The months have come and gone yet fond memories live on…
Wishing You and Yours a
Sending warms wishes for a Thanksgiving Celebration
Filled with Happiness and Love…
Your Reunion Committee
The months have come and gone yet fond memories live on…
Wishing You and Yours a
Sending warms wishes for a Thanksgiving Celebration
Filled with Happiness and Love…
Your Reunion Committee
The reunion dust has settled and we’re off to experiences as yet unknown. That’s where you – my dear classmates, come in. We’ve had but a brief moment in time to reconnect, yet there is so much more to be discovered from the past fifty years and to connect to from this day on.
This blog is “YOUR” blog. We want to know what you want to read about, what you want to share, what you think would be helpful to you. There is much that can be gleaned from staying connected at this point in our lives – even if online.
Many of you have read Michael Taylor’s piece on our champion football team. So many in fact that it’s our top post! I wasn’t on the team (of course!) but reading about it brought back many fond memories of attending those exciting games. It also led me to reflect on other memorable events that significantly impacted my my career choices in life.
Dixie was a trade school and as such gave us the opportunity to explore different vocations. Perhaps you’d like to share how your Dixie years impacted your career choice or choices. Maybe you’d just like to share your memories of the programs you participated in. If so, leave a comment or connect with me at firstname.lastname@example.org for writing guidelines. Our community wants to hear from you!
Other topics we’ll explore in the future:
And, speaking of friends – more reunion pictures are coming! If you have any to share please send them to me at the email listed above. Thanks!
Sincere thanks to Michael Taylor for his second written contribution to our DHHS 50th Reunion Blog. His generously shared talent and the enthusiasm from others before and after our reunion has been testament to the continued success of our reunited classroom community.
by Michael Taylor
The DHHS football team, 10-0-1 in the fall of 1968, relied on a double split end/ double-wing halfback formation with a fullback directly behind the quarterback. The QB, Randy Shively (or Don Neel), would set the offensive line with his first sound, start one of the wingbacks (often Don Neel) in motion on the second sound, and have the ball hiked by the center (usually Michael Sykes) on the third or fourth sound. He would pivot with the ball as he read the defense and choose to toss the ball to the motion back, hand off to the fullback (usually Don Dixon or Mark Hobbs) up the middle, run the ball himself, or pass to either split end (typically Riley Erwin or Lyn Dreger) or a halfback. The offensive line, anchored by guards Dave Burns and Skip Culver and tackle Ray Horner, created lanes for the running backs or gave the QB a few seconds to find a receiver. The inventive offense created by Head Coach Frank Goddard with input from Larry Cameron averaged 316 yards a game, which set records locally for a 48-minute high school football game. The defense, fortified in the middle by linebacker Don Dixon, only gave up an average of 8 points and 159 yards a game. Larry Whiteside and Mark Hobbs moved in and out at linebacker while Randy MacGinnis and Mike Taylor played defensive ends. The middle of the defensive line, manned by Dale (Hall) Kersey and Ray Horner, was spelled by John Womer and Andy Charles at nose tackle. Jimmy Macfarlane and Tim Condron played at end and defensive back, while Don Neel, Randy Shively, and Lyn Dreger rarely left the field because they were playing defensive backs. Dixon, Dreger, Shively, and Neel spent the most time during the season playing both offense and defense, but Don Dixon put the most minutes on the field over the eleven games. Of course, there were strong efforts from the juniors and the sophomores on the team. This simple reflection is calling to mind the members of the class of 1969.
Our coaches, Elmer Vogelsang, Elmer Aldridge, Larry Cameron, Gus Stergeos, and Paul Wallace, made us work hard at becoming a team from the August two-a-day or even three-a-day practices in the Florida sun and sandspurs. Our trainer, James McCracken, tried to keep us patched together after we were injured.
Those of us attending the fiftieth reunion missed not being able to reconnect with Larry Whiteside and Ray Horner, who did not attend. We did reflect on the teammates who have passed away: Randy McGinnis, Skip Culver, and Mark Hobbs.
After looking through online copies of the Evening Independent, I came away with a few details from moments during the season.
