Chapter 13
THE KNOWLEDGE OF GOOD AND EVIL.
(From
early January 1965 to the end of Spring Quarter at Auburn University in early
June 1966)
Let me
now back up a few weeks to about 7 January 1965, the day I first start
university classes (higher education), eating of the tree of the
knowledge of good and evil (my escape route from the slave farm).
After all, that is what “university life” is supposed to be about, not about eating
delicious meals to the full, amongst 200 or so of the most pleasant students on
campus.
I went
to Auburn University to study hard, in order to pass my courses, in
order to graduate, and thus obtain a university 4-year
degree. I did not go there to play, but rather to study diligently.
I thank God for a boyhood of hard labor that made me into a young man
inclined,
self-motivated to work hard.
During
my years at Auburn U., I observe other male students (with much more book sense than I) flunk out of college,
simply because they came here to party and play to the utmost.
You know how that a lot of 18-year-olds go wild as soon as they get away
from Daddy and Mommy. Why, you might even remember what you did yourself
at that age, and/or what your kids did at that age.
Sadly,
many parents mistakenly think the greatest blessing they can
bestow upon their offspring is a childhood of fun, fun, fun!!! Thus
wise, they spoil their brats rotten. Then parents tear their hair out
and climb the walls as they observe Junior or Sissy: party, party, and party
till he or she flunks out of college. The spoiled brat is simply doing what his or
her foolish,
vain parents trained him or her up to do, have as much fun in life
as possible.
When I
arrive at Auburn, sophomore student Wayne from Hamilton, Alabama (not far north
of my hometown) is lodging in one of the basements rooms of this same stately
old house on Burton Street. He is studying to be an engineer, but I watch him
get caught up in motorcycle racing, bore me to death with that talk, and soon
flunk out of the university because he is giving his time to motorcycles
instead of studying. The last I knew of Wayne, he had
been put out of the university (failed, flunked out). He was pumping gas at the
nearby gas station here in town, and giving most all
his free time to motorcycle racing.
Thank
Thee, Lord, for keeping my priorities in order after I get set free from “home”.
“Writer
Boy, you chose to roar thru the high skies in a Marine Corps
attack jet instead of zipping around a small track on a racing motorcycle,
because there was much more vain, worldly glory in that, now didn’t
you?”
‘Yep,
I sure did! And I was getting good pay for doing so, along with the vain glory of pilot and officer rank!’
This
winter quarter at Auburn U., my 3 main courses are English, history and math,
each of those being 5 credit hours, each with classes 5 days a week. Two years
(6 quarters) of Physical Education was required for all able-bodied students. I
took Basic PE this term, calisthenics, running and such (only 1 credit hour, tho it met 1 hour a day 3 days a week). It was typical to
take Basic PE during one’s 1st term, and also
to take Library Science at the start (a required subject), and one this farm
boy needed in order to find the books and such I would
be searching for in that huge library. So, I took Library Science also
for 1 credit hour.
Navy
ROTC midshipman McKnight ① was
in that Basic PE class with me. That puzzled me because he was already a
sophomore or junior. (Most students take Basic PE at the start of their
freshman year.) Mac was a gung-ho (hard charging) Marine. One day during PE
when we did sit-ups, I paired up with Big Mac. (He was a huge guy and tough.)
He held my ankles and counted my sit-ups. Then I held his ankles and counted
his vigorous sit-ups. He tired down, stopped, and asked me how many he had done. When I told him, he wasn’t satisfied with
that count. So, he struggled thru a few more sit-ups. I well
remember that event with Mac, and how he pushed himself to his physical limit.
You
see the ① I put
after his name. After I left my “remote and isolated” Vernon rural boyhood home,
McKnight was the 1st military person I came to know well (I first
met him in this PE class), who would be killed on military duty in combat.
Here in Navy ROTC, he will take the “Marine option” (just as I will do), and become a Marine officer. Soon after, Mac will
be killed by the enemy in Viet Nam, while I am still a student here at
peaceful and pleasant Auburn U.
Watch
these numbers grow as I list my military buddies who were killed in battle in
Viet Nam, or who died in a plane crash while piloting the plane, or as
navigator of the plane that crashed. Seeing much such violent death
around me during my military days makes me most thankful to God to be alive now
in my old age. A good number of close military buddies never made
it to old age, but met with a violent death early on, because they chose
military. Now, in 2024, I have lived on earth more than 3 times longer
than most of them did.
Navy
ROTC was 3 credit hours, but it met 5 days a week, a one-hour classroom
session each Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Tuesday; a one-hour marching
practice session out on the drill field. Thursday; a one-hour lab session,
learning and practicing various jobs Navy personnel do, like tracking enemy
submarines.
The
“nature” of the ROTC study was the only subject “foreign” to this country boy.
In high school, I had studied things similar to all my other subjects this 1st term.
But now I have to seriously buckle down and study
harder in all these “university level” subjects. The military content of ROTC
was completely new to me. Several of my ROTC classmates were military kids
whose dads were career military officers (much different from my
Daddy’s status in life). Thus, they were as familiar with military (in general),
as I was with old-fashion farming (very).
“No
doubt you stood out like a scarecrow among your fellow midshipmen on
campus.”
‘No
doubt!’
