Johnny Bill!
It was six years ago when I wrote a column describing my best friend, Johnny Bill Boggs. To me, he was my hero. I was shocked when I watched one of Hugh Whitt’s films and saw the image of Johnny Bill and me walking down the street in front of the high school. It had never registered that I was clearly head and shoulder taller than this fellow I thought to be bigger than life itself, even if I was as thin as dental floss. I was thinking about him again the other day when I was visiting some memories of so long ago.
When sitting down to write I was faced with the problem of writing about a ‘best friend’ that shared nearly every experience, good and bad, while growing up in Louisa. Life to us was one long adventure in a land that was full of surprises. I discovered that writing about some of those events now, some sixty years ago was to be fun. For just a moment, we boys were young again.
The last time I saw him, he was in college, working to become an engineer. It was after that I heard he lived in Ohio, Tennessee, and other places. During these last few years I finally became able to contact him. He was kind enough to preview the article I wrote on his dad and pass along some more information that awoke memories filed deeply away in some lost storage in my mind. After publishing the story I heard that his family was blessed by the short story. There really is much I could write still but this is meant to be a relatively short column, rather than a full biography. My goal is to write about my friend while keeping it relatively private, but interesting to the reader. After all, it is likely that many remember him or have precious memories of another you call, ‘best friend.’
I really don’t recall when I first met him, but I know it had to be prior to grade school. Likely, we were mere babes in our mother’s arms. We were born three days apart (he is the older) and likely were at several places and community affairs on our respective mother’s hips. I do, however, remember in the first grade that he, Billy Elkins, and I were fast friends who were part of each other forever. We are lifetime friends.
I recall sitting at a table in Mrs. Armstrong’s first grade class. Johnny Bill
was across from me at a table occupied by boys. Nature, I suppose had us segregate since I’m doubtful Mrs. Armstrong planned to set us together. When the teacher was talking to the whole class I happened to look Johnny Bill. Our eyes met. Sparkling with mischief he smiled back at me and then wiggled his ample ears. I had never seen such a thing! I certainly couldn’t wiggle my ears. I naturally broke out in a giggle. Mrs. Armstrong asked me what was so funny and I protected Johnny by saying ‘nothing.’ When she turned her back and walked away those ears began wagging again. After two or three attempts and failures she grew tired of the game. My blustery laugh was too much for her to tolerate. I was in big trouble and would become an example to others to not misbehave. She moved from the boy’s table to sit with the girls. It was at a time in my life that I failed to see anything good in sitting with GIRLS. I became the subject of ridicule of both genders. Even though my friend had started the incident, he took up for me and made the other kids back off. He was like that.
At recess, or playing after school and on weekends, we were fast friends. We walked around town together over the years, growing older but not noticing. We visited stores like Curt Young’s Grocery on Clay and Pike, and enjoyed soft drinks and moon pies on the back porch. We tossed baseballs and footballs and improved our skills at these sports. We played choose up games whenever we could and tried to be on the same team. In the beginning, since I was taller and perhaps an ounce heavier, I would run with a football at Johnny Bill and he was slow to tackle me. Later, in high school, after he went out for the Bulldogs, the coach taught him a thing or two about tackling. Never again did I run over him because he consistently hit me hard in the middle and threw me to the ground. He learned well from the coaching.
Johnny Bill played in the percussion section of the LHS band, too. He learned to play the snare drums and in concert he placed the tympani (kettle drums). When it was time for him to consider whether football or band would rule in his life he became stubborn and said, “Both.” He had always planned to play football but he had a couple of problems. He was smaller than other players, except Harry Richard Cyrus, but worse, he was taking on a big political battle. The coaches and band directors fought over which was more important. He, and I think it was Herbie Rice, stood their ground and played on the team and remained in the band. During half-time, they would join the band with their program and then rush back to join the Bulldogs in the locker room. In late summer I they got to go to both football camp and band camp, too.
As I have mentioned, Johnny Bill was diminutive compared to other male high schoolers. He was too light to compete well considering the big guys that were veterans of the squad. He didn’t get a lot of playing time and part of that likely was size, and part may have been in my estimation, the perceived conflict of interest with the band. He was good at sports, including ‘choose-up’ football and baseball, so I didn’t think he got his fair share of playing time. He took that in good stride, demonstrating again his character.
Here’s what Johnny had to say about his football career:
“As soon as I could, I went out for football. I was 105 pounds, soaking wet. I went out in order to impress the girls and win a “Letter”. Harry Richard Cyrus and I were the smallest male students in our grade. Every practice, the fullback Maynard twin (Wayne or Joe?) would have a 10 yard running start, and I then got to tackle him. I would hit him as hard as I could and he would trip over my body after stepping on me for at least another 10 yards. I did get to play in the last 3 minutes of the games, if Louisa was losing badly. A few times, I ran very well, and the coach would say “you’re going to start next week.” Coach never did start me. I only needed to get in one more time in any quarter to get my “Letter”. Coach refused!
