Southwest Times Record – Jim Stafford's BlogOKC

34 years later, article stirs memories of Arkansas’ stunning exit from SWC

Fort Smith Etc. magazine cover from 1991

Almost 34 years ago, a friend and former coworker at the Southwest Times Record in Fort Smith, Ark., hit me up with a request.

Patti had left the paper to become editor of a new local magazine called Fort Smith Etc. She asked me to write an article on the University of Arkansas’ stunning move from the now late Southwest Conference to the the rival Southeast Conference.

Arkansas announced in August 1990 that it was switching conferences, and actually made the move the following year.

The unexpected conference divorce set off shockwaves among major conferences and ushered in what has become an era of constant realignment. By 1995, the SWC was no more, with most members welcomed into the Big Eight, now known as the Big 12.

Anyway, I wrote a pretty snarky — for me — 800-word piece for the magazine that listed all the things the Razorbacks would not miss from the SWC. It was published in the Nov./Dec. 1991 edition of Fort Smith Etc. magazine.

So, why am I writing about this now when I hadn’t given the article a thought for the last 30 years or so?

Turns out a high school friend of mine and Fort Smith native I’ll call ‘Will’ discovered he had digitized copy of the article on his personal computer. Will, who also had written for the magazine, emailed it to me. Thanks, Will!

After reading what I wrote more than three decades ago, I’m still proud of how it turned out and the fact that it is still relevant today in this era of conference reshuffling.

There are a couple of references to now departed venues like Barnhill and Reunion arenas (and misplaced campus locations for the universities of Alabama and Mississippi), but it’s not too dated, I think.

With all that said, I’m reprinting the article here in BlogOKC. Hope you enjoy this trip down memory lane.

Signed, sealed & delivered to the SEC

Mac Davis, the curly-haired crooner with the West Texas drawl, probably said it best for University of Arkansas fans when he sang something like “Happiness is the state of Texas in my rear view mirror.”

That was the theme when 10,000 or so Hog-callers began their final caravan across the Red River and out of the Lone State after the Southwest Conference basketball tournament last March. The Razorbacks had bid adieu to their SWC step-brothers with an astounding thrashing of the Texas Longhorns for the tournament championship, and along with the Razorback women’s team, hauled away every basketball prize the league had to offer.

When it was over, they called the Hogs in Dallas one final time, took the “Barnhill South” sign down from in front of Reunion Arena and began the pilgrimage back to the Ozarks. The last one out should have stopped and burned the bridge that spanned the Red River.

Without a glance in the rear view mirror, Razorback basketball fans got out the map and charted Knoxville and Birmingham and Jackson and all the Southeast Conference stops in between. The SEC, a conference that already featured teams in seven states, threw open the doors to Arkansas with a great big “Welcome.”

In Texas, the resentment of any Arkansas’ SWC success ran deep in such holes-in-the-prairie as Waco and Lubbock. The Razorbacks own a legacy of SWC success that can’t be exorcised from the conference record book. You can look it up.

Nevertheless, despite 76 years of SWC membership (Arkansas was a charter member), Arkansas forever remained an outsider who annually crashed a party that should have been a Texas-only affair.

Well, it is now. The SWC is reduced to eight Texas schools, any six of whom would be welcomed this very minute into the Trans-America Conference or the American South.

If there were any tears, they were those shed by Dallas merchants, who may have been the only people inTexas who realized from where the success of the SWC basketball tournament came.

Arkansas now has been signed, sealed and delivered to the Southeast Conference and there should be no nostalgic or sympathetic thoughts for the conference left behind in Texas.

Unsure? I offer ten reasons never to never look back at the SWC:

1. Average attendance at SouthwestConference basketball games in 1990-91 was 3,963. The SEC averaged 11,585.

2. Mississippi, with an average of 3,949, was the Southeast Conference’s poorest draw in basketball in 1990-’91. Texas Tech (2,465), TCU (3,868), SMU (2,938), Rice (2,873) and Houston (3,387) all had lower attendance averages.

3. Average attendance at Southwest Conference football games in 1990 was 39,382. The SEC averaged 63,870.

4. Southwest Conference teams were forced to play a limited football schedule for two seasons because one conference member, SMU, was given the “death penalty” by the NCAA; no SEC school has ever drawn the “death penalty.”

5. The Cotton Bowl is played in an open-air stadium, often in some of the most brutal weather Texas has to offer on New Year’s Day; the Sugar Bowl, played in the New Orleans SuperDome, is never threatened by the weather.

6. Southeast Conference football games are broadcast nationally over the Turner Broadcasting System cable network. SWC games are broadcast throughout Texas on something known as the “Raycom Sports Network.”

7. Arkansas will never have to face Southwest Conference officials when playing a Southeastern Conference game.

8. Texas A&M, a school full of traditions, features an all-male corps of cheerleaders.

9. There is no horror movie titled “The Tennessee Chainsaw Massacre”

10. Few natives from any Southeastern Conference state answer to the name of “Tex.”

Looking back at my BlogOKC favs of 2024

EDITOR’S NOTE: In what has become an annual column of its own, I look back over BlogOKC in 2024 and list my 10 favorite posts. Not most popular, but those that meant the most to me. I went back and forth, adding some then eliminating them, because each of them meant something to me. I hope you enjoy browsing the list and clicking on the headlines to read the full post. My list of personal favorites also includes a wonderful guest post by my friend, Don Mecoy. Enjoy!

