My most frightening Miss Arkansas appearance took place in late October of 1958. Just writing about it makes my heart beat faster. I came within inches of losing my life that
day---or I should say--- “my head.”
The Strategic Air Command, more commonly known as SAC, was hosting an enormous event at Jacksonville, Arkansas,
home of Little Rock Air Force Base. High-ranking Military Officials from Washington DC and SAC centers from around the world were in attendance.
know many details---except--- I was expected to “look pretty” and sing the national anthem. I was also told to be ready by 4 p.m. because the military would be sending an official car with one of its most outstanding men-- in uniform-- to drive
me to the event.
At precisely four o’clock, a handsome young man in a military uniform knocked on my door and, after the usual introductions, walked
me to a waiting car. I was surprised when two other men in uniform opened the car’s back doors for my escort and me. I loved the attention.
All three gentlemen
were covered in medals, ribbons, braid, and all kinds of impressive decorations so, what woman wouldn’t have felt special?!?!? I remember my escort’s name was Art Olson but I don’t remember his rank. I do know the gentlemen with me that day
were all pilots and part of SAC. My escort was stationed in Spain and the other two were stationed in Korea, which—to a nineteen year old—sounded exotic and daringly-mysterious. The ride to the air base took almost one hour and I enjoyed
every minute of the trip.
The event was held in an enormous hangar with seating for quite a large audience and---for more-than-a-few B52 airplanes. The hangar
was becoming crowded so my escort quickly found my assigned seat on the Dais--between two high-ranking Generals. One of the event’s planners handed me a program and showed me where to stand when it was time for me to sing.
After thirty minutes, the event began and-- after a formal introduction-- I took my place in front of the microphone to deliver the National Anthem. There were so many flags, so many
uniforms, so much pageantry and patriotism and---I felt patriotically-inspired.
Later--- after a special awards ceremony; performances by the military band; and
a magnificent display of young Chinese acrobats--- it was time for the night’s featured entertainer to claim center-stage. All the way from Japan, the world’s most-acclaimed Sword Master was the main attraction.
Without the hint of a smile, the highly-acclaimed artist began his performance by tossing a sword high in the air then--- as it descended with a fanfare of head-over-heel twirls---the Japanese master reached
out to skillfully-catch it by its handle. The audience watched, spellbound, as the artist increased the number of swords he tossed in the air, artfully catching each one by its handle-- mid-air.
Never smiling, and with only an occasional bow to the applause, the oriental maestro performed more increasingly- dangerous feats. At one point, he tied a watermelon to a large balloon and with one swift wave of his fancy
sword, sliced the melon into two equal parts, leaving the balloon intact.
For his grand finale, the world’s best Sword Master asked for a volunteer from
the audience. He described how the volunteer would kneel on all fours while he placed a carrot on the neck of the volunteer. Then, with one stroke of his sword, the carrot would separate into two pieces without disturbing the neck of the volunteer.
There was complete silence; not one person stepped forward to volunteer. Then, the Japanese Sword Master quietly walked to the Dais, stood directly in front of me and extended
his hand. “You will do me the honor of being my volunteer, please.” The hangar echoed with applause as the audience eagerly- agreed with his choice.
beyond words, I felt my legs automatically raise me to a standing position and walk me to the master’s outstretched hand. The instant our hands touched, I felt the power of death and began pulling away. The crowd’s applause was deafening; the sword
master gripped my hand tighter, refusing to let me go.
I experienced only a few seconds of outrageous horror before I felt two men--the two highest-ranking
generals-- on each side of me, guide me back to my seat. One of the generals walked to the microphone, commanding the audience’s attention. “Miss Arkansas is our special guest and we are sworn to protect her. Ms. Miller DID NOT VOLUNTEER for this
demonstration so it’s time for someone in the crowd to step forward as a willing participant.”
That night I learned, firsthand, about the meaning of
the phrase, “weak in the knees.” That evening took me to a place I never want to go again.