But
ROTC was my main interest at Auburn U. I was taking all the other
required subjects mainly for the simple purpose of gaining a college degree
that was necessary to become a Marine officer. I planned to use
my military learning for a few years after college, hopefully as a military jet
pilot. So, I threw myself wholly into Navy ROTC, highly motivated with much
interest in it. I am now a Navy midshipman, just like all those
midshipmen at the Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland. To
put it simply, I greatly enjoy university life,
and am most glad to have arrived at this plateau.
Toward
the end of January, Tommy W. (my friend from Vernon) came to me. “Friday
afternoon, I’m going to Vernon for the weekend. Do you want to ride along? I
will leave my car in Vernon and ride back here to Auburn with Jimmy H. (my high
school classmate). He has room for you to also ride back to Auburn with us Sunday afternoon.”
I had
not planned to go home during the winter quarter. But this invitation appealed
to me. So, I rode there with Tommy that Friday afternoon, just us 2 in his car.
Riders each paid the driver $2 each way for the 225 mile
ride. Gasoline was about 33 cents a gallon. So, $2 could put 6 gallons of fuel
into the driver’s tank. Quite a help to a college boy
driver! I arrived home that Friday night, enjoyed the weekend at home and at
church, and on Sunday mid-afternoon, 4 of us students left Vernon in Jimmy’s
car and returned to Auburn. The 4th person was a girl from
Sulligent.
Likely it was in early February when I
drove my car into the nearest gas station in Auburn on a Saturday morning.
‘Look at my left front tire. Would you please take it off the wheel, turn it
over, and put it back onto the wheel. You see the tire is wearing badly on
1 side. So, I need to reverse the tire and let it wear down on
the other side.’
The
attendant (listening to this hair-brained plan of mine spawned from my
poverty) was a masculine boisterous guy about 40 years old. He laughed boisterously
and called out loudly in laughter to his fellow worker. “Hey, he’s gonna
alien his car’s front end by turning the tire around!”
His
fellow worker also laughed with him at me. So, my poverty was profitable
in making both of their hearts merry that morning. The charge for turning that
tire around was likely about $3. Front-end alignment was probably more than $20
in 1965. So, my poverty took the cheaper, lesser
safe route.
It was
plenty embarrassing to me, for those older men to laugh at me in that
manner. So, by God’s grace, I try not to laugh at poor people put into extenuating
circumstances by poverty. Instead, I try to encourage such souls in the Lord, and give unto them as God leads me and enables me to
do. You should do likewise.
No
need to further detail my 1st term studies at Auburn U. Thank
God, I pass all my courses, and head to Vernon after mid-March to be there
about a week during spring break.
My
room rent at Auburn was either $40 or $45 for all of winter quarter (almost 2
and half months). That included all utilities. One term’s (quarter’s)
tuition was $75. Total for textbooks was about $40. I would buy used textbooks
(cheap), when I could find them. So, add up those 3 expenses to an approximate
total of $160 for basic costs for one university term (one/third of an academic
year). You present-day university students will
think I left a “zero” off each of the above numbers. But, NO, I didn’t make any
mistake there. You might well say that those were the Good Old Days in
this respect.
Both
Freddy from Sulligent and Alton from Hamilton (each with no car) ride home with
me now at the end of winter quarter. My car trunk and back seat area is packed full with our belongings,
so we all three sit in the front seat for the 5-hour trip. I take
those 2 guys to Freddy’s house in the rural Fairview community near Sulligent.
I think Alton called some family member to drive there from their house about
20 miles away and take him home. Alton and Freddy had known each other at
Auburn U. for 3 years or so.
During
the winter quarter at Auburn U., a Navy medical team came to campus to give an
annual physical examination to each midshipman. Thank God I was in good
physical condition, except…“You’ve got lots of
cavities. You need much dental work. You must
get it done to be a midshipman.” The Navy would not pay for it. I would
have to.
In
childhood poverty, at times I had no toothbrush. At times there was no
toothpaste in the house. Daddy and Mother briefly trained each of us
children to brush our teeth when we each were small. But after Mother died,
soon Daddy left that business entirely up to us kids, not seeing
to it that we brushed our teeth regularly. I think there were times when I
would go for days without brushing my teeth. When cavities formed and
then soon pained me enough to keep me awake nights, I
usually suffered in silence knowing Daddy had no money for
dentists.
(Parents, if you do not communicate sufficiently
with your kids, the natural result will be them refraining from
communicating with you to the extent of even keeping painful suffering, secret from you. That is a painful
truth, I know from experience.)
So, upon
coming to Vernon on this 1st spring break, I start driving to a
dentist in Sulligent (several visits). The first time he looked into my young
mouth, he sort of let out a gasp of horror at the many
decayed teeth. A lower tooth on each side near the back had to be pulled
(2 teeth). Too far gone for the dentist to repair. The large cavity in each of
those teeth had pained me terribly, until the nerves in each tooth rotted away
leaving them dead. Lord, help all parents to do better toward their little ones in
such painful matters of health.
So,
when I soon head back to Auburn to begin spring quarter, I’ve 2 fewer
permanent teeth at age 19, and the dentist’s paperwork of the repair
work to give to Lt. France (as proof of the work) for him to insert into my
midshipman file.