Major League Baseball Commissioner Rob Manfred said the ‘Golden At-Bat’ is being discussed

Major League Baseball’s terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea

Dec. 11

When I was a young would-be sports writer just out of college working for the Southwest Times Record newspaper in Fort Smith, Ark., my editor sent me out to cover the state small school baseball tournament.

I had not seen much high school baseball through the years, so I was caught by surprise by one particular rule the small schools played by.

It was called the “Courtesy Runner.”

The Bricktown Ballpark scoreboard shows the team’s new name at reveal event.

What’s in a name? Apparently, a lot in OKC Baseball Club rebrand to ‘Comets’ … Or not much

Oct. 28

The Oklahoma City Baseball Club revealed its new name, “Comets,” in a ceremony Saturday evening at the Chickasaw Bricktown Ballpark witnessed by at least a couple thousand enthusiastic fans.

I was among those who showed up for the Big Reveal, so I can attest to the collective cheer that went up when the “Comets” name and logo appeared on the scoreboard screen.

I was not expecting “Comets,” although I’m not sure what I expected. Maybe “Flycatchers,” which my friend Ed Godfrey had predicted as the future team name. Or the “Waving Wheats” or something that related to Oklahoma.

acu group — From left, Scott Kirk, Jim Stafford, Peggy Marler, Ron Hadfield, Corliss Hudson Englert, Brad Englert, Cheryl Mann Bacon

ACU Hall of Fame recognition for my friend Ron Hadfield … and a grand reunion

Oct. 22

Ron Hadfield is a long-time friend who was my student editor on the Abilene Christian University newspaper, The Optimist, in 1977. Ron recently was recognized with a Lifetime Achievement Award at the ACU Athletic Hall of Fame ceremony that I was privileged to attend.

I showed up on ACU’s doorstep in 1976 as a transfer student with a dream to some day become a newspaper sportswriter, but with virtually no writing experience.

Ron likes to tell the story that on the first assignment he sent me out on, I turned in some terrible copy and proudly showed him the quotes I made up.

I deny the accuracy of his memory.

Brady and John — Brady Spencer with his son, John, outside Kansas City’s Union Station during the 2023 NFL draft.

The Populous impact on OKC sports venues & my friend, Brady Spencer

Sept. 17

A recent update in The Oklahoman newspaper on the new OG&E Coliseum under construction at the State Fairgrounds identified it as a venue designed by a firm named “Populous.”

In an even more recent story, I learned that Populous has been hired to design the new $71 million soccer stadium just south of OKC’s Bricktown.

I think I’m noticing a trend.

So, what exactly is Populous?

Solomon walking — Solomon rolls his new backpack up to OKC’s Omni Hotel on Friday morning.

Solomon’s ‘road trip’ to OKC’s Omni Hotel

July 12

This is what happens when his GiGi is out of town on business and Papa is left in charge of entertainment on a Friday for our grandson, Solomon.

So, when it was just us two early Friday, Solomon said he wanted to go on a road trip. He suggested “the beach” and then Branson.

I said we couldn’t do either of those today, but maybe we could drive up to Guthrie and find a place to eat.

Solomon sort of accepted that, but later told me he wanted to go to that “nice Thunder hotel downtown.” All of us had stayed the night at OKC’s Omni Hotel last year when my wife, Paula, was booked there for a convention meeting.

Screenshot — A black ’65 Mustang that looks exactly as I remember the one driven by my Aunt Dee.

The ’65 Mustang was my Aunt Dee’s ride or die

June 28

This is a story of the Ford Mustang. Or, rather, two Ford Mustangs. One of them did not have a happy ending, and I was in it.

If you are hazy on your Ford Mustang history, I’ll catch you up to date a bit. The Mustang was conceived by team at Ford led by Lee Iacocca, who later gained fame as the man who saved Chrysler.

The first Mustang was introduced to the public in April 1964, as the “1964-1/2” Mustang. It was an instant hit. The public fell in love with it because it had a unique, sporty body style compared to what U.S. autos had been, which were cars shaped like boxes and quite unattractive.

My dad was among the millions of Americans who were taken by the Mustang and eventually bought one when he was stationed on the island of Okinawa while in the military. I’ll come back to that.

Apple in 2024: Nobody likes a bully

March 23

I read a magazine article when I was in college in the 1970s about a scrappy startup called Apple Computer, founded by two guys named Steve who built their first computers in the garage at the home of one of the Steves.

I couldn’t get enough of their story; the David-vs.-Goliath way that Apple blazed the personal computer trail that forced the industry behemoth at the time, IBM, to play catchup. Steve Jobs and Steve Wozniak were my entrepreneurial heroes.

So, I admit that I am a long-time Apple fanboy and remain one today.

But my fandom has run smack into some ugly reality. Apple is no longer the scrappy industry underdog. In fact, it is one of the world’s largest companies by market value. Yet, it has begun to flex its financial muscles like a bully that nobody likes.

