I remember the adults visiting, playing cards, singing, guys picking guitars, lots of laughing and teasing one another, usually Carl teasing me.  Some of the fondest memories were the 4th of July. Everyone would bring lots of food and fireworks.  The kids would pop fireworks all day and night and then around 10:00 pm we would sit outside in the lawn chairs and watch the firework display that was sponsored by the town of Binger.  From the hill we had a great view.  We would laugh at Carl’s dog JoeJoe. He always chased the fireworks barking and biting at them.  Poor dog, his mouth would be burned but there was nothing that Carl could do to keep that dog from chasing and biting at the firecrackers. The next day Stephanie and Leesa would gather up the used fireworks. They found used roman candles, cones and rockets that were scattered all over the hill so that they could play “firecracker stand”.  Talk about using their imaginations. No, Tessa you are right, the kids didn’t need video games, television or toys to entertain themselves.

One of the funniest things I remember is one on a friend named Bob.  Nathan and Josh loved to pester Bob.  He was very jumpy.  The boys would torment him to death and laugh.  They thought it was the funniest thing ever to watch him jump when they came up behind him, goosing him. All they really needed to do was just say BOB really loud, and he would jump and throw whatever was in his hands.  One day in particular the boys were feeling especially ornery and wouldn’t leave Bob alone.  Finally Ada and I made the boys go outside.  We were sitting in the living room talking and visiting.  It was a nice night with a breeze and we had the windows opened.  Pretty soon we hear Nathan tell Josh, “Let’s play Bob”.  Then we heard Josh say, “You be Bob” I thought we were all going to die laughing. All except Bob, I don’t think Bob thought it was very funny.

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Keep em coming. Who else has funny stories they remember about Binger Hill. I’m betting we could easily end up with part 20 or 30. Comment below or email me at connection@craddock.org

The 1st annual Craddock Pitch Tournament. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a milestone in my life. After years of nagging, begging and complaining I was finally allowed to play pitch with the adults. I was convinced that I was going to show them all. I was confident that at 15 I had what it took to not only play with the big boys but also to win it all. I suffered their condescending laughs and mock words of support with dignity and grace. I was however unprepared for the level of resistance against me, every partner I had that day intentionally threw the game in an obvious attempt to hold me down. Despite the ruthless opponents I faced, I still managed to win a few matches entirely alone with only my superior pitch skills to aid me.

In honor of the upcoming Craddock Pitch tournament being held in Binger, Oklahoma at Joe and Debbie Craddock’s house, tomorrow 10/28/2010 at 6 pm, I am publishing the first hand report written by my father Larry Craddock. The following was published in the original Craddock Connection newsletter in July 1989.

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Fool’s Gold

In Quest of the coveted Craddock Cup

(Although this heartbreaking story was written from one man’s perspective, you will soon realize that many fall into the same deviously conceived trap ……….)

It was mid-morning when they started pulling in, one by one with solemn determination hidden behind their anxious smiles. The humidity was high and it was obvious that it would be hot and sultry for the two day contest of wit and courage. Once again it was time for the ‘Hilltop Pitch Tournament’ but this time there was the coveted ‘Craddock Cup’ to contend for.

When all the contestants had stated their intent to compete, either by attendance or telephone, I explained the rules of the contest. We would play partners but only by random draw. Each game we would draw for partners again with the winners of the previous game guaranteed a draw for the next game. It seemed fitting that the luck of the draw should play some part in a contest that already demanded so much skill. (Anyway, I never knew where all the players would be at any given time, so I couldn’t schedule an equal number of games with each contestant!)

Tension was at a peak as the players huddled around the table for the first draw. As that game began, the remaining contestants went to the second table to draw for another game. Oh sure, I had heard the boasts that “the Cup would never leave the hill” and “foreigners can’t just come to the hill and take the Cup”. In fact, I had even made them myself, never realizing that technically I didn’t live on the hill. But the “Hilltop Gang” never forgot that! It was around 2:00 p.m. Saturday before the first games got underway and everything seemed normal at the start. Everyone was laughing and talking as usual. Those that weren’t playing pitch were cuttin’ up, playing guitars and such. Everyone was munchin’ on stuff and drinking coffee, lots and lots of coffee.

