DID YOU SEE THAT LEAP?

DID YOU SEE THAT LEAP?

By Mark Reed

My sister and her ex, who we called Captain Dick (for reasons best not gone into here), had owned a big boat. I know “big” is a relative term when talking boats, but to put in context, mine is a 21’ long Maxum, and theirs was 46’ in length, curiously enough, a Maxum also. Mine is basically an inboard-outboard ski boat. Theirs was an inboard twin-engine cruising yacht. A buddy of mine just bought a 53’ cruiser and talking with him about it triggered the memory this story is about.

My sister lived in Georgetown and they kept their boat at a small marina on the Chesapeake Bay, an hour drive away. I was invited up for a little cruise up the Chesapeake to Annapolis and then on up to Baltimore Harbor. It was just the three of us. I was third mate, which meant I did most of the dirty work, but who cared…it was fun.

The day we pulled into Baltimore Harbor was bright and sunny, and there was a stiff wind that kept shifting direction. If you have ever been in a bigger boat in a stiff wind, let me just use the illustration of a big sail catching the wind and moving you around. Captain Dick had some experience in piloting a craft this size, but I think this was the first time he had ever encountered wind such as this. He chose a long finger of pier on which to moor his boat. He maneuvered his boat close to the pier, which thankfully had no other boats moored to it. I stood in the bow holding the line, which I was use to tie the boat to the pier when I jumped from the bow deck to the pier.

Each time as he brought the boat around guiding the bow toward the pier where I could hop off, another gust of wind would catch the boat and swing it away. We had so far not come close enough for me to feel comfortable making the leap. I have lost count of the number of passes we made, but it was more than a few. Frustration was setting in on the part of Captain Dick, as well as that of the Third Mate. Finally, on a swing past the pier, the bow passed within maybe 6’ of the pier, and I threw caution to the wind, as well as my body, and took the leap of faith…literally. Have you ever had your life flash before your eyes? This was sorta like that. It was in slow motion.

There were a number of seagulls perched at my touch down point. As I loomed towards them, they squawked and flew off an instant before I landed, leaving a pile of seagull poo for me to land on. Amazingly enough, it was a perfect two point landing, left and right foot hitting at the same moment a few inches onto the pier. Of course that was only a lingering touchdown, as my feet immediately left me, and I did a twisting turn landing on both knees and sliding across the pier. Talk about road rash. But I made it! The rope did not…somewhere in the leap, probably the landing, I loosened my grip on the rope and it fell to the pier. I watched it be pulled away toward the water by the quickly receding bow of the boat. I scrambled after it on hands and knees across the seagull droppings trying to grab it, but to no avail. Away it went, gone with the wind, so to speak.

I stood and watched Captain Dick try to swing the bow around again. The Second Mate, my sister, was now in the bow with the coiled rope for a toss to me, as they swung past again and again and again. After several tries, she was finally able to toss it to me and I was able to tie the boat off to one of the cleats. We were then able to tie off the rest of the boat in short order. By the time we were finished, I looked like I had caught a blast of a claymore across my lower legs, as my shoes were squishy with blood and seagull discard. It looked worse than it was. I took a shower, changed clothes and doctored my knees.

It was after 5:00 PM, the sun was past the yardarm (a nautical term, so I am told), so alcohol was served. We had a few drinks and then walked over to one of the waterfront restaurants for more drinks and dinner. With each drink, my leap was discussed in detail. “Did you see that 6’ leap?” turned into, “Did you see that 10’ leap?” till sometime later in the evening, many drinks later, we were all amazed over my 20’ leap. It was heroic. It was amazing. I never would have made it without grabbing the feet of the two seagulls, which pulled me the last 10’ to the pier. We were expecting reporters to show up and make me famous. Instead, I passed out in the bow of the boat, only to wake up at dawn lying on a pile of coiled rope. There were a dozen seagulls sitting along the edge of the pier staring at me.

My buddy, who just bought the 53’ cruiser, has asked me to be his Third Mate from time to time. I guess he must have read about me in some nautical magazine regaling the heroics of my 25’ leap.