The
girl from Sulligent (who had ridden with us before in Jimmy’s car) now asks to
ride back to Auburn with me this time. So, she does. Arriving safely at Auburn,
I drop her off at her dorm, go on
to the same rooming house as last term, and right back into my same
private room. I feel happily at home, and most glad to
be back in this worldly university atmosphere! I’m tired from the 5-hour drive,
on top of sitting in a dental chair much over the past week as the dentist
worked hard to overcome more than 10 years of neglected dental care. I go to
bed early to leave for the dining hall before 7 AM.
At the
end of the winter quarter, cafeteria student boss Clem (a senior student)
left campus to do his “student teaching” at a high school during this spring
quarter, after which he will graduate. Another senior, Alton from
Hamilton (25 miles north of Vernon) (who rode home with me less than 2 weeks
ago) became student boss. Alton had no car at Auburn. He rode back yesterday
with a different friend. As I am about to leave my rooming house in my car for
the cafeteria before 7 AM, Alton shows up walking from his rooming house
farther away. “Let me ride with you.” OK. Then as he and I walk up to my car
nearby, he spots it first. “Your right front tire is flat.” So, we 2 poor
country boys walk together as fast as we can to the dining hall (about
half a mile away) trying to get to work on time.
In my
poverty, I would run my car tires till there was no tire left remaining
between the air inside the tire, and the universe
of vacuum and air outside the tire.
Thank
Thee, Lord Jesus, for keeping me safe thru my poverty-induced dangerous
lifestyle.
Spring
quarter. The next math course, the next English course, and English literature
were my three 5-hour credit courses. I chose “Track and Field” for PE (1-hour
credit). Three-hour Navy ROTC made for 19 hours.
Spring atmosphere was so pleasant on campus. Passing each mealtime in
the ladies’ cafeteria (eating a full meal, and serving meals to the lovely
co-eds), all made for a happy social life and by far the most pleasant
part of campus life for me.
Back near
the start of the winter quarter, the ROTC unit issued me Navy midshipman
uniforms. While growing up in farm boy rags, with envy I would look at Boy
Scouts, Vernon’s football, basketball, and baseball players in uniform, longing
to wear a uniform because it looked sharp and would identify me with that
“elite” group. But no such opportunity ever availed. Thus, it was a proud
joy to me to get midshipmen’s uniforms. I was not allowed to wear them much
during the winter quarter while they taught this newcomer to drill separately
from all the other midshipmen as they drilled. But now I start wearing the
uniform each time my fellow midshipmen do, Tuesdays and Thursdays and special
occasions. This redneck farm boy now dresses like a midshipman at the U.S.
Naval Academy!
“Vanity
of vanities. All is vanity.”
Navy
Lieutenant France instructs us freshmen midshipmen. Next year, I will have a
different instructor. During this spring quarter, Lt. France gets promoted to
Lieutenant Commander and is transferred away from Auburn U. at the end of the
spring quarter. He is an outstanding Navy officer. To briefly
state a most important factor in my life, I
owe much to Navy Lieutenant France.
The
military wisely picks their finest men to train the newcomers such as
privates, sailors, airmen (enlisted men), midshipmen, cadets, 2nd
lieutenants and such. Upon 1st meeting me, Lt. France saw that I
knew nothing pertaining to military life. But in his alertness,
he readily perceived that I was a solid, honest, dedicated, eager, hard worker,
highly desirous to learn, and thus was trainable
to be made into a good Navy or Marine officer. He gave me valuable tips
I needed in my Farm Boy ignorance, and he greatly encouraged me
in a somewhat stern manner. He earned much respect from me.
I am glad that he came into my life at this time. I am most thankful for
his help and positive input into my life. I am deeply indebted to Navy
Lieutenant Commander France. He did much to instill in me confidence, that it was possible for even me
to become a military officer. Likely he has already departed this life,
as I write this. I hope his descendants read this.
Delightful spring
quarter ends in early June. I pack all my belongings into my 1955 Chevy,
and move out of the grand, stately old house at 174 Burton Street
for good. I don’t recall exactly why I decided to permanently
vacate that room, seeing as how I
liked it much. I think they had plans to tear down that
old house, and told all us boys we had to vacate. I cherish
my memories of my first five months of lodging at Auburn in my private room upstairs on 2nd floor in
that stately old house.
I drive alone from Auburn back to Daddy’s house. It
feels good to be back at my childhood home with 2 quarters of university
studies completed. Just 2 days or so ago, I got a letter from my sister telling
me our Grandmother Yerby had died. I didn’t think I would get home in time for
her funeral. Arriving at Daddy’s farmhouse, “Grandmother’s funeral is
tomorrow,” my sister announces to me. They held it for her youngest child (my
Uncle James) to come from afar where he was stationed in the Army. The next day
I attend her funeral where I see most of Daddy’s family. It was nice to
visit with them all.
I
unload my few “college things” out of my car into our (boys’) bedroom, and immediately start roofing for Mr. Mars.
Mr.
Rowland offered me the crop acreage-measuring job again this summer. But
after seriously considering it, I declined it. Last year, at times, that
job put me in a tight spot between the government office that employed
me and stubborn country farmers who were of a different opinion on matters
concerning their farms. I didn’t want to put myself into that
“vise” again. Last summer (and again in the late
fall taking that census), I ever so greatly enjoyed going into
every rural nook and cranny of my assigned district of work in Lamar County on
those 2 jobs I have described to you, learning much of folks in my home county.