9/21/68 Seminole 7-7
Don Neel pass to Lyn Dreger for TD (Dreger kicked extra point)
9/28/68 Clearwater 27-20
Shively runs for 2 and passes for one/Dixon runs one
10/5/68 Bishop Barry 46-7 Everyone got to play.
10/12/68 Boca Ciega 32-0
Shively was 16 of 22 for 271 yards and 3TDs and ran for a TD. Dreger catches TD and intercepts pass to stop scoring drive.
10/20/69 Manatee 26-14
Hurricane delay, so the game is played on Saturday
11/1/68 Largo 13-7
Don Neel complete 9 of 14 passes to set up Don Dixon’s winning score in the 4th quarter after Randy leaves the game injured
11/8/68 Dunedin 47-7
Shively is 17 of 36 for 291 yards and 6 TDs and at this point in the season is 84 for 150 for 1326 yards and 10 TDs. Randy MacGinnis kicks an extra point.
11/15/68 St. Petersburg 21-12
Don Neel runs 7 times for 40 yards, catches 4 passes for 101 yards and scores 3 TDs. Dixon carries 11 times for 55 yards and makes 5 unassisted tackles.
11/23/68 Gibbs 21-6
Dixon makes 10 unassisted tackles and Shively runs for two scores.
11/27/68 Northeast 34-7
Mark Hobbs scores on a draw play. Randy throws for 234 yards and two TDs. The defense stops two strong running backs and plays a superior game to finish the season undefeated.
Randy Shively passed for 1,861 yards completing 113 of 206 passes for 14 touchdowns and scored 9 TDs running the ball.
Erwin caught 27 passes for 309 yards (1 TD and kicked 1 extra point)
Neel caught 32 passes for 607 yards, ran 72 times for 353 yards and a 4.9 yard per carry average. He passed 42 times, completing 24for 306 yards. He scored 8 TDs.
Dreger caught 38 passes for 473 yards to lead the conference. He scored 6 TDs and kicked 14 extra points.
Dixon scored 4 TDs.
MacGinnis kicked 3 extra points.
Taylor recorded a 2 point safety.
12/7/68 Bishop Moore (Orlando Bowl) 34-20
Riley Erwin scored twice. Mark Hobbs scored on a one-yard run. Don Neel scored on a flea-flicker from Erwin. Lyn Dreger scored on an 18-yard pass.
What a weekend! The 50th Reunion happened! It was great to rekindle friendships from our Dixie Hollins Class of 1969 and make new friends meeting family members and significant others. Though it took months to plan the reunion, the weekend seemed to fly! With so many traveling from around the nation to join us, Jason Mraz’s “93 Million Miles” lyrics are a “must” to share – even for those choosing to remain close to their St. Petersburg roots. Be sure to click “full screen” when viewing – you just might see yourself!
Know we were thrilled to have you all back home!
Special thanks to the Reunion Committee and all who worked so hard to make this a successful event. Also, special thanks to fellow graduate Mike Giles for donating his time and talent to provide music for us on Friday evening!
Keep checking in. There’s lots more to come!
My photos are limited so please be sure to submit any reunion photos you can to me at email@example.com so I can get them posted.
Two nights of gathering and one more to go! There’s still lots to catch up on! Not enough time to share much now before tonight’s event, but will share one of the highlights of our Friday night event!! Look for more to come!
Please send your pictures and videos to firstname.lastname@example.org to add to our blog. Be sure to add “Dixie Pics” in the subject line. Thanks so much!
Special thanks to Theresa Paterson for sharing this video on facebook!
Searching for just the right song to share on the eve of our 50th Reunion, I ran across “Reunion” by Bon Jovi. I’d never heard it but fell in love with the heartfelt meaning behind it…
Oh! Sorry! You’d rather see Bon Jovi perform it? Here you go! Enjoy!
See you at the Reunion!!
One of my favorite words is “perspective.” Why? Because it’s yieldable to the many different views we take on for the same subject over years on our journey to maturity. My perspective – armed with research, knowledge of current trends (real news trends – not fake), and the opinion of others, has opened my mind to diverse points of view that I might not have found so easy to accept when I was younger. In my morning reading, I ran across this little gem and thought you might enjoy it too. Thank you Dr. Joy Finder!
