It was late fall of 1946, and the Rosedale High School football team was undefeated. Charlie Allen was quarterback, Bob Lapresto was fullback, Clyde Wade was right halfback, Van Chaney was center, Jelly Thompson was a guard or tackle, and I was right end. (Sorry guys that my old brain doesn't let me remember the rest of us). It was before the era of offense and defense teams and we all had to play both parts. I was small, weighing only 145 lbs or so; but I got in there and did the best I could. Usually there was a 200 lb plus tackle in front of me that was my job to block on offense. Clyde Wade from the backfield usually assisted me in that project, but he did not weigh much more than I did, and most of the time we just slowed that tackle down, hoping our backfield could make it around right end or off right tackle. When we were able to ground the tackle, I would hit him low on one side, and Clyde would hit him high on the other, and I usually wound up with about 350 lbs of football players on top of me, flat on the ground.

It was our last game and we were ahead by about 30 points. We were down on their 4 or 5 yard line at the far end of the field that was across from the railroad track at Rosedale High. It was obvious that we would score on the next play. I deliberately vectored into the huddle next to Charlie Allen (in those days the quarterback called the plays; no plays coming in from the sidelines). I nudged Charie in his side with my left elbow. There was no need to say anything; Charlie knew--I WANTED TO MAKE A TOUCHDOWN.

Charlie told me to step across the goal line and turn around. I did just that. I never saw Charlie throw the ball. He deliberately launched it before I turned around, so that our opponets would have less time to react. It hit me dead center in my chest and all I had to do was grab on and hold tight. It was my first and only touchdown in my few years of highschool football.

I'm sorry that I never adequately expressed my appreciation to Charlie Allen, but that afternoon he made me the happiest player in Bolivar County. I am sad today that I cannot call Charlie and tell him my story. He passed away of lung cancer at around 25 years of age. To tell the truth, there are only two of us left of the six, or so, I named above. I am still kicking (age 80), and Jelly Thompson (age 79) is still around out in Texas somewhere. The two of us didn't smoke back in high school. The rest did, not during football season but at all other times. Why can't we get this story across to teenagers of today. Why can't they just be taken into clinics, doctor's offices, and hospitals today and see the people there walking around carrying oxygen bottles and with those small plastic tubes running into their nostrils. I know the answer well; we thought back in those days that we were invincible, but we were not.

Al Spinks
aspinks@triad.rr.com
November 28, 2010