Mr. L. T. Smith

L. T. Smith

            I was probable not the best student ever to attend Western Kentucky University.  But I did have a good time there.  I had a good job working about forty hours a week, making good money, along with carrying usually about nine credit hours a semester.  That left very little time for the social life.  Yeah, right! I played and partied every chance I got.  And as a result, as you might expect, that showed up on my grades, to the point that I became discouraged as being a student at all.  So after two years there, in the middle of a semester, I quit.  No big deal.  I simply stopped going to any class.

            That is when Mr. L. T. Smith came on the scene. If you ever visit the campus of Western Kentucky University and attend a football game there you will be sure to notice that they play that game in the L. T. Smith stadium.  You see Mr. Smith was well known over the entire area around Bowling Green.  He had been a football coach at Western.  He was the department head of the Industrial Education Department and was remembered among other things as the one who, using a small group of students in their spare time, built what was known as the Barn.  For those who might wonder what the Barn was, it was the first basketball arena at Western. Mr. Smith was a big man, an excellent teacher, and one who put up with no petty stuff at all.

            And he thought my quitting was petty.  I didn’t know how he even knew that I had quit.  I certainly didn’t tell him.  But he was one to keep up with everything and took a genuine interest in every student under his care. I didn’t know I was under his care but I now know better.   I had never been in one of his classes but I did briefly meet him when I first enrolled. And that meeting was not even at the school.  He came into the architectural office where I was working as a draftsman, not to talk to me but to talk to the architect I worked for.  I was introduced to him and he asked me a lot of questions about what I wanted to do as far as my education was concerned.  He listened to my meek answers and left.  I assumed that it would be the last contact I would ever have with him.  But I was wrong again.  And now the real story:

            The morning I stopped going to classes my phone rang where I was working.  It was Mr. Smith.  It was a short conversation.  He simply told me to leave where I was and come to meet him at Cherry Hall – NOW! I didn’t get to say anything.  I may not have been the best student but I was not completely crazy.  I did what he told me to do.  When I met him he was brief as always. He said, “Bill, you have the rest of the day to get to all three teachers you are now taking classes with, apologize for quitting, and beg them to let you back in class.  I will know by the end of this day if you have done it.  If you haven’t done it, I will personally kick your ass around this campus until I get some smart in you.”  That was it. And believe me it worked.  It didn’t take me long to get myself back in all three classes.  By the way, all three teachers were expecting me.  Mr. Smith had told them I would be there and not to be too easy on me but to make me tow the mark.  I went home with mixed emotions but one thing was for sure.  Mr. Smith was not going to have to kick my ass around the campus.

            On graduation day two years later Mr. Smith was standing as I came off the podium with his hand stretched out to congratulate me.  He just smiled and said, “I knew you had it in you.”  That was all I needed to hear.  Even though I barely knew him he stands as one of the finest people I have known.  He really did care about everyone, even me.

Thank you, Mr. Smith!

           

           

Dr. Gordon Wilson

Dr. Gordon Wilson

            It was 1955. I had just been released from the Navy and was about to enroll at Western Kentucky University.  I walked into Cherry Hall not knowing a soul, and feeling lost.  I walked from the front door to the main hall and started to turn right. After all I didn’t know anywhere else to try.  As I turned at the hall I noticed an open door.  No, I noticed where a door should have been but there was none there. I looked in and saw an older man sitting at his desk. He quickly looked up and greeted me, asking my name and wanting to know if he could help me.  When I told him I wanted to register he got up and took me to where I needed to go and helped me fill out the necessary forms.  He wished me well and went back into his office.  That was the only time I ever talked to Dr. Gordon Wilson.

            Until much later.  About three years in fact. I asked someone I thought would know just who Dr. Wilson was.  I was told that he was the head English Department teacher and that he loved everybody.  He wanted anyone to feel like he could talk to him at any time so he had the janitor to take his office door down.  He welcomed anyone and everyone at any time even though he was probably the busiest teacher in our college.

