Sometimes you don’t realize you’re living through one of the most important years of your life until more than half a century has passed.
The 1972–73 school year began like most others at Lovington High School. I was a junior. I had Mrs. Marchbanks for English III and Coach Mike Allen for U.S. History. Football season was upon us, and after surviving two-a-days, we worked our way through the non-district schedule, won the district championship and eventually earned the opportunity to play Santa Fe St. Michael’s for the state championship on Thanksgiving day. We lost that game, and I believe it was the first football playoff game Lovington had ever lost at home.
Disappointing? Absolutely. But life has a way of moving on.
Second semester began, and one of my classes was A Cappella Choir under the direction of the legendary Mrs. Carol Brashear. Every spring she and the choir produced Up, Up and Away, a show that packed the auditorium for three nights. If you wanted a seat, you had better get there early.
That spring the choir was also headed to Wichita, Kansas, for a festival. Three busloads of Lovington students would make the trip. The underclassmen rode the “yellow dogs.” The seniors got the big charter bus.
There was just one loophole.
A junior could ride the charter bus if invited by a senior.
I decided I needed an invitation.
For about a month, I tried to persuade various senior girls to invite me onto that bus. Apparently, my persistence eventually crossed the line into downright annoying. Finally, one senior girl had heard enough. She told me I could ride the senior bus if I would just be quiet.
I readily agreed.
Her name was Pam Roberts.
Pam and I really didn’t know each other. She was a senior, I was a junior, and our paths simply hadn’t crossed very often. But now we had a bus ride all the way from Lovington, New Mexico, to Wichita, Kansas—and back.
Somewhere along that highway, something happened.
We talked. We laughed. We got to know each other. By the time spring rolled around, the annoying junior and the senior girl who had finally agreed to let him ride her bus had become romantically involved.
I took her to her senior prom. “Nights in White Satin” was the prom theme and part of the soundtrack of that spring. And I had no idea then that the girl who let me onto that charter bus just to shut me up would eventually become my wife.
There was another soundtrack playing during those days. The Eagles were just beginning to make their mark. Their first album had been released in 1972, with songs like “Take It Easy” and “Peaceful Easy Feeling.” I can still picture myself driving my powder-blue 1965 Ford Falcon by Pam’s house to pick her up, hoping the AM radio could pull in a station playing one of those songs. Later, I would get an eight-track player installed in that Falcon—but that’s another story.
And then there was baseball.
Lovington fielded what I still believe was one of the finest baseball teams in school history. We had tremendous senior leadership from players such as Willie Jackson, Pat Sorrells, Louis Nash, Greg Pappas and Joe Anderson. The junior class included Johnny Ponder, Brian Aiken and me (and maybe Greg Hogue?) along with a group of Wildcats, which included Waddie Mahan and Roger Boone, who simply knew how to compete.
And compete we did.
We won the state championship.
Our head coach was Larry Hart, assisted by Mike Allen. Coach Hart also taught history at Lovington High School. He was a former Marine, not a particularly big man physically—probably about 5-foot-6—but there was nothing small about his presence. He had a golden smile and a great laugh, but he could also be intense. When Coach Hart wanted your attention, he got it.
Coach Allen brought something different. Baseball might not have been his first sport, but nobody could question his passion or his ability to build relationships with young people. The two complemented one another, and together they helped turn a bunch of Lovington kids into champions.
Somewhere along the way, perhaps because of Coach Hart’s Marine background, our baseball team developed our own marching chant. I can’t remember all the verses anymore, but I remember these:
Raise your eyes up to the sky,
Lovington Wildcats passing by.
We don’t drink and we don’t smoke,
We play baseball—and that’s no joke.
I’m sure it sounded a little corny to everyone else.
It didn’t to us.
We were Lovington Wildcats. We were together. We were young. And for that spring, we were champions.
Looking back now, it is remarkable how much of my life was packed into those few months. I played for a state football championship. I sang in a choir headed to Wichita. I talked my way onto a bus where I probably didn’t belong. I met the girl who would become the love of my life. I took her to her senior prom. I drove that old powder-blue Falcon with the Eagles coming through the AM radio. And I played on a baseball team that brought home a state championship.
At 16 or 17 years old, you think those days will last forever.
They don’t.
And maybe that is why I’m writing about 1972–73 now instead of waiting until spring as I had originally planned.
Coach Larry Hart passed away August 21. Last Friday.
Suddenly, that spring doesn’t seem quite so far away.
I can see that baseball field again. I smell the grass and pine tar. I can hear his laugh. I can see that golden smile. I can hear a bunch of teenage boys chanting as they took the field, believing there wasn’t a team anywhere that could beat them.
And I can see a senior girl named Pam Roberts finally surrendering and telling an irritating junior that he could ride the senior bus to Wichita if he would just be quiet.
More than fifty years later, I’m awfully glad she did.
Some years pass quietly through our lives. Others become part of who we are.
1972–73 was one of those years.
We lost a championship and won another. I learned about teammates, coaches, competition and relationships. Most importantly, I met the girl who would share the rest of my life.
And now we have lost Coach Hart.
Our prayers go out to his family, his friends, his former students and players, and everyone whose life was touched by this godly, magnetic character.
Coach, one more time:
Coach Hart
Raise your eyes up to the sky,
Lovington Wildcats passing by.
Blue and white, forever true,
Coach Hart, we learned the game from you.
A Marine once, a Marine for life,
You taught us how to handle strife.
Stand up straight and do things right,
Play the game with all your might.
You taught us baseball—throw and hit,
But more than that, you taught us grit.
Respect the game, respect the man,
Give everything you possibly can.
The chalk lines fade, the seasons pass,
Old ballplayers grow up fast.
But lessons learned upon that field
Are part of us—and always will.
So raise your eyes up to the sky,
Another Wildcat passing by.
Semper Fi—and Wildcat too,
Coach Hart, this one’s just for you.
Well Done good and faithful servant. I’m sure Coach Hart is swapping baseball tales with Willie, Louis and Joe.
You helped make that year—and our lives—something worth remembering.
And the Tale goes on.