It Happened at Lake Airhead

My dad was one of seven brothers. By the time Leroy retired from the military and we moved to Austin, my grandmother and four of his brothers were living in the Wichita Falls area.

Wichita Falls isn’t all that far from Austin, so our family would occasionally go up there for the weekend. When we went in the summertime, quite often the whole extended family would get together at the lake on Saturday morning and then we’d have a big fish fry there at suppertime. So much fun!!

A couple or three of the uncles had purchased adjacent lots at the lake, so while there were only two cottages, there was a lot of land to roam, and all the lots were right on the water. I don’t remember whether anyone ever went swimming there, but everyone fished, and there were trails to wander on.

The first time the Lucy family went to the lake, Colene and I were totally baffled because the cousins kept saying we were going to Lake Airhead. Colene and I thought we knew what an “airhead” was, but we could not figure out why anyone would name a lake that. We didn’t want to ask, so we just looked at each other and said nothing. Eventually, all became clear – we saw a sign indicating where to turn for Lake Arrowhead. Colene and I had not gotten the hang of the North Texas Twang, and what the cousins drawled out that sounded something like “arrah-head” we extrapolated to “airhead.” Even after we understood the lake’s correct name, we continued to say, “Lake Airhead” and no one except Lucy#1 ever gave it a thought or gave us a look.

One of the times we were at Lake Airhead, one of Leroy’s brothers who lived in West Texas was also there with his family. There were probably at least 30 family members there, and it was a real treat to see everyone. There was some sort of party or music festival or something happening farther on down the lake shore that afternoon, and it broke up around 9:00, just when it was getting good and dark. The family members, young and old, were gathered outside at one of the cottages finishing up our ice cream (another bonus to spending time at Lake Airhead – there was always homemade ice cream after the fish fry), when out of the darkness came a young man. He startled us because no one saw him coming until he was in our midst – which, by the way, is a good way to put the back up on a Texas man sitting around with his family. So, he was already off to a bad start with my daddy and the uncles, and he did not improve their opinion of him on second look because there was no question but that he was stoned. He wanted to know if we had a phone he could use to call someone to come get him because, as he stated it, he had been “disconnected from [his] party.”

All the cousins old enough to “get” it were giggling because he was so obviously stoned and was rambling on and annoying the uncles more with every passing second. Finally, his words ceased and someone told him where he might find a phone because we didn’t have a phone, and he wandered on off into the night. There was a lot more laughing at this poor, lost, stoned guy after he departed (aunts and uncles as well as the kids), but the best part of all was when the West Texas aunt said, “Well, why did he leave the phone anyway?” Her questions was greeted with curious looks, so she elaborated – “Well, he said he was disconnected from his party. Why didn’t he just call back on the phone he was using when he was disconnected?” Her teenage boys rolled their eyes mightily and cleared up her misunderstanding. (Note to anyone under 40 – this was in the ‘70s and the only phones were land lines.)

Another trip to Lake Airhead gave the extended family their first clue that my quiet personality had some hiccups. One of my uncles was an Assembly of God minister and my grandma was from the Church of Christ, and they were strict teetotalers. The other aunts and uncles (including my parents) were not quite as, shall we say, enthusiastic in their church preferences (we attended Methodist church when we went), and were known to drink a beer or two on occasion. Interestingly, whenever my preacher uncle’s family and/or my grandma were at the lake with the crowd, the other aunts and uncles “hid” their beer by putting it in paper sacks, and then drinking out of the sacks, much like the town drunks in old movies drank their beverages. My parents just went on drinking their beers (if they were drinking beer; Lucy#1 tended more toward iced tea) like normal. The paper sack thing mystified me, and the explanation I was given by an aunt was that they were hiding the beer to show respect for the teetotaler viewpoint. I thought real respect would have been shown by not drinking beer in front of them at all, but hey, I was just a kid.

So, being a kid, on one of the trips to Lake Airhead when every adult except my parents, my grandma, and the preacher was drinking out of a paper sack, I asked one of my cousins where to get a paper sack and he gave me one. I then put my Co-Cola into the sack, and wandered around doing my usual lakeside activities while drinking my Coke. My parents looked at me; my daddy gave me a wink and Lucy#1 rolled her eyes, but they did not say a word.

I went on about my business, which means eventually the older cousins and I retired to one of the cottages where I yanked a couple decks of cards (also forbidden in front of my grandma) out of my purse and challenged my cousins to a game of Spades. We were merrily playing our game and drinking our Cokes (still in the sacks) when my aunt came in to speak with me. It turned out that the younger cousins (I was the third-oldest) thought drinking out of a paper sack looked like fun, so they all imitated me and got Cokes and paper sacks, too, and by the time my auntie hunted me down, everybody except my parents and the teetotalers was drinking something out of a paper sack.

Aunt Shirley, the sweetest lady in the world, came into her kitchen where we were playing Spades and quite firmly told me this:

I get your point and you are probably right, but now all the little kids are drinking out of sacks, and it has to stop.

Then she gathered up the remaining sacks from the kitchen drawer we had raided, made us give her the sacks we had wrapped around our Cokes at the table, and left without another word. Poor Aunt Shirley! Lucy#1 later told me that Aunt Shirley thought I was hilarious, got a huge chuckle out of the whole affair, and was really sorry she had to chastise me.

On one visit to Lake Airhead, someone had brought a couple mini-bikes. There were plenty of trails to ride on, and it was good entertainment for the tweens and teens. I wasn’t very good with the mini-bike, despite my cousin Kenneth’s best tutoring, but Lucy#1 loved it. She had been riding all over the place and having a great time on the trails when some hill and she had a disagreement and the mini-bike tried to leave her behind. She lost her seat, but not her grip on the handlebar. It took her a minute, but she wrestled the bike to the ground. One of the cousins (who was even more quiet than I, and who had spoken so few words to me that I was uncertain he even knew my name) happened to be watching out the window and said enthusiastically, “Lucy, come look at your mom! She’s wrestling the mini-bike! Wow, she’s strong!” I think her stock went up tremendously with the cousins after that because none of their moms would even consider riding the bikes but Lucy#1 not only rode one, but wrestled it into compliance! 

Colene reminded me of this (in her words): My remembrance is that we had rarely if ever heard that cousin speak, and that day he didn't just speak, he practically shouted "Lucy, Colene, come look at your mom!" I wasn't stunned by Lucy #1's feat - she was always a badass - I was stunned he had spoken AND knew our names.

Those days at Lake Airhead – fun times!

Here's a photo of Lucy#1 on a mini-bike: