Category: Everything Fred

5 April 2021

In 1994, I completed two terms as faculty senate president and United Faculty of Florida chapter president and had pretty much mentally crashed. So what do you do to get over some trauma but dive into more trauma?

I was looking to make a difference somewhere. I figured that since I had a masters in Library and Information Science from Florida State University, why not put that to use by volunteering at the Stonewall Library and Archives.

A little history…. It’s my understanding that in 1972, Mark Silber, a local in Fort Lauderdale, donated his collection of gay and lesbian books and magazines to create Stonewall Library and Archives, named in honor of the Stonewall riots of 1969.

For quite a while, the collection was simply housed in Mark’s parents house but eventually found its way into a classroom at the Metropolitan Community Church (MCC). Somewhere around 1983, it merged with the Boca Raton based Southern Gay Archives. When I inquired about volunteering the collection was housed at 1146 East Oakland Park Blvd. on the fourth floor. It was pretty much crammed into three small office spaces. At the time, the Gay and Lesbian Community Center (GLCC) was located in the same building and took up the entire third floor. I mistakenly assumed the library was part of the GLCC. The GLCC did offer some financial support (paid the rent) but the two organizations have always been separate.

In 1997 (I think) I started volunteering one night a week. While there, I tried sorting out the periodical collection. That was my job when I was a work study student at the University of Mississippi Library. It was also my interest when I got my degree in library science. There was one other consistent volunteer, Ed Fojoe and he was working towards his library science degree while working for the university library at Florida International University. John Graves was president of the board.

John was the major benefactor of the library. I knew of John because many years ago when I taught at Itawamba Junior College I applied for a Chautauqua course on the history of science and it was conducted by John. I didn’t make the cut that year for the course but for some reason his name stuck with me. John majored in physics at Princeton and got his PhD in philosophy. His thesis was titled “Conceptional Foundations of Contemporary Relativity.”

When once asked about how he acquired his money, he said it wasn’t inherited nor was it any great effort on his part. He bought stock in Intel at fifty cents a share on a recommendation of a friend.

In any case, I started going to board meetings for Stonewall and got more involved with volunteering. Before long, I found myself as president of the library. I had no desire to be president after my stint with the union and the faculty senate but it was either me or no one. I was selected by default.

About the time I was made president, we were forced off the fourth floor and onto the floor below with the GLCC. We went from three rooms to two. Something had to give. We moved the periodicals collection to a storage facility and I operated out of there for at least three years.

While at the storage facility, I tried to computerize the records of the collection based on a database that one of our volunteers, Bob Ewart, provided. About this time I met Paul Fasana.

Paul, and his partner, Dr. Robert Graham, were very interesting people. Paul was a first generation college graduate and became a librarian and eventually worked his way up to Senior Vice President and Andrew W. Mellon Director of Research Libraries of the New York Public Library. He was one of the first to experiment with automating the checkout process in libraries. I like to believe we came good friends. Sadly, he passed away this year. He partner Robert was the lead physician for a major insurance company (and neurologist) and was also appointed by Reagan to some national committee. Robert and Paul were welcomed graciously into the Reagan Whitehouse.

Anyway, Paul and I would slave away at the storage facility trying to collate the collection, pull any duplicate issues and generally organize the periodical collection. Any duplicates we put aside as trade specimens with other libraries. We even got a trade going with Cornell University. The light in the storage facility was dismal, the space cramped, and the air condition only sometimes worked.

In the meantime, I was finding out what a 501(c)3 organization was. It’s a nonprofit that allows donations to be tax deductible. To maintain your status as a 501(c)3, you had to file an annual report with the state of Florida. Going through the filing cabinet, I could only find one or two of these and they were a single page. I was horrified to realize the library and archives had not submitted one in years – we could lose our status. I approached the board with the idea of using the annual report as a publicity tool to pull in donors. I worked to put together a little more polished report. I think it was around 15 or 20 pages and I asked the board to approve an expenditure to have it printed. I think they were going to balk until John Graves spoke up and set he would pay the cost of printing. We used that annual report all year to publicize the library and attract donors. The library and archives has since that time put together a very professional annual report every year. I did annual reports with Rob Nathans for the next six years. The library continues to publish them to this day.

Move ahead a year and the GLCC found a new location off Andrews Avenue in Fort Lauderdale. That meant we had to move the library again. We’re talking several thousand books here. John again to the rescue. He hired a moving company that specializes in moving libraries and we shifting operations to Andrews Avenue at the old Shriner’s building. (It still had the funny cars inside.)