But now I have no desire to repeat any of that. I think this decision
was of the Lord. This summer, I will start working in places more
distant, making for new adventure, enlarging my small, rural
world.
Mr.
Mars is now putting new black gum coating on the flat roof of Vernon Grammar
School. I shovel and sweep the gravel off that roof, to mop
on black gum, and later brush on aluminum paint.
Later,
I brush the black gum onto Mrs. Mace’s gabled shingle roof near Daddy’s house.
Her farmhouse was vacant at the time. Working alone on that steep roof with no
other soul around, I accidentally stepped into the fresh slick gum in
front of me on the downward side and started sliding down toward the roof’s
edge. Thinking quickly, I sat down on the roof and placed both hands palms down onto the roof. The added
traction of both hands and my bottom (along with both feet),
arrested my slide before I slid off the roof. I slowly crabbed sideways
out of the slick, with black gum stuck to my hands, shoes and bottom of my britches,
thankful that I didn’t slide off the roof. I had no idea that many years
later (1993), I would buy this house and farm, the Mace place.
I work other roofs in Lamar County, but as Mr. Mars gets work
further away, I go where the work is. He wants me as a worker
because I’m a diligent worker, thanks be to God (and to Daddy who
worked me hard as I grew up). And I want Mr. Mars’ wages
to apply to my college expenses.
When Mr.
Mars gets a gym roof in Centerville, Alabama, over 80 miles away, he takes 2
other guys and me (1 of them at a time) from Vernon to brush the black gum onto
the roof. He searches for the cheapest room available, and
finds a room for $1 per person per night. It’s in a large old house where some
old people live. It’s a quaint place to shower and sleep.
(Here,
we workers eat all our daily meals in cafés.)
Late
one night when I’m the only worker lodging in that old house, people
talking awaken me. A neighbor lady had come there, and she was talking to the
elderly man who lived there. “I’m running and hiding from my husband because if
he catches me drunk like this, he will beat me terribly! He’s
looking all around for me! Hide me!” She hid in a closet.
Soon
we hear her husband’s voice as he walks thru people’s yards, calling his wife’s
name as he searches for her. He comes to this house and asks the old man. “Have
you seen (Lily)?”
“No, I
haven’t seen anything of her, (John).” He lied ever so calmly and slowly,
deliberately.
“Where
could she be?” (John) murmurs as he walks on.
She
comes out of the closet, whispers with the old man as they peep outside
watching her husband search for her. Later she snuck back into her house. Oh,
the things that people do! Truly, my peaceful, rural, Christian world is
widening.
Superintendent
of Education (Mr. Moore) in Vernon introduced Mr. Mars to retired Mr. Esker who
lives in Vernon, and is a member of the same church as
Daddy. So, I know Mr. Esker well from church. This summer, Mr. Esker begins
to work under Mr. Mars as sub-contractor. He’s retired and financially
comfortable. But he welcomes something to do, and he enjoys seeing money roll
in. He has a keen business mind, and doesn’t care for
it being idle in his retirement.
In
late summer 1965, I ride with Mr. Mars and Mr. Esker to Ft. Walton Beach,
Florida where Mr. Mars works up an estimate to do the roofs of a few beach
cottages a Vernon lawyer owns there. (Esker had talked to the Vernon lawyer who
was Esker’s long-standing acquaintance in our small town.)
This
is the first time in my life of over 19 years, for me to view the ocean. ‘Vast,
beautiful, majestic and great in power!’ That was somewhat
my impression of the Gulf of Mexico. Truly it was an impressive sight to
behold an ocean for the 1st time, such a great creation of God.
We 3 men made that trip from Vernon and back in 1 day in Mr. Mars’ car. A long and wearying day it was. It was well after
midnight when I got into my bed in Daddy’s house.
The
lawyer in Vernon gave Esker the job to re-roof his few cabins on Ft. Walton
Beach. I am to go help. We start that work about 2
weeks before I have to be at Auburn U. in September
1965. So, as I prepare to leave Daddy’s house for university, I pack up my
college things into my 55 Bel Air and drive it all the way to Ft. Walton Beach,
Florida. Esker and wife drive down from Vernon bringing 1 man worker. We 4
lodge in 1 of the small empty cottages, and start the work. Esker’s wife cooks our meals 3 times a day, and washes our dirty work clothes.
I
thrill to gaze on the ocean, feel the ocean breeze and
smell the salty air daily, as I work atop the cabins’ roofs. Adventure!
When Sunday comes, I take the other man in my car, and we find a church to
attend. That afternoon, I swim in the ocean for the
1st time (of many times) in my life. That
afternoon swim felt good! I do enjoy swimming in the ocean!
Shortly
before the next Sunday arrives, I take all my pay,
leave the roofing work with those guys, and drive from Ft. Walton Beach,
Florida northeast to Auburn for the start of fall quarter around 21 September
1965. It was a thrilling adventure, to lodge free on the beach
for more than a week, swimming in the ocean, and earning daily wages to boot,
observing the ocean as I worked. From
this summer, until after mid-September 1969 (four weeks after I graduate from
Auburn U.), I will have the privilege of traveling to a large variety of
places as I work for Mr. Mars. It
will become a rich experience and adventure, thank God!
