Despite the rain in the forecast, thousands turned out to the rally in Springfield, filling sidewalks along National Avenue.
“We’re not here because we hate America, we’re here because we love America”.
Author: tryingtoo2015
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Writing Family Memoirs: A Journey Through Time
What have you been working on?
The youngest Nevatt I’ve been trying to write my memoirs. The last person of my immediate family still on this side of the dirt. Leaving about blogging has been a big challenge. My great grandparents came to America in the late 1800’s. They brought many stories and traditions from the old country. Bringing with them the there printing press to start a new beginning in Hannibal Missouri. Grandpa Issac shared an office with Mark Twain. So many changes in America over the last One hundred years. Are we really better off than the horses and buggy day ? Lessons learned from our parents continue to shape our decisions we have today.
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The Boss Is A Lady
When you think of the word “successful,” who’s the first person that comes to mind and why?
The first person I think of as being successful is a lady from California Central Valley. She runs a huge construction company that installs all sorts of pipe lines and storm drains and irrigation lines. She is successful because she shares her knowledge with other women in high school dreaming of jobs in construction.
Karen has a passion for learning new skills. That makes her a successful entrepreneur.
Build it better -
Decades of Friendship: A Bond That Lasts
Best Friends with Decades Between Them
Robin will always be one of my best friends. We have been best friends for 23 years between. People ask me how you became friends with a girl from Mississippi? Our mutual love of musician Melissa Etheridge brought us together. Meeting at a friend’s house for the first time in Memphis, Tenn. Some friends gathered for a Your Little Secret party. Sandy had invited this young college student from William Carey University in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. Robin was a senior studying Communication at the Christian school supported by the Southern Baptists.
She had a full scholarship and went on to become Student Body President.
We have had so many experiences, and we have had so much fun over the years. She is not just a friend, she is family.
Something magical happened between Robin, Susan, and me at our first meeting. Who knew at the time that our friendship would last for 30 years. We brought wisdom, and she brought energy. Robin has exposed us to a variety of perspectives and experiences. Right after 9-11, she called. She said we need to go to New York City. We should support the people in their grief. We went, and it was an experience I’ll never forget. She has friends all over the country, and we call many of them our friends.
We have been through childbirth and crises with Robin. Many funny stories exist. Cruising the Los Angeles Strip in our brand new 2002 Chevy Avalanche. That truck can get you anywhere you needed to go in under three hours. Even a newborn baby boy couldn’t slow down our chauffeur.
Robin has over 3,000 Facebook friends, and she considers each one a true friend. I’ve always thought it amazing that she would name Susan and me the godparents of her son and daughter. We have made special friends from Mississippi, Florida, and California. She is truly an advocate for the LGBT Community. She leads with compassion for all who struggle with discrimination. She fought racial injustice in her high school in Mississippi. She organized a group of students to remove the Confederate flag from her school mascot.
I was never surprised that she had shut down Las Vegas Boulevard or chained herself to the White House fence. She will never give up fighting for liberty and justice for all.
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Don’t plan it, don’t wait for it.
The best things in life are surprises. Decide each day what you would like to do or not do. No meetings, no Robert Rules of Order, no commitments. You can’t be late because you never scheduled any appointments. Take time to enjoy each day. Wake up and decide this looks like a good day to maybe take a road trip.
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Reflections on Thirty Years of Teaching Music
Introduction
Thirty years—a span that, when spoken aloud, seems to stretch endlessly across the landscape of my life. For those who have dedicated themselves to teaching music, especially in West Plains, time is not simply counted in years. It is counted in the friendships formed with both adults and children. I fondly remember the older teachers I admired, those from an earlier generation who always welcomed questions from their colleagues. Teaching is truly about planting seeds and watching them grow. Over time, several of my students have become music teachers. One of my favorite students now directs a large church choir. Others have taken different paths. Some became principals and doctors. Most recently, one was named chancellor of the Missouri State University Campus at West Plains.
Early Teaching Years: Four Schools, Endless Lessons
I began my career as a first-year teacher with optimism. I had a strong belief in public education. Yet, I also had a realistic understanding that I had no idea what I was doing. My first assignment was to help register fifth- and sixth-grade students at Central School. The speech teacher even mistook me for a sixth grader waiting to enroll. That year was marked by many challenges, including teaching boys who would later end up in jail. First graders marched down the hallway to my music room. Little wooden chairs and a small record player set the stage.
