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The sights and sounds of the big game are still distinct more than four decades later, and live again each fall.
On a late August night, the temperature still sweltering and people still sweating even as the sun went down, I stood on the field with my fellow cheerleaders. A harvest moon rose over our heads and our hearts filled with hope as we eagerly awaited the opening game of what should be a great season. We had most of our starting players returning. The outlook for this season, my senior year, was promising. I was the co-captain of the cheerleaders.
It was the fall of 1975, and of course much has happened since that warm August night.
Karen, the captain of the cheerleaders and my close friend, died just three years later in a double murder which is still unsolved. Her death shattered the innocence of the sleepy little mountain town in southern West Virginia where I lived.
Other members of that team have passed away as well but we have a few success stories. Donnie, the offensive captain, played football at Wake Forest University. He is now the CFO of an Atlanta-based business. Wayne, a junior that year, also played football at Wake Forest, setting some Atlantic Coast Conference receiving records. Joey, the quarterback, is a tenured professor now. I married, moved to Louisville, raised four children and eventually became a writer. Those of my classmates who remain see each other once in a while at class reunions.
Reunion weekend always starts with tickets to the Beaver-Graham game. It is tradition for my high school, the Bluefield Beavers, to start their season playing cross-town rivals, the Graham G-Men. This annual match-up in the same stadium we used in 1975 has much the same feel as it did back then. There is still the cracking of helmets, enthusiastic cheerleaders on the sidelines, excited fans, and the hot August night skies still boast a harvest moon.
Young Again
As I sat in the stands on such an August evening a few years ago, my mind could not help but wander to bygone days and I was once again on the field next to my friend Karen cheering our team on. We lost only one game that year. But our hopes faded as our team dropped into fifth place in the statewide poll. Back then, only the top four teams in the state earned the privilege of moving on to post season play-offs.
But in the middle of the last game of the season, our luck changed. Over the public address system, the announcer loudly proclaimed that George Washington High School was beating Charleston in their season’s last game. A cheer rang out, first in a low rumble then building to a frenzy as the impact of the news sank in. If George Washington could pull out a win against #4 Charleston, it would change the ratings. Charleston would fall to fifth and we would move up into that much coveted fourth place position, gaining a right to post-season action.
As the second half of both games progressed, forgetting our own game which we were handily winning, we waited with bated breath for each update on the other game, several hours away. Finally, the last announcement came—Charleston lost! Our own win a few moments later was rather anticlimactic. We were flying high just the same because we knew we were headed to the state football play-offs!
Play-offs, Here We Come!
The semi-final game pitted my high school, fourth-ranked Bluefield, against first-ranked and unbeaten Buckhannan–Upshur. The Buck–Ups had a player named Tinker Jackson, reputed to be the top running back in the state. Our leading scorer’s name was Donnie Jackson. Someone in our fan club had made a huge sign that read, “Our Jackson is better than your Jackson.” The game ended with Bluefield routing Buckhannan-Upshur 42-0! Donnie scored three touchdowns in that game. I guess our sign was right.
Then came November 22, 1975, the coldest ball game I have ever participated in. It would have been bad enough had I been sitting on a bleacher under a blanket, warming my hands around a cup of hot cocoa; but I was on the field in a cheerleader skirt that barely covered my bloomer-clad butt. The layers of shirts under my thick white sweater and the gloves I wore did nothing for my exposed legs that had only a pair of sheer pantyhose between them and the frigid air! I think that’s the coldest I have ever been in my life. But it was worth it. We came from behind at the half to claim the title with a 20-7 victory.
That was many years ago and much has happened since. But hidden away in my heart will always be the treasured experience of cheering for the 1975 West Virginia AAA High School Football Champions. Every fall when the leaves look festive, the air feels crisp and harvest moons hang in the sky like giant pumpkins, America turns attention to its favorite pastime and my mind remembers days gone by, dear friends I have lost, and the glories of high school football in the age of innocence.
The story above is from our September/October 2019 issue.