As always, if you find anything you think might benefit the group feel free to send it in. We want to hear from you! Looking forward to seeing you soon! Nancy
LIFE MOVES AT A FAST PACE It’s tempting to pursue life with such breathless haste that you risk missing all the good stuff there is to enjoy. And here’s the thing, most of the good stuff is free. It doesn’t cost you to enjoy it. So, as you journey through the years, take the time […]
Memories of lost lives, of service to country
Era’s past and present
Murder, mayhem, dictatorial reign
On foreign shores far from home
Readying for battle – recruits, drafted, enlisted, then
In the blink of an eye, lives forever changed
Leaving souls, earthly presence behind
Dying so that
Yearning to be free, remain free…
On this Memorial Day, 2019, we honor those who lost their lives in the name of freedom. We honor those who bravely served yesterday and serve today. Thank you for your selfless commitment to country and citizenry throughout the world.
As we draw closer to our reunion, it’s a good time to refresh our memories of one moment in time synonymous with 1969. The Baby Boomers – The Woodstock Generation. Were you there? What did you think when it happened? What do you think about it now? Add a comment. Leave a reply. Thanks!
It’s been almost fifty years since our graduation from Dixie Hollins High School and we certainly have some catching up to do.
Over the years we’ve gone into different vocations. Many of us became teachers or worked closely with students of all ages. Those who didn’t may have fond memories of a teacher who inspired you to enter your chosen field.
National Teacher Appreciation Week is May 6th through May 10th, 2019. Do you have a fond teachable moment or a favorite teacher memory you’d like to share? If so, click on “reply” to share. We’d love to hear it!
That said, here’s special appreciation to all teachers past and present – especially those who realize(d) the true meaning of education as espoused by Sydney Smith…
THE REAL OBJECT OF EDUCATION
Special thanks to fellow graduate Michael Taylor for submitting a memoir from his published book ‘Growing Up Floridian.’ For more information on Michael and his book click on the link provided below.
“A Date with Gladys (October 18, 1968)”
Wind controlled the steering wheel almost as much as I did and forced my gray turtle, actually a 1960 Rambler American, from one side of 66th Street to the other. Having worked up enough courage to ask Maureen out, I wasn’t about to let Hurricane Gladys cancel our date. As the only car on the road, I had the advantage of fighting the gusts across three lanes without the danger of hitting another vehicle. I managed to avoid curbs and telephones poles often by slight margins using the power of forearms developed from three years of high school football.
In the late 1960’s, television weathermen forecasted the path of a hurricane with a lot of guesswork and plotted the course on wall boards that held outlined sketches of the United States. Using black markers, they would draw big arrows indicating the direction of the impending weather system and would use cartoonish symbols indicating wind velocity and cloud cover. With that limited information, I only had a general idea that a big storm was headed our way off the Gulf of Mexico, but knew nothing of actual wind speeds or possible storm surge. I had always taken a much more literal interpretation of Bob Dylan’s 1965 “Subterranean Homesick Blues” and thought that I didn’t “need a weather man/To know which way the wind blows,” at least for this date.
Maureen’s parents were skeptical about allowing their daughter to go off in the storm, but their concrete block home with heavy drapes that fell ceiling to floor and were pulled across every window made the storm’s effects seemed rather tame within the house’s confines. Since Friday night’s football game with Manatee High had been postponed as Gladys raced up Florida’s west coast, I had suggested seeing a movie. Telephone calls had also revealed the only theater open, Central Plaza, offered The Heart is a Lonely Hunter starring Alan Arkin and Sandra Locke.
Tail winds buffeted and, then, aided the drive to and up Central Avenue. Maureen’s faint patchouli perfume infused the car as her wide eyes reacted to bending palm trees, scattered debris whipping along the streets, and occasional emergency vehicles with a mixture of fear and fascination. My heart pumped a little faster as she slid across the bench front seat to sit closer and gripped my arm when blasts of wind and rain shuddered the car. What teenage boy would not want to indulge in such a glorious adventure?
