Joe York Administers Schoolyard Justice at Hill JHS

It’s been a very long time—closing in on 60 years—so my memories of being a student at Hill Junior High School have faded. Some scenes remain distinct, but many others are less so; in certain cases, I have just a general impression of what it was like.

I would be lying if I said September 1966 to May 1968 was an especially placid time for me. I was muddling along, unsure of my identity although slightly above average on academics; I tried out for the Highlanders football team in 9th grade but was cut. Hill (then 98% White) might have seemed like a real Milquetoast place to students who attended schools in rougher parts of Dallas. Lacking that awareness, I thought it percolated with violence on an almost daily basis. Again, keep in mind that everything is relative, but there were a lot of fights. I remember fights in the alley behind the school, fights on the asphalt basketball court, fights on the grassy expanse where the football and baseball fields sat and fights in the hallways. I was involved in a few myself, winning and losing in equal measure.

Why all the fights at Hill? I would blame it mostly on immaturity and a lot of silly macho posturing—guys who felt the need to act tough. (I recall one tussle between female classmates, but it did not go far.) Too often, this was a matter of the strong picking on the weak. I saw it happen numerous times and lacked the courage to intervene. Ah, but there was one Highlander who had no problem doing so: Joe York.

I had known him when we were students at Kiest. Even in elementary school, York was a studly young man—confident and capable. My family moved in the summer of 1963, so I attended Hexter for three years before graduating to Hill. York, by contrast, also spent time at Casa View, Reinhardt, Sanger and Ireland, the latter being out in Pleasant Grove. By whatever means, we were both Hill students for those two years and then it was on to Bryan Adams High School for three more.

We were in a basic architecture class at Hill, during which time I got to know York better. I would characterize him by saying that he could have been intimidating, but he chose not to. He had nothing to prove. Even the guys who fancied themselves hoods or bad-asses gave him wide berth. A member of the Hill varsity football team as an 8th and 9th grader (an honor shared with Tommy King, Blake Johnson and Steve Morgan), he was a superb athlete despite weighing just 155 pounds.

Perhaps you know where I am going with this. York battled on numerous occasions those two years at Hill but never—to repeat—because he was challenged or felt the need to prove himself. No, he made peace when he saw a small or average-size boy being put upon by a bigger one. York broke it up, set the smaller guy aside and then imposed some retribution on his behalf. Not a cautious, tentative fighter, he went in with fists flying, unafraid to draw blood. These matches generally did not last long, as the other combatant soon saw the error of his ways and cried uncle. While I would hesitate to quantify York’s to-the-rescue actions at Hill, I know it occurred enough to have a salutary effect. He obviously could not be everywhere at all times, but if he saw something untoward going on, he did not stand and observe. He jumped in. If it meant Principal Ira Martin punishing him with a few licks in his office, so be it.

York and I went on to BA in September 1968, where a confluence of Hill and Gaston kids learned, laughed and loved. The degree of maturity in high school was remarkable, as I saw fewer than five fights in three years. As for York, he was seldom called upon to bust up bad boys as he had done at Hill. Maybe it did not happen a single time.

He made Bob Cowsar’s varsity football team as a junior but suffered a leg injury and had to retire from the gridiron. More’s the pity because with a healthy Joe York, the 1970 Cougars might have defeated Thomas Jefferson in that crucial game, won the city title and even gone on to become 4-A state champions. It’s possible.