Contributors
Viewpoints from various contributors to the Corpus Christi Caller-Times. Updated when available.
Saturday, October 2, 1999
There was magic in the glow of Friday night lights
"Two bits, four bits, six bits, a dollar. . ." Last night, cheers like these ran through stadiums throughout Texas.
Friday is traditionally associated with high school football, and there was a time when the biggest Friday night of all was the night of the Ray-Miller game. "Make them eat those yellow balloons . . .''
Thus sang Texan faithful during their annual battle with the Bucs. The Miller Buccaneers, formerly Corpus Christi High School, started their inter-city football rivalry with the Ray Texans in 1950, when W.B. Ray opened its doors in what was then the newest part of town. From then until the mid-1960's when Mary Carroll and Richard King came on the scene, Corpus Christi was neatly divided geographically between the scarlet and silver Texans to the south and the purple and gold Buccaneers to the west.
By the late 1950's this rapidly developing football rivalry reached epic proportions. Ray won state football championships in 1957 and 1959, while Miller captured the crown in 1960. There were many Friday night heroes on those teams of yesterday - big stars who later went pro: Kent Nix from Ray who went on to play quarterback at TCU and for the Pittsburgh Steelers and a pair of NFL caliber running backs from Miller, Johnny Roland and my good friend, Bobby Smith.
The Ray-Miller game was a grudge match, a Harvard-Yale, Army-Navy, Redskins-Cowboys kind of game. The teams, the schools, the parents, the fans, and the media prepared weeks in advance for what was always the big showdown to determine who would qualify for, and quite possibly who would win, the state football championship. Cars with purple and yellow streamers tied to their steel radio attennae would cruise up and down Leopard Street. Bobby soxers wearing red and white gingham walked home in their saddle shoes during the weeks before the game wondering if they'd have a date.
Many was the time that I, as a little boy, was treated to this local Super Bowl after a burger and a shake at the Buccaneer Cove, an unassuming little shack in the shadows of Buc Stadium. There my grandfather, the late "Mr. Willie," did a brisk trade in cheeseburgers and Pepsi. His customers called him Mr. Willie because they couldn't pronounce his last name, and "Willie" was the best they could do with his first. Other folks frequented the original Snapka's, or Pick's, or the Old Mexico down the street. It was best to get to Leopard Street early, park, find a place to eat, and then go on to the stadium. Otherwise, you might be crushed in the pre-game mob of fans.
When the November night set aside for the contest finally arrived, end of the season electricity was in the air. Throats were hoarse from screaming in the night chill, and cheerleaders cartwheeled in their knee-length skirts on the manicured turf. Radio announcers with oversized perforated microphones set the lineups and reported the coin toss at midfield. Finally, after weeks of anticipation, the kickoff ensued, and the battle for city dominance was underway.
The balance of power has shifted now for reasons no one seems able to identify. There are no more state football champions from Corpus Christi, and haven't been for decades. Thankfully, some of the old restaurants are still there on Leopard Street. Others are gone forever, but there is still something magical about the autumn air, and venerable old Buc Stadium still remembers the glory days of its youth, waiting, ever waiting for the Friday night heroes of yesteryear to return.
