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BIRTHDAY ROLLER DERBY - CRASH-O-RAMA IN DOWNTOWN SHERMAN, TEXAS

       I will always be able to remember December 14, 1957, was on a Saturday.  This was the date of my 7th birthday and I was free for the day from my second grade class at Jefferson Elementary.  My parents invited around six of my friends over, including George Head and the youngest of our fellow, 808 N. Willow, duplex-neighbor-dwelling Aleman family, David Aleman.  A birthday party was thrown for me, complete with chocolate cake and presents.   

     My folks gave me a pair of white, high top roller- skate shoes.  Once I got them on, I immediately fell and it took all my friends to keep me
balanced and on my feet.  They then guided me down the sidewalk, yet I continued to fall every few yards.  This was going to take a while to master.

     After cake and presents, my mother announced we were to be dropped off at the Texas Theater in downtown Sherman.  As part of a food drive, the theater admission to the 3 Stooges, Little Rascals, Gene Autry Marathon was a can of food.  She gave me a brown grocery sack with 7 cans of soup to pay our way into the show.  

     I asked to remain in my new skates and wear them to the movies.  Mother pointed out I could not walk, roll or step in them without falling.  It would be a disaster… forget it.  I feigned acceptance to her edict and took them off.  However, I put them in the bag with the soup and joined everyone in our ancient green Plymouth for the ride to downtown Sherman. 

     Mother let us off in front of the Texas Theatre on that bright Saturday morning and left.  I sat on the sidewalk, removed my high top, U.S. Ked’s sneakers and replaced them with my new high top skates.   After distributing the entry admission of a can of soup to each member of our group, I placed my sneakers in the sack and my party gently rolled me into the theatre.    

     Naturally to see so much entertainment for a can of food, the place was packed with screaming children.  It was non-stop motion and mayhem.  I saw very few adults and all the seats in the show appeared to be taken.  It quickly became apparent we would not be able to sit together and as my friends saw an available seat, they released me from their guiding hands and bolted.  I was soon careening down the interior steps of the Texas Theatre out of control, with my arms flailing to grab onto something to bring me to a halt.  The paper bag containing my sneakers fell by the wayside.

     My outstretched hands were slapping faces as I whizzed ever downward towards the screen.  Kids saw what was happening, made an effort to help stop me, but wound up getting head butted or jabbed with my outstretched fingers.  Little ones were run over as I attempted to negotiate the carpeted steps and more than one face exploded with a bloody nose.

     I finally, mercifully fell, taking down a dozen children with me.  Someone from the theatre management arrived and in a loud voice yelled, “Why in the hell would someone wear roller-skates to a movie?”   This now seemed like a reasonable question and I had no plausible answer as to what I was thinking at the time.  Rather than sit me down, locate my street shoes and change, the theatre representative grabbed my belt and tucked me horizontally under his arm, carrying me up the interior Texas movie house steps.  A few of my friends fell in behind, not sure if they could still see the features, since I was obviously about to be tossed out.

     Once we reached the street, the manager faced me east, placed me on my roller feet and gave me a  push to get me away from his movie entrance.  My friends attempted to reach me, as I kind of squatted to keep from falling over.  I rapidly rolled the next several feet down the sidewalk and into the open passage of the building that housed Sherman’s taxi cabs.  Cabs were coming and going, being dispatched around town from this central location.

      I rolled right into the back of a taxi, caught hold of the bumper to stop and get my balance with my friends in tow.  At that moment, the cab took off on its way to pick up a passenger.  It did not occur to me to simply let
go and I held on as the car exited the opposite entrance onto Walnut Street.  The scene was not unlike Marty McFly holding onto a pick-up truck, as he rode his skate board in “Back to the Future.”  I left my friends in the dust as the cab picked up speed and I felt quite certain I had sealed my own doom.   

     Fortunately the taxi stopped at the light at Lamar Street, I let go and zoomed past him through the light.  There were no cars passing through the intersection and I was not immediately smashed like an over boiled pinto bean…as I had envisioned.  I fell, tumbled along the curb and stopped in a scraped up, torn, bloody heap in the middle of the street. 

     Concerned citizens came to me from every angle of the intersection to see if I was hurt.  They slowly got me to my feet and carefully rolled me to the sidewalk.  We had a rather large police officer in Sherman who rode around on a three-wheel scooter, chalking tires and issuing parking
tickets.  He took me to the curb and asked why I was roller-skating in the streets of Sherman.  I explained my painful tale and he sent one of my friends to the theatre to find my shoes in the sack.  

     As fate would have it, my mother was still downtown running some errands.  One of her friends saw her and said they had just driven past a crowd of citizens with the police and saw me sitting on the ground, in the middle of the spectacle, in roller skates.  I appeared to be OK, but was all disheveled and scuffed up.  Mom raced around the block and found me, just as my friend had delivered my shoes.   I changed from the roller-skates, which mother commandeered and we returned to the theater.   

     I convinced mom my wounds were not too serious and we were allowed into the Texas Theater, where the ticket taker remembered me and my group from before.  We sat through all the film features, yet I knew my day of reckoning was at hand when I got home.  Sure enough, as soon as we were picked up and my guests left for their homes, I was verbally chastised, threatened with corporal punishment and my skates were taken away for two weeks.  This did not really bother me.    I felt it would be at least a couple of weeks before I had healed enough to attempt, once again, to learn to skate.

(By the Way:  I NEVER learned to skate without falling down and attribute it to all the trauma of my 7th birthday!)


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