As the last notes of Marvin Gaye’s”Ain’t Nothing Like The Real Thing” faded from WLCY-AM on the radio, we parked in an empty lot and were greeted by an unenthusiastic ticket seller who clearly wanted to be elsewhere.
“The movie will start in a minute. You’re the only people here. Are you sure you want to see this movie?”
I nodded; Maureen shrugged; the ticket taker sighed.
An empty theater, center seats, fifteen rows back, and the moan and whistle of the wind at the exit doors created a romantic setting that encouraged an arm around shoulders and a yielding to a pull to snuggle closer. The emotional impact of the movie which offered a story line about a desperately lonely deaf mute in search of companionship whetted the emotional tension between two seventeen year-olds.
When the wind jerked the exit door out of my hand and flung the heavy metal barrier against the wall, my stalwart turtle just waited patiently as a palm fond bounced off the rear bumper and flattened against the deserted ticket seller’s booth. Maureen’s skirt whipped against her legs as we fought to navigate the hundred feet to the Rambler. Inside, the rhythmic swaying of the car, interrupted by sudden shudders born of violent gusts, kept us welded together.
“Well, let’s go see what’s left of Pass-a-Grille.”
My suggestion generated an unconfident nod, a soft.“O.K.,” and a slide to move a little closer. WLCY-AM appropriately offered “Windy” by The Association, and I thought we did have “wings to fly.”
The wind, no more violent or threatening than when we entered the theater at 6:42, was now no less violent or threatening at 9:10, but the familiar ebb and flow of the wind’s power bred a foolish confidence in my driving responses. Water became a complicating element as ripples in the streets varied in depth, only inches in some places, more than a foot in others. My turtle chugged along; the flathead six engine taking whatever Mother Nature threw at her. With the sparkplugs on the top of the simple six cylinder motor, the car could wade through three feet of water without stalling as long as she kept moving.
Gulf Boulevard on St. Pete Beach was as deserted as St. Petersburg’s Central Avenue, and eerie shadows danced amid pelting raindrops. Just past the vacant pink castle, the Don CeSar Hotel, which had witnessed several hurricanes in its 40 years, a St. Pete Beach police officer stood on the hood of his partially submerged cruiser waving frantically. He obviously did not want us to drive further down the beach, but a couple of feet of water lapping at his bumper didn’t give the chugging Rambler pause. We passed by sending a gentle wake towards the officer’s shoes.
No coins were needed for the parking meters on Pass-a-Grille Beach. The wind raging through the Australian pines screamed in protest as the wave action tore sand from their roots. Both sides of the bench seat folded back with the flip of levers to rest against the back seats. Salt spray dashed against side windows, the back window, and the windshield in odd rhythms while we ducked and snuggled closer. A half an hour later, the 30-foot tall Australian pine six feet in front of us fell into the waves in slow motion as spray now slapped the windshield in time with the waves’ pounding cadence. Inside the swaying turtle, two teenage hearts pounded an increasing rhythm. The black and now foggy windshield offered little beyond a sounding board for rain and sea spray.
A change in the tempo of the wind and rain occurred suddenly. Perhaps we hadn’t been as keenly aware of the storm during the previous half hour, but a curious quiet descended that we recognized as the outer edge of the eye of the hurricane.
Little wind pulled at the door as I pulled the lever up. Maureen’s eyes flashed under the dim dome light as we realized the beach, now three feet lower than the street, lay strewn with the Australian pines planted to shade the parking area and replace similar trees that died in the freeze of 1962. Gnarled wrecks with giant black spidery roots pointing skyward gave testimony to the power of surging waves. Now, gentle waves caressed the devastated beach and pulled at the trailing pine needles from the uppermost branches, which floated in the foam at the water’s edge. Streetlights no longer obscured by those pines reflected off wispy clouds racing overhead in an uneasy calm. A lone gull’s cry broke the lull and seemed to freshen a softer swirling wind. Again Maureen’s skirt flapped as stronger gusts signaled the eye’s edge was giving way to the returning surge of the backside of the storm. Close to the car, I grabbed both a parking meter and Maureen to anchor us and keep her from being blown into the street. We staggered our way back to the Rambler and agreed retreat might be the best course.