            I began to remember the brief visit I had with him.  He had asked me a lot of personal questions.  I thought at the time that he needed that information in order to help me enroll but everyone I talked to about that informed me that he did everyone like that.  My college roommate, who had been in one of his classes challenged me to test him. So I did.  I enrolled in one of his English classes, which turned out to be the best class I took while I was at Western.

            The first day I entered his class he greeted me at the door (or where it was supposed to be) and called me by name.  Wow!  He remembered my name after talking to me very briefly nearly three years before.  But that was not all. He remembered where I was from, that I had been in the Navy, what I had planned to major in, etc. He almost scared me.  I hoped he didn’t know a lot of my past antics.  Or recent ones for that matter.  But if he did he never mentioned it.

            His class was remarkable.  Each day he always called roll.  When the student answered he greeted him a good morning calling him by name. And each of us learned right away that during each class every student would be called on to answer a question.  He was organized and expected all of us to be as well. We were on time for class, too.  And we never missed a class, either.  He didn’t allow that.  But really nobody wanted to miss a class or be late because Dr. Wilson kept it a fun learning experience. 

            I do not have room to share all the things he taught us. Suffice it to say that if I use only a fraction of what I learned in his class that I could deem myself a well educated man. And he never once indicated that he wanted anything in return.

            Thank you very much, Dr. Gordon Wilson!  You saw the good in everything. I could only hope to do so partly as well.  

Miss Virginia

Miss Virginia

            I was only six years old.  But my mother told me that I should be excited about starting school. So what did she know?  In those days there were no pre- schools and I always could do whatever I wanted to before. But mothers know best I suppose so off I went.  I was determined to not like anyone there and especially the teachers.  I knew about them.  They were all old and ugly and carried paddles around in case one of us needed a swat on the bottom.  And with me that was often.  And anyway I already knew all I needed to know. So what was school all about anyway?

            The first guy I met was Sut Corbet. (That was his real name) He was around sixteen and still in the first grade.  Not too swift I thought.  But Sut quickly became my best friend.  He thought I was smart and nobody else had ever thought that about me before.  As the year went by I helped Sut with the sticks (you know, those little things we used to build boxes with) And if you don’t remember them that is all right because Sut didn’t understand them either. It all worked out well for me, though.  I helped Sut in class and he protected me on the playground. After all he was at least twice as big as any other boy I went to school with. Someday I will write a long story just about Sut but not now.  This is about Miss Virginia.

            The first day in the first grade was a day to remember. I was waiting to see what kind of monster would be our teacher when this beautiful young girl came walking in.  I thought she was another student, maybe about the same age as Sut.  She sure was pretty but I thought must have been dumb to be in the first grade at her age.  My sister, who knew her, told me that night that she was twenty-six and a college graduate. And she was going to be our teacher. Wow! - A teacher who smiled all the time and didn’t even have a paddle.  She was kind and funny and loved all of us. And she even made the first grade seem like fun.  I guess Mom was right. Well then, she nearly always was. From that day on I loved school, all because of Miss Virginia.

            Each day we had a reading session.  And Miss Virginia would put us in a circle and we took turns reading about Spot.  You have probably already read it.  It was about a dog that would run and stuff. Not too good a book but we each got to sit in Miss Virginia’s lap when it was our turn to read.  Then she would always give us a hug if we read well.  I really tried hard. Mom wondered why I loved school so much but my sister knew full well. You see Miss Virginia was good to me.  So good in fact that I told her so.  I told her that I loved her.  Only that happened about forty years later.  I was already married with three sons when I wrote to her and told her how much she meant to me.  And as I wrote that letter it occurred to me that it could have come from many, many other students that she was so very kind to.  And yes she answered my letter.  She said that she even remembered me (probably because I helped Sut all the time) and she remembered my sister, too. She told me all about her happy life and about her kids and her wonderful husband.  I felt really happy when I read it and was especially thankful for her kindness to all of us.  There ought to be more people like Miss Virginia.

            A few years later I read in the paper that she had died. I was not able to be there but I did get to talk to someone who was. He told me that the place was full. It seems everyone who had her in school loved her as I did.

Thank you, Miss Virginia, for all you did for me and those many others!