I greatly
desired to be located away from my father’s house, and
try to forget all its toils. Therefore, I didn’t want
to measure crop acreage in Lamar County this summer. I’m now happy that Mr.
Mars’ roofing work is also moving out of Lamar County.
My
boyhood farm friend Justus, (whose family lives more than a mile down the road
past Daddy), is a student at Auburn. Justus and I hunted and fished together
growing up. He is 3 years older than I. During this summer Justus had said to
me, “Let’s room together at Auburn this fall.” OK. He looked for a room for us
and found one on the 2nd floor of Tiger Lodge, 355 South College
Street, across South College Street from the new science building on campus. (I
forgot its name.) Tiger Lodge was conveniently located
quite near the girls’ dining hall where Justus and I both
work. I think we each paid $45 or $50 room rent for the fall quarter, and roomed together in one room. Justus
doesn’t drink alcohol or smoke, of course.
The
cafeteria in which Justus and I work had been built recently (as well as the
new complex of co-ed dorms it served) on the hill (a
gentle rise) at the south edge of the campus. The old complex of co-ed dorms
(with its own cafeteria) was now approximately in mid campus, and each of those
old dorms was numbered from Number 1. Thus, these new dorms were lettered from
A, B, C.
Back
in the winter and spring as I worked in the cafeteria, Dorms A, B, and C housed
girls, and Dorms D, E, and F were under construction. Each dorm is 3 stories
high. This fall term, all 6 of these dorms house co-eds. Thus, a 2nd
serving line is installed in the dining hall. Back during spring term, Alton
was student boss, supervising us who worked on that 1 serving line and
the guys who worked the dishwasher. Now, in addition to Boss Alton, 2 student line
supervisors, 1 for each serving line, are to be assigned. Alton asks me to
be 1 of the line supervisors. I accept. Now, this job pays me $1 per day in
addition to my 3 meals daily.
Young
guy or girl, perk up your ears now and pay sharp attention.
Sophomore, junior, and senior guys work in this
cafeteria. But Greenhorn Richard, a 3rd term freshman
(just starting my 2nd term of full time
work in the cafeteria), am promoted to line
supervisor in preference to those older guys. Why such a young guy?
Because most of the guys there were spoiled, rebellious brats who would not work right, tho they were able to do so. So, the short
(but important) moral of this short story is this, if you want
the best job; then simply do the best work, diligently,
honestly, and faithfully. $1 a day pay (above meals) might sound trifle to you now. But cost of living was much lower
then. That monthly check of $30 or so was a big help to poor me,
and to the worn-out tires on my car, and such.
The
university president’s mansion is between Tiger Lodge and this cafeteria. At
the start of each fall term, he gives all the new freshmen students an
outside supper on his spacious lawn. He and his wife (Host and Hostess) stand
in reception, shaking hands with and greeting each freshman student in line as
they file into the table area. I wasn’t here for it
last fall. And I don’t “receive” that supper this term (tho I’m still a
freshman), because our cafeteria prepares this meal each year,
and we student cafeteria workers serve it. So I help serve
it. That was a fun evening out there on the spacious, immaculate lawn of President
Philpot’s white mansion, one of my first events upon arriving back at
Auburn U. from the beach. I’m ever so glad to be back on campus,
climbing higher up the ladder of success, after summer’s hot
roofing work of climbing ladders up to various sweltering roofs to slave
away in the hot sun.
I so
much enjoy the autumn term campus atmosphere, as the hot weather
turns mild in October and stays fairly mild till
mid-December or so. The science building directly across South College Street
from Tiger Lodge has a spacious lawn of thick grass sod. It’s common on
Saturday afternoons for some other guy in Tiger Lodge to bang on our door. “Hey,
we need a few more guys to make 2 teams!” Justus and I would usually go out at
that call to play football on that grassy lawn. Good workout! Fun! Campus life!
Refreshing! I like it! Forgetting all the toils of my
father’s house!
I take
both the fall freshman and fall sophomore Navy ROTC classes this
fall, because I wasn’t here last fall. The new freshman instructor who replaced
Lt. Commander France is a good Navy officer, but somewhat bland as a person. I
don’t recall his name. A new sophomore instructor comes in also, Lieutenant
Junior Grade Coates. He is excellent, recognizes where I am (far
behind), and patiently gives me much sound counsel, advice, encouragement,
and help. All that help greatly boosts me.
I
enjoy ROTC the most of all my studies, and also
buckle down in my other courses this autumn to make the best grades I can.
Autumn is the season for football, a big idol on this campus. I do not
attend any of Auburn’s home games, tho the stadium is
a short walk from my room. Didn’t care for the crowds. Some Saturday
afternoons, I listen to that day’s football game live on the radio.
Classes
adjourn 2 or 3 days for Thanksgiving. The gym roof I worked for Esker at Centerville
back in late summer is now ready for its finishing touch, a coat of
aluminum paint to protect it from the sun. I had previously asked Esker for the
job. He gave me the job. So now, I drive to Centerville from Auburn, it being
on my way home to Vernon. Esker drove down from Vernon
to meet me there at the pre-arranged appointed time.
