I played every sport Fourche Valley had - basketball and track. At the Yell County track meet, Sonny Lofland and I made up a two man team. Sonny won second in the mile, and I won the half mile, and placed in the high jump, pole vault, and discus. We won second place as a team, with seven teams entered. I had taught myself how to pole vault in my front yard, using a pine pole I stole from the chicken roost. The only trouble was, I went over the bar on the wrong side of the pole. Everyone in the stands just died laughing when they saw me vault, including my competitors. But those I beat stopped laughing then.
We were playing basketball in the finals of the county tournament. I strutted onto the court for pre-game warm ups, and started shedding my warm up pants. I discovered, to my horror, that I had on only a jock strap underneath. I should not have been so horrified. The whole county had seen me nearly naked in the calf scramble at the fair. Anyway, I jerked my warm ups back on, ran to the coach, and he scraped up a pair of red pants from the other team. Our shorts were blue. I did no more strutting that night.
I ended my high school basketball career on a sour note. We were playing Plainview, our arch rivals, in the district tournament. We were behind one, only seconds to go, they were shooting a free throw. He missed, and as I pulled the rebound down, I saw Butch cutting down court. I slung the ball down court as hard as I could, and Butch made a layup. We were up one, and I knew the buzzer was about to go off. I was at the center line, jumping up and down, clapping my hands and screaming, when their big man, Padgett I believe his name was, dribbled around me. I was celebrating so wildly that I could not even slow him down. He lofted one in from the top of the circle as the long-overdue buzzer went off.
Neither my dad nor my mom ever saw me play ball or run track. Mom did not drive, and Dad just did not leave the farm. I do believe, however, that I once detected a slight hint of a smile cross Dad's face, just for a second, when I told him I had set a new county record in the half mile. Nah, surely not. I dearly loved Fourche Valley School. I'm sure I join many hundreds of FVHS Indians out there who can truthfully say that their years there were some of the happiest of our lives.
FVS has a rich history. Our forefathers decided, in 1928, that we needed a high school. Then proceeded to make it happen. Hundreds of rocks were dug from the surrounding mountains, loaded onto wagons and hauled to the site. They did it the hard way. The ladies gathered at the site and cooked meals for the men as they worked. It was a community effort.
I like to think that maybe some of those mules who hauled the rocks were some of the super mules produced by my grandfather, John Wesley Gillum. On the other hand, he died in 1922. Maybe not. Though old Murt, our last mule, managed to sidestep the glue factory until the 1940's.
It saddened me greatly when the doors of the school were closed. However, the valiant effort of so many to keep the school alive truly showed that the spirt of the Fourche Valley Indians lives today, and will always live in the hearts of those of us who proudly called ourselves FV Indians, as long as one of us draws breath.
I was also happy to hear that plans are in the works to house our historical material in a building on campus, and that the our reunions may be held there in the future. Thanks, guys, for your hard work!
From the time my memories started, I was surrounded by siblings, and close neighbors like Cindy Buford, who bled blue and gold. If someone had asked me to sing the National Anthem during my formative years, (at least, after I was three, when I learned to talk,) It would probably have sounded like this:
"Oh, when the Fourche High Indians fall in line,
We're gonna win this game another time,
For the dear old school we love so well," - - - - Thanks for reading!
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