My first task was to find songs for Bus Safety Day. It coincided with Columbus Day. I also needed songs for Fire Prevention Week, Halloween, Easter, and Thanksgiving. The Christmas Program was the most significant production. It featured a religious scene in the first half with a depiction of the baby Jesus. Santa Claus appeared in the second half. First-grade children wore freshly pressed white collars. The head teacher assured me that parents would love anything their children did. She was right—joy and happiness were abundant.
The second-grade students attended Foster School, where the theme was “The Friendly Beast.” Each of the five classes had a special role in the nighttime concert. The event attracted over a hundred parents to the gym. Foster School’s traditions included the maypole dance and an annual kite-flying day. One memorable afternoon, we searched for a lost kite. A donkey suddenly emerged from a small white house and chased us. This added excitement to the day.
The older students attended Central School, a former high school with a large gym located in a detached building. I shared the fifth and sixth graders with Ms. Carter, the Physical Education teacher. Many of those students have since retired. They still remember the massive Christmas Party I hosted at my home on Grace Ave. To motivate them for their Christmas Program, I promised a party. I never expected 150 kids to attend. It became the best party in town. The P.E. teacher and I arranged for the Coke company to supply a soda machine, and snacks were quickly devoured. We invited the more experienced teachers, but they simply laughed. The enormous yellow house I lived in, owned by the town banker, was the perfect location. Back then, West Plains had no apartments or stoplights. The Walmart on Porter Waggoner Ave was only the tenth to be built. The party was filled with games and dancing. West Plains is remembered for the dance hall explosion in 1928. Nonetheless, I will always treasure the Christmas party of 1974.
The New School Building: A New Era
After five attempts, voters finally approved the construction of a new elementary school building in 1988. Reese, Foster, and Carmical Schools were merged to create a central location for over 700 students in the R-7 district. Each of the original buildings was very old. At Carmical, music class was held in the basement. There, the smell of burning wiring from the furnace once filled the air. Having the opportunity to recommend plans for a new music room was thrilling. The new facility included two music rooms and a large closet for instrument storage. Mrs. Lovelace and I shared a heating and air conditioning unit. This situation sometimes caused issues. The control was used only in the mornings. Although many individual school traditions were lost in the consolidation, the advantages outweighed the disadvantages. Now, almost forty years later, West Plains’ new school stands as a symbol of community progress.
Lessons Beyond the Curriculum
As the curriculum evolved, the techniques and tools we used also changed. We moved from record players to reel-to-reel tape players. Finally, we transitioned to CDs. Still, the underlying principles remained unchanged. The most meaningful lessons often arose not from planned instruction, but from the everyday challenges we faced. I relied on a curriculum called Education Through Music. It was based on folk songs and experiential games. This approach was developed by Mary Helen Richards over fifty years ago. It aimed to offer a higher-quality music education for all children. This method began with song experience games before progressing to musical notation.
I discovered that every student brought a unique personality to the classroom. Some arrived with great enthusiasm, while others needed encouragement. My role was to help each child find joy in music class. Teaching, I realized, was also about learning—reading emotional cues, adapting approaches, and celebrating diversity.
Fourth Grade Choir: A Source of Joy
Working with the popular fourth-grade select choir is one of my fondest memories. The 75-member choir performed at assemblies, P.T.A. meetings, took field trips, and enjoyed parties together. During Christmas, we sang at banks and nursing homes, sometimes wearing red bandannas, blue Oxford shirts, or special T-shirts. We met after school once a week for thirty minutes, forming lasting bonds and memories.
Memorable Moments and Lasting Connections
Nearly fifty years ago, we performed “Let George Do It.” This was a musical put on by fifth and sixth graders at Carmical School. It was for the 1976 bicentennial celebration. It was fitting for the 200th birthday of the United States. One song, “G-E-O-R-G-E Washington,” featured the lyrics: “First in War, first in Peace, first in the hearts of his countrymen. Let George do it; he is the man of the hour.” The students sang out George Washington’s name, letter by letter. Parents made beautiful costumes, and Bonny Webb’s class created a massive stage backdrop. The performances were so popular that we held two nights of concerts to accommodate the crowds. I consider this production the highlight of my thirty years of teaching.
Challenges and Growth
No thirty-year journey is without challenges. There were periods of self-doubt when I questioned my effectiveness as a teacher. I was not the best piano player or singer. But, my students left my class with a love for singing. Many continued music in middle and high school. Deciding to retire was bittersweet; I wanted to go while still passionate about teaching.
Looking Ahead
The world keeps changing, and so does music education. Music textbooks will eventually disappear, but nothing will ever replace the folk tunes and games we enjoyed. I have one piece of advice for new music educators. Listen deeply—not only to music, but to the hearts and stories of your students. Each lesson, practice session, and performance is a chance to shape not just musicians, but well-rounded human beings.