He now
has a sprayer to spray the aluminum paint onto the roof, much faster
than brushing on the paint as we had done in the past. An electric motor and an
air compressor are mounted together onto a wide wooden board (2 feet long or
longer), all of it weighing 40 pounds or so. Esker had long extension cords to
reach down to a wall socket inside the gym to get electric power. A long
air hose extends from the compressor to the spray bucket I hold or keep near
me. Two short hoses for air and paint respectively, run
from the bucket to the spray gun I hold in my other hand.
I
start spraying aluminum paint at the bottom edge of the far side
of the large gable roof and work my way up toward the crown. I set the heavy
motor and compressor on my side of the roof above me up near
the crown. The roof angle was somewhat steep. The motor’s vibrations
caused that heavy piece of equipment to slide downhill at times, making
me uneasy. I watched that,
and would position it differently trying to prevent it from moving.
I had
repositioned it a few times when (as I was busily spraying away), I heard the
electric motor shut off, and then I heard, “thud, thud, thud.” I looked
up to see that heavy 40-pound hulk tumbling down the roof toward
me. I quickly moved out of its way. But as it passed me on its way down
the steep (and high above the concrete below) roof, that air hose caught around
my leg. It threw me down onto the roof, captured my ankle in a loop,
and began pulling me, sliding toward the edge of that high roof.
I had
a clear split-second vision of it yanking me off the roof, and me plunging
to the hard concrete far below. Had that happened, it would have killed
me or busted so many bones that physical activity would practically
be ended for me, from that young age on, until my death. If I survived
that fall, likely I would never be physically fit for U.S. military
service (not to mention all the pain I would endure, handicapped for life).
I desperately
kicked that leg vigorously, and no doubt God sent an angel to
enlarge the air hose loop somewhat so that I pulled my leg out of it just
before that weight went plunging over the edge, carrying all the hose
and bucket with it, of course. Fortunately, no one was below for
that 40-pound hulk to strike their pate and burst their skull. Nor was there a
vehicle or such for it to hit and damage. It landed on the concrete.
Esker
took it to a shop for minor repairs and I went back to
spraying paint. Thank Thee; Lord, for again protecting
my life. I started spraying that paint the day I arrived in Centerville
from Auburn, finished that job the next day, and drove on to Daddy’s to enjoy Thanksgiving
holiday at home.
Then,
back to Auburn for about another 3 weeks of classes followed by quarter final
exams, ending the quarter and starting Christmas break about 20 December. I
enjoy this fall quarter of 1965 immensely.
It
seems like in each age, for each young generation, this “world”
produces songs that hit right home to the hearts of young people. As
Christmas season approached in 1965, a popular song was “Pendulum swings like a
pendulum do. Bobbies on bicycles two by two. Westminster Abby, the Tower of Big
Ben. Rosy red cheeks of the little children.” (I might not have that short
piece of it worded exactly right.) Amazing how both the words and
tune of such songs seem to be just what my heart identifies
with, and enjoys hearing at this time in my life. I am
maturing! I welcome that! I have extremely
rich memories of this fall quarter at Auburn U.! Most enjoyable!
Having
a roommate this fall term makes me better aware of just how greatly
I prize having a private room all to my own self. In early December,
I look for and find a private room off campus elsewhere. Justus also finds a
room in a different place from my new location. So, when final tests end
and college kids leave on Christmas break 1965, we two each pack up all
our belongings, and move out of Tiger Lodge for good.
I have
fond memories of Tiger Lodge and the hard charging
football games across the street. I now finish my 3rd quarter at
Auburn, which makes 1 academic year. So, I have now finished my freshman year.
With each successfully completed term, my heart grows more
and more hopeful of succeeding in four years
of study to graduate from this university.
Christmas
1965 and New Years 1966 at home with home folks, was as enjoyable as could be expected. Enough
said of that.
Returning
to Auburn the 1st week of the New Year 1966,
I am thrilled to move into a bedroom in elderly Mrs. Taylor’s lovely
house at 112 Reese Avenue. Such betterment in life and such blessing,
that move was to me!
Back in early December, I went to the housing office on campus and looked at their list of available rooms. I saw Mrs. Taylor’s notice of a room in her house for rent. I liked the sound of that. I went to her house, and found her to be a most kind, refined, widowed grandmother who rented out her extra 2 bedrooms to 2 male students (1 boy per room) for income, and so she would not be alone in her house. She told me she felt safer with 2 good student guys living in her house.
Her
fine brick house was quite new. She used the living room, kitchen, and her
master bedroom with its own bath. The hallway led inside from the front door,
turned right at a right angle to end at another bathroom centered on the
west side of the house that 2 student guys would share. Another guy occupied
the front corner bedroom on that west side. I gazed in awe at the carpeted
floors and air conditioner in the rear corner west bedroom that was
presently vacant. I had never before
lived in a room with carpet or air conditioning.
She
said the rent was $90 per school term. It was well worth it, but that
was much higher than the $45 to $50 I had been paying per quarter. I almost
backed out, but I asked her to let me have the room in January. She readily
agreed. I was most happy to start the new year of 1966 by moving
into this nice house, much better than any place I had ever
lived to date. I felt like a king!
