October 16, 2021 began when Tom’s alarm rang at 7:00am. A little less than two hours later, the three of us were headed to school – even though it was Saturday. My photographer had waited an extra day to visit the two Midland schools once attended by George W. Bush; primarily to avoid potential interaction with students.
Sam Houston Elementary School was located roughly five miles east of the Hilton Garden Inn and was situated only a handful of blocks from the George W. Bush Childhood Home. After Vicki drove our Jeep into the school’s parking lot at roughly 9:30am, Tom carried me to the front of the elementary school where I posed for several images. I thought it was a brilliant idea on my photographer’s part to visit the school on Saturday as we had the front of the building to ourselves. While the exterior of the building looked like dozens of other elementary schools I had seen in the past, that particular school was where George W. Bush first learned to read and write. But there was more to the Bush story at Sam Houston Elementary than just his education.
As I stood near the front entrance to the school where Tom snapped a few pictures, it was as though I could see young “Georgie” Bush as he ran out to his parent’s green Oldsmobile after it had pulled into the school’s gravel driveway. The future 43rd President and a friend had been carrying a Victrola from his second-grade classroom to the principal’s office when he spotted his parent’s car through an open doorway. Bush told his teacher: “I’ve got to go. My mother and father and Robin are here.” As Georgie got to the car and looked in, he saw his parents, but not Robin; she had passed away two days earlier in NYC from leukemia. It was inside that car, in front of Sam Houston Elementary, where George W. Bush learned that his beloved sister had died at the age of three.
Following Robin’s death, it was as though young Bush grew up quicker than most children his age. Georgie spent the next year or so caring for his mother while his dad was away at work; he couldn’t play with his friends because, as he put it: “I have to play with my mother who is very sad”. At school, he took on the persona of a bantam rooster and walked the halls with a chip on his shoulder; he had the swagger of a leader. At one point, in 1956, Bush was punished by the school’s principal for disrupting his entire class. Georgie had used a ballpoint pen to draw Elvis-style sideburns on his own face. For his artistic abilities, as well as becoming the laughingstock of the fourth grade, young Bush received three whacks from “The Board of Education”; something that doesn’t happen in today’s schools.
After Georgie W graduated from Sam Houston Elementary, he went to San Jacinto Junior High School; and the three of us followed him. It was a short drive, less than a mile north of the elementary school. I had hoped we’d be alone like we were at Sam Houston, but that didn’t happen. When we arrived, I heard Tom mention there must be a huge event in the area. Not only did he see dozens of people as they walked near the school; it also took Vicki over ten minutes to find a parking place. I laughed to myself when we discovered what had drawn everyone to that school on Saturday morning. It turned out there was an 8th grade football game about to start, and we knew the importance of football in West Texas.
San Jacinto Junior High was where George W. Bush became President. That’s right – in 1958, our “Georgie” was elected president of San Jacinto’s 7th grade. In my mind, when Bush got a taste of being the leader of his peers, it was a feeling he relished for the rest of his life. George’s leadership didn’t stop in the classroom, either. At a time when Buddy Holly belted-out hits such as ‘Rave On’ and ‘Oh Boy’, Bush was belting out signals as quarterback of his Mustangs’ football team. In those days, nothing exemplified West Texas like football and Buddy Holly – and oil.
Tom carried me to a couple of spots near the junior high school where I posed for some photos. During those few minutes, I imagined in my resin-filled mind a young George Bush as he walked out of the school and headed towards the football field to the sounds of Hail to the Chief. I have a pretty wild imagination when it comes to Presidents.
Laura Welch attended San Jancinto at the same time as her future husband, George W. Bush, did. But for some reason, the sparks of love weren’t fanned in junior high school. As a matter of fact, those sparks didn’t ignite until Laura was introduced to George W in July 1977 after the pair were invited to a mutual friend’s Midland home for a backyard barbecue. And let me tell you, charcoal fluid wasn’t needed to light their fire. Four months later, on November 5, 1977, George and Laura were married in the First United Methodist Church in Midland.
By ten o’clock, we had finished our stops at the two Midland schools where George W. Bush received some of his earliest education in the 1950s. The next site on our agenda was located a little over 20 miles to the southwest in Odessa, Texas. I was excited because I knew the Bush’s had lived in Odessa before they moved to Midland, which meant only one thing: We would see more childhood homes of our 43rd President. My photographer’s wife was enthusiastic as well; especially after Tom mentioned he planned on stopping at Permian High School to see the home of MOJO as well as the stadium where Friday Night Lights was filmed.
Before we left Midland, however, Vicki made a brief stop at the T.J. Maxx store to search for her Rae Dunn pottery. As Tom and I sat in the Jeep while his wife shopped, a most unusual song was played on the Sirius satellite “60s on the 6” radio station. Although the tune had a catchy melody, at least to my resin ears, the song was sung entirely in French. The only word I could decipher was “Dominique”, which was the song’s title and was repeated 13 times during the entire three-minute ditty. “Dominique” was written and recorded by Jeannine Deckers, a Belgian nun who called herself “Sœur Sourire”, which was “Sister Smile” in French. When her song landed in the number one ‘Billboard’ spot during the same week John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, Deckers had already gained world-wide fame as The Singing Nun.