“Later, I grew, became strong, fast, and tough. We got a new coach. We liked each other, and he asked me to join the team. I said, OK! Several teachers, the Band Director, Principal, Superintendent, and others said the band needed me. I said, Fine, I’ll do both. I think Herb Rice was doing both, marching in the band and playing on the football team. The answer was NO!!!! My grades were not straight A’s so after the battles, I never got to play football, but stayed with the band.”
He was handsome, smart, and humble, always thinking of others. He was well-respected because he was a person of character. He lived by unspoken rules that were more than just good manners, but he had a true nature toward protecting others and standing his ground on good personal ethics. I’m sure that came from Eddie, his father, but somehow he forged his own standards. Oh, he was human enough, but he was still a solid, trustworthy friend.
During the summer we played on organized baseball teams. Once I was drafted to a competitive team and was disappointed, as was he. When I had to go out of town for a few weeks, I came back to find out that I had been traded to Eddie’s and Johnny Bill’s team. I was delighted to be with my old friends again. We also played on the ‘Smokey Valley’ team that traveled on Sunday afternoons. We went from Lomansville to Buchannan, High Bottom to Carter’s Bridge, Fort Gay and other fields. Jim Ray Rose was a pitcher with a really good curve ball and Billy Elkins was a lefty that played at first base, too. Stanley Brown and Johnny Bill and Teenie VanHoose were infielders and other town boys filled the other positions. I wish I could remember the full line-up, but it’s pasted out of my memory bank. Perhaps some reader may know.
In our upperclassman years Johnny Bill was able to borrow his dad’s car for dates. We would often ‘double-date’ and had the best times. The roads around Louisa saw that Oldsmobile tooling around nearly every weekend. While he dated around, I don’t recall him going really steady with any of them. He did date one or two more often than others, but he was a handsome young fellow and could easily find someone on his arm with little effort. Still, he was a gentleman, always being careful not to offend any.
I’ve mentioned a couple of exploits we were involved in. The first was the ride to Fallsburg on our bicycles only to be hauled in on the return trip by Eddie. I still remember the sting of the sermon by his dad. The other main one was the fishing trip down river to the mouth of the Blaine and the ‘after dark,’ scary return. Eddie and others were on Pete Armstrong’s dock looking for signs of us. Their presence actually may have saved us because of their sweeping the river with their flashlights. From that we could see the dam pillars so we could avoid hitting them.
Over the years we played a lot together and later added rougher games such as ‘track,’ which involved one group of boys heading up town hill and into the woods and the other following a half hour or an hour later. The second group had to track the first by reading signs such as bent grass, moved rocks, bent tree limbs or some other disturbance that told us the group passed going a certain direction. The idea was to finally catch them. I recall breaking out on top of a hill and seeing the other group down in the bottom crossing a creek. We ran helter-scatter down the hill. I found myself going so fast that I knew I couldn’t stop. Trying would only make me fall and the pain of rolling and hitting the rocks and trees wasn’t a goal. I suddenly saw a small tree right in my path and it was too late to avoid it. I simply ran over it tearing it out by the roots. Still running out of control I left it behind. I continued to run and hop to the bottom of the hill. Once there, we had accomplished our goal and caught the other group. Someone remarked that I had blood streaming down my face and I realized the tree had given me a reminder to plan my path of decent better. It was only a scratch, but a prize for my efforts.’
I’m not certain, but it was likely that Johnny Bill was with me when on some Sundays when some of us boys would shoot rats at the town dump. We had practiced shooting arrows, throwing tomahawks, and other kinds of marksmanship. We always remembered the cautions that we were given with lessons on handling the weapons, but we were pretty good at hitting targets.
We were pretty much three musketeers, Johnny Bill, Billy Elkins, and me. We laughed together, sometimes cried together, and often worried together. We looked after each other when one got hurt or had a disappointment. We tried to be each other’s strength, someone to share with while knowing all confidence would be kept. We honored each other and that made a difference in our lives. That’s what best friends are for.
Our recent exchanges of email tells me that he has a wonderful understanding today of what is important in life. He loves the Lord, loves his family and is content to embrace those things in his heart. Just as I surely loved his dad, I have a brotherly love toward him that can never fail. I so enjoy hearing about his family and his love for living a good life. I again wish him God’s grace and the blessings that follow.