In my hometown, the long decline of a Fort Smith institution

Feb. 22

Here’s a bit of nostalgia for you. When I walked into the Southwest Times Record newsroom for the first time as an employee in 1978, I encountered a bustling community of talented writers, editors and photographers all scrambling to publish local news seven days a week.

The Fort Smith newspaper was a great place to learn the craft as my first job out of college. There are many folks among my former colleagues there whom I will never forget. I worked at the SWTR for five years in a variety of positions before moving to Oklahoma City and working for The Oklahoman for almost a quarter of a century.

So, it’s been disheartening to watch the SWTR decline as a community force over the past few years as the number of subscribers declined and employees were laid off. It’s a situation not unlike that in many other cities across the nation.

Evard and car — Evard Humphrey and his No. 12 super-modified sprint car

Why Evard Humphrey remains a sprint car hero to this child of the ’60s

Feb. 16

Editor’s Note: Don Mecoy is a friend and former colleague at The Oklahoman who retired as the newspaper’s managing editor at the end of 2022. A recent conversation about sports heroes from our youth when Don was a guest on the 3 Old Geezers podcast sparked his memory about a local race car driver fromthe late 1960s. Don wrote this guest blog post about that driver and those memories.

By Don Mecoy

I had my share of sports heroes when I was a kid. Roger Staubach, Lou Brock, Johnny Bench and Joe Washington were among my faves. But my personal hero — and it truly was personal — was a guy you probably never heard of: Evard “Kerfoot” Humphrey.

Evard was the driver of the No. 12 super-modified sprint car that ran every Friday night at State Fair Speedway during my youth in Oklahoma City.

tarps1 — Advertising banners cover the entire upper deck seating area down the first base line of the Bricktown Ballpark.

Fading glory: Bricktown Ballpark needs upper deck rehab

Feb. 2

I was enjoying a summer evening at the Chickasaw Bricktown Ballpark with a friend last year, savoring the crowd, the game and the park’s immaculate green pasture.

Then my eyes landed on the upper deck along the first baseline that extends out into right field. There were no seats or bleachers visible. Only advertising banners draped across each section.

Don’t get me wrong. Oklahoma City has a beautiful ballpark that has retained its attractiveness since it opened in April 1998. However, the tarps do nothing but detract from the ballpark’s charm.

Major League Baseball’s terrible, horrible, no good, very bad idea

I had not seen much high school baseball through the years, so I was caught by surprise by one particular rule the small schools played by.

It was called the “Courtesy Runner.”

That rule allowed coaches to sub in a faster runner when a slower player got on base. But the player who was substituted for could remain in the game. Usually, the coach subbed in his fastest guy for the big, slow catcher.

I was offended by the Courtesy Runner, because I grew up following Major League Baseball and knew that once a player was substituted for, he was out of the game. No coming back in.

But the Courtesy Runner seemed popular with high school coaches in back in 1979, even if it messed up my boxscore at the end of the game. It remains in play for high schools, softball and even Little League Baseball.

And now the Courtesy Runner has been joined by other earthshaking changes infiltrating Major League Baseball itself as the game seeks a younger demographic. The pitch clock. Bigger bases. Fewer mount visits.

More is coming.

Recently, MLB Commissioner Rob Manfred discussed the possibility of baseball using what he called a “Golden At-Bat.”

“You put your best player out there out of order at a particular point in the game,” Manfred said. “That rule and things like that are only in the conversational stage right now.”

Here’s a scenario:

Let’s say the Yankees are down two runs in the 9th inning vs. the hated Red Sox with two men on base and two outs. The Golden At-Bat rule would allow them to bring Aaron Judge — their best hitter — to the plate even if his place in the batting order was six at-bats away.

I’m offended by the Golden At-Bat idea, just like I was offended by the Courtesy Runner all those years ago.

Call me a Geezer shouting GET OFF MY LAWN, but the Golden At-Bat concept seemed to come right out of left field, so to speak. It’s goofy. It’s unneeded. It’s a terrible idea.

Baseball already places a runner on second base to start the inning in extra innings. Now this?

Like me, much of the world of MLB fans reacted with horror to a rule that would skew baseball’s beloved statistics, which have withstood the test of time for more than 100 years.

There has been a chorus of boos across the nation from baseball fans, among them radio talk show host Dan Patrick. I listen to the podcast version of the DP Show daily, and heard Patrick’s reaction last week.

“I hate it,” he said. “Hate it. I hate the runner at second base to start extra innings. Don’t go too gimmicky. Does baseball need that? It felt like baseball had a good year, a great year.”

In the spirit of the Golden At-Bat, Dan asked his entourage of co-hosts, collectively known as the Danettes, to come up with some “even dumber” ideas for baseball. The guys were happy to oblige.

“Count the Golden At-Bat as two outs if the batter fails to get a hit.”

“if your team is up by 10 runs or more you have to pitch blindfolded.”

“If you throw a pitch 100 mph or more, it’s not a strike, it’s a ball.”

“One time a game, you can require the opposing team to remove one outfielder during an at-bat.”

The Danettes struck Dumb and Dumber gold with their ideas.

