When the Men Were Gone

by Marjorie Herrera Lewis

The boys started hollering.

  “It’s been a long journey to this day,” I said. “Feels like a lifetime, not just a week. Tonight, we’ll meet before the game and put the final touches on the plan. But now? We’re going to get focused on what’s in front of us. Come kickoff, we don’t need any surprises. We can’t pretend it’ll be business as usual tonight. But we can put it on the back burner and focus on what we’re here to do. We’re here to play football. Now tell me, boys, what are we here to do?”

  In unison, the boys shouted, “Play football!”

  “And what does that mean to you?” I asked as I swiveled around and pointed at Bobby Ray.

  “It means putting my best effort into every play, ma’am,” Bobby Ray answered.

  “What does it mean to you, Willie?”

  “It means working as a team from start to finish, ma’am.”

  “And to you, Jimmy?”

  Jimmy stood up to address the team. He began to reach into his back pocket, but he looked over at me and stopped.

  “It means responsibility,” he said. “And as captain, I have a greater responsibility to the team, to you, Miss Tylene, to Moose, and to our friends and family.”

  Jimmy cleared his throat, took a moment, and gathered his thoughts.

  “I want us to begin our meeting with the Lord’s Prayer,” Jimmy said.

  The boys bowed their heads, and as Jimmy said, “Our Father,” the boys joined in.

  “Amen,” they said at the conclusion.

  “Please, Lord, keep us—both teams—safe from injury, and may the best team win,” Jimmy said. “I also want to tell y’all I’ve been thinking about something this week, about all the attention we’re likely to get tonight because of Miss Tylene, and that attention is likely not going to be so good.

  “I’ve heard the game atmosphere will be like a circus. Well, I ain’t never been to no circus, but I’ve been to a rodeo. And I’m thinking the game atmosphere will be like a rodeo. We can expect lots of taunting, ridicule, and laughing. But like a rodeo, we can also expect awe—like when the cowboy stays on the bronc. In a way, we’re like that cowboy. Tonight, we’ll show Stephenville we can do more than just stay with them. We can beat them. I got a feeling we’re going to surprise a lot of folks out there.

  “So fellas, we can’t let the attention get to us. We have to block it out tonight. We have to listen to Miss Tylene and to each other and to no one else. You got that? And if you do, shout with me: Lions rule!”

  “Lions rule!” the boys shouted.

  Jimmy looked at me. I knew he was expecting me to wrap up the meeting, so I thanked Jimmy and he sat down.

  “We’re ready. I know it. Go Brownwood!” I shouted.

  The boys responded, “Go Brownwood!”

  “Now, y’all have class in a few minutes, and then the pep rally at nine o’clock. Meet in the lobby outside the gym when class gets out so we can walk into the pep rally together.” I then stepped out of the circle and told the boys to gather in closer.

  “Lean in, fellas, and tell me who you are,” I said.

  The boys leaned in together and extended their right hands into the center, and as they lifted their arms in unison, they shouted, “Brownwood Lions!”

  Shortly before nine o’clock, I was ready to lead the football team into the gym as the band wrapped up the final notes of the school fight song. From just outside the closed gym doors, I could hear Mr. Redwine begin his address to the student body.

  “Good morning, Lions!” he said. The crowd cheered.

  “Let’s all get on our feet and welcome our football team and its coach, Miss Tylene,” he said.

  I heard the sound of movement on the wooden bleachers, so I imagined that everyone stood, and I could hear the cheers in unison.

  Lions rule!

  The doors opened. I walked in first, the seniors immediately behind me, with the rest of the team following behind them. Each boy was decked out in a pair of nice slacks, polished dress shoes, and his letter jacket.

  The cheers continued.

  The boys walked to their folding chairs neatly arranged on the gym floor, assembled directly behind the microphone stand where Mr. Redwine stood. Once everyone was seated, Mr. Redwine spoke.

  “Let’s please stand for invocation,” he said, and the room went silent.