Conclusion
Thirty years have passed, and I am not the same person who first stepped into the classroom. I have been shaped by music.
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Mom the Mighty Fern
My Mom, Fern Christian Nevatt
1930-2016
Fern Christian was born on June 6, 1930, in Poplar Bluff, Missouri. Her father, Otto, was 33 years old, and her mother, Mary, was 28. She married Paul David Nevatt on July 2, 1949, in her hometown. They had two children, Sue and Mike. She passed away on March 25, 2016, in Springfield, Missouri, at the age of 85, and was buried there.
Mom disliked her first name, Eula. She would say, “I’m really Fern.” Otto and Mary Christian had six sisters and one brother. Dairy farm chores were tough, but everyone pitched in at Christian Dairy to make a living. Whole milk, cream, and butter were delivered daily in Poplar Bluff. Mom hand-milked a cow sitting on her little black stool. Living during the depression years was hard. Mom had already lost her older sister, Wilma, during the Poplar Bluff tornado on 11, 1927. Life on Roxy Road had few luxuries but plenty of love. Mom and her sister Norma would sneak milk bottles to the corner grocery store to buy candy. When asked where they got the money, they would say, “We found it under a rock.” On Saturday nights, they listened to the Grand Ole Opry. Grandpa had won the radio at the sale barn contest. Fourth of July celebrations involved homemade ice cream and soda pop. Mom excelled in school. She was a member of the National Honor Society. She was also a talented singer who received the music award at graduation. Shortly after graduating, Mom became the manager of Woolworth’s food counter. Dad, working at Western Electric, often ate lunch at her counter. He liked the roast beef and gravy, as well as the manager at the counter.
Mom later moved to Springfield, Missouri, to join the Nevatt family. Weekends were spent at the James River property, where we enjoyed swimming and picnics. She always made the best baked beans and blackberry cobblers. Fried chicken, potato salad, deviled eggs, angel food cake, and lemonade rounded out the visits.
Mom had an extraordinary singing voice. She received the music award at her high school graduation. She sang with a radio trio in Poplar Bluff. She maintained a lifelong friendship with her high school music teacher, Mrs. Hearne. During Christmas, she and two friends would sing at Heer’s Department Store, with their concert broadcast over Springfield’s public square.
Her leadership included roles as PTA president, church choir leader, and executive director of the Greene County Mental Health Association. She was an active member of the General Federation of Women’s Clubs. She also served as president of the Missouri State Federation of Women’s Clubs. She often said, “If you need something done, ask a busy person.”
Mom was a devoted wife. She cooked hearty dinners and packed her husband’s suitcase each Sunday night for his weekly travel to new telephone installations. She cared for my brother, Mike, and me. She was also beautiful. Her desk was cluttered, but she knew where everything was. If not, she’d just buy another one. She loved her three grand kids and enjoyed summers with them, taking family vacations. We all miss Mom’s vibrant personality.
We Had Fun.
Your Daughter, Suzanne P. Nevatt
Her Chair Is Not Empty.
Her chair is not empty.
Memories abound.
Remember the smell of fresh fruitcakes, made with her favorite recipe. A song from heaven still echoes, “His eye is on the sparrow, I will not fear.”
A good wife and mother, a leader for all. When she said, “We will call the meeting to order,” she meant for everyone to listen. Her black van, still in use today, drives her great-granddaughter to school every day. All loved the mighty Fern. My mother, my friend. Tell all my family in heaven I can’t wait to see them once again.
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Memorable Cars: 1960s–2021
The first cool car I drove to school was a Chevrolet Chevelle Malibu. Mom and Dad bought this car from the M-W Chevy Agency located on Main Street in Nixa. My Grandpa Nevatt was friends with Junior Sprague, the sales manager. The price was $2,450. That car today would be worth at least $32,000. Mom, Mike, and I shared our blue two-door Chevelle. This car was the first automatic transmission vehicle Dad owned. He always preferred a manual transmission. The three of us loved driving this car. That was until Mike let it go to the bottom of the hill on 76 Highway, Branson. He stopped to help a man having a heart attack and forgot to put his car in park. The state patrol said,” Son, I think your car is rolling down that mountain.
The first car I really call my own was a two-door red Chevy Impala. I noticed the 1963 beauty sitting on a car lot on Saint Louis Street. I knew right away I should try to make her mine. It had a white top and custom wheels. You never forget your first love, and my Chevy was my one and only.