But, you know what? They didn’t mention the Courtesy Runner.

And I’m still offended by the Courtesy Runner after all these years.

So GET OFF MY LAWN.

We’re going to miss our old newsprint when it’s gone

newsprint

A few years ago my former colleague at The Oklahoman newspaper, Richard Mize, lamented the demise of the metal coffee can. The coffee industry eliminated the once ubiquitous coffee can and replaced it with plastic cans or closable pouches.

“Where will we put our bacon drippings?” Richard asked.

Good question, Richard. The coffee industry was totally unconcerned about the fallout in households across the nation where bacon grease was stored in empty coffee cans. How dare they.

Anyway, I see a similar crisis brewing in American households. Newsprint is rapidly disappearing from our driveways and kitchen tables.

Instead of picking up our actual paper from the driveway each morning, Americans are more likely to read an online version — or, more disappointing, not read any newspaper at all.

Earlier this year I wrote about the decline of my first newspaper employer, the Southwest Times Record in Fort Smith, Ark.

In fact, I’ve seen firsthand the impact the shortage of old newsprint has had on my neighbors in recent years.

Since I am virtually the only print subscriber of The Oklahoman on my street, a neighbor twice asked me for my old newspapers to use for packing before she moved and again when her daughter moved into her own apartment. I gladly shared my bounty of old newsprint.

So this leads me to the point of this post: how we’re going to miss the many ways old newspapers are used around the house — or used to be. Here are a few:

As liner for a birdcage (now that’s low-hanging fruit, I know).
As fish wrap (a common newsprint stereotype).
Lining the floor next to an outside door when potty training your puppy. It worked on my now departed Boston Terrier decades ago.
Packing in preparation to make a move (see example above)
Creating pirate hats. As children, my sister and I learned to fold the newspaper into the most awesome pirate hats we could imagine. We proudly wore them around our house or paraded through the neighborhood.
Making kites. My dad made a newsprint kite for me when I was about 10 years old, and it actually flew as well as the store-bought kind.
As floor liner when doing a paint job or an art project.
Newsprint is great as backing on a counter when you are cutting a watermelon, then wrapping the rinds before throwing them out.
Packed away in your closet or attic to hold on to keepsake articles for the memories.
Current event articles clipped for school projects.
Finally, a rolled up newspaper makes a fine rod of discipline for a wayward pet. I only had to roll the paper up and raise it above my head to stop my Boston Terrier from committing an offense such as chewing up a shoe.

We’re going to miss newsprint for many reasons beyond just reading the paper when its gone.

BONUS: If you’ve got other ways you’ve recommissioned old newspapers in the past, leave them in comments below.

This just in from my friend Josh O’Brien on an alternative use for old newspapers: “Another use: cleaning big mirrors or windows — much better than paper towels.”

Richard Mize (see above) added: “One more thing: I use three sheets of newsprint to light my charcoal chimney for grilling!”

Another alternative use from Steve Buck, my fellow Geezer on the 3 Old Geezers podcast. “paper mache.”

From David Yarbrough in Fort Smith, Ark: “Use as fly (or wasp) swatter, although not as ergonomically designed as plastic ones.”

One more from Linda Lynn: “Gift wrapping. And to protect table from kids’ art projects … and for art projects like collages and paper mache. We even used to create Christmas trees with newspaper.”

From Steve Barrymore: “I save mine all year then use as a weed barrier in the garden at planting time. I then cover it with mulch. Eliminates weeding.”

From Kathy Consbruck in Nebraska: “Mine go to the pet shelter. They line the kennels with them.”

From Phyllis Welsh Bennett: “A long time ago, I used strips of colored Sunday comics to make a chain to adorn a Christmas tree at The Oklahoman. Last week I gave a stack of old papers to someone needing it to pack glassware for a move. Each weekday I put my newspaper in the waiting area of the Teachers’ Retirement System. I’m told a lot of TRS members enjoy reading a paper newspaper!”

From LaRita Dawn Watson: “I save mine for my Dad to read since he lives outside the delivery area and won’t read the online version. I have used to clean windows and mirrors, and it works better than any cloth! I’ve used it in all the ways mentioned and will truly miss it when it’s gone. It feels good to turn the pages and read.”

The ’65 Mustang was my Aunt Dee’s ride or die

This is a story of the Ford Mustang. Or, rather, two Ford Mustangs. One of them did not have a happy ending, and I was in it.

If you are hazy on your Ford Mustang history, I’ll catch you up to date a bit. The Mustang was conceived by a team at Ford led by Lee Iacocca, who later gained fame as the man who saved Chrysler.

Purchasing a brand new Mustang off the showroom floor in 1964-65 would set you back $2,400, according to cars.com. Today, those antique vehicles bring from $16,000 for the coupe to $33,000 for the fastback model.

My dad was among the millions of Americans who were taken by the Mustang and eventually bought one when he was stationed on the island of Okinawa while in the military. I’ll come back to that.

Anyway, the Mustang was beloved by my dad and so many others because it had a long nose, short rear end and distinctive grill and tail lights. Eventually, it came in a 2-door coupe, convertible and the incredibly popular fast-back.

