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HSU Cowgirls mostly history, but 'Stomp' is
still afoot
By BILL WHITAKER
When Hardin-Simmons University freshmen piled into Behrens
Chapel last week to learn campus tradition, they discovered that
while it may not be OK to dance, it's sure OK to "stomp."
In fact, they got a vivid lesson in stomping from the lass
who brought that tradition to The Forty Acres 70 years ago - Glenna
Frame of Abilene.
During colorful frosh orientation ceremonies last week, Glenna,
still nimble at 90, led surviving members of the HSU Cowgirls
out onto the stage and promptly set about doing what is called
"The Cowgirl Stomp."
Not "dance," mind you - good Baptists would never
tolerate that - but "stomp."
"Actually, we started line-dancing way back then,"
Glenna said, reflecting on the routine she and her "girls"
did. "We just didn't know it!"
Whatever it was, Glenna is credited with inventing the Cowgirl
Stomp in 1927, a few years after the HSU Cowgirls were created
as a spirited drill organization for girls. Although the Cowgirls
went into decline and vanished with the rise of sororities in
the 1970s, it was once a force to be reckoned with.
In fact, Glenna likes to imagine that the Cowgirls once gave
members of the HSU Cowboy Band fits, so perfect were they in competing
for the spotlight the colorful band has so long loved to hog.
During parades of yesteryear, the Cowgirls followed behind the
band, nipping at their heels.
"Everytime the Cowboy Band marched, we were right behind
'em," Glenna said, "so we take a lot of credit for their
world fame today as a great marching band."
STEP BY STEP
The Cowgirls organization may be a thing of the past, but former
members enjoy occasional gatherings and even consent to perform
the Cowgirl Stomp on occasion. Such an occasion arose last week,
and every indication was the students enjoyed it, especially upon
learning Glenna, their leader, was 90.
Students arose cheering when the Cowgirls strolled onto the
stage. They remained standing throughout the Cowgirls' routine,
done to the tune of "The Old Gray Mare."
All of which touched Glenna Frame mightily.
"She's proud of it, but she's also very modest,"
explained Katherine Ricks, an HSU Cowgirl who graduated in '41.
"She has meant so much to the Cowgirls. One morning we rehearsed
for this and, well, we weren't sure she'd be able to come because
she had been feeling a little tired.
"But she came. I don't think she could resist."
Of course, several of the graying women in the former Cowgirls
organization have been finding it a bit more tiring than once
upon a time. Prior to their rehearsal last week, one of the women
breathlessly approaching the stage insisted she'd be fine "if
I can just get up these steps."
And when good-humored Bee Shackelford, HSU class of '41, arrived
on the scene, dressed in her Cowgirl duds, she jokingly explained
her slightly unkempt appearance to Cowgirl sisters as such: "I
don't have a waist anymore, so I don't tuck anything in anymore."
EGGS IN HAIR
During a break in rehearsals, I heard many colorful stories
about Cowgirls through the years. More than anything, though,
I learned that girls at HSU would do most anything to get into
the Cowgirls organization.
More than one told me if they had not gotten into the organization,
they might have quit HSU.
Bobbie McKinnon, who entered HSU in the 1930s, still has a
newspaper clipping about a formal tea held for prospective Cowgirls
(who had to be at least sophomores). Out of the 125 hoping to
get into the organization that year, only 21 were notified by
Dr. Rupert Richardson they had passed muster.
Vangie Reiff Newman, class of '57, assured me her pledge week
activities to get into the Cowgirls were daunting. She had to
do no less than wear a tow sack for clothing, hang garlic around
her neck, lather raw eggs into her hair for the duration and not
talk to any boys all during the pledge period.
Being the daughter of then-HSU President Evan Allard Reiff
didn't protect her from the humiliation all pledges had to suffer.
"I remember we sat in chapel one day and I had two big
ol' football players sitting next to me, and they gave me all
kinds of trouble because I stunk so bad," Vangie said. "And
I couldn't say a word because I wasn't allowed to talk to boys.
"I couldn't even answer the phone!"
Speaking of the phone, columnist Bill Whitaker has a new, supposedly
improved phone number for any and all inquiries, bribes, column
suggestions and other sundry nonsense: 676-6732.
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Copyright ©1996 or
1997, Abilene Reporter-News / Texnews / E.W. Scripps. Publications
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