This is the last post I have for now of stories with or about Mark. More will likely come back to me over time. These stories are stories I did not personally observe but were recounted to me in some detail, either by Mark or others.
Mark and some of his friends put a sheep in our High School, for which Mark was expelled for a few days. My Mom referenced this when I was expelled for putting a photocopy of Rich Miller’s butt on the podium of my calculus teacher as something she didn’t want to have to go through again.
Most of the student governments before me (I was student body president my senior year) had various keys to the high school, allowing them to explore the air vents and tunnels that ran under the high school. We gained access to some temporarily, but Mark and Danny both explored the tunnels under the school extensively.
Mark played football and wrestled a couple of seasons, but also ran track. He qualified for state most years. He told me about one race at state track that was particularly memorable. He had qualified for the final in whatever it was he was running (typically sprints, as that was his strength), but forgot or wasn’t clear as to when the final race was going to happen. He left to get dinner. Just as he got back to the stadium where the races were being held, he heard his name being called as they were waiting for him to hold the final race. He rushed to get ready and had a full stomach, but made it to the starting point in time to race. With no warmup and a full stomach, he took second. That’s how fast he was.
Apparently he was always fast. My Mom recounted an incident that happened when we lived in Porterville (I was 1 year-old when we moved to Mountain Green, where I grew up). My Mom had just finished giving Mark a bath when he disappeared. Apparently he had seen the mail person deliver the mail. He ran, lightning fast, out of the house and down the long drive way, naked (apparently this starts young), to the mailbox to retrieve the mail. My Mom couldn’t keep up with him he was so fast.
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