I’m writing about the Mustang because my 5 year-old grandson, Solomon, and I discovered a show on the Roku channel called “Counting Cars,” which follows a shop in Las Vegas that rehabs older vehicles and turns them into showpieces.

We streamed an episode this morning in which the shop refurbished a ’65 Mustang and turned it into a perfect candy apple-red rendition of how it must have looked on the showroom floor in 1965. Solomon could not get enough, running through the house to get his grandmother to come in and see the beautiful car.

So, two Mustang stories.

When I was a senior in high school, I lived with my aunt and uncle in Fort Smith, Ark. My aunt Dee drove a black ’65 Mustang and was so in love with the car that she told everyone she would never drive another. Its compact size made it easy for her to maneuver on the road.

Fast forward to roughly 1980, when I was a young sports reporter at the Southwest Times Record, which had its offices and newsroom in downtown Fort Smith.

One day, as I stepped out of the building onto the sidewalk, my uncle, L.R. Mendenhall, drove up and parked Aunt Dee’s Mustang right outside the SWTR’s door along Rogers Ave.

At virtually the same moment, Leroy Fry, who was the newspaper’s managing editor, walked out of the building and spotted the Mustang. I introduced my Uncle “Blue Eyes” (as he was known to our family) to Leroy. The editor told him that he had to have that Mustang and how much would my uncle sell it to him for.

“It’s not for sale,” Blue Eyes told him. “It’s my wife’s car and she says it’s the only one she will ever drive.”

End of story.

That black Mustang was my Aunt Dee’s ride or die, and I’m pretty sure when she died in roughly 2000 that the car was still in her family’s possession.

My second Mustang story involved the 1967 Mustang my dad bought while on Okinawa. He was in the Army, so our whole family lived on the island. This was in 1968 when I was 15 years old.

Dad loved his Mustang, which was painted in a sort of burnt-orange color, and drove it every day to work. He was a hot GI in a hot vehicle.

I wanted to drive it, too, and begged him to let me get behind the wheel. So one weekend he asked the son of a family friend who was about 19 years old to drive me and the Mustang to an abandoned Japanese airstrip where I could drive it and stay out of harm’s way.

I remember driving back and forth on the airstrip multiple times and getting a feel for the car. Then we decided to head back to the military base where our families lived. I moved over to the passenger side, and the older kid (can’t think of his name now) took the wheel.

We drove off the airstrip and back onto the rural two-lane road that was adjacent to a field of sugar cane. My young driving instructor said, “let’s see what this car can do,” and gunned it.

I’m not sure how fast the car was traveling, but we roared down that rural road until my driver suddenly realized there was a 90-degree turn at the end and started screaming that we weren’t going to make it.

We didn’t.

The car flew off the end of the road at the hairpin curve, hit hard in the sugar cane field and landed on its side. Neither one of us had buckled our seatbelt (hey, this was the ’60s), but we were mostly uninjured. My friend cut his hand on the steering wheel when the padding came off.

We climbed out of the driver’s side, which was facing the sky and then tried to figure out how to contact our parents in this era before the cellphone was a gleam in anyone’s eye.

There was a military installation about a half mile away, so we walked to it, told the guards at the security gate what happened, and they let us call our parents. Of course, we told them exactly how it happened.

The car looked OK to me, but had to be towed to a shop somewhere on the island. Turns out the frame was bent and the insurance company declared it a total loss.

My dad was heartbroken, of course. But the fact that we were unhurt took some of the steam out.

He never owned another Mustang.

In my hometown, the long decline of a Fort Smith institution

My parents were among the 40,000 or so SWTR subscribers who fetched the newspaper off their driveway every morning. Established as the Fort Smith Times in 1884, the SWTR had a strong following not only in Fort Smith, but across a multi-county region of Western Arkansas and Eastern Oklahoma.

Now owned by industry giant Gannett, I’m not sure there remains a single Fort Smith-based editor or reporter chasing down local news stories.

In fact, my 90-year old mother, who subscribed to the SWTR in our hometown of Fort Smith for more than five decades, finally gave it up a couple years ago because the paper had so little local news. Sometimes she still reads the obituaries published online.

As for me, I’ve stayed connected to the SWTR by subscribing to the paper’s free emailed daily newsletter that allows a peek at its headlines and free access to the obituaries.

It all makes you wonder when the hammer will fall and Gannett will halt publication of a physical paper for any remaining subscribers, leaving only online access.

Well, we’re close.

I received a notice recently that the SWTR was transitioning to a “mail only” newspaper with no more home delivery. Here’s what the email said, in part.

“Beginning tomorrow, look for your copy of the Southwest Times Record and our other regional publications to arrive with your daily mail. As announced in the Jan. 10 edition and in letters mailed to subscribers, the U.S. Postal Service will be delivering the Southwest Times Record to optimize resources amidst increasing digital readership demand.”

Now subscribers can read ‘news’ that is already at least 24-hours old when it arrives in the mail. What’s that old saying about nothing as stale as yesterday’s newspaper?

So, why am I writing this?

Well, it’s not a diatribe against the current ownership, because I see what’s happened to my old employer as a product of emerging technologies and a big change in how the public consumes news. Online access to news — much of it free — has removed the incentive to subscribe to a daily newspaper that lands on your driveway every morning.