           

           

             

`          

Mr. Tate

Linda handed me an article from our newspaper this morning.  I think she expected me to read it so I did.  It was about the writer’s former friends who had contributed so much in his life.  I was impressed so much that I all of a sudden started thinking about the special ones in my life.  So for the next few blogs I would like to introduce you to some very special people in my life.  They will not be in any order so don’t look for your name just yet.

            The first one who came to mind was Mr. Tate.  He was a teacher at the high school I attended.  He also coached the basketball team.  Since I was not a particularly good student and was far too short to play basketball why would I ever remember him?  Well I am going to tell you.  Our school had a football team for runts who were not big enough or smart enough to play on the varsity team called the Peapickers.  Mr. Tate coached that team.  And I played on it.  Well maybe not played on it but I did have a uniform.  I was in the ninth grade and was still one of the smaller players.  But Mr. Tate took me under his wing.  He taught me how to pass, how to run, (he said one could run faster if someone were after him) and most of all how to think on the field.  He even made me a quarterback and he let me play in every game.  It was a wonderful year for me and I will ever be grateful to Mr. Tate for that.  He called me the “brains” of the team, a nickname that still some call me to this day.

            But good times pass.  I learned that if I wanted to play football anymore I would have to make the varsity team in my junior year.  So armed with all of my peapicker success I went out for the varsity.  Those guys were really big.  And they tackled really hard, too.  I was what one might call a fourth team runt quarterback.  But because Mr. Tate told me to, I stayed trying well into my senior year.  So in the last two years in high school I was only allowed to play in one game.  We were already ahead thirty points when the coach told me to go in.  Mr. Tate served as assistant coach that year and I will always believe that it was he who conned the head coach into letting me play that time. I got to play the entire last half. 

            This story is not about me so why have I said so much.  Well it is because of Mr. Tate.  When the head coach told me to go into the game Mr. Tate come up to me and said something that still stays with me today.  He put my helmet on my head and while be beat on one side of it (he always did that when he talked to me) he said in his kindest way, “Brains, get in there and go like a red ass spider!”

            I went into the game laughing.  I knew that nobody was expecting anything great out of me so I had nothing to lose. But Mr. Tate was expecting great things from me.  And somehow I believed him then. And it occurred to me:  All I had to do was go like a red ass spider.  I hardly remember all that happened while I played but I never forgot the words of a real friend and coach who believed in me and let me know it. Many times in my life when I was faced with hard decisions or questionable work to do I shut my eyes and remember those words of encouragement. 

            I would really like to be a good writer.  It may be unlikely but I can try by going at it like a red ass spider. Thank you, Mr. Tate!

            One of the biggest thrills to me when I was in the Navy was each day when the American flag was lifted into the air.  I would feel free and happy knowing that I was always able to think the way I wanted in the land where I was given to live.

            So when I got married years later and Linda and I moved to Florida we both decided that we wanted a flag in our front yard.  For the past forty years or so each day I have been able to go into our front yard and raise the flag.  We have a ring of flowers around the pole and it is visible from four streets that have a lot of traffic.  

            All of that just so I can share this story:

            Many times during the raising people driving by will wave or honk their horn or shout a thank you.  Sort of makes it worthwhile, doesn't it?  Once a truck driver stopped his truck (blocking traffic), got out, and stood at attention with his hand over his heart while the flag went up.  Nobody honked at him.  I thought that maybe there would never be a better flag tribute than that. 

            But there was.

            Last week I went out as I always do to raise the flag.  Across the street there were a dozen or so children about middle school age waiting for the school bus.  Some had parents with them. When the flag started up I glanced over to see all of the children standing in a row at attention, each one with a hand over the heart.  The parents were standing behind them the same way.  Then when the flag reached the top of the pole one girl stepped out and began to say in a loud voice:

I pledge allegiance to the flag of the

United States of America,

And to the republic for which it stands

One nation UNDER GOD indivisible with liberty and justice for all.

            

             Then all of the ones waiting for the bus began to applause. I stepped back, threw them a kiss, and applauded them back. I wiped away my tears and went back into my house, proud that I am an American and proud of the families who are still teaching their children not to forget God.

See you again soon!

