Midland Hills

Dr. Robert B. Pankey

rbpankey@txstate.edu

Midland Hills was a country club unlike the typical ones you might see in Golf Digest magazine.  Instead of a 50-meter swimming pool, the country club had a lake.  The lake was full of the clearest water and largest

bluegills I have ever seen.

The Huffmans owned a little log cabin at Midland Hills where they spent their summer weekends.  It had a tin roof that carried the most peaceful sounds when it rained.  At one end of the cabin, there was a big rock fireplace, just right for roasting marshmallows on a chilly night.  Usually in the summer, our family would visit the Huffman’s cabin, and there was little need for a fire, just an occasional playful swim in the lake to cool off.  The worst thing about that cabin was the bathroom.  Actually, I guess one would call it an outhouse.  It was a tiny little shack to the north of the cabin, and when the wind was blowing from the north, you could hardly stand to be downwind. 

The Pankeys, my family, the Huffmans, and the Hall family were best of friends during those summer weekends.  They would gather their kids up on weekends and take them to the cabin to get away from the heat and boredom from sitting around their houses in Carbondale. 

The wives would cook all day and tell stories and complain about their old husbands.  Helen Huffman, in her tube-top that was two sizes too small, would be cooking with one hand and holding her cigarette with the other.  Mary Pankey continually washed the dishes and carried on about the cliffs being too dangerous to jump off of, and Mary Hall would just sit at the table and talk, many times to herself it seemed. 

The men would sit out on the porch in the back of the cabin, drink beer, and tell lies about how big the fish were that they caught in the lake that day.  They fished from small boats and canoes, occasionally tipping them over when they stood up too fast.  As night fell, I could hear my dad and the other men having contests over who could “break wind” the loudest.

Between the families there were five boys and two girls, all of whom were excellent swimmers.   During those hot summer days we would cross the lake to the beach two or three times just to see who was around, and we would play all day in the sun.  We were innocent and happy, and the days and evenings would seemingly last forever.  My skin would turn as golden brown as the leaves on an oak tree in the fall, and Mom would claim that I must have gotten mixed up at the hospital when they were handing out babies because I looked so different from my fair-skinned brothers.  At night the moon would reflect off the lake and strike us full in the face.  Some nights we would all sit around the boat dock and laugh and shout and feel carefree.  Those days and nights were truly some of the best of my childhood life. 

Time went on, like it always does, and our families grew apart.  A few years later, my father passed away.  At his funeral, Peaches Hall, my dad’s best friend, walked with me away from the grave site, and I remember telling him that I missed the good times that we had at Midland Hills together.  Peaches looked at me and said that he did too and assured me that we would all get together again and there would be other good times.  But we never did.  Those warm summer days that lasted forever were gone, and I still miss them now and then. 

Last week I was sitting in a lawn chair at a condominium complex off Padre Island with Dave Bacharach, Jim Woosley, and our wives watching our children play in the sand and surf.  The setting was a world away from that which I grew up with in Southern Illinois.  While I was basking in the sun watching the waves come in off the beach, it occurred to me that the day had lasted forever.  We were all sitting around drinking beer, bragging about fishing, and, yes, having contests.  These folks were my best friends, and they were as much fun as the kids I once played with at Midland Hills.  The nice thing about being out with friends and the ones we love is that it sometimes brings back those earlier times when laughing was second nature and time would stand still.  Being with my wife and our friends last weekend reminded me of the times when I was a kid, playing in the sun as if the day would never end.   It was a weekend that reminded me of the days gone by, and I came to realize that Peaches was right that there would be other good times like those at Midland Hills.

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