I could tell “Dominique” was a blast-from-the-past from Tom’s childhood; after all, he was only seven years old when the song was recorded. Since my photographer loves history, even if it’s his own personal history from when he was a kid, I knew in my mind I would hear that song again. Boy, was I right! I heard “Dominique” again; and again; and again. I began to think I would learn to speak French by the time Tom had finished. During the 22-mile ride to Odessa, my camera guy played Sœur Sourire’s song on his phone four times; one of which had been recorded in English. I had wondered, to myself, when Vicki would reach her boiling point. It turned out to be precisely at the moment when I heard the song’s refrain “Domi-nique -nique -nique s’est déroulé simplement” start for the fifth consecutive time. From my position inside the camera case, I smiled and thought: “Merci Vicki d’avoir mis fin à Dominique.”
In 1948, George H.W. Bush moved his family from Connecticut to Texas where they briefly settled into a small home on Odessa’s East 17th Street. As we drove through the north part of town to get to the historic home, I got the feeling, at least from the conversation I heard from the front seat, that Odessa wasn’t as “ritzy” as Midland. In other words, it appeared Odessa was “on the other side of the tracks” compared to the larger city to the northeast. But to my companions, that was okay since they’ve spent most of their married life living on the other side of the tracks as well. I couldn’t have agreed more. In my mind, that’s where some of the best people; some of the hardest working people; the common clay of the land; the folks who make up the fabric of our nation; come from.
Vicki parked the Jeep across the street from the small house on East 17th Street. When Tom carried me onto the sidewalk in front of the one-and-a-half-story home, I envisioned two-year old “Georgie” Bush as he played in the small front yard. That innocent child, limited only by his endless imagination, would someday grow up to be our 43rd President.
There was one Bush site left for the three of us to see in West Texas and it was situated on the campus of the University of Texas of the Permian Basin. No, that wasn’t where George 41 or 43 went to college. It was, however, the location of a George W childhood home that had been moved from East 7th Street to a fenced-in lot behind the Presidential Archives and Leadership Library; a museum situated on the south side of the campus. My photographer knew in advance the museum was closed, likely due to COVID. He had hoped, however, that a phone call to the museum’s director would get us onto the property and into the Bush home; but that didn’t happen either. Instead, Tom was forced to hold me through an opening in the gate where I posed for a couple of images.
When my photographer and I were finished with our pictures just outside the fence that surrounded the George W childhood home, the three of us returned to the Jeep. While I thought we were about to pay a visit to Permian High School, Tom had a different idea. I heard him tell his wife that he wanted to see Stonehenge, which was a statement that nearly made me fall out of my camera case. Although I thought it would be cool to fly to Wiltshire, England to see the ancient monument, I didn’t think we’d do it on that trip. It turned out we didn’t have to – there was a nearly identical-sized replica that had been constructed in 2004 on the college campus. It took Vicki over ten minutes to navigate the campus’ winding streets before we arrived at the University of Texas of the Permian Basin Stonehenge, which was located on the northern edge of the university’s property.
The replica Stonehenge was the brainchild of stonecutters Connie and Brenda Edwards. Although the original Stonehenge took over an estimated 1,500 years to be built, the Edwards’ used modern machinery and technology to construct the replica in only six weeks. It seemed amazing to me that although the replica was only 70% the height of the original, it was horizontally exact and astronomically accurate. Tom was like a kid in a candy store at Odessa’s Stonehenge; he placed me on several of the 20-ton limestone blocks where I posed for numerous pictures.
There was one obvious difference between Stonehenge in Wiltshire and the one in Odessa; that difference was a pair of gold-colored arches. That’s right – after our visit to the replica monument in the Permian Basin, my photographer and his wife headed to McDonald’s that was located nearly in the shadow of the reproduction.
After lunch, our first stop was a place that Vicki was thrilled to see; one that capped-off her enthusiasm for “Friday Night Lights”. Located about two miles west of the college on East 42nd Street was the school that has defined football in West Texas since the early 1960s – Permian High School in Odessa. My companions drove around the perimeter of the school until they found an area that appeared to be the center of the football universe at Permian. Not only were we parked just outside of the athletic department that featured the football coach’s office and locker room, but we also stood in the shadow of a giant sign that was filled with accolades to the Panthers’ successful seasons since 1960. In the distance, the three of us also saw what appeared to be where true Mojo begins – the practice football field.
We had been to the mountain top of West Texas high school football during our visit of the Permian High campus. However, the Panthers don’t play their home games at the school; those are held at Ratliff Stadium; located roughly three miles north of Permian High. During the short drive to the 19,000-seat stadium that had opened in 1982, I heard my photographer say to his wife: “Since it’s Saturday, I hope we can get inside the stadium to see where the movie ‘Friday Night Lights’ was filmed. It would be even better if we could walk on the field.”