I’m mourning the SWTR for its former employees and the folks who subscribed to the paper for decades. It’s like watching a close relative slowly fade away from an incurable cancer.

Here in OKC, I’m still a subscriber to The Oklahoman’s physical newspaper, which is delivered to my driveway every day but Saturday. Yet, when I look up and down my street as I pick up the newspaper each morning, I see no other papers on my neighbors’ driveways. None.

However, I’m confident the path determined for the Southwest Times Record won’t be a template for The Oklahoman. It remains an enterprising news organization, despite repeated rounds of staff reductions.

That notice I received of the SWTR’s “all mail” newspaper delivery prompted me to ask a couple of former colleagues and longtime SWTR employees who still live in the Fort Smith area their thoughts on what has become of their former newsroom.

Patti Cox was a longtime news editor at the SWTR with whom I worked on the news desk. She shared her perspective with me as both a former employee and a current subscriber.

“It is very sad turn of events for Fort Smith,” she said. “We still are taking the day-late-in-the-mailbox paper but not sure for how long or why. End of so many meaningful things like insightful, timely local news and commentary. Long gone are noisy newsrooms filled with reporters, editors, interns with common purpose and multiple deadlines.”

Carrol Copeland, longtime SWTR photographer and creator of a Facebook group called Southwest Times Record former employees that has 162 members, also shared his thoughts with me.

“Back in the day, we covered local news, and there was very little worldwide or nationwide news in it,” Carrol said. “Probably 80 to 90 percent of it was local news. At one point we had the Poteau office and the Van Buren office, and somewhere around 150 employees.”

That was then. This is now.

“There’s not even a physical location anymore,” Carrol said, who recalled tornadoes, spectacular crimes and criminal trials that he covered over the years. “I think it comes down to a lack of income. If you can’t sell advertising you can’t have people to work for you.

“Now that people are going to the Internet or Youtube for their news, no one is advertising anymore. The technology overtook them.”

How will the daily newspaper voice be filled for former SWTR subscribers who loved its local news angle? Digital news services that focus on local news offer some hope.

Here in Oklahoma City, we have Oklahoma Watch and Nondoc, among others, which are sort of complementary to The Oklahoman, for now.

In Fort Smith, there’s an online site called Talk Business & Politics that focuses on Fort Smith and Northwest Arkansas. It was started by a former SWTR editor. I read it first thing each morning five days a week.

Actually, as I think about it, I’m not sure folks aged 30 and younger will miss holding an actual newspaper because it’s likely they never read one on a daily basis anyway.

But for those who grew up with ink-stained hands, it’s a difficult transition.

“I just know I loved newspapers and the dedicated (mostly young) quirky stressed out folks who worked for them,” Patti Cox told me. “Grateful for the lifetime lessons learned there.

“Good memories, my friend.”

We’ll carry those memories with us long after the final edition is published. It’s coming.

The teacher who nurtured a high school dreamer

TO editing — In a 1971 yearbook photo, Tom Oliver is shown editing students’ work as yearbook/newspaper advisor

As do a lot of communities around the country, someone from my hometown maintains a Facebook group called “If You Ever Lived in Fort Smith, Arkansas.”

I’m not on the Group’s page often, but it’s fun to occasionally scroll through and see what people are talking about.

Certain topics dominate the Fort Smith page: Dragging Grand Ave. in the ’70s … Enjoying a giant Worldburger of the past … and remembering stores like Hunt’s and The Boston Store that were once shopping mainstays.

About five years ago, a fellow Southside High School grad, Eddie Weller, posted about favorite Fort Smith teachers he recalled. Because I’m an Army brat, I only attended school in Fort Smith for three years.

But there was one teacher that certainly had an impact on my future. His name was Tom Oliver.

Mr. Oliver taught Journalism at Southside. I took Mr. Oliver’s class as a senior because I had a far-fetched dream of some day being a newspaper reporter.

So, I posted on the Facebook Group about Mr. Oliver being a memorable teacher, and it was like a call-and-response for a conversation that began five years ago and continues to stir memories today.

Here are some selected memories of Tom Oliver by his former students (Mr. Oliver died in the early 1990s, so it’s too bad he’s no longer around to read what his former students say.).

My original comment:

“My journalism teacher at Southside, Tom Oliver. Showed a lot of patience to a wanna be who had few skills in HS. I ended up making a career out of newspapers, so thanks to Mr. Oliver for encouraging me.”

Response from Eddie Weller:

“TO” as we called Mr. Oliver (but not to his face . . . ) … He did have patience. I remember senior year we rotated a column among the editorial board. I wrote a semi-funny one (tried to be humorous) for my first try. I used a phrase to get a chuckle that he asked me if I should use. He let me decide. He explained he was not sure my parents, for instance, would understand why I used the phrase. That was thoughtful on his part as a teacher. It made me really think — even a small phrase could make or break a mood you were trying to set. And “Ye Olde Pub” (the publications/journalism room for the uninitiated) was always a great place to be. He gave great freedom to the newspaper staff, yet knew when to reel it in. Truly an amazing teacher!”

