THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, June 19, 1994 TAG: 9406160195
SECTION: CAROLINA COAST PAGE: 50 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: Ron Speer
DATELINE: 940619 LENGTH: Medium
Although it's been around almost as long as I have, I'd never seen the play before. And that ``first time'' happening made me think of other firsts that have stuck vividly in my mind.
{REST} The first time I came to North Carolina was in June of 1977, when we drove down the sand from Virginia Beach to a friend's lonely cottage five miles north of Corolla, a placid hamlet centered around the Post Office. Fishermen who braved the surf in their homemade boats to haul their nets into the sea were working the beaches, and I was fascinated at how little things had changed since Jesus recruited his disciples from the waterfront.
The first ocean for me was the Pacific, June of '51 in Los Angeles, and I marveled that it really was salty, just like folks said.
My first paid job was in May of 1943, when a neighbor in Nebraska's Sand Hills offered me a penny a mouse to clean the rodents out of his straw henhouse. He forgot that it was birthing time, and I quickly discovered nests where baby mice could be gathered by the handful. In two days I had earned $5.36, which was more than Mr. Hoose had in those hard times. So he gave me my first horse, a 20-year-old pony named Peanuts, twice my age but a faithful companion who carried me to school for years.
My first raw oyster was swallowed in Atlanta in October of 1965, after I had been transferred there to cover the Braves' move to Georgia. I liked it a lot, and quickly popped down 23 more.
My first big-league game was in April of '66 when Pittsburgh's Willie Stargell slammed a 12th-inning homer that ruined the Braves' Dixie debut.
My first crab was consumed in April of 1971 on Sanibel Island on Florida's west coast, and ever since I've never been able to get enough of those crusty crustaceans. I ate my first snail in October of 1980. I haven't popped open many more.
I recall the crunchy goodness of my first BLT, in July of '51 in Los Angeles, and immediately wrote my mom back home and told her that when the tomatoes and lettuce came in, fry up some bacon and add a dab of mayo for a culinary treat. I remember a lot of firsts in Los Angeles, because I was but a 17-year-old country boy when I enrolled in college there and worked nights at an aircraft factory. Years later, on a vacation, I saw my first real riot in LA, August of 1965, from a fire station in the heart of Watts where a fire-captain uncle had taken me.
I bought my first car in Los Angeles in September of 1951, a blue 1939 Plymouth convertible roadster with a rumble seat. A beauty. My first boat was a canvas-over-plywood runaboat that got me hooked on the water in May of 1956 along the Missouri River. I've never had a bike.
My first child was born on Sept. 9, 1961, in Des Moines. He's now a chef. My first daughter was born on Feb. 21, 1964, in Des Moines. She an editor for a publishing company.
The first bed-and-breakfast I ever stayed in was the Lords Proprietors' Inn in Edenton in July of '88, and the evening was so pleasant it took the sting out of a broken-down car.
The first president I ever interviewed was Harry S. Truman in September of 1959 in Des Moines, Iowa. The first (and last) man I saw hanged was Harry Victor Feuger in Fort Madison, Iowa, a bad guy who lured a doctor with a fake plea for help and killed him for his drugs.
My first date was in September of 1949 when I was a high school sophomore in Nebraska. Her name was Jane Burrows, and she was a beauty. She ditched me for my best friend, and now is a beautiful grandmother.
by CNB