When we arrived at Ratliff Stadium, my companions were surprised by the number of vehicles and school buses parked in the adjacent lots. It turned out there was a high school marching band competition being held at the stadium. The first thing that crossed my resin mind was: “So much for getting onto the field. We didn’t bring any musical instruments and Tom’s way too old to march.” Vicki parked the Jeep on the east side of the stadium and the three of us headed for a nearby entrance. Seconds after we got into the stands, where I got my first look at the playing field, two officials arrived out of nowhere. The pair of women told my companions they needed to enter on the west side and pay the entrance fee for the marching band competition. That’s the moment when my photographer began to work his magic; and I couldn’t have been prouder. He passionately explained that we were from Michigan, and we were only there to see where “Friday Night Lights” was filmed. He also said because of his age, and how far we were from home, this was likely the last chance he’d ever have to photograph the famous field. Before I could say “Hey, your hands are cold” in French, I found myself posing for images inside Ratliff Stadium.
The dashboard clock in the Jeep read 1:15pm when we began our journey back to Midland. I loved our visit to Odessa, and I could feel the Mojo inside my resin-filled body when we headed out of town. I had been to the mountaintop of West Texas high school football, and I liked it a lot. But my Mojo was short-lived, however, when Tom once again played ‘Dominique’ on his phone. Thankfully my photographer’s wife put an immediate stop to his disc jockey duties inside our vehicle.
We spent two hours scouring a couple of antique malls in Midland before my companions stopped at Walmart for some groceries. Tom decided he wanted a “home-cooked meal”, which meant he went to the store’s frozen food section in search of a ‘Hungry Man’ frozen turkey dinner. A minute or two after my photographer placed two of the frozen meals into his cart, I heard a voice ask: “Hey, nice jacket. Are you from Michigan?” After a short discussion, Tom discovered the young guy, named Clay Doan, was originally from Port Huron, Michigan and had moved to Midland for work. As a matter of fact, Clay knew one of Tom’s friends and co-workers who worked with my photographer at the salt company in St. Clair. After that encounter, ‘It’s a Small World’ was the only thought that popped into my mind.
The three of us returned to our room at the Hilton Garden Inn at 4:30pm. Tom and Vic relaxed for an hour or so before the “chefs” heated up their meals in the microwave. I stood in my usual place alongside the television set and thought about George W. Bush’s time as he grew up in the Permian Basin. After their dinner, Tom searched for Presidential information on the web while Vicki had her face buried in her cell phone. Shortly before he shut down his computer, I heard my photographer say out loud: “I just found two more sites to visit in Midland before we leave town in the morning. I’d like to see the Methodist Church where George and Laura were married, and I’d like to find Laura Bush’s childhood home as well. Since tomorrow is Sunday, we’ll need to get to the church early so I can get my pictures before the entire congregation arrives.” With that, Tom set his phone for a six o’clock wake up call.
When the lights went out, I stood in the dark and silent room. It seemed good to be alone with my thoughts. Those thoughts quickly turned darker than our room when I thought about November 6, 1963; a night in Midland, Texas just 16 days before JFK was assassinated 300 miles to the east. Seventeen-year-old Laura Welch was driving her dad’s new Chevy Impala with classmate Judy Dykes in the passenger seat when the future First Lady failed to stop at an intersection; her car collided violently with a vehicle driven by Michael Dutton Douglas; a fellow classmate and Laura’s good friend. Douglas, a well-liked football star, was killed instantly from a broken neck; his lifeless body still inside his Corvair when it returned to earth some 50 feet off the road. Even though Laura was known in those days as a partier and fast driver, she was never charged for her role in the death of Douglas. And while Welch escaped persecution for her careless, carefree, and reckless moment, she has never been able to escape the demons that have haunted her since that fateful night in 1963. As a matter of fact, Laura Bush never spoke about the incident until she revealed her inner feelings in her 2010 book titled ‘Spoken from the Heart’.
Since the time I was molded and assembled in China nearly ten years ago, I have despised people who drive under the influence of anything except ice cream. But my resin heart was broken when I heard the story about Laura Bush. She’s one of my favorite First Lady’s. To me, Laura is the most beautiful First Lady of all; she’s smart and she seems very kind to everyone. She has that “Southern appeal” that resonates with me. And as a bonus, she gave birth to Jenna – who is a gorgeous ‘Today’ host and one of my favorite celebrities on TV. As the night grew longer, an amazing vision filled my mind – a vision where my photographer and I were asked to make an appearance on Jenna’s show and her parents surprised us with an unexpected visit. Then, as the President and First Lady held me for a picture, Tom asked Jenna to play the song ‘Dominique’. My entire dream was ruined.
“J’espère ne plus jamais entendre la chanson Dominique!”