           

            

John

           One of the finest things about visiting Kentucky in the summer is each morning J.T. arrives at my house promptly at eight AM and we go off to the local Dairy Queen for breakfast. There we meet the great number of guys I call the Liars Club.  They are mostly farmers coming in from an already full day’s work.  Some are retired workers who now enjoy riding their motorcycles.  And then there are some who just arrive.  I don’t know what they do otherwise.  But all seem happy about something.  They enjoy playing tricks on each other and laughing about it.  Then as time goes by they have a tendency to seriously try to settle world problems.  Politics are a lot of fun.  Nobody agrees with anybody.  Religion rarely comes up because I am certain there would be a fight involved if it did.

            Jerry is one everyone seems to like.  He works for the local high school and does something there for their athletics.  I don’t know what. He comes in all dressed up for work and I don’t know why about that either.  He never goes to work until mid morning.  I sort of envy his job, whatever it is.  Jerry is one of those nice guys who probably has been educated beyond his intelligence and seems to understand math better that most of the others.  So once a week he explains to everyone all about the lottery.  He makes it sound good so after a short period of time he talks most of us into trying our luck.  We all know the odds are against us but it is hard to say no to Jerry.  After he collects our money he leaves to buy the tickets.  We all agree to share the winnings, mostly because that gives us something to talk about after Jerry leaves.  You know.  What are you going to do with the money if we win? Each one .has his own private wants that he is excited to talk about.  As for me I told them that I would pay it on my bills as far as it would go.  One man (I can’t tell you his name) told us he planned to get himself a new wife.  Several talked about new cars or motorcycles or new houses.  One farmer said he would get a new tractor because he was tired of plowing behind his tired old mule. One of the women who worked there said that she would buy the Dairy Queen and fire that son of a bitch she worked for now.

            And then there was John.  He usually just sits and listens to all the stuff everybody else talks about but says very little.  But he had contributed his bet and the winning that week was sixty million dollars.  All of us wanted to know what John was going to do with his money.  You could tell John was thinking.  Jerry had told him that if we won that after taxes and all we would get somewhere around two million apiece.  John scratched his head a bit and then smiled and said, “That is more money than I make in a week!  Why I know just what I am going to do.  First I am going to pay off the entire debt for our church.  Then I am going to get the bills paid for that teenage girl here who just broke her neck over near Canmer.  Then I am going to get Amy (his wife) that dress she wanted last Christmas that we couldn't afford.  Then I think I will send Rocky’s (his neighbor) two boys to college.  They are both really smart but ‘ol Rocky ain’t got the money to send them.”

            All of a sudden everybody stopped talking.  And we all started thinking.  We had all talked about the things we could get for ourselves.  John just wanted to do for others.  And you know the best part.  John had worked hard all of his life without ever really earning much.  His wife saw that he ate well but other than that, John never had anything.  And if the truth were known he was probably the happiest man in the liars club. 

            I hope he wins.  I think I may give him mine.  Or not.

            

JACK

Jack was probably my best friend growing up in Madisonville, Kentucky.  We played in the woods with the snakes and lizards, were in Boy Scouts together, played sports together, and yeah, we got in trouble together.  Then off to college and all the parts of later life so we don’t see much of each other anymore.  That’s a pity, too.  We have a lot of stories to tell now that we would rather not have told back then.  But we still sort of keep in touch.  We send Christmas cards and call on the phone maybe twice a year, but our lives took an alternate route.  He became a bigwig with Alcoa Aluminum while I never amounted to anything.  I think we both expected that, though. 

            Jack retired at an early age after a very successful work life.  He bought himself an island off the coast of Michigan and Canada and built a house on it.  When he first was there he told me that his wife always went with him and stayed until it got too cold. Then she returned to their place in the Carolinas, leaving him there.  It was just him and the bears I was told. I asked him what he did up there and he informed me that he was very happy there and that every day he could go swimming.  I shivered when he told me that.  When he told me the water temperature I about fainted.  He kept calling me and inviting me up.  I seriously thought about it until I remembered the cold water.  We swam a lot as kids but I never remembered chipping ice to do it.  I guess I could go up there, sit in front of the fire and read or watch him swim out of the window, but I have no desire to get into that kind of water.   