Wouldn’t you rather have a Buick? While working at Taco Grande, I noticed this sharp-looking 1970 Buick Rivera on the car lot next to our restaurant. It was green with a hardtop. It had the feel of a Cadillac—with bucket seats, console in the middle, cruise control, and a great radio. This car was the one that I drove to my first job in West Plains, Missouri.
The car you drive tells a lot about you. You didn’t go to college, but you have a new truck with a flag attached. You’re socially conscious, driving a Prius or another hybrid or electric car. You’re obnoxious, taking up two parking spaces with your Tesla truck. You’re the boss, driving a Mercedes, BMW, or Lexus, even if an oil change takes your breath away. Your kids are school age, in a Toyota van or a Chrysler van. You’re a senior citizen now. You are ready for an easy-to-get-into modern-day Lincoln or Cadillac. Anything with the Pontiac logo on it suits you, too.
One of my favorite fun cars to own was the 1980 red Celica GT. Red with white interior and hatchback. This car took Susan and me to Oregon forty-four years ago. I bought it from my aunt and uncle’s car dealership in Poplar Bluff, Missouri. Starwalt Auto Sales sold several cars to me and my parents.
Three Mustang convertibles have been parked in my garage. The first one was black with a tan top. It was featured in several homecoming parades. The next ride was baby blue. That was the color I wanted when the Mustang was first introduced in 1964. One time, it became bogged down in sand near the river where we had floated. After much work on a one-hundred-degree day, we finally got it unstuck—so much fun in a fun car. My current fast beauty is a red GT. Fast but hard for an old girl to get in and out of. It’s funny that by the time you can afford a fast car, you are too old. It’s difficult getting in and out with your walker.
Cars have undergone significant changes during the 59 years since I first backed out of the driveway. Dual front seat airbags, sunroofs, tire pressure sensors, backup cameras, and lane help have made cars much safer. I miss dashboard knobs labeled with words. Every new model resembles the last year’s model of the same edition. My current Palisade often tells me I should consider taking a break. Who knows, in the next 20 years, we never see a gas-powered car.
Things to Consider if You’re Over the Hill. Accessibility. visibility, comfort, head-up screen, parking sensors. The days of folding myself into my sporty 2-door Mustang like a pretzel are long gone. But the memories will last forever.
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Favorite Hobby
Spending time on the computer researching genealogy and other kinds of history. Maybe I should have been a paralegal. YouTube videos can teach everything from fixing a push mower to finding the best travel deals.
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Family Adventures Along the James River
Memories of James River
Growing up in the Ozarks, I have so many fond memories of my childhood. One of my favorites was walking along the river road with my family. We’d feel the cool breeze coming from the caves openings.
We’d spend hours exploring the winding trails along the riverbanks. We skipped stones and listened to the gentle hum of cicadas in the trees. The laughter of cousins echoed through the woods as we played hide and seek. We were wholly immersed in the freedom that only summer brings. Each day felt endless, filled with the promise of adventure and simple joys.
Every weekend between Memorial Day and Labor Day, we’d all drive down the narrow path to the back end. There, we would set up picnic tables for lunch. We’d have fried chicken, deviled eggs, chips, pork and beans. We’d also enjoy potato salad, fresh tomatoes, and boiled corn on the cob. Dessert included angel food cake and cookies. One of the first things we’d do was go down the gravel bar and dig for worms. We’d also go fishing for sun perch or small bass, carefully threading night-crawlers. After lunch, Mom would bring a few magazines to read. We’d sit around the campfire in our webbed lawn chairs and chat about what was happening in Springfield. We’d stop at a nearby gas station to air up our inner tubes for the river. One of the best tubes was a huge tractor tire. One day, it floated to our place, so we named it Moses. Playing in the James River was the best free fun. It was incredibly refreshing, especially on the hottest days of summer. We always remembered to lift our butts when we went through rapids or over rocks. We would then walk back to the river bar to do it again. In the afternoon, we’d mow the grass with Grandpa Nevatt’s Farmall Tractor Cub. Sometimes, the days would stretch into the golden glow of evening. The lighting bugs would start to flicker under the sycamores. The river would catch the last bits of sunset. Dad would say it’s time to roast a marshmallow. The air would fill with the smell of fresh-cut grass and a campfire. The steady croaks of frogs from the banks would give the perfect soundtrack for our trip.
The day would end with pulling in the driveway on Stewart street. Unloading the lawn chairs,wet clothes and food. Coming in the house to get ready for bed and a new adventure the next day. We had fun.