SIGMA PI HAS KLASS

SIGMA PI HAS KLASS

By Mark Reed

Formal Fraternity Rush at the University of Georgia has always been one of the most important aspects of fraternal life and the furtherance of a top fraternity. You pretty much knew who the top fraternities were by whom they pledged in formal rush. There were always certain rushees that were recognized as the cream of the crop and every fraternity on campus tried to pledge them. There were a handful of fraternities with old tradition on campus who, because of their long time on campus and their strong alumni base, whose alumni sent their sons to UGA with the expectation that they would pledge no other fraternity than that of a grandfather, father, brother, uncle or cousin. They were called legacies.

My fraternity, Sigma Pi, while being founded in 1897 in Vincennes, Indiana, had only been at UGA since being originally chartered in 1948, so in essence, we were considered new guys on the block. Because of hard work, good rushes concentrating on good men with potential, with an emphasis on jocks and brains, as well as all around sharp guys, Sigma Pi had worked itself into that Top tier of fraternities out of nearly thirty national fraternities operating on campus. That is always an arguable point between fraternities. I’ve always felt that one of the true tests of how good a fraternity is, is reflected by the girls they date and from what sorority they are in. I must say that there were many beautiful girls from top sororities dating brothers at the Sigma Pi house in the mid-60’s when I was there.

While that aforementioned handful of fraternities had their pledges that would join no matter what, most of the others of us had to work hard for what we got. I think that made us less complacent and therefore better as a result. We found ourselves competing with another handful of top tier fraternities, even going so far as to steal some of those guys expected to pledge as a legacy somewhere else.

One of the things we at Sigma Pi had going for us was an outstanding fraternity house located at 285 S. Milledge Avenue right on fraternity and sorority row. We were directly across the street from Phi Mu and Chi Omega Sororities, with ADPi just down the street near the Varsity and Kappa Alpha Theta just down the other way towards Baxter Street. We were in a prime location in a stately old antebellum looking house with huge white columns across the front portico. I still think it is one of the best examples of a fraternity house in the University world, not just UGA. We lost that house in the 70’s, but that is another story for another time.

When I came to UGA as a freshman in September of 1964, I planned to go through formal rush in Winter Quarter, January of 1965. To be able to go through that formal rush, the potential rushee had to make his grades Fall Quarter, i.e., not be on academic probation. I was one of the thousands of Freshmen in the Fall of 1964 who took English 101 (I had always made good grades in English all through Elementary and High School). Due to a crazy decision by the University System of Georgia, regardless of what your grade point average was in English 101 for the Quarter, your final grade was contingent upon passing a single “standard grammar” test as a pass-fail requirement. Yep, you probably guessed that I, along with much of the freshman class that year, failed that test. It was ridiculous, really. The test focused on things that none of us students had studied since early in Elementary School or maybe early in our first two years of High School. Innocuous things such as sentence diagraming and the like. The test was a farce. I had a B+ average in the course and ended up with an F because of failing the test. Of course the University System realized what a mistake it was after that Quarter, but it was too late for us who failed English 101 our first Quarter in college. Subsequently, I was unable to go through the Winter Quarter Formal Rush.

A couple of my close friends, Richard and Ronald Morgan, had gone through the Fall Quarter Formal Rush. They pledged Sigma Pi, and subsequently, since there was a Smyrna connection in the fraternity already, I was being informally rushed by my friends, called Wildcat Rush. I was invited to parties and functions, and they were hoping that when I made my grades in the Fall I would go through the Winter Quarter Formal Rush and pledge Sigma Pi. Alas, it did not happen. No Formal Rush for moi.

During my freshman year, I was able to meet a lot of different people in classes, dated a lot of different girls, and was introduced to other fraternities as options as well. I actually developed a close friendship with a senior in another fraternity who was rushing me hard. I had been introduced to him by his sister, a really sharp Tri-Delt I had a class with. In the final analysis, I decided that while he was a great guy and reason enough to pledge his fraternity, and of course they were considered one of the top tier fraternities, he would be graduating that year, so pledging there did not make sense. The bottom line was that finally, through Wildcat Rush, I agreed to accept a bid, outside of and after Formal Rush and pledged Sigma Pi.