  “Lord, we thank you for another school year. We accept the challenges you have placed before us as we prepare our boys for the unprecedented upcoming football season. We thank you for Miss Tylene stepping up to lead them. We pray, dear Lord, that our boys stay safe on the football field and that our entire school community stays in your graces. Dear Lord, we also ask that you keep our soldiers in your loving embrace and return them all home safely. Lord, in your name, we pray.”

  Once Mr. Redwine completed the invocation, the twelve-member cheer squad—six boys and six girls—began a rousing rendition of “Two Bits, Four Bits.” Mr. Redwine stood at the microphone, waiting for the cheer to finish, and then once again asked for silence.

  “It is with great pleasure,” he said, “that I introduce to you our 1944 football squad. First, Captain Jimmy Palmer!”

  Jimmy stood, and the crowd cheered. Mr. Redwine went on to introduce the boys individually, beginning with seniors and followed by juniors and sophomores. Each boy stood as his name was called. Once Mr. Redwine completed the roll, he turned and smiled at me.

  “Last, but not least, I’d like to introduce someone we’ve all known for years as a teacher and as an administrator, who now has a new title: football coach. Please give a warm reception to the lady who will lead the Lions onto the football field tonight. Miss Tylene!”

  The students applauded—if not warmly, then respectfully. As the applause slowed and the room became silent, a Winslow brother shouted from a corner seat.

  “It’s a bird. It’s a plane. It’s embarrassing!”

  Immediately, a homeroom teacher approached the stands and signaled for the offending Winslow brother to come down from the bleachers. None would fess up to the outburst, so all three were removed from the gym.

  Lula Ann, the student body president, then took the microphone to briefly address the crowd. She implored the students to conduct themselves with class and dignity throughout the game. She concluded by reminding the student body that Brownwood High School was known statewide for producing upstanding citizens, and she wanted the students to act accordingly while under the microscope of the Texas media. As Lula Ann spoke, I noticed the cheerleaders leaving the room, and I figured they were preparing for the pep-rally skit.

  Following Lula Ann, Jimmy took the microphone.

  “I really don’t have much to say, except that we expect everyone to be at the game tonight,” he said. “We’ve worked hard despite all the distractions, and I believe Stephenville will be caught on its heels. We can’t do this without y’all, so please come out and support us. Lions rule!”

  With that, Mr. Redwine informed the crowd that the cheerleader skit would follow. On cue, they emerged dressed as football players, save one who was dressed, I supposed, as me. The crowd filled the gym with laughter.

  “Boys, boys, gather ’round,” the female character said. She then pulled out an emery board and began to file her nails. “Let’s play some football. Now, what is a football again?”

  A cheerleader, dressed as Jimmy, said, “It’s a ball, but it’s not round like a basketball, and it has laces, but not like a shoe, and you catch it, but you don’t wear a mitt like with baseball, and it can bounce, but you can’t dribble it.”

  The female character laughed.

  “Be serious,” she said. “What does that have to do with feet?”

  “Feet, as in football?” another cheerleader dressed as a football player said. “You can only kick a football on four plays: a kickoff, an extra point, a field goal, and a punt.”

  “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” my doppelgänger said.

  “You mean a monkey’s aunt?” asked another.


  The crowd laughed so hard throughout the skit that I often had trouble hearing the lines. A part of me was embarrassed that my father was watching a skit designed to ridicule me, but at the same time, I enjoyed the entertainment, and I knew no one meant any harm. At the conclusion, Mr. Redwine asked me to speak to the crowd.

  I approached the microphone, something I’d done many times throughout the years in my administrative role. But on that morning, and after that skit, I was nervous.

  “Thank you,” I began. I looked up at the bleachers packed with students—eager to hear what I had to say or eager for me to say it quickly. I turned to my right where John and my father were standing at the gym’s entrance.

  “I was five years old when my father took me to my first Brownwood High School football game,” I said. I looked over at my father and signaled for him to come join me. In a suit and tie, carrying his fedora in his right hand, with the help of his cane in his left, he gingerly limped to my side. As he made his way to me, I was taken aback when the crowd began to clap. I smiled at the student body, and once my father was next to me, he, too, smiled and acknowledged the crowd. He hugged me, and we stood side by side.

  “From the moment I saw the first coin flip, I’ve had Lions blood running through my veins. I was one of you long before there was one of you.

  “I hope you know how much this school and this team mean to me. I want y’all to know I would not be in this position if I didn’t believe I could get the most out of this team. In my short time with these boys, I’ve come to see that they can compete with the best the state has to offer. I’m fully convinced of that.”

  At that moment, I noticed a piece of paper circulating in the stands, and I sensed its distraction. Students chuckled as they glanced at the sheet and passed it on. I kept going.

  “I want you all to remember the same thing I told the boys: A world away, there is a brutal war going on. Look at these seniors sitting here before you. They will be fighting in that war at this time next year—perhaps in the South Pacific, or even in Japan. They will be seeing things and doing things we cannot imagine. But their time has not yet come. They are here with us now. So please support them. We all hope for your support. We all need your support. Let’s all come together tonight to cheer on your Lions. Now, let’s get it done. Lions rule!”

  The crowed followed up with the chant. My father and I parted, and I made my way back to my seat.

  As the crowd cheered, Mr. Redwine marched up the stands and demanded to be handed the piece of paper. He returned to the microphone, dismissed the football team, and released the students to their classrooms. I stopped to hug my father and John, and then I headed for Mr. Redwine’s office.

  “I’d like to see the paper,” I said. He handed it to me.

  In my hand was a cartoon sketch of me hanging in effigy.

  “Someone will be punished,” he said.

  I had seen the sheet circulate from left to right, and I knew who that someone would be: Mac Winslow. Shortly after I left Mr. Redwine’s office, I ran into Mac between classes.

  “Didn’t have the courage to sign your artwork?” I asked him.

  AT THE END of the school day, I was home for a couple hours before I had to be back at the field house. I wanted to freshen up and have supper. I didn’t want to eat anything too heavy, so I cooked chicken soup with extra-large chunks of chicken and loads of carrots. Although it was soup, it had such a thick texture that it was nearly a casserole. John liked it that way. I liked it, too, but that afternoon, I didn’t think I could handle much more than broth, so I set aside a small amount for myself before I thickened the rest for John. After supper, I cleaned up, washed the dishes, and jumped in the truck with John.

  “I hear Dana Bible will be in the stands,” he told me as we rounded a neighborhood corner.

  “Oh, great. Not much more pressure,” I said as I snapped on my mother-of-pearl earrings. “I’ve known about his interest in Jimmy. I guess I can’t say I’m too surprised.”

  Just knowing the Longhorns’ football coach would be in attendance reminded me of the first time I’d met a UT football coach.

  I was fourteen years old when one evening my parents and I stopped for dinner at the Underwood Café. Immediately, my father pointed out a stranger to me. The man was eating and writing something in a small notebook.

  “Coaches the Longhorns,” my father told me. “His name is Dave Allerdice, and he played football for Michigan not too long ago.”

  The Longhorns were coming off an 8-0 season, Allerdice’s fourth in Austin. At twenty-eight, Allerdice was preparing to take the Longhorns into a newly created league—the Southwest Conference. The new conference was to be made up of Texas, Arkansas, Baylor, Oklahoma, Oklahoma A&M, Rice, Southwestern, and Texas A&M. Because of the proximity of the membership, recruiting had stepped up a notch, and we came to find out that Allerdice was in Brownwood to meet with the family of a local recruit.

  Upon hearing of his status, I dashed to his table before my parents could stop me. I introduced myself and told him of my love for football. He then asked me if I rooted for the Longhorns. Too young to understand the value of diplomacy, I smiled and said no. I promptly told him my two favorite college football teams were those of Daniel Baker and Howard Payne Colleges. I asked him if he knew both schools were in Brownwood.

  “I do,” he said. “In fact, Daniel Baker will be coming to our place next season.”

  Next thing I knew, Coach Allerdice asked me a life-changing question.

  “How can I turn you into a Longhorn fan, young lady?”

  I just looked at him and smiled.

  He said he’d leave tickets at the gate for my dad and me—in Austin, for the Texas game against Texas Christian. That fall, my father and I took the train to Austin and witnessed from midfield the Longhorns’ 72–0 victory over the Horned Frogs. A week later, my father and I listened to the radio as Texas defeated visiting Daniel Baker 92–0. I remained a Daniel Baker fan, but the Longhorns were never too far behind.

  Somehow, after having recollected so warmly that childhood moment, I let go of my anxiety over Coach Bible’s attendance. By the time John and I arrived at the school, I was ready to get going. John walked me to the field house entrance, and he kissed me on the cheek.

  “Goodbye, Stephenville,” he said before he walked off.

  Preparing to lead my own football team onto the field, I stood outside the boys’ locker room, adjusting my dress, kicking dirt off my one-inch pumps, and looking at my watch. It’s fifteen minutes to kickoff, I thought. What’s taking so long?

  Finally, Moose emerged from the locker room.

  “They’re ready for you,” he said.

  I stepped in. The boys were sitting beside their lockers, and I could feel tension as they sat quietly. They stared at me and then at each other.

  Jimmy looked over at Willie, and in a voice loud enough for the entire room to hear, he broke the silence. “Hey, Willie, just ignore the dress. And the pumps. And the pearls.”

  Slowly the team went from suppressed laughter to full-blown hysteria. I knew they meant no disrespect. Although I had run each practice in similar attire, I was aware that the big stage would draw more attention to my look. And what a great way to break the tension!

  I smiled and nodded, and considering we were amid an aroma of body sweat, dirty socks, and feet, I said, “And I’ll ignore, shall we say, the fragrance.”

  Everyone laughed, even Wendell, who was placing footballs into a basket that was to remain on the sidelines throughout the game.

  With the ice broken, I changed the tone. I gathered the boys around me, creating a tight-knit circle, and I began my pep talk.

  “Young men, this is what we’ve worked for. I know this isn’t the way you expected things to go, especially you seniors, but no matter what you might hear from the stands, I know you’re ready. We can beat this team. We are going to beat this team! Now focus on your assignments. What are we here to do?”
/>   “Play football!” the boys shouted.

  “What kind of football?” I asked.

  “Brownwood football!” they shouted.

  I exited the circle. The boys moved in closer and more tightly and extended their right hands toward the middle of the circle. As they lifted their arms upward, in unison they shouted, “Go Lions!”

  The boys broke the huddle and moved near the locker room exit. I stood out front. I shouted, “Let’s go!”

  The field house door flung open, and the team followed me, running out to the sounds of the band and fans screaming and cheering.

  I had told the boys to prepare for a big crowd, but I had no idea I would see what was before us. Standing room only. Reporters packed the tiny press box, with the overflow shoulder-to-shoulder along the sidelines. As I walked, the boys ran past me, as I’d instructed them to do. I walked by reporters with name tags—reporters from Dallas, Houston, and as far away as El Paso—their pens and notepads at the ready. I overheard radio crews begin their descriptions as we streamed onto the field.

  “Here she comes!” shouted Corby Rhyner, a radio announcer standing at the nearside end zone. “The Lions are taking the field alongside a lady coach. Miss Tylene, as they call her, is appropriately attired in a flower-print dress, heels, a string of pearls, and what look to be white clip-on earrings. I see no handbag, but it may be packed away on the sideline among the pigskins. We’ll keep an eye out for it and will let you know!”

  Knowing at any point my heels could get caught in the grass, I walked carefully, keeping an eye forward.

  As captain, Jimmy began walking toward midfield for the coin toss, and because Moose had stopped by my house the night before to give me great news about Stanley, I waited for Jimmy’s reaction with joyful anticipation. Jimmy walked faster and faster before breaking into an all-out sprint. He ran straight to Stanley, whom Moose was wheeling out to midfield. Stanley was in a Lions jersey—we had designated Stanley as the game’s honorary captain—for the first time since he led his team to the state playoffs his senior season. He ran for 145 yards and three touchdowns in his final game.