Each
of us 2 boys gets his own key to the front door. Going
out of and coming into the house, the large door to Mrs. Taylor’s living room
(on the left (east), as one enters) was usually open. It was common to
greet her, and maybe speak a word or two, as I came and went. She was a most
refined lady from Yankee land, who moved here after her husband’s death,
because her married daughter and family lived in Auburn. Her son-in-law (a
professor) taught music on campus. This farm boy was most privileged to be living
in her lovely house, and to again have my own private room with the solitude I
much desire. Mrs. Taylor becomes like a grandmother to me.
This
January 1966, I turn 20 years old, no longer a child.
I will
live with Mrs. Taylor for the remainder of my days at Auburn University,
except for one summer quarter when she had guests come and asked
me to stay elsewhere. So, I found another private room in a private home for
that quarter. Right now, it felt so settling to move into her
nice house with a beautiful lawn, feeling like it would be “for the duration”.
It was just over 1 block past Tiger Lodge where I lodged with Justus last
quarter. Driving south on South College Street, just past Tiger
Lodge is a cross street with a traffic light. (Turn right onto the campus, to
go past the president’s mansion on the left, and to travel on to the girls’
dorms and dining hall soon ahead on the left.) But going straight south
on South College (US Hwy 29), the next street on the left is Reese
Avenue. It dead-ends into South College Street because
on the opposite (west) side of South College Street is the university
president’s large mansion with its expansive grounds.
I
prefer walking, that being Christ-like. So, I now usually walk out of Mrs.
Taylor’s lovely house straight across U.S. Hwy 29 (which is South College
Street) (watching out for hwy traffic) onto the president’s lawn, and straight
across it to go to my nice job at the girls’ cafeteria just past there. (No
AU guy has it any better than this.)
Back
in those good old days, there was no fence or wall around the grounds of the
president’s mansion. Nor were there any security restrictions against me
walking thru it, as far as I know. After all, I was next-door
neighbor to the university president. Great Neighborhood, to
say the least!
“You becoming so closely associated with your next-door
neighbor, President Philpot, that no doubt he made you University
Vice-President.”
‘Actually,
he didn’t, something I never came to understand.’
Likely,
Mrs. Taylor’s house was closer to the girl’s dining hall (my place of work) than any other rental room available to
single male students (about a fifth of a mile between “room” and “board” and
part-time job, as I daily stroll across the President’s lovely lawn walking to
and from work, walking an almost straight line).
Almighty Lord Jehovah God, no other job
in the town of Auburn would have made me as happy, content, and fulfilled
as that job in the girls’ cafeteria. No other available lodging would have been
as pleasant as the lovely home of kind Mrs. Taylor who became like a
grandmother to me. No other lodging was as conveniently located to my
workplace as her house. No other “strolling area” at Auburn was any lovelier
than my daily stroll thru the university president’s spacious and beautiful
yard.
Truly,
Thy Way is Perfect, My Lord God. And truly, Thou
doest make my way perfect. Thank Thee, Precious Lord Jesus,
for making my way perfect, and for making me the most blessed human soul on
earth. Please do likewise for each and every
human soul presently on this earth, journeying toward Eternity!
Reader
Friend, throughout my boyhood days in my earthly father’s house, my daily
strolls included walking thru muck in and around the barn, walking thru muck
in the pigpens, and strolling to and from our stinking outhouse that set
over a pool of maggots in warm weather. Keeping that in mind, you can well
imagine my joy over my vastly improved living
conditions described on the previous few pages. You can easily understand why my heart overflows with joy unspeakable
to my Creator God for blessing me so richly!! Does your heart likewise overflow with joy unspeakable for your Creator’s
abundant blessings to you?? If not, why not???
Along
about this time, Mrs. Ryan passed away at age 88 (I think). Mrs. Ryan is my stepmother’s
(Lucille’s) mother. She professed to be a Christian, and that is a joy to
know. I was in class at Auburn at the time of her death, and
did not go back home for her funeral.
I don’t think I went to Vernon for a weekend
during this winter quarter of 1966, ever so content to be in Mrs. Taylor’s
lovely house all the time. When the quarter ended, I went home to Daddy’s for
spring break (about one week), and then came back to
Auburn for spring term. I don’t think I went to Vernon for a weekend during the
spring quarter either, it being ever so nice existing in Auburn.
I immensely
enjoy being at Auburn, out from my father’s house and its toil. Each day I work
in the dining hall gives me 3 meals, $1 in pay, and a pleasant time with the sweet
girls there. I have no desire to be elsewhere.
Reading
the above paragraph, you can sense that I am well settling in
to campus life by now (in my sophomore year). Many pleasant factors are
entailed in living in Mrs. Taylor’s house. Only 1 other guy student lives
in her house. And tho it was a different guy each year I stayed there; each
of them left me alone, and I left them alone. Both at 174 Burton Street and
then at Tiger Lodge, other guys living there were always wanting to shoot the
breeze (talk) with me, or calling me to go get an ice
cream with them, or go out and play football with them. I enjoyed doing a limited
amount of such. But now, I more enjoy being separated from such annoyances.
Much solitude suits me ever so well.
I am steadily
making more friends with the lovely girls who eat in the cafeteria. Most weeks,
I work every meal. A few weeks, I take off 1 or 2 meals on the weekend. (Fewer
girls are here on weekends, thus fewer workers needed.)