As a side note here, just to put in perspective who Sigma Pi was at UGA, the President of the IFC was a brother, as were the Captains of the Football and Baseball teams. Oh, and one of my fellow Freshmen who also pledged Sigma Pi was a simple country boy from middle Georgia named Lewis Grizzard. Need I say more?

I was initiated as a brother in January of 1966 as a sophomore. I was elected Social Chairman in my junior year of 1966-1967, and was responsible for arranging socials with sororities and booking bands for our parties. We had a one hundred man chapter, which was pretty big, so we had plenty of money for parties. We were famous on campus for having outstanding big name bands and performers at our parties, from Doug Clark and the Hot Nuts, Maurice Williams and the Zodiacs, Ben E. King, the Original Drifters, Rufus Thomas, to the Swinging Medallions in their heyday of Double Shot of My Baby’s Love.

In my first Senior year (that’s another story, too) of 1967-1968, I was elected Vice President, which was officially the Rush Chairman position. Rush was the life-blood of the fraternity, remember. Our Sage/President, Fred Blackmon, dropped out of school after Fall Quarter 1967, and I became Sage/President. My plate was full.

I personally believe that the Winter Rush of 1968 was a high point for Sigma Pi. That says a lot considering the outstanding members we had pledged over the last four or five years. We were pretty damn good, if I do say so myself. At least we thought so. And so did the sororities, evidenced by the beautiful girls from top sororities dating brothers and pledges. The parking lot at the house was filled with magnificent automobiles, including my gold 1965 GTO Convertible.

A couple of years before, there was a young man coming through rush by the name of Happy Dicks (Many reading this will recognize him because of the distinctive nature of his name, the fact that he was a starting varsity football player, and ended up as a prominent neurosurgeon in Georgia). Happy had pledged Sigma Chi Fraternity, one of the top tier fraternities at the time. When Happy pledged Sigma Chi, signs popped up on campus saying, “Sigma Chi is the only fraternity on campus with Happy Dicks.” I kid you not. Pretty damn witty, if you ask me, and it helped them immensely in rush. Another side note was that my fraternity brother, Lewis Grizzard, made Happy additionally famous by way of a headline of a sports column Lewis authored as a sports writer for the local Athens newspaper. If you don’t know the headline or the story, it is your loss.

In 1968, there was a young freshman by the name of Jim Klass from Atlanta who was recognized by most every fraternity on campus as one of the top guys going through rush. Every fraternity was after him. Yes, he pledged Sigma Pi. I’ll never forget the roar that went out from the crowd of Greeks gathered in front of Memorial Hall where the new pledges exited and were announced to the Greek world at UGA naming which fraternity they had pledged. We had a 30+ man pledge class that rush, one of the biggest and arguably the best rush of any fraternity.

Yep, you guessed it. Signs sprung up on campus saying, “Sigma Chi may have Happy Dicks, but Sigma Pi has Klass.” Yes indeed.

COACH JOE LATTANZI

COACH JOE LATTANZI

By Mark Reed

Everyone who attended Campbell High School in Smyrna, Georgia in the 60’s knows who Coach Lattanzi is. Most everyone has a Coach Lattanzi story, and here is mine.

I was not one of his ball players, but I had him as a teacher when I was a sophomore in 1961. He was intense and a little intimidating, one of those guys that could be a little scary but everyone respected. If he knew who I was, or remembered me, I would be surprised. Other than the single class, our paths never crossed again, except maybe walking past him in the hall or seeing him at a baseball game.

I graduated from CHS in 1964 and went off to college and then the Army. I finally returned home in 1971 and went into the real estate business with my dad at Reed Realty. I knew Coach Lattanzi was still around by virtue of hearing his name from time to time.

I’m not sure exactly what year it was, but it was probably sometime in the mid ‘80’s. I was visiting some old friends, Jim and Sara Gentry, who lived on Pinetree Drive in Smyrna. I had dated their daughter, Ellen, in high school and had become friends with her parents, running into them from time to time over the years.

While visiting Jim and Sara that day, she mentioned that Coach Lattanzi lived next door. In fact, she pointed him out working at the rear of his back yard. I said my goodbyes and decided to walk over and introduce myself. Here again, remember, I was not one of his athletes and he would not know me.