John had our back. He was a major contributor not only to the library and archives but also the GLCC so he insured we would get a larger space (to the right of the entrance awning in the center of the building). Unfortunately, it needed significant renovation. It required a brand new a/c unit, carpeting, new shelving, and where we would put the archive/periodical collection was a garage for the funny cars. We needed to raise the floor level 8 inches with poured concrete. We had an architect that designed the space to our needs. I have to admit the construction contractor was very attentive to the library’s needs.

As we were getting ready to renovate, Rob Nathans and I wrote the first grant for the library for shelving for the archives. We combed through every possible grant giving organization in the U.S. to see who might be willing to fund a project at Stonewall. We finally reached out to Larry Ellison of Oracle and his foundation. We were funded. The condition was we had to raise matching funds with new donations – not existing ones. We reached out to the Division of Libraries with the state of Florida and received some funds from them, from John Graves and from Paul Fasana and several others. We made the match. We spent that on new shelving for the library and for the archives.

Paul asked me what type of shelving I was thinking about and I asked him for suggestions. He came up with compact shelving. It was a lot more expensive than our grant but he made up the difference and even later purchased more compact shelving.

We also managed to get flat shelving for posters and maps and archive quality boxes to replace the cheap boxes we had been storing the collections in. I purchased as many archival supplies as the budget would allow.

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We moved the periodical collection into the new space and set up shop. It was a wonderful leap in progress.

Every so often we would have someone come into the library and say “I wrote that book!” As president, I figured why not take advantage of Fort Lauderdale weather. After all, people flocked here during the winter. Why not contact some authors and ask if they wanted to come down and do a reading and sign some books for sale? We couldn’t pay them any money but I thought why not ask the guest houses if they would put them up for free?

Fort Lauderdale has a lot of gay guest houses scattered throughout Fort Lauderdale, Oakland Park, and Wilton Manors. The Broward County/Miami/Dade County/Palm Beach County area has the second largest gay population in the United States. New York is number 1, we are number 2 and San Francisco is number 3. I think at the time there were something like 12-15 gay guest houses.

I would get an author to make a commitment to come down and do a reading on a specific date. I then sent out a blanket email to the guest houses asking if anyone had a vacancy they could put the author up for free. Generally, this was “in season” for the guest houses and there often were no vacancies. However, I was amazed when within minutes of sending out the first email request, I got two or three replies saying yes. The others sent regrets but asked to be kept on the mailing list. I was so proud of those gay guest houses.

The one time I was getting desperate was when only one guest house replied that they have an availability. It was a guest house that specialized in bondage and discipline and even advertised that all the rooms had a sling hanging from the ceiling ready for their patrons. I had no choice. I had to put the author up in the B&D B&B. He loved it! He extended his stay at his own expense. Whew!

Also coming on board to volunteer was Hugh Ripley. He had been the head librarian at St. Thomas University. Our collection was getting huge from donations of books and periodical and artifacts. Since I began volunteering, the library had been using the Dewey Decimal System for classification. It was unwieldy, particularly when people got their decimals confused. A lot of patrons thought a book ending with 0.5 was found before 0.10 because 10 is greater than 5. We also had a problem with volunteers shelving fiction books since they were shelved by author. If there was no author, then by title. If by title, was the word “The” at the beginning of a title significant? It was a mess.

Hugh and I met with our Chief Librarian, Steve Kerr, a retired librarian from the Broward County Library system and we agreed that we were a research library as well as an average reader library. It particularly made sense for the archives. We shifted to the Library of Congress classification system. Most of our titles were already in the LC system and all we had to do was look up the LC classification add the that to the spine of the book. Most of our collection was not in the Dewey Decimal System which meant you had to classify it on your own and decipher Cutter numbers for the books.

Steve Kerr did the impossible and completely converted the collection to LC within two years. Much later, after I left the library, they converted the fiction back to Dewey, so sadly, they now have two systems of classification in the building.

One of the authors I invited down was James T. Sears from the University of South Carolina. He was, at the time, an historian at the University of South Carolina and he specialized in, among other things, GLBTQ history. He came down several times over the years and he liked what we were doing so much he donated his entire collection of materials on GLBTQ history to the archives. You can see some of the holdings of the archives here.

After we started the fancy annual reports, we started getting more and more donations of materials to the archives and when they walked into the archives and saw the organized materials on the compact shelving, that sold them into giving us more materials and funding. One guy I showed around the archives walked away impