COUNTRY CLUBS

Not many country kids grew up with the advantages we enjoyed in Plantersville. Tupelo may have had its Country Club, complete with golf course and swimming pool, but they didn't have anything like Cecil's Park.  

It started with a clay tennis court built around 1955. Cecil Johnson, a 47 year old bachelor at the time, had been coaching boys' baseball teams; but as the number of boys, who could meet the age requirements and play baseball, dwindled, he decided to build a tennis court and get all the youth of our town involved.   

Luckily, his home site, located directly across the street from our house, included a pecan grove that covered many acres, and the trees were spaced far enough apart that a regulation-sized court (he would have had nothing less) could be situated among them. Cecil accepted very little help in the building of his tennis court because he was such a perfectionist and wanted to make sure every detail was up to standards. Tennis racquets were secured by those who were interested and tennis lessons from Cecil began. Interest in the game developed quickly among the many spectators, and soon the tennis court was the most popular spot in town. Everybody wanted to learn the game, play the game, win the tournaments; it was the fun place to be.  

Old church pews lined the shady side of the court where fans gathered and children played. Many in the crowd lived close-by and had walked to the park; some rode bikes, others drove. It was not unusual on Saturday and Sunday afternoons to see 20 cars parked in Cecil's driveway, his backyard, and along the roadside, and most had arrived with 3 or 4 people in each car. For a small town, it was a large crowd of all ages with much excitement. You were there or you were "square!"  

It didn't take Cecil long to realize the need to make other games available for his guests. A basketball goal was installed, then a croquet court, then a shuffleboard court. Every year, he added a new attraction. A large schoolyard-sized swing set was installed, a maypole, a merry-go-round, a BIG SLIDE. He built a huge sandbox for the small children and a half-court sized practice board for tennis players. There was a chin-up bar where children worked so hard to master that simple feat of strength, and Olympic rings where they learned acrobatics. He built a pavilion that held two ping-pong tables, and a table for board games and card games. In the vast, open spaces, there were kids pitching baseballs, or playing football or tossing Frisbees. Those who owned horses frequently rode them to the park and shared them with their friends. Several pecan trees offered the climbers among us serious challenges. Occasionally, a group of kids would organize "camp-outs" and spend the night in tents at the park.  

Cecil allowed help with marking off the tennis court, but that was about all the help he would accept. Rather than letting kids rush carelessly into his garage to get croquet or shuffleboard or ping-pong equipment, he usually selected one child to do it, considered quite an honor by all. At the end of the day, that same person had to collect everything, make sure no parts were missing, and put it all back like they found it. Flattened ping-pong balls cost the flattener a dime. Cold Pepsi-Colas were available for a quarter.  

Every game had rules and no fudging was allowed. Cecil had park rules - no fighting, no cussing, no poor sportsmanship, strict open and close time, and everybody knew the rules and kept them. Loosely, it was 3 strikes and you're out, expulsion, and he had to expel very few. Every once in a while a couple of boys might have a disagreement that resulted in a fight. Cecil had them don boxing gloves, while he used their anger and energy to teach them basic boxing moves and self-defense. He maintained order that way, single-handedly, and everybody had a good time.  

And who paid for this playground paradise? Ninety-five percent of it was paid for by Cecil himself. Oh, the churches donated small sums each year to apply toward the purchase of new equipment, but Cecil was the sole owner and caretaker of the park. If I had a nickel for every drop of sweat he put into maintaining that place, I'd be a millionaire.  It was a private park on private property, and he made it plain to any uninvited guests who mistook it for a public facility.  Membership requirements in this "country club" were simple. Any white person known and approved by Cecil was admitted. No membership fee, no monthly dues, just show up and have fun. During the summer, it was open every day from 1 PM until 6 PM, and nobody went over the chain that was stretched across his driveway until he took it down promptly at 1:00 everyday. 

The only downside to our good fortune was to see the sad faces of the black kids, who were turned away whenever they asked for admission. Wistfully, they would watch us from the street for a few moments, wondering why white kids got all the breaks. It was the 60's, the 70's, the 80's, a time of social upheaval all around us, but Cecil, as far as I could tell, felt no compunction for explaining to them that the park was private, not public, and they were polite in their responses as they turned to leave. 

Did any of his white friends feel compelled to plead their case for inclusion? Were we cowards, afraid of losing our “privileges," or just blind to the issues of social injustice? Who were we to say who could and could not be the guest of our generous host? 

Don't get me wrong. There were plenty in my generation who were in favor, even worked for the civil rights of minorities. Schools in our part of the state had been integrated without court order, a phenomenon that came to be called The Tupelo Miracle.  Hotels and restaurants began opening to mixed crowds, but Saturday nights found black and white in separate night clubs, and Sunday mornings saw black and white in separate churches, with no obvious interest in change.

And so it was at Cecil’s Park. Private property was, after all, private; and old customs and mindsets dictated separation of the races. Maybe we had more in common with Tupelo's Country Club than I realized.  cjg