It took twenty games to qualify with the most games taking the trophy. It takes a long, long time to play twenty games of pitch with that many people competing. At first it was all pretty even. You know, you win a few, you lose a few. But time passes quickly when you’re having fun and anyone who was there knows that the “Hilltop Gang” made sure there was plenty of that to go around. That and coffee, lots and lots of coffee. It never dawned on me or any of the other victims how late it was getting. Some, like Larry Morris, had dropped everything and driven hundreds of miles when they found out it was time for the competition to begin. Roger Morris was so preoccupied with arranging the fishing tournament rules that he couldn’t think straight from the beginning. Onis was so anxious that he had been up since about4:00 a.m. Dan had been up fishing all night the night before. Paul was so confident and unsuspecting that he was just caught unaware. It was so sad. Erik, (my son) was exhausted from playing guitar all night. And Joe, he was still trying to figure out if a 6 ounce can of sardines at 89 cents is a better buy than a 10 ounce can at $1.39. Most of them never had a chance, they were mentally exhausted by the time they arrived and by midnight they were bidding  5′s on a trey and an off-Jack. Me, well just because I had double pressure as the organizer of this contest and had previously just completed several tasks that would have fatigued a normal person, well I’m not making excuses. I was just another victim. J.W. and Carl however, they were very relaxed and calm. It was as if they knew something the rest of us didn’t. It was a pathetic sight, an endless barrage of brow-beating, sweat-popping games. But the coffee just kept right on coming, lots and lots of coffee.

Twenty games sounded reasonable to me, at least it did at first. However, as the evening passed and I realized we would have to play hard and long just to get twenty games in, I recalled that the number twenty had been suggested to me by one of the “Gang”. What a fool I’d been. Suckered into their own devious, diabolical plot. They knew we had all been cutting down on coffee. They knew that we’d have to play late to get in twenty games. They knew that coffee would seem to be our only chance. And they also knew that we would all end up on a caffeine high that would make us nervous and desperate enough to bid ‘em up on 9 high hands. What we didn’t know was that they’d been drinking five to six times as much coffee as a normal person for a year now. Just waiting for this time and sure enough, they executed their plan with precise, unmerciful determination. If you examine the scores of that hopeless contest, you’ll see that the “Gang” won most of their games late at night when everyone else was drinking coffee, lots and lots of coffee.

As ‘predicted’, the “Cup” didn’t leave the hill. J.W. took the “Cup” and Carl took the second place ribbon. (Just speculating but, I figure they planned on taking turns with the “Cup”, never thinking their plan would be revealed.) Don’t feel bad, we were all just victims of a precisely engineered plan. Perhaps if Reginald had been here he could have held his coffee with ‘em. Or maybe Lonnie could have just winged it with his incredible pitch skills. Leonard could have shamed them into confessing and I’m sure David’s keen perception would have detected the plot in time to call a recess until morning. Do I feel bad? Well as organizer of this extremely competitive event, I just wish I hadn’t fallen so easily into their plan. But, we’ll all be on guard next year for that coffee guzzlin’ “Gang”.

Until next year, sharpen up your pitch moves and drink coffee, lots and lots of coffee, so we can’t be fooled again.

Signed,

caffeine crazy Larry

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Boy those were good times. I have a million memories of all of the pitch tournaments over the years. Most of them involve Uncle Joe bidding 5 with a 10 high while sitting directly across the table from me. I know its short notice but if any of you would like to come out and play tomorrow evening you are hereby invited to show up with only your pitch skills, some thick skin and a willingness to lose every game you play against me. Comment below with your best pitch tournament memories.

Erik Craddock

Binger Hill is a special place. Half an acre of land at the top of the hill east of Binger, Oklahoma. It is situated straight across the highway from the water tower which proudly proclaimed Binger as the home of Johnny Bench. The faces have changed dramatically but the place is almost unchanged from my first memory of it over 30 years ago. Tessa Wilson is the daughter of Lynne Morris McCafferty who is the daughter of Ada Morris Craddock. Her description of the Binger Hill, which is the home of her grand parents, brings back fond memories of the place that helped define the lives of hundreds of family members including myself.

Erik Craddock

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Some of my fondest memories as a child were visiting my Grandma Ada, Grandpa Carl and the rest of the clan. Visiting them was the perfect mixture of southern charm and a sense of belonging, no matter if you were blood relation or not.

I remember the warm summer days were spent playing outside with my cousins, aunts, and uncles. I was one of the youngest and I followed them all around like a lost puppy but they were all very patient with me. They would answer all of my unending questions. To me it was an adventure to just be with them. They showed me that you didn’t need all the “new” and “cool” things to have fun or be accepted because with them you were accepted just the way you were and that having everything you wanted didn’t make you better. They taught me how to use my imagination and they definitely taught me how to hone my brilliant wit and sarcasm.