As I walked across his yard, still a couple of hundred feet away, I called out to him, “Hey, Coach!” He saw me coming and stood there for a moment looking at me as I walked closer. Before I could say anything else, he said, “Don’t tell me your name!” He stared me in the eyes as I walked up to him, then said, “Real estate.” Followed by, “Commercial Real Estate.” Another pause, then, “Your uncle is an attorney. Raymond.” Again a pause, “Your dad was Bill.” Then he smiled and said, “You are Mark Reed.”

Damn! I was impressed and flattered that he remembered me. It had been over twenty years since we had seen each other. I told him I couldn’t believe he remembered me. He told me he never forgot a student. We had a nice conversation and parted company. In 1997, I called him and invited he and his wife, Peggy, to be the guests of honor at our CHS ’63-’66 All-Class Reunion. They accepted and were a huge hit with everyone. I took a photo of the two of them, which is one of my favorites. That says a lot because I’ve taken hundreds of thousands of photos over the years.

When Coach Lattanzi died in 2002, I attended his funeral and shared the story of his remembering me with his widow and son, Joe, Jr. I told them how much it meant to me that he actually remembered a young sophomore from so long ago. Peggy Lattanzi passed away in 2013. Smyrna lost a couple of treasures with their passing. Joe Jr. and I have met a few times since and have become Facebook friends. He looks more and more like his dad each day.

MOM WAS A MUSICIAN

MOM WAS A MUSICIAN

By Mark Reed

I saw a video today about how music can bring back lost memories to older folks who, with the passage of time or because of disease, have lost their memories. We all have probably experienced this tragedy with older loved ones. If truth be told, some of us have even experienced bits and snatches of this, such as when we walk from one room to another to get something, only to forget what we went for. But I’m talking about the loss of life’s memories. If you think about it, those memories cumulatively make us who we are as a person.

Anyway, the video struck a chord in me, and even made me cry. It brought back a memory of an experience with my mom that I will treasure for the rest of my life…until I perhaps lose my memory, Lord forbid. To tell this story, I have to go back to the beginning.

Virginia Lee Pepper was born in Mount Carmel, Illinois on May 12, 1924, to Hattie and Earl Pepper. She was their second child, having an older brother, Jim. The family moved back to Bloomfield, Missouri in Stoddard County, where Earl and Hattie grew up. Earl opened Pepper’s Bakery and it became known far and wide in that area of southeast Missouri as one of the best bakeries around.

Growing up in Bloomfield in the 30’s and 40’s was pretty much like growing up in any small town in America at that time.

Kids would get their drivers license, just like today, although in mom’s case, she was eighteen years old when she got hers.

She was a pretty thing. I’ve heard it said that she was the prettiest girl in SE Missouri.

She went to nursing school in 1942, although she never had a job as a nurse.

She met my dad, Bill, an aviation cadet, at a U.S.O. dance. They fell in love and got engaged upon him getting his commission as a 2LT and pilot in the Army Air Corp.

He went to war, named his B-17 “Miss Jennie” after his fiancée, and then came home and they were married on February 16, 1945.

They were transferred to the Miami, Florida area, where dad continued to fly B-17’s and prepare to be reassigned to the Pacific to fight the Japanese. Fortunately, President Harry Truman dropped the bombs on Japan that ended the war on VJ Day, August 15, 1945.

Dad received his discharge and they moved back to Smyrna, Georgia. They had me a year later.

It is important to note, for purposes of this story, that the Pepper family was musically inclined. Virginia Lee and her brother Jim were given lessons on numerous musical instruments growing up, and were proficient on all of them.

In fact, their dad Earl, along with Jim and Virginia Lee were members of the Stoddard County Orchestra, and Jim and Virginia Lee were members of the Bloomfield High School Marching Band.

I remember there being a piano in my grandparents home, although I have no memory of ever hearing it played.

Speaking of memories, one thing I do remember is that I also never heard my mother play any musical instrument, although I knew that she was talented on many. We had a piano in our home growing up, and my sister Cynthia and I took piano lessons. Neither of us can play a lick today, although we could probably sit down together and pick out Heart and Soul as a duet.

I am not sure if my younger brother, Bruce, ever had piano lessons, but I can tell you that he was pretty much self-taught and able to pound out original melodies on the piano that came solely from his head. Impressive. Bruce has the family piano…I hope he still plays it.

Michelle grew up taking piano lessons, and is still a gifted piano player when sitting down in front of sheet music at the Baby Grand I gave her for Christmas one year. She made sure our sons Bill and Lew had piano lessons, but neither really took to it. Lew will sit down at the keyboard without sheet music and pound out similar musical pieces to those Bruce would entertain us with. I loved listening to Lew and Bruce playing what I guess you could call free form jazz. I need to ask them for an encore.

Anyway, back to mom. As I said, I never heard her play a musical instrument. Over the years, on many occasions, I asked her to play me something on the piano. She always begged off saying the arthritis in her hands was too painful and she could no longer play. I always thought that was a poor excuse…until now in my old age I have inherited her arthritis in my hands. I can’t tell you how guilty I feel for not totally accepting her arthritis excuse. Mine is pretty bad, although my doctor has prescribed medications to help. Mom didn’t have the benefit of medications for her arthritis.

In 1958, mom was diagnosed with a brain tumor. She had suffered from severe headaches for a while, but had been incorrectly diagnosed by her doctor with migraines. What led to her correct diagnosis and saved her life, was repeated visits to her optometrist in Smyrna, Dr. George Young, for new glasses. After the third optometrist visit, which disclosed another eyeglass prescription change in a short time period, Dr. Young said something was going on unrelated to her eyes. He referred her to a neurosurgeon friend of his, Dr. Joe Barnett in Marietta, who everyone called Dr. Joe.

Dr. Joe called for an immediate emergency operation. The subsequent operation and removal of the tumor saved her life. Dr. Joe said if Dr. Young had not correctly recognized the problem, mom would have died within days. Quite frankly, she was not expected to survive the operation, and even if she did, we were told that she would probably be a shell of herself with few memories or functions. Mom was what was referred to as a modern miracle of medical science at that time. Not only did she survive, but went on to live a full and active life over the next 30 years. She only lost, as a result of the operation, the vision in one eye and her sense of smell (which probably served her well in certain circumstances – let’s not go there, hah!). Her tumor was not malignant, although its fast growth would have killed her. Dr. Joe pulled off the miracle through his expertise and removal of the entire tumor. He said it was unlikely to return.

As fate would have it, in 1987 mom was diagnosed with a second, totally unrelated brain tumor. What are the odds? This one, unfortunately, turned out to be a really bad boy. It was a malignant cancer, and the way it spread throughout her brain kept it from being totally removed. Interestingly enough, when Michelle and I suspected that mom may have a brain tumor (that is another story), I did some checking around and found out that Dr. Joe, mom’s original surgeon, was still in practice in Marietta, nearly 30 years after his original operation on mom. I called him, and he remembered her well, telling me she was his favorite patient ever. He told me to bring mom in immediately.

He quickly determined mom did indeed have another brain tumor and scheduled an operation for Monday, July 6, 1987. He told me the prognosis was not good and that she would likely not survive the operation. Where had we heard that before? Mom agreed to the operation and we called the family together for a “party” on July 4^th, with her brother Jim and Aunt Jeanne coming from Missouri to be there, with the expectation that this may be the last time to see her.

The family gathered at our home across from Atlanta Country Club, had a cookout with plans for a trip over to the Club for the annual fireworks display at dark. After the cookout, while waiting for darkness to come, everyone was wandering around the house or out on the deck visiting with each other. It just so happened that Michelle and I were up in the loft overlooking our great room, as I took video of Bill and Lew playing on the hammock there. Mom was by herself, for the first time all day, sitting on the couch downstairs.

As I was videoing the boys, Michelle whispered to me to look down at mom. I swung the video camera around and recorded mom below. She had just stood up from the couch where she had sat almost motionless for hours. As I videoed her, she walked over to the Baby Grand piano and stood there for a moment looking at the open keyboard. Then she leaned over and started to play. It was short, it was sweet, and she played it complete, but I got to see my mother play the piano for the first, and last time. She turned around and walked back over to the couch and sat down in her spot. I went down stairs and sat beside her. I asked her if she would play some more for me on the piano. She sweetly smiled and looked at me, saying, “Mark, you know I can’t play the piano with my arthritis.” She did not remember having just played. We hugged and kissed and I cried a little as I thanked God for blessing me with this gift.