            The last time he called he had quite a story to tell.  I know it is true because Jack doesn’t lie. So I thought I would share it here.  He knows I am writing about it but he may not realize that it is on a blog. And here it is, just like he told it to me.  If you know me you may think at this point that I am usually willing to embellish things that I write. I plan to send him a copy and I almost know what he will say:  “That is not at all what happened.  And after I told him word for word exactly what happened.”  Well, Jack, my take on the story might be even better.  Who knows?

            It was a cold, dark day. (How’s that for a start?)  Jack had just put his wife on the plane to back home.  Jack stopped by the local town grocery store, picked up food needs and anything else he could think of, and started back to the island home.  He had chosen one of his smaller boats for this quick trip because it would be easier for one person to handle when being alone. The trip to the island was not particularly a long one so he was able to sit back and simply enjoy the ride.  As he neared the island he was noticing the beautiful views of the area.  Off in a distance he admired another island quite a distance from his.  He thought about what he knew about that island.  It was probably inhabited by early Indians.  But he wasn’t really sure because he had never seen anyone coming from there.  Maybe nobody lived there.  But it surely was a pretty island.  As he was about to reach his dock a sudden wind came up.  Jack’s boat turned sideways and banged into the dock. The floating dock pitched and caused the boat to flip.  Jack tried to jump to the dock but the boat surged away causing him to drop into the freezing water.  That was when he hit his head on the edge of the dock, causing him to pass out. 

            Some time went by and Jack came to, wondering what had happened.  The first thing he noticed was that the water was now pink.  He felt his head and could feel the blood flow.  Jack’s first thought now was, “I’m going to die.  I am in the water and I do not have the strength to get out. And anyway, I am going to bleed to death.  That is if I don’t freeze to death first.” His thoughts turned to his head hurting, which may have been worse that the cold water.  It was almost at the point where one gives up completely when he saw what he thought was a dream.  He looked up out of the water to see a man in a canoe.  The man looked sort of like what he thought the Indians from the next island might look like but he couldn’t be sure because he had never seen anyone from there.  But this was not a time to be choosey.  The angle man looked down at him and whispered, “Do you need help?”  Jack thought about just explaining to him that he was just out for a swim but decided that he had better be nice.  Jack raised his hand and the man took it, pulling him out of the water as Jack’s boat went scooting out away from the dock. The helper had managed to get on the dock without letting go of Jack’s arm and finished pulling him on to the dock.  Jack could still not walk so the man carried him into his house.  It was a small man carrying a large man but somehow the helper seemed to be all right with it.  When they were in the house the man quickly found towels that he used to stop Jack’s bleeding.  Then he wrapped him in some blankets and placed him near the fireplace.  He built a fire and when he was certain Jack would be all right he started out.  Jack tried to stop him.  He told him he wanted to pay him for his deed.  The man just smiled, turned and left.  Jack was too exhausted to argue so he simply shut his eyes and slept.

            It was some time before Jack awoke.  Although he was moving at a snail’s pace he wandered over to the window and looked out, hoping to see the one who had helped him so. There was no sign of him.  He looked out at the lake and still no sign.  His helper had vanished.  He then wondered what had happened to his boat with all of his foods in it. He turned and the first thing he noticed was the food he had bought along with all the other stuff was neatly placed on the kitchen table.  He also remembered that his head was still hurting.  So as he walked over to see if he could find at least an aspirin he glanced out of the window.  His boat was correctly tied to the dock with all the boat parts put in place on the shed.  Who was this man?  Where did he come from?  Why didn’t he want pay for what he had done? 

            Jack says that he thinks these questions will never be answered.  I told him that I thought it was an angel.  He said that I might be right because he has once gone to a church but couldn’t remember when.  He did say he thought it may have been a Baptist church, though. 

            If you have read this entire story you probably have wondered if Jack ever went over to that other island.  Well he definitely has.  Several times, and he says that nobody seems to live there at all.  He still searches for that unknown man who probably saved his life.  I think I might go visit him now.  It seems to be a safer place than I thought.  And by the way: I didn’t make this up.  I am usually a liar but this time it is the truth.