My favorite time would be in the evenings when everyone would get out their guitars and sing. I would sit enthralled by the magnificent harmony they would create. It was as if all time had frozen and all of life’s worries and stresses would melt away. I just wish that my children were able to know these same feelings and memories because something this special and rare should be shared and cherished by all.

Tessa Marie Wilson

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I had the chance to visit the hill a few weeks ago and I’m happy to report that there were kids running around all over the place. They were getting into the same kind of mischief that we got into when we were kids. My only regret is that I don’t make it over there more often. What are your memories of Binger Hill? If you never had the chance to visit, where is that special place that you visited as a kid? Please comment below or email us at connection@craddock.org.

Dean was the oldest of ten and I guess Larry Dean is right, he developed a sense of responsibility towards all of us right from the start. Funny thing, I never once remember Dean being mad at any of us to the point where angry words were spoken. It may have been different with the boys; Dean always made sure nothing happened around me. He kept me sheltered I suppose.

Anyway, Dean was quiet and soft-hearted, probably the most soft hearted person I’ve ever known. I remember coming home one day from school and Dean was at the house. It had been a rough day at school and I was terribly upset because some of the girls had been picking on me. We hadn’t lived there long and I was attending a new school. It was tough. Dean understood that and asked what was wrong so I told him. He didn’t say anything at that time except to ask me if I wanted to go for a walk. I said yeah, and we walked around the peanut fields and pastures that surrounded our home. When we got to a hill where we could see for miles, we sat down and neither of us said anything for a while.

Then Dean started talking to me about when he was younger and he wasn’t always accepted by the kids he went to school with either. He didn’t really say what to do, or how I should respond, but his understanding of my situation came through very clearly. He didn’t have to tell me what to do; he just let me know that I mattered. Sitting there on that big ole hill with him I understood that we all feel small sometimes but the people that love us make it okay.

Dean spent time with me like this fairly often and in his quiet voice and soft heart, I understood that I was loved. I miss him everyday and wish we could just sit on a hill somewhere and say nothing — just communicate acceptance and love in a way that transcends words.

Lynne Morris McCafferty

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Thank you for the story Lynne. Do any of you have similar memories of Dean? Tell us about them by commenting below. If you have memories of a loved one who is no longer with us that you’d like to share email them to me at connection@craddock.org.

As youngsters, our entertainment was finding whatever we could do that was fun with whatever we happened to have around us. We invented many games and made lots of homemade “toys” with the materials that were available.  One thing we always had plenty of were red ants.

So David, JW and I decided that we could have ant races. Paul may have been in on this but since I don’t remember, he probably wasn’t. .  Using a stick, we drew a big circle on the ground and a very small circle in the middle of this.  Each one of us collected a few ants in a small jar, we looked for ants that seemed to know where they were going and headed straight for their goal. Most of them just seemed to be in a confused state of mind, going this way then that way, but we chose those we thought could win.

Each of us placed an ant in the small inner circle and whatever ant crossed the outer circle line first was the winner.  The owner of the winning ant won all the other ants in that race. Well one day while strolling the creek bank i seen this big black ant just racing along a fallen tree trunk faster than Sea Biscuit himself. I gotta have this ant, so finding an old tin can I captured the ant and quickly ran home with “Sea Biscuit”, as I had already decided to give him that name.  Immediately I challenged the boys to a race, confident that my racer ant would be victorious.  Sea Biscuit hit the ground making a straight beeline for the outer circle, while Dave and Jay’s ant just mosied around in circles, unsure of which way they wanted to travel. I was ecstatic. Eagerly I set up another race and again, Sea Biscuit won within seconds. This went on for several races throughout the afternoon.

David was down to his last ant but being the fierce competitor that he was (IS)  he was ready for the last race. Our ants were placed in position and the big black took off with no uncertainty of making it across the outer circle line in just a flash. And that’s when it happened! David, in a jealous rage and unable to take more of my taunting laughter, doubled his fist and with precise aim and all his power came down with the side of his fist and crushed my racing ant to it’s death.

I also was crushed and mad, but had that not happened I would have missed out on all the fun times of remembering that little incident. It lifts my spirit and gives me something to have a good  laugh about. It’s funnier each time I remember. Ha ha ha ha

Ada Craddock Morris

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I have a hard time believing that my gentle, loving uncle would ever have committed such an atrocious crime. Do you not have anything to say for yourself Uncle David? Will you not defend your reputation against these accusations? Thanks for the story Aunt Ada they just keep getting better.

If you enjoy these stories, please send us your own recollections of the funny little things you remember about your family members. You can send them at connection@craddock.org.