I visited Jack, my grandfather, to introduce my wife and give her a sense of my background. I visited Jack, my nephew, to introduce myself. Life's visits and introductions, from the time of our birth until our death, have purpose.