Could it ever be said again of Central Park, "If you grew up in Garland, you pretty much lived there"?

"Going to carnivals on Daddy's arm"—pen-and-ink drawing by A. Doerner for K. Moore

On the wall of our home is a piece of commissioned art with Garland's Central Park as one of its themes. Today, as Central Park has risen to the forefront of local concerns, I'm especially proud that my wife, Kay, and I own this piece of artwork.

It's a pen-and-ink drawing of a little girl holding her dad's hand, with a ferris wheel in the background and balloons to the side. Missing her dad, after his passing, my wife hired an artist to produce this line art that depicted the two of them together during her childhood.

The scene with Kay's dad symbolizes their annual trip to Garland's Jaycee Jubilee in Central Park. That was their dad-and-daughter "thing" to do together—the now-defunct Labor Day extravaganza, always the day before Garland schools started in September. Because she grew up on nearby 11th Street, the park was but a brief walk for them. She and her mom had dress-shopping and story league and a thousand other gal things to do together, but Central Park represented dad-and-daughter time that could be counted on.

But the much-ballyhooed Jubilee was far from her only memory tied to the park. When we purchased our own house on 11th Street, just down from where Kay grew up, I was excited that I'd gotten a peach of a deal in a VA foreclosure. Kay was excited that she would live in the one-time home of the person who taught her to do a swan dive off the awesome high board at the Central Park pool.

Before taking lessons from Martha Walker, my wife had shuddered to get near the pool, which now has been filled in, its former placement covered with sand for a volleyball court. Kay says she developed a brave streak after those private lessons in the ole swimmin' hole. She tells our grandboys, "Close your eyes tight and you can still hear the squeals of kids trying the high dive." In their innocence, they squeeze tight and agree that yup, they for sure can hear something.

Kids in the kiddie pool area of the Central Park pool in the 1960s. Photo from "You know your from Garland TX if . . . ." (The Facebook page deliberately spells the third word "your".)

Kay isn't the only one who goes off on nostalgia binges about Central Park. Facebook pages such as "You know your from Garland TX If . . . ." and "Pioneers of Dallas County" share long streams of conversations about Central Park, back in the day. The place meant a lot to many people. Reading the convo streams, I'd say it was a sense of continuity and dependability and home as much as it was bricks and mortar. 

"If you grew up in Garland, you pretty much lived there," wrote one Facebooker recently.

Some Baby Boomers go back further and remember when the old swim steps and hand rails still existed above Duck Creek—a reminder of when the creek was dammed up starting in 1926 and people swam and even fished there—in what was known as Lake Garland in Williams Park, which became Central Park. The "ghost" rails still remained long after the new pool was opened in 1952, after the city acquired the property in 1948. In Kay's growing-up day, closing your eyes and hearing the splashes of kids swimming in the actual creek was the challenge throw down to youngsters. Once again, simple to do! 

When a $7-million improvement was announced for the park's aging Granger Center, it set the Facebook nostalgia streams off again.  Boomers recalled how the then state-of-the-art rec center once had seemed like a dream come true after the creepy two-story army surplus barracks that had sat on the same site and was the scene for sock hops and school Halloween carnivals. 

Kay remembered the then-slick new Granger for a different reason. Deathly ill from walking pneumonia, she presided over the early spring "Popularity Ball", at which Garland High School favorites were announced by the yearbook staff. The week before, with work in high gear, she was felled with a ghastly bug and ran fever as she sat under the hair dryer for her up-do. She showed up at the ball against doctor's orders. I've seen photos of her in semi-formal attire after she pulled herself together enough to make the show go on. She's as white as the trellis behind her. The Granger represents some kind of "against-all-odds" moral victory to her. 

The nearby Granger annex is where she survived a trial of another kind: downing stinky limburger cheese in a middle-school band initiation. Are such things even allowed today? Regardless, the Annex to Kay stands for fortitude and true grit. (Should it be saved from the bulldozer just because of that? I'm not making that statement. Many factors, including the ongoing suitability and repurpose-ability of a building, influence that decision, not just a building's age. But does it hold memories for lots? Certainly.)

Not all Central Park memories are ones to be proud of. It is said that a town's segregation history is never more apparent than in the story of its swimming pools. In Kay's growing-up days, the pool was clearly whites-only. She remembers when one 1950s afternoon, a swimmer with an especially dark tan was having a splashing good time in the Central Park pool. Suddenly authorities, alerted that she might have broken a racial barrier, pulled her out and checked her ethnicity. Anglo, but what humiliation to the young woman and what a sad commentary on our society then! Whites only! Still makes my Civil Rights Baby-Boomer mindset burn with furor! 