Mom had her operation two days later, and once again defied the odds and survived. After the operation, while we were still in the waiting room at the hospital, Dr. Joe came out and told me how it went. He said she came through the operation remarkably well, but as expected, he had been unable to remove all the many tendrils of the tumor. He said she should be able to come home from the hospital in a week or so, and he had removed enough of the tumor so she should appear to be fairly normal and functional for a short time, but that would not last long. He said the best we could expect would be a couple of months or so of quality of life, but that she would go down hill rather fast after that and probably would not live more than a year. She lived exactly one year from her operation. I will share separately about the day she died.

One closing note here. Mom was only sixty-three years old at the time of the operation. She had no medical insurance and was not yet on Medicare. I had told Dr. Joe this prior to the operation and that I would be responsible for her medical bills. After the operation, he called me and told me that he loved my mom, and she still remained his favorite patient of his entire career. I asked him to send me an invoice for his services. He informed me that he was not charging me and that all medical bills were paid for. Yeah, I cried. Dr. Joe practiced medicine until his retirement in 1996 after thirty-nine years. He passed away in 2012 after a brief fight with metastatic lung cancer. God bless this man.

Now I have to find that old videotape of mom at the piano and somehow get it recorded to something I can share.

THE SEWAGE BOWL

THE SEWAGE BOWL

By Mark Reed

(The Famous Photo – L-R: Gary Atkinson, Announcer; Buster Herren; Steve “Frenchie” Douglas; Jeff Tendler; Mike McManus; Victor Locklear; Mike Hughes; Richie Smith; George Spears; Jackie Bramlett; Bill Poston; Bobby Martin; Harry Quarles; Eddie Turner; Larry Turner; Shawn Cochran; Alan “Pepper” Williams, Ref.)

Ahhh…The sweet smell of victory. Well, maybe not in this case.

If you grew up in Smyrna, Georgia in the mid to late 60’s, you may be aware of this Annual Sporting Event. The National Wire Services never got “wind” of it. The participants will, of course, never forget it, which can be said for those fortunate enough to be a spectator. I, unfortunately, was never able to participate as a player or spectator, only having heard tales about it. The event occurred annually on Thanksgiving weekend, usually on a Friday or Saturday following Turkey Day, from 1964 to 1971 (there is some argument over whether or not it was played in 1972). I was away at college at UGA from 1964 to 1969 and in the Army from 1969 to 1971. Missing the Sewage Bowl is one of the great regrets of my life.

The main participants in the Sewage Bowl were Smyrna Elementary and ultimately Campbell High School classmates, primarily from the Classes of 1966 and 1967, although there were some sprinkled in from other classes and schools, who I will mention below. Many of these guys were athletes in High School, and used this opportunity to continue playing in a football game after the High School season was over. Thanksgiving was about that time between the end of the seasons for High School and College football and the Bowl games on TV that were played around New Year. There were only a handful of football Bowl games back then, unlike the over thirty today. Those of us here in the Atlanta area remember the Annual Georgia-Georgia Tech Freshman game played on Thanksgiving. Of course, there was Pro football. Most of us traditionally watched the annual TV Thanksgiving match-up between Detroit and Dallas. There were other memorable holiday matchups, as well. As kids have been doing for some time, after the televised game, it was out into the yard to have your own game.

(The Shrine)

The story is that Harry Quarles “convinced” his grandmother Mattie Moore Quarles, lovingly called Mackie by her friends and family, and Aunt Martha Moore Quarles, who everyone just called Aunt Martha, related or not, who lived at the corner of Atlanta Road and Quarles Avenue, to allow he and his friends to stage the first game at Quarles Field in their backyard in 1964. There were many pick-up football games on Quarles Field prior to the inaugural Sewage Bowl in 1964, which were the inspiration for the first Sewage Bowl, so “convincing” Mattie and Aunt Martha was no issue. Going back to Harry’s elementary school days, that back yard was a meeting place for most of the kids in the neighborhood. In addition to football, they had Wiffle Ball tournaments where they even kept stats on hitting and pitching. Harry even learned to drive Martha’s straight-shift ’53 Ford in that back yard. There were other places in the neighborhood where pick-up football games would be played, like over on Flagler Circle behind the McManus and Turner houses.

