The Coffee House Philosopher

Some forgotten Alva notables

 

October 14, 2018



One of Alva’s most colorful personalities from the past century is the one and only Robert R. Brown. In the past, when mentioning his name, everyone that knew him always said all three components of his cognomen (i,e, “Robert” “R” “Brown”). But today, whenever I mention his name, the most frequent response from younger residents is, “Who is he?” When it comes up, I feel so ancient.

I first met Robert R. Brown at Alva’s former premiere nightclub – Vince and Iris Pettit’s VIP Supper Club – you remember Vince don’t you? – and his night place with the $2 million Beam bottle collection? (Oh my, I’m aging by the minute.)

Anyway, like I said, I met Robert R. in the early ‘70s when he was sitting at the front bar in the VIP Club shortly after it was built. At the time, I was a “wet behind the ears” instructor of business at Northwestern.

Robert R. was just finishing a discussion with several Alva merchants who had gotten up to leave when he looked over at me, and said, “Come on over here, young man, and tell me about yourself. But first let me tell you a little about my philosophy of life. I make it a point to have more fun today than I’ve ever had before. And at my age, it’s getting pretty hard to do.”

At the time I knew of his reputation as a home builder of dozens (perhaps even hundreds) of houses in the Alva area. His houses varied from top-of-the-line luxurious homes to the modest and least costly. I’d had many students who worked part time for him in his construction firm or in his lumberyard while going to school. The stories among students who worked for him of his management practices were legion. They did not match up too well with those recommended in the business management texts, but the results of Brown’s efforts were very noteworthy. And another love of his life was to fly his red and white, two motored Cessna airplane.

I saw him at the controls of his plane several times when I was playing golf in the evening at the Alva Golf and Country Club. Most notable were the times he would be coming from the north at an altitude of several thousand feet. Next he would dive the plane to a height of few hundred feet to get up speed, hedgehop the tree row on the club’s north border, and pull up over the clubhouse, rattling virtually every window in the place. Tragically, he was killed in an unrelated air accident in a heavy fog near Fairview while returning from an OU football game.

Another local colorful character from the distant past was Bill Hackett, who ran an auto supply store in Alva and was also a very competent pilot. I first met Bill when he was playing golf with a large sticker on one side of his golf bag that said, “Lucky me, I live in Alva, Oklahoma.” (I’m less than certain that he felt the sticker was a good idea to promote the city.)

Bill loved to fly his plane and tell jokes. One of his favorite jokes related how a man and his wife were once playing a par-five hole, when the husband hit a nasty slice out behind a well house on the course. The husband said to his wife, “Sweetheart, if you’ll hold this window open, I can open the door, hit my ball through the well house, out on to the green, and par the hole.”

His wife agreed to hold the window open, and waited to see if the corrective measure did the trick. Unfortunately, however, the husband also hit his second shot crooked, and the ball struck and killed his wife.

Two weeks later, the newly widowed husband was again playing the same par-five hole with three of his golfing buddies. One of the other men sliced his ball behind the well house and looked the situation over. Then he said, “If one of you guys will hold this window open I can go through the window, out onto the green and par the hole.” The widower replied, “Oh, no, George, you don’t want to do that. I tried that two weeks ago and made a double bogie.”

Once in the late 1960s I was playing in Alva’s premiere golf tournament, the Nescatunga. Two of my four partners were Jim Bostwick (currently a retired CPA from Hooker) and Pete Jayroe from Laverne (father of Jayne Jayroe, Miss America of 1967). On Saturday night, our team was tied for first with two other teams, and was being auctioned off in a very active Calcutta for Sunday’s finals.

The auctioneer announced several times that our team would be sold last, and that Pete was the father of Jayne Jayroe, a recent Miss America. After the third or fourth time the auctioneer announced that fact to the packed clubhouse, Bill Hackett stood up and said, “I’d just like to know for the record – are we bidding on this team for golfing purposes, or breeding purposes.” I’m not certain his question was ever answered.

 

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