Down the street, the abandoned police cruiser had witnessed another retreat. Standing water had subsided as Gladys’ eye passed by in the Gulf but was building again from the sheets of rain that snapped down Gulf Boulevard in long cascades. Maureen leaned forward with a tissue to enlarge the fog-shrouded circle above the steering wheel. My right arm pulled her closer as my left fought the wind for control of the car in a now familiar battle.
Frantic parental arms broke apart a rain splattered kiss and snatched a wayward daughter home moments after we arrived at Maureen’s house. The six hours her parents spent wondering about the fate of their daughter on a date during a hurricane were a few too many. That anxiety produced a stereophonic command: “You will never go out with that boy again!” Those words and any further romance were lost in Gladys’ gales as I sought the shelter of the Rambler.
Newspaper report: Hurricane Gladys (October 13 to October 21, 1968)
The 1968 hurricane season had been relatively quiet until Gladys formed in the Caribbean on October 15. Tropical Storm Gladys was forecast on a slow northward course and, with further intensification expected, the threat to Florida’s Keys and lower west coast increased. Gladys became a hurricane shortly before crossing the south coast of western Cuba and continued to strengthen while crossing this narrow but mountainous part of the island. Gladys emerged into the Florida Straits and continued slowly northward. Gladys took a temporary jog to the north-northwest and passed abeam of the lower west coast. The center passed inland between Bayport and Crystal River, very near Homosassa, about midnight on the 19th. Gladys began to accelerate, crossing the peninsula just north of Ocala, and back out to sea near St. Augustine around daybreak. As Gladys crossed the state of Florida, about 85% of the citrus crop was affected to varying degrees. Gladys moved from the upper coast of Florida to the northeast and skirted the coasts of Georgia and the Carolinas. The center passed very near Cape Hatteras early on October 20 while continuing to accelerate northeastward. With 85 mph winds and tides 5 feet above normal, Gladys was responsible for two deaths and $6.7-million in damage.
From Growing Up Floridian by Michael Taylor
The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines Rite of Passage as a ritual, event, or experience that marks or constitutes a major milestone or change in a person’s life.
Our graduation in 1969 was a major rite of passage. We were leaving a community we finally and hopefully had found a sense of belonging to and venturing to new communities as yet unknown – the workforce, military, vocational school, college…
We were the fortunate ones – attending high school when memories were less fleeting, longer lasting, and more enjoyable to make. With no limitless technology to distract us, we focused on each other, what we sought to accomplish, and making memories.
We gather soon to once again reminisce and relive the memories we made in high school. We’ll remember those no longer with us and those unable to attend.
It’s been fifty years.
New memories remain to be made.
Here’s to seeing you soon.
Over the years there are things we remember and things we forget. An experience so common to one may be easily forgotten while the same “new” experience to another is remembered well.
I reached out to Janet Pollard Shaffer, a friend and neighbor in the 60’s after discovering she was on our Missing Alumni list. I was lucky to find her on Facebook. She sent me her phone number and I called her. We talked about our lives, families, and the reunion. We had a wonderful time sharing stories of growing up in the old neighborhood. She said she remembered coming to my house one day and seeing eggplant slices all over the place on kitchen towels and thinking – What is this? My mother (a fabulous cook!) used to soak eggplant slices in salted water to get the bitterness out, and then dry them on clean kitchen towels before making her delicious Eggplant Parmesan. Janet said she’d never seen anything like that! We laughed so hard at the thought of it.
After we said our goodnight’s I realized Janet had rekindled a sweet memory in me that I had all but forgotten. I spent the evening recalling other memories from that time and wondering what the other neighborhood kids had been up to over the years.
Our brief visit brought back memories that I know I’ll never forget. It made me realize how special this 50th reunion is. Back then…
We all made memories in high school. Maybe there is someone you’d like to reconnect with.
Join us at this very special time in our lives – our 50th Class Reunion. Revive the memories. Share in the fun. Hope to see you there!
Nancy Pimpinelli Ellington