There was a second game in 1965, which automatically made it a tradition. But the heyday and zenith of the game came in 1966. The name “Sewage Bowl” had been hung on it that first game in 1964, so the name had been formalized by the time of the now “famous” group photo being taken just prior to the 3^rd Annual Sewage Bowl on Friday, November 25, 1966. Please note that many of the participants in the 1966 game are not pictured in the photo, not having arrived until just before kick-off. The only photographic evidence of the games presently being circulated are those attached hereto, which I got from Don Nally. He says he took them with his little box camera. He sent me the originals to scan and attach here. Don did say that he had these photos copyrighted and would sell copies for $9.95 each for an 8×10 glossy.

Obviously, you are probably wondering exactly how this game came to be named the Sewage Bowl. Discerning minds want to know. Many of you who were not a participant or spectator will have figured this out by virtue of intuition, but let me share the exact genesis.

In the City of Smyrna in the late-50’s and mid-60’s, there was no public sewer, at least not south of downtown on Atlanta Road to Quarles Avenue. Homes had their own private septic tank and drain field. In the Quarles backyard, in the middle of the open area where the initial and subsequent football games were played, there was a septic tank and drain field. Yep, you guessed it; there was a back up or rupture of the tank or line, which created a hazard at midfield. In the course of the game, the hazard sometimes could not be avoided. You can imagine the results. Some players needed a change of “uniform” during the game. Some, especially a running back or receiver, would relish in being soaked with the Quarles septic output, primarily because a would-be tackler would avoid tackling them, although Harry remembers tackling Greg Griffin at mid-field and both went down in the hazard.

(Grizzly Bear Lineup – L-R: Eddie Turner; Larry Turner; Don Nally; Shawn Cochran; Bobby Martin; Mike Hughes; Harry Quarles.)

Yes, this was tackle football…not a friendly game of two-handed touch or flag football. This was a knock down, drag out, full speed, full contact, tackle competition, without the benefit of pads or protective gear. There were some injuries over the years, such as Max Bacon getting his ankle broken in the 1968 edition of the Sewage Bowl. Max says it happened in the pre-game warm ups…no one laid a hand on him, he swears…he was running a side out route and when he turned, there went the ankle. Since everyone was playing, no one would take him to Kennestone, so Aunt Martha called Dot, his mom, and she came and took him to the hospital. He had a cast put on and returned in time to see the last couple of minutes of the game. Of course there was Don Nally’s traumatic brain injury from being tackled by Ted Cochran, but since that case is still working its way through the courts, I can say no more here. Suffice it to say, an ambulance was never called for any injury. Some said the game had more in common with a rugby match than football, but the inspiration was American football, and pretty much followed the rules of the game. I’m not sure about how penalties were called, if at all, although there was a ref.

In that first official Sewage Bowl game in 1964, which no one can agree who won, the two teams were the Stanley Steamers, mostly boys from the old Smyrna Elementary neighborhood, against the Grizzly Bears from the Flagler Circle neighborhood. They had all played football together since grammar school. The Grizzly Bears, by 1966, included boys from “across the tracks” or the Vinings area who may have gone to a different elementary school. Over the years, players would, on rare occasions, move to an opposing team in order to keep the teams even, at least in numbers. It didn’t matter where you lived, anyone was welcome to play. At some point, rather than the teams being populated by boys from certain neighborhoods, they would flip a coin and the winning captain would choose a player first, the captains taking turns choosing until all the participants were on a team. Word is that some of the guys would try and hide when a particular captain was choosing, not wanting to be on his team. I have no idea what that is about. Who knows how the captains were chosen.

(Stanley Steamers Lineup – L-R: George Spears; Steve “Frenchie” Douglas; Jeff Tendler; Mike McManus; Victor Locklear; Alan “Pepper” Williams; Richie Smith; Buster Herren.)

