Aunt Sally

Earlier this year, I wrote about losing my poker mentor, Buddy Williams. Now I've also lost the person most responsible for my other career, journalism.
I worked on the newspaper at Westmoore High School for three years, becoming the editor my senior year. During that time, I wasn't really interested in going to college for journalism or ever working in that field, but journalism teacher Sally Burr, better known as "Aunt Sally," pushed me to apply for the scholarship that eventually led to a degree and a career.

Not to go all "circle of life" on y'all, but it is kind of crazy how these cycles overlap like this. I kept in touch with Buddy and Aunt Sally enough over the years to know how proud they were of me for succeeding in poker and journalism, respectively, but what they enjoyed hearing about more than that was my kids.

Buddy passed away just after our first son Maddux was born. Now Maddux is eating cereal, fruits and veggies for the first time and I've never seen a baby gobble up food more ravenously than this boy. He doesn't let a bite dribble down his chin, he sucks it all down immediately and demands more! I know this is corny (pardon the veggie pun), but it reminds me of how I ate up all the poker advice Buddy gave me and how eager I was to sit by him and discuss strategies or just hear old poker stories.

Our oldest daughter, Addison, started kindergarten this week. Obviously the school thing jives with Aunt Sally's passing, but I think Myra might be the future journalist among our kids. She doesn't know very many words, but a couple of times a day she charges right up to you and starts on a rambling story which includes facial contortions and pointing gestures. She knows how to tell a story, she just needs a small grasp on the language.  

This blog was originally going to be about my recent trip to Kansas City for my friend Chad's bachelor party. When we heard that Aunt Sally had passed, Chad (a fellow Aunt Sally pupil) reminded me of one of our not-so-finer moments as members of the JagWire, a story that took place just down the road from Kansas City. Like me, Chad started in that lonely journalism room about half a mile from every other classroom at WHS and ended up spending about half of his adult life in a journalism career as a copy editor for The Daily Oklahoman. Since he doesn't have three kids to deal with yet, I decided to turn the rest of this blog over to him.
(Above is a picture of part of the newspaper staff in 1997, although I can think of several fellow JagWire members who aren't in the picture. The top row is Aunt Sally, me, Chad and my sister.)

By Chad Anderson

WHS Class of 1997

I can say I never had another teacher quite like Aunt Sally. Tough but fair, with a great sense of humor, she put in longer hours than any teacher known to man. I can trace the path of my career to two high school courses: "Intro to Law" with Richard Bruce and newspaper class with Aunt Sally. The latter was definitely more fun.

I joined the JagWire newspaper staff halfway through my junior year. At first, Aunt Sally was ultra skeptical of me and thought I just joined the staff to hang out with my buddy Matt (aka your usual blog author). My first few drafts were bleeding red after she took her pen to them. But after we put out a few issues and I showed my stuff, she saw me in a different light. By year-end, she named me sports editor for my senior year. By the time I graduated, she was helping me win a coveted OU journalism scholarship. Matt got the same scholarship a year later. 

There are plenty of great stories that arose from our high school journalism days, like when Matt and Lisa pulled the wool over Aunt Sally's eyes at a state competition. But I have a different favorite story.

Let me preface by saying sometime before the events of this story, Matt and I had seen a SportsCenter story involving NBA player Rik Smits, in which the anchor uttered the line "Smits hitting the fan." I don't know the original context but it became an inside joke catchphrase (among many) for the two of us, used anytime something wasn't going so great.

Sometime later, we went on a journalism trip to Topeka, Kansas (don't be jealous!). The main purpose of the trip was for the yearbook staff to visit their publisher. The newspaper staff was invited along. Topeka has to be better than going to class, right? Matt and I hopped on board. 

There were probably at least three dozen kids on the trip. In addition to touring a yearbook publishing plant, we also visited the Kansas State Capitol. For an evening meal, the bus pulled up to a cafeteria that was attached to a mall. Grumbling in line, I figured there were better options than a cafeteria. So Matt and I ducked out of the line and into the mall, searching for a food court. We found one, tried our luck with Chinese food, and sat down to dine in style. We figured we had plenty of time to finish eating and slip back into the cafeteria. We might even stop by Foot Locker on our way back!

Unbeknowst to us, back at the cafeteria, the group was rejected because of problems with Aunt Sally's method of payment, which was probably some archaic school purchase order. So our classmates reboarded the bus, tired and hungry. Aunt Sally counted us off before the bus departed, but ... uh oh ... two students missing!

The first sign that we might be in trouble came when our names were called over the PA system at the mall, as if we were 5-year-old kids who ran away from their mom. (Actually, I guess that's almost exactly what happened.) But before we could say, "Oh, Smits!" we saw Aunt Sally charging toward us. It was the maddest we ever saw her, and we had seen her temper flare a time or two. She snatched us up, made us toss our noodles, and led us back to the bus. The group found another place to eat (I think it was Chili's). But Aunt Sally made us stay on the bus without dinner. 

Of course, we thought the entire thing was absolutely hilarious, so instead of dwelling on our misdeeds, we spent the time on the bus laughing and cutting up. I had my back to the restaurant and was laughing it up, when Matt said, "Smits hitting the fan." I laughed at the inside joke, which somehow made sense with whatever we were talking about.

But then Matt said it again, with more intensity.

"SMITS HITTING THE FAN, RIGHT NOW!"

It was Aunt Sally, boarding the bus, joined by a dude from the publishing company. She delivered a lengthy lecture about how she expected more from us and she loved us. The guy with her, whom we didn't even know, was repeating everything she said, which was quite awkward since he told us he loved us several times and we didn't know his full name. Between that goofball, and the 'Smits' comment, I don't know how I held it together for the duration of her talk. 

My sister took a photography class years later, and had a much different experience than I did. But for members of the publication staffs, Aunt Sally really was like a loving family member. When I heard we lost her this week, my first thought was, "Smits hitting the fan now."