The fall of 1958 was truly perfect

Editor’s note: This column is being reprinted from Feb. 29, 2012. Jack often talked about his memories of the 1958 Portland High School football team, and always with great reverence for his big brother.



It was a golden season.

Maybe it’s because I was 10. Maybe it’s because I idolized my big brother.

And maybe it’s because of Dad and Frank.

Frank Kenyon was the first person my parents hired for The Graphic who had a family to support. That was back in 1949.

But when Frank died a couple of weeks back, what I thought of most wasn’t the risk my parents took when they started The Graphic. It wasn’t the years Frank and I had worked together, though those meant a tremendous amount.

It was that golden season, with Frank and Dad and young Frank and my big brother all coming together to make something special happen.

It was the fall of 1958. My brother Steve was on the football team.

He was co-captain. It was his senior year. And he was a hero in my eyes.

I’m guessing that the season started with a home game.

Dad had a tendency to park over by the Friends Church on East Main Street. Then we’d amble down the alley, cross over Water Street, and make our way to the football field. Once there, we parted company.

Dad liked to stand as he watched the game. And he liked to move around, roaming a bit depending upon the action.

I was on my own. That meant linking up with other kids from Judge Haynes Elementary School who were at the game.

And one of those kids was young Frank, a classmate. Big Frank — “One Shot” to his friends and the kidders at the American Legion Post — was taking pictures of the game.

The connection probably wasn’t made at that first game of the season. After all, there were plenty of kids there.

But the Panthers won. And then they won again.

And quickly a pattern developed.

No matter whether it was a home game or an away game, four people could be counted among the spectators: Dad, Big Frank, young Frank, and me.

And then something remarkable happened.

They kept winning. And winning.

(There’s still plenty of dispute about a referee’s call at Coldwater that gave the Panthers a fifth down at a crucial moment, but the record book takes precedence.)

In the end, it was an undefeated season and the four of us had been there for — my memory insists — every game.

That includes a tough game against Mississinewa at Gas City where young Frank and I wandered over to the home side and I quickly found myself on the wrong end of a beating by a kid at least 3 years older.

And somehow, being there for each of those wins made the undefeated season even more important. Being there with young Frank, still a friend to this day, and Big Frank, whose loss is still being felt, made it a golden season.

It was a winner any way you look at it.