The original Stanley Steamers players included, but were not limited to, Harry Quarles, Bobby Martin, Max Bacon, Larry Wolf, Shawn Cochran (who usually played QB), Butch Buice, Mike McManus, Larry and Eddie Turner, Don Nally and Greg Griffin. The original Grizzly Bears included Don Pair (who played QB), Victor Locklear and Jeff Tendler. Others joined the game over the years, and as mentioned above, the 3^rd Annual 1966 Sewage Bowl was the one memorialized in the photos. Some of those others participating were Bill Poston, Jackie Bramblett, Sammy Pate, Buster Herren, Frenchie Douglas, Mike Hughes, Alan Williams, George Spears, Richie Smith and Gary Atkinson. Shawn’s brother Van, in addition to Ted who was mentioned above, also played in certain games over the years. Greg’s brother, Jeff, played in the last game, along with a couple of his buddies, including Bubba McNeel, a 1967 Marietta High School grad, who was Greg’s sister’s boyfriend. As mentioned, most of the guys attended Campbell High School, although some graduated from Wills in 1967 or later. In the 1966 Sewage Bowl the announcer was Gary Atkinson and the Ref was Alan “Pepper” Williams (who called few penalties, I am told).

(Shawn Cochran interviewed by Alan “Pepper” Williams – Shawn boldly predicted a win. Joe Namath followed his lead.)

The 1966 Sewage Bowl even had “corporate sponsors.” This concept was picked up years later by the NFL. The Grizzly Bears were sponsored by Pop’s Package Store at 133 Cherokee Road. The slogan was, “If you like beer, you’ll like Pop’s.” The Stanley Steamers were sponsored by G.B.’s Place. Free “Greasy’s” for the Winning team.

Some of the participants, as mentioned above, were student athletes playing on their High School team, but for others, participating in the Sewage Bowl was a way to play the game without the grind and commitment of formalized High School football. It was viewed as a fun thing to do. The play calling was usually done by committee in the huddle, as there were no coaches to send in plays.

(Drop Back – L-R: Mike Hughes; Greg Griffin; Don Nally; Shawn Cochran.)

There were even Sewage Bowl Queens elected a couple of times. Vickey Rainey one year, and Cheryl Skelton another. One Queen was escorted by Wade Traynham, the original place kicker for the Atlanta Falcons. Greg Griffin had met Wade at the DQ Brazier the summer of 1966, and they became friends. Wade lived in an apartment in Smyrna during football season for a couple of years, returning home to Newport News, Virginia in the off-season. There was at least one Sewage Bowl Parade that started at GB’s and continued up Atlanta Road to Quarles Field.

(Big Ed Turner #00 – Grizzly Bear offensive and defensive end, weight 225 pounds. Eddie also took ballet lessons that year, although he says he was demonstrating his toe drag after catching a pass.)

The first four or five Sewage Bowl games were played on Quarles Field, later relocating to Ward Park, which was used as a Pee Wee football field in the fall. The last Sewage Bowl was played at Cobb Park off of Bank Street in 1971.

The Smyrna Sewage Bowl is a piece of Smyrna history and a little slice (or flush) of Americana. I have no doubt that similar such traditional games were played elsewhere, but none can match the grandeur and majesty of players running through sewage. That, my friends, takes real dedication and a love of the game.

(Grizzly Bears Cheerleader Catherine Cochran , with Casey Cochran?, Kevin Cochran?, and some blond kid no one knows.)

Don Nally has called for a “50 YEAR REUNION REMATCH.” Everyone bring their own football. I will be responsible for making sure an ambulance is on standby.

Postscript: With Super Bowl 50 looming, it is appropriate that this story be told now. That first Super Bowl on January 15, 1967 was inspired, so I am told, by the already three-year-old Sewage Bowl.

On a closing note, I want to thank Harry Quarles, Don Nally, Max Bacon, Bill Poston, Greg Griffin and Ted Cochran for being instrumental in helping me write this story. Their memories, along with tidbits and anecdotes from others, helped me piece this story together. If I got any of the details wrong, well, just try to enjoy it anyway.