From Sandra Curtis Kaundart:

“Tom Oliver, my mentor, was the greatest teacher ever!
… I majored in journalism because of him, worked at a couple of small papers, later did my practice teaching with him, and ended up teaching journalism and English for 31 years.”

From Scott Carty:

“Tom Oliver was one of my heroes. i found one of his old yearbook pictures in the storage room and put mirror-headed thumbtacks thru his eyes and labeled it EltonTom. Made him smile.”

From Jim Morris:

“I had too much fun in his class. Just ask Scott Carty”

From David Yarbrough:
“Tom Oliver didn’t do a lot of chalkboard teaching. He picked leaders (editors) and let those students fill their roles assigning stories and photos. He let them do the editing and design of the paper. Only occasionally did he make a quite suggestion. In the real world, you could compare him to a hand-off publisher who trusted his staff. He also encouraged students to explore all kinds of arts and studies. He took staffers to state and national conferences to open horizons.”

My own story isn’t anything spectacular. The student newspaper had a regular “Newsmakers” column of one-paragraph stories (emulating, I believe, a popular Page 1A “In the News” feature in the Arkansas Gazette), and I was assigned to write a Newsmaker item for each issue of the paper.

Did I tell you that I was terrible as a cub reporter? That one-paragraph Newsmaker assignment might as well have been a 10-page term paper.

But I managed to scrape something together for each edition, and Mr. Oliver gently edited my effort. Like all of my favorite teachers and professors over the years, he showed tremendous patience with me.

I remember Tom Oliver as being fairly young at the time and in tune with popular culture. His was a class that I looked forward to attending every single day. Similar to my favorite college professor, who also taught journalism.

I can’t tell you exactly what clicked for me, except perhaps the camaraderie of being around others that had an interest in journalism. Oh, and the thrill of seeing something you wrote in print.

In a touch of irony, years later, I served as Sports Editor of the Southwest Times Record in Fort Smith. Mr. Oliver worked part time for me on the Sport Desk on Friday nights during football season, helping us gather scores and write short summaries.

Mr. Oliver actually remembered me from my not-so-memorable one-year stint in his high school journalism class. He told me he was surprised that I pursued a newspaper career because he wasn’t sure that I had the interest as a student.

I guess my candle didn’t burn too brightly in high school. But I did have a dream.

Thank you, Tom Oliver, for being an encouraging teacher and not steering me away from the far-fetched dream of the 17-year-old me.

Tom Oliver yearbook — Tom Oliver’s (second from left) 1971 Southside High School yearbook photo

Still an Apple fanboy after all these years

The Apple IIe with two 5-1/4 inch floppy disks, just like my first setup

I read a magazine article in the late 1970s about a couple of young Californians who built a new stand-alone computer in the garage of a Cupertino, Calif. home.

They started a company called Apple Computer to sell their innovation.

I had never used a computer at that point in life. As a journalism student at Abilene Christian University, we did all of our writing either on our own antiquated typewriters or on IBM Selectric typewriter in the newsroom of ACU’s student newspaper.

Anyway, the more I read about Apple and its Apple II computer, the more fascinated I became with both the company and the concept. Like most people, when I thought of computers, IBM and its massive room-sized mainframes came to mind.

After graduating from ACU, I went to work at the Southwest Times Record in Fort Smith, Ark. We worked on typewriters when I arrived in late August 1978, but by the Spring of 1979 the paper had installed its first computer terminals for reporters and editors to use.

They were so-called “dumb” terminals that were tied to a mainframe computer. They crashed a lot, usually right at deadline.

Meanwhile, I was still keeping up with Apple and its computer, but thought it was way beyond what I could afford.

Besides, who ever thought of having a computer in your house?

Fast forward about seven years. I was working at The Oklahoman when J.T. Goold, one of my co-workers, said he had a used Apple IIe for sale. It had been his father’s,

So, I ponied up about $500 and bought the Apple IIe, which came with a green monitor and two 5-1/4 inch floppy disks.

That Apple IIe sealed my love of all things Apple. I learned to use word-processing software on that computer, as well as a spreadsheet, a simple database and a page-design program.

In a few months, I added a 1,200-baud modem, which opened up a whole new online world of what were then known as bulletin boards. Then came AppleLink.

I tried my hand at learning some BASIC programming skills, but never got much further than making a little routine that filled the screen with a single sentence.

I’ve written all of this because I’m deep into Steven Levy’s book, “Hackers: Heroes of the Computer Revolution.” The Apple II and its creator, Steve Wozniak, play a huge role.

In Hackers, Levy detailed the founding and growth in the early 1970s of the Homebrew Computer Club in the San Francisco Bay Area. The club attracted scores of computer hackers who shared a vision of a future where everyone had a stand-alone computer of their own.

Levy wrote: “These were people intensely interested in getting computers into their homes to study, to play with, to create with … and the fact that they would have to build the computers was no deterrent.”

Steve Wozniak attended the very first Homebrew Club meeting, but it was a few years before he actually built his first computer. His friend Steve Jobs convinced him to create a company as partners and sell his computer invention.

So they began building computers in the garage of the home of Jobs’ parents. The Apple II became a runaway bestseller, bringing computers to millions of people.