Wouldn't a reset on that venerable old pool be a terrific, healing thing for Garland? 

I've often suggested that the city might study re-creating the original Lake Garland as both a tourist attraction and locus of redevelopment along Garland Avenue. Wouldn't it be great to have our own city lake featuring high-quality swimming for people of all ethnicities—intentionally symbolizing racial reconciliation, recognizing the history that has gone before on that site, and making giant steps toward the future?

Yes, I'm a dreamer with lots and lots of ideas. I've been accused of seeing things others can't see about the potential in a situation. Just like John F. Kennedy, I plead guilty to the charge.

Actually, on this particular idea, I'm borrowing from a former president of Baylor University in Waco. When I was sophomore at Baylor, I heard Baylor President Abner V. McCall talk about his vision of damming up Waco Creek and creating Lake Brazos. He talked about sailboats, party boats, and all sorts of water sports in an area of Waco that then was nothing but embarrassing slums. I leaned over to the person sitting next to me and whispered, "What has that old man been smoking?" Most people found Dr. McCall's vision difficult to even comprehend.

If you know anything about Waco today, you may recognize that 50 years later the shoreline of Lake Brazos is one of the hottest developments in all of Texas. Even Chip and Joanna's Magnolia Market isn't far from that marvelous waterfront property.  

When I have suggested rebuilding Lake Garland, I'm always met with the legalistic answer, "We don't own the water rights."

Lake Garland, a private lake created by D. Cecil Williams in 1926. Photo from the Garland Landmark Society. Long after the dam over Duck Creek was removed and Lake Garland ceased to exist, ladders and landings could still be observed on the creek.

That's the same answer most people gave about all the creeks and rivers in south central Oklahoma when my Chickasaw ancestors tried to talk about the potential of those waterways. That is, until the U.S. Supreme Court made it clear who really does own the land and mineral rights under and the water passing through those waterways—the tribe!

At the same time, for nearly two decades I've lived a very bad memory of Central Park—the exact opposite of my wife's fond recall—and have been screaming my lungs out ever since about the Park's questionable overall security—an issue that must be addressed regardless of which side wins in the current battle about the property on the eastern edge of the park along Glenbrook.

After we moved to downtown nearly two decades ago, I went running in Central Park (on the side closest to Garland Avenue) early almost every morning—just like I used to do in nearby parks where we lived in Houston, Franklin, TN, and Richmond, VA.  

On one particular morning about sunrise I realized I was alone in the park except for a carload of young men who clearly had been out all night drinking and had decided to follow me very closely. Thanks to my nearly lifelong running skills, I was able to outmaneuver and outrun them and their car. I still dread to think of what might have happened had I not reacted quickly both mentally and physically. Once out of the park that morning, I never returned for my morning runs there.

Again and again since this matter first materialized, I've stated that one of my main concerns about Central Park hasn't been addressed.

About two months ago Kay and I took our two grandboys for a picnic at noon on a Saturday in the park. The only people in the park were us and a growing group of young men guzzling beer several picnic tables away. As their numbers grew and the amount of beer consumed increased, our wariness escalated, so we yielded the park to them.

When I later told a city official about it, the response was, "Drinking is not legal in our parks."

Did that fact seem to stop the party I just witnessed?

Once it was Grandma's sneakered feet that clambered over Central Park's natural draws. Now, we enjoy bringing grandboys to the same treasured setting. Our dream is that this beautiful old park can achieve its best!

To us, it's great that this dear-to-the-heart park now may have a chance to go back on the city's high priority list. We'd like to see it be elevated to the best park ever with whatever is the best solution for its beautiful acreage.

I wish the political battle lines in our city were not so deeply drawn over three elements in the park (the planned demolition of the armory's largest building, the proposed dog park, and the proposed skate park) on a few acres in the 50-acre park that no way seems to exist for the city to back up and look at the park from the bigger, global perspective.  

As I've often said, I prefer the big picture first and then the details. Some seem to prefer the details first from which they then form the bigger picture.

I would prefer for a well-vetted, blue-ribbon panel of citizens with a heart for the park to first develop a master plan that is neighborhood- and town-friendly for everything that runs from Garland Avenue to Glenbrook, from Avenue G to the apartments and cemeteries to the south—but given the political dynamics now at play over that small corner of the park along Glenbrook, sadly I don't see that happening.

As I have said, I dream big—not in small increments or building by building!

Maybe some day when the current political hurricane passes and some of the hurt feelings fade, we can get back to looking at the big picture of what is best overall for Garland's beloved Central Park. There's so much more to the park than just a few acres along Glenbrook—and all of it needs the city's tender-loving attention.

How great if it could again be said of Central Park in the current day: "If you're from Garland, you pretty much lived there."