I prefer working every weekend meal, immensely enjoying being around the girls.
Weekends, we all are in a more relaxed, leisurely
mood, enjoying our time together.
I
attend First Baptist Church in Auburn. It has a Baptist Student Union (BSU)
downtown right on College Street. Early on, I began to hang out occasionally at
the BSU, mainly on Friday and Saturday evenings, and made friends with Baptist
students there. There was a steady schedule of events and functions at the BSU,
many of them worldly and vain. But some were edifying work and Christian
ministry.
Friday night was missions’ night. I began to participate. We who did so would meet there by 6:30 PM or so, leave in full cars, and drive to 2 or 3 different nursing homes to sing hymns and visit with the elderly there. We went to 1 small church in a poor section of town, and had a service and refreshments for their children. Each Friday, upon assembling at the BSU, we would decide where we each would go and who would take a carload of us. Then we would pray and head out to those various places. It was a blessing. I thoroughly enjoyed doing it.
Also, the BSU had Work Week once or twice a year. All the good Baptists souls in all the Baptist churches in town were urged to hire us Baptist students to come wash windows, rake leaves or pine straw, clean out gutters, plant flowers or such. And all the money they paid us went to Baptist missions. I enjoyed joining in that student work for that good Baptist cause.
This
spring quarter, I run the one-mile race in intramural
track for the Navy ROTC intramural track team, and
come in second in the race. I try
hard to place first, but one guy was faster. I receive a medal. My instructor, Navy Lt. J.G. Coates presents
it to me, and sincerely compliments me. I felt honored and greatly appreciated
his personal kindness and encouragement. I think he was at Auburn only 2 years.
While at Auburn, Navy Lieutenant Junior Grade Coates got promoted to Lieutenant
Coates.
Periodically Lt. Coates counseled each of us sophomore midshipmen in his office. One day I was in his office for counseling. “What major are you going to choose?” I was puzzled as to why he would ask that.
‘I’m in pre-law.’ Dumb country boy! I thought that pre-law was a major, but it was only a curriculum. Thus Lt. Coates proceeds to give me some higher education that I drastically need.
“Pre-law is a curriculum, not a major. At the end of your sophomore year, you must choose a major for a 4-year Bachelor of Arts or Bachelor of Science degree,” he kindly informs me. He pulls out the university’s catalog of studies, opens it to Pre-Law curriculum and shows me the list of majors available for me to choose from.
I quickly scan the list and quickly decide. ‘Likely I will choose Sociology.’
“I
thought you might choose that.” Lt. Coates knows me quite well. Lt. Coates will
again teach the sophomore midshipmen next year, but I will be a junior then.
Lt. France was such an asset in my life as a college freshman. Lt.
Coates is the same to me during my 2nd year at college. I
am most thankful for both of these fine dedicated Navy
officers, and the much-needed help and encouragement each of them gave to
me.
One
spring quarter day while in Lt. Coates’ office, I remark to him that I plan to
take the “Marine option” next year to become a Marine officer instead of a Navy
officer. “Have you discussed that with Major McMath?”
I had no
idea I had to discuss it with the Marine instructor. I just sort of
thought that I was God’s gift to the military, and all I would have to do when
I registered for my classes in the coming autumn would be to sign up for the
Marine course. So now Lt. Coates continues to more highly educate dumb
me, telling me to now go next door to the Major’s office and “apply” to
become a United States Marine officer.
So, I
ask Lt. Coates to dismiss me, walk to the Major’s office, knock on his door,
and when he gives me permission to enter, I go in and announce to
him that I plan to take the “Marine option” and join his class this autumn. The
major is plenty kind to me in my plentiful stupidity as he tells
me that I have to ask his permission,
and get his approval, to come into the “Marine option” in
Navy ROTC.
“Why do you want to be a Marine?” He queried me.
I had
no idea I would have to answer such a question. So, I fumble around and come up
with some lame answer about the Marines being the toughest of all, and I
want to be one of such a gang of military men. Tho the Major put on a good
show of proper military screening in requiring me to sort of “beg”
to become a Marine officer, presently the Marine Corps needs lots of
young officers to die a violent death in that bloody political mess in Viet
Nam. Being thus, if I were able-bodied enough to pass
the medical physical exam, smart enough to graduate from
Auburn U., and dumb enough to want to die a violent death
at a young age in the steaming jungles of Viet Nam for a vain cause (in
the fashion that some of my Auburn Marine buddies will soon die),
the U.S. Marine Corps would eagerly accept me. The Marines eagerly accepted me.
A
handful of my Marine buddies at Auburn will get killed in Viet Nam before
reaching 24 years of age. I am most thankful to God that I have not yet gotten
killed in Viet Nam, or in any other place on this earth. And to date (late 2024),
I have lived more than 3 times longer than my Auburn buddies who were killed
in Nam. Thank Thee, My Precious Lord Jesus, for Thy Great Mercies that
Thou hast so abundantly bestowed upon me, in guarding over my life on earth.
When
Spring Quarter 1966 ends, I have studied
diligently thru out all 3 quarters this academic year, and have passed my courses. I so much enjoyed this
school year, and have well explained to you the
reasons for that joy, gladly acknowledging that every good gift comes
from God above.
The
End of Chapter 13