I became an Apple fanboy after reading that early magazine article in the 1970s. The used Apple IIe that J.T. Goold sold me in the mid-1980s ensured it would last.

And here we are today. I’m writing this on an Apple MacBook Air while the my Apple iPhone keeps buzzing with text alerts and notifications. I’m reading Levy’s excellent “Hackers” on an Apple iPad Mini.

It’s been a long-term relationship, to say the least. Still an Apple fanboy after all these years.

The press credential: A story

Weldon ticket — Ticket printed in Fort Smith, Ark., to 1934 college football game

My friend Mike Burrows in Denver finds and sends out all sorts of sport-related photos and news stories he comes across.

Mike and I worked together at the Southwest Times Record in Fort Smith back in the late ’70s. Today, he is retired from the Denver Post, and I’m retired from The Oklahoman.

Anyway, this morning Mike sent out a photo of a ticket to an Alabama-Mississippi State football game from back in 1934. What caught my eye was the name of the Fort Smith company that printed the ticket, which was in small type at the very bottom.

The ticket and the name of the printing company brought back a vivid memory from my SWTR days.

One day in roughly 1982, the paper’s editor, Jack Moseley, abruptly called me into his office and shut the door behind me. I was the paper’s Sports Editor at the time.

“Did you give someone a press credential to a recent baseball game in Houston between the Astros and St. Louis Cardinals?” he asked.

Why, no I didn’t. Why?

Turns out that someone with a press credential from the SWTR showed up in the press box and disrupted a radio broadcast at the Cardinals-Astros game in the Astrodome.

Apparently, the SWTR “reporter” helped himself to the free beer served to reporters. And overindulged, to be nice.

Then he decided he wanted to meet Cardinals announcers Jack Buck and Mike Shannon.

So, he wandered around the press box level until he found a door that led into the radio booth from which the St. Louis announcers were calling the game.

The “reporter” burst into the room unannounced and caused a commotion. During the game. While Buck and Shannon were attempting to call it.

Needless to say, security was called and the guy was escorted out of the stadium. Astros officials called Moseley demanding to know why he sent this guy to cover the game.

That’s when Moseley summoned me into his office.

Since neither of us knew what happened, an investigation began and soon revealed the SWTR “reporter” actually worked at the Fort Smith firm that printed the press credential. He merely added his own (real) name on the credential and showed up at the Astrodome.

Comedy ensued, I suppose.

It’s a funny story today, but there was nothing funny to me about this cringeworthy story 40 years ago.

Grateful for the impact of Jerry McConnell

In 1983, I was a very raw young sports reporter at the Southwest Times Record (SWTR) in Fort Smith, Ark., with dreams of some day working at the Dallas Morning news.

Fort Smith was my first stop out of college, and I worked on the sports desk, then the news desk for a couple years, then back to sports as the Sports Editor.

But I dreamed of Dallas and working with the likes of Blackie Sherrod and Randy Galloway. I even wrangled an interview there but came up with no job and the advice to gain more experience.

Then one day a friend with whom I worked on the SWTR news desk — I’ll call her “Patti” — suggested that I send a resume to the Sports Editor of The Daily Oklahoman in Oklahoma City. His name was Jerry McConnell, and Patti had worked for him when he was the managing editor the Arkansas Democrat in Little Rock.

So, I fired off a resume to Jerry with absolutely no expectations.

By coincidence, my timing turned out to be perfect.

One of the Sports copy editors at The Oklahoman had just quit, and football season was starting.

Jerry gave me a call and asked me to come interview. I drove over to OKC and met with Jerry and his Assistant Sports Editor, Bob Colon.

Jerry hired me, and I relocated to OKC in early September 1983.

Turned out that I was not well prepared for the daily pressure and grind of The Oklahoman Sports Desk. We put out three editions each night, sometimes fully remaking almost the entire section between editions.

I was mistake-prone and unlikely to make an edition’s deadline on any given night. I had no design skills.

But Jerry was a patient editor and boss. Rather than scream at me, or worse, fire me, he allowed me to make my mistakes, and gently helped me grow as a professional. He also was in the office every night until at least the first edition was finished, so he was accessible.

Jerry also shared many fascinating stories from across his long career. I loved to sit and listen to him spin a yarn in his gravely baritone voice.

So, I’ve always been grateful to Jerry for his kind and steady hand as a boss and a friend. He eventually retired from The Oklahoman and moved back to his hometown of Greenwood, Ark.

In retirement, he wrote a book, an oral history of the Arkansas Democrat.

Jerry passed away last June at the age of 92.

To my regret, I only recently learned of his death. You can read his obituary to see what impact he had on his profession and the community, both in Arkansas and Oklahoma.

Jerry touched the lives of many, many people in the newspaper industry and beyond. I’ll always be grateful for what he did for me.

My friend Patti was one of those for whom Jerry made a difference. Here’s what she had to say about him:

“He was a super friend to me and taught me a lot in Democrat days… He passed peacefully at home just after we last saw him. His last words to me were, “Love you too babe”… He liked you a lot. I will miss him ever!”

Thank you, Jerry McConnell, for bringing me to Oklahoma City and making a difference in my life.