THE 1962 CUBAN INVASION OF SHERMAN, TEXAS

       Beginning around 1960, I became aware of the propaganda being pushed onto elementary school children regarding the communist threat.

  Every shop, church, funeral parlor and school in Sherman, Texas, had brochures detailing the treacherous methods communists utilized to undercut our American lives.

     These pamphlets often used “comic book-like” stories to make the point, “communists were everywhere!”  They worked their way into our society, they could be your next door neighbor, teachers or in our government.  People you do not suspect…friends, your other-wise funny uncle…Perhaps, YOUR OWN PARENTS could potentially be under the spell of these Atheist, Communist villains from Russia or China.  How did it happen?…we do not know, but be vigilant.  IT IS ALL UP TO YOU to keep communism out of Sherman.

     This all scared me to death…supplemented with TV shows and monologues from our elementary school teachers, it appeared we were on a slippery slope of doom.  My 5th grade teacher commented, Russian men were at least twice the size of men in the United States.  I saw the Olympics on our black and white TV and giant Russian women were kicking everyone’s butt in the hammer throw.  These were big, snarling, intimidating women, who appeared bigger than any U.S. male competitor.  What chance did we have if their women can beat up our men?    Our nation was in serious danger!

      At this time in my life, I worried about everything.  I did take some comfort in the fact Russia was on the other side of the earth.  But if the

commies were infiltrating our society and may even be in our neighborhood, it was up to me to stay alert.  It did cause me to pause when one of the many “communist in our midst” brochure stories suggested these fiends might be in your own family.  “If you see something, say something!”  But to whom was I going to rat out my father if I suspected he was a communist?  I didn’t hear him espouse communist doctrine, per se.  However, the more I thought about it, some of his behavior was strange and perhaps communistic.  He did walk around in his white boxer shorts, scratching his stomach and smoking his pipe, while listening to polka music.  You never saw Beaver Cleaver’s dad doing that sort of thing.  Is this communist behavior?

     I remained concerned about the Russians and out of nowhere, Cuba confirmed they were pals with the Soviet Union and were fellow commies!  If you looked at a globe, Cuba was a short swim and walk to Sherman, Texas.

     This really upped the ante!  The propaganda mill was revved up and we were being bombarded with TV shows, brochures and sermons from the pulpit, regarding the intermingled threat of Khrushchev, Castro and Satan. 

     Then, in October of 1962, while in the 7th grade at Piner Junior High,

the Cuban missile crisis commences.  This, coupled with the natural difficulty of beginning a new school and living in the shadow of 8th and 9th graders caused me major angst.  Earlier in the school year we went through a fire drill, which terrified me because I assumed it was real.    Our teachers attempted to line us up for an orderly walk out of the school.  This seemed entirely too slow for me, so when the alarm went off, I bolted from the classroom and raced down the stairs to the door.  I was admonished for not following the rules, but felt I had done the only thing that made sense.

      So in the middle of the Cuban missile crisis, our school administration decided to have a civil defense drill, in case we were bombed by the communists.     This is totally different from a fire drill…instead of an alarm, there is a repeated blast of an air horn.  You don’t run outside where the planes can shoot you down, you get under your desk!  GET UNDER YOUR DESK?  Those desks couldn’t repel a spitball!    If Castro

wants to bomb Piner Junior High School, it would appear there was little we could do in the way of defense!  It would make more sense to arm the students and perhaps install anti-aircraft weapons on the roof.  Have the patrol boys trained to take down Cuban bombers as part of their regular safety training.

On the fateful day of the drill, I was in P.E., under the direction of our beloved 7th grade coach Rex Gibson.  We were playing dodgeball in the gym and I was directed to remain while everyone else went to the shower.  Coach Gibson had me run several laps around the gym because he had no appreciation for my talkative, one man stand up comedy routine.    After completing my laps, I had to gather up the dodge balls and put them away.  This made me the last one in the shower, as my classmates were dressed and getting ready to leave.    

     I am alone in the shower, lathered with soap in nothing but my birthday suit.  The air horn went off at the same time as the bell, signaling the end of the class.  What the hell?  What were we supposed to do?  Was that a fire alarm or a civil defense alarm?  Some ran outside, more ran to the

gym.  Teachers were herding boys and girls into the boys locker room on the ground floor, because it was too late to get them under a desk.  The same locker room where young Bucky Sappenfield is standing soapy and nude, with nothing between himself and the Lord except the ceiling.

      Coach Gibson yells a warning for me to get a towel wrapped around myself.  I see the locker room filling up and the towels are all across the room.   This is going to be bad!  All the girls I worshipped from afar were going to witness me in a state of “‘au natural” and I would never live down the humiliation!       Plus, I am convinced Castro’s army has parachuted into Lake Texoma, destroyed Pottsboro, Texas then Denison, Texas.  They bombed Dillingham Junior High School

and are now marching down Crockett Street, with their sights on Piner.  Not only are the communists going to kill me, they are going to do it while I am naked and in the presence of lovely young ladies.

     I did the only think I could think of, which was to  soap myself abundantly, in an effort to camouflage all appendages and push myself into a corner of the shower.  The boys locker room continued to fill, I could swear I heard Castro’s army marching up the steps of the school and I did not see how things could get much worse.

     At that moment, the clouds parted and like the angel Gabriel surrounded by light, Coach Gibson stepped into the shower with a towel.  I wrapped it around my soapy torso and stepped from the shower to

applause and laughter.  The PA came on and declared the drill was over…there was no communist attack or even a  fire.  I waited until everyone left the locker room, showered, dressed and joined the general chaos created by the two separate alarms.

     I went outside and sat on the steps for a long time as my heart rate returned to normal and  prayed for deliverance from the communist threat.    But…if I was called upon to fight the Cubans, Russians, or any other communists, please dear Lord…let me do it with my pants on.