Spittin’ image of the ’72 Plymouth Satellite Custom Sedan they used at Jim Bowie High School, “home of the Fightin’ Knives,” back in the day back in Fort Stockton. The graduating class was so small they used the Plymouth for Sex Education classes and Driver’s Ed.
Coach Dunwoody taught both in an effort to reduce faculty expenses, and in light of the fact that the Jim Bowie Knives finished last in District for the twelfth year in a row. “Coach,” Principal Pough said as he shut the door to his office, “despite the fact that your brother-in-law is Chairman of the School Board, we’re going to have to see an improvement in football scores, a higher percentage of students actually getting their driver’s licenses, and a a drop in the teen pregnancy rates here at the school or we’re going to have to look at making some serious changes in the program here at JBHS. The community is starting to complain. About the only thing that will call off the dogs is winning District in football this year.”
Coach Dunwoody took the news hard. This warning seemed different than all the others. More specific. Jim Bowie High School hadn’t won district since 1947. He went back to his office behind the wood shop and sat at his desk, just staring at the wall. And then it hit him. The poster he’d hung on the wall to cover up the January ’72 Playboy centerfold spoke to him as though Marilyn Cole was talking to him, herself.
“WHEN THE GOIN’ GETS TOUGH, THE TOUGH GET GOIN’,” it said. And that was the motivation he needed.
Folks saw the Gold Leaf Metallic Satellite all over town, all hours of the day. A driving student would be behind the wheel, Coach Dunwoody riding shotgun, three starters from the varsity football team in the back seat. While the driver would be learning the nuances of parallel parking the ponderous Plymouth, Coach would be going over the playbook with the players in the back, particularly Kyle “Cannon-Arm” O’Keefe, the new quarterback that had transferred in from Crane over the summer.
Three games in, the Knives were undefeated. Folks at the Piggly Wiggly were calling it a fluke. The Stockton Telegram-Dispatch actually started covering the games again. The first crop of students from Drivers Ed all passed their test over at the For Stockton DMV, even the foreign exchange student from New Zealand who drove on the left side of the road all the way from the Piggly Wiggly to the Rusty Hammer Hardware Store. Luckily, Mr. Trollsbottom had enjoyed a nip of two before the driving portion of the test and had nodded off during that part of the test.
Six games in and assured a spot in the playoffs, things went south.
Cannon-Arm O’Keefe took up with a junior girl sitting next to him in Typing class, Kitty Purvis. The only reason he took the class was for the easy A that would keep him above the minimum GPA for eligibility. But then love struck. Cannon-Arm started missing practices. His new love interest wound up skipping more periods than her Smith-Corona. Both were expelled by the time Cannon-Arm had been given a new nickname referencing a different appendage.
The School Board followed through on the threat and Coach Dunwoody was forced to pack his gear. His brother-in-law had enough pull to award him the Plymouth Satellite as part of his “separation package”.
Every story has a happy ending, though. The governor heard about his success in turning around the football program and put him in charge of ERCOT, the Electric Reliability Council of Texas.
It sure was hot this past summer.
11 responses to “TURNING THINGS AROUND”
A dedicated fan says he’s not able to post a comment on the blog for some reason. (Any ideas why that might be? I haven’t been able to figure it out for him.) But he made this comment:
I had an EXACT copy of the Plymouth…..if this one has the 318. I called it my Dirty Harry car because of the obvious similarity to Harry Callahan’s cop car. Bought it in 1984 for $1750. It had just been traded in by the proverbial “little old lady” who only drove it to the grocery store (and maybe church). It had less than 18K miles on it; but she wanted something smaller. I hate four door cars; but that one was a dang good one. It had well over 125K on it when it started having electrical problems. I had it so long that I was just tired of looking at it. Had a junk yard tow it away. I think I got $50 for it.
The Captain said: “A dedicated fan says he’s not able to post a comment on the blog for some reason. (Any ideas why that might be? I haven’t been able to figure it out for him.)”
If the fan received an error note “Nonce Verification Failed” in the box where his comment had been, the e-mail address he used to post the comment, did not match with the associated name in the database that had been used during the previous posting.
In the late 70’s, I had one just like this. Same Gold color.
An old used(up) Cop Car with the suspension so tired the front tires had more Camber that a Stock Car at Bristol.
I lived in the Houston Heights and worked for an old guy painting houses. Every day he’s drop me off at the Ice House on North Shepherd Dr and I’d walk home after a few Lone Stars.
One day he pulled into the Used Car Lot across from the Beer Joint and said he was tired of hauling me around. “That’s your Gold Plymouth right there. You Owe me $100. I bought it this morning”
Classic story.
Back in the college days (UofH), we lived in apartments on Yale @ W.17th. I had a summer job on N. Shepherd.
Wishing the Captain and all the crew here a happy and safe Thanksgiving. Hope you all have a enjoyable time with family and friends.
dbCooper
“…you’ve gotta ask yourself a question: “Do I feel lucky?” Well, do ya, punk?”
Whoops, Harry Callahan’s Plymouth Satellite Custom Sedan was a ’74.
As a “College Prep” high school student in the late 1950s with good, but not exemplary grades, it was obvious to all that college scholarship offers would be based not upon academic excellence, but rather outstanding performance on my trumpet – and such was the case throughout my college career. I had also looked into taking either the Commercial or Personal Typing courses, but had been cautioned against messing up my trumpet finger action on a typewriter. “Hunt and Peck” still works with a grand total of three or four fingers at a time, but with agonizingly minimal speed. Never having the opportunity to observe typing students in class, I nevertheless gained an appreciation for breath control, fingering, and other forms of feminine stamina during four years of Regional and All-State Orchestra and Concert Band rehearsals and performances – several of whom went on to international musical performance acclaim. Several of the guys also were also superstars through their careers, and we maintained professional friendships.
Enjoyable Thanksgiving to all, as we appreciate, and maybe think back to the “Four Freedoms”,
Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s 1941 State of the Union Address, commonly known as the “Four Freedoms” speech. In it he articulated a powerful vision for a world in which all people had
Freedom of Speech,
Freedom of Religion,
Freedom from Want,
Freedom from Fear.
It was delivered on January 6, 1941 and it helped change the world
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Four_Freedoms_(Rockwell)
Gosh! That tale rings so many bells. My dad was a “learnacater” (as they call them here in TX), a drivers’ Ed instructor, and a coach. He too felt the sting of finding new opportunities if his teams didn’t live up to the rosy beliefs the parents had of their children’s abilities. No matter if the basketball center was 4′ tall, had only one arm, and was a polio survivor, it was the coach’s fault if the team didn’t win State. It did give my sisters and me lots of chances to make new friends in new towns. On the other hand dad had lots of winning seasons. In those years his public acclaim would even rub off on his scrawny kid (me). It wasn’t exactly like the boast of a world leader that, “I could stand in the middle of Fifth Avenue and shoot somebody, and I wouldn’t lose any voters, OK?”, but I did get away with a lot in those winning years. In typing class I too was seated next to a young woman that radiated beauty rays and had an AMAZING chest. In class I gave them so much supervision that I too didn’t attain an easy “A” in the subject. For whatever failing of intellect and character my dad and I have shared, at least we’ve never carried the stench of being a member of ERCOT.
Hey BTW, what has happened to the COTW?
Benard Marx
You’ll have to take up COTW with Lucinda. I tried to ask her about it and she got snippy.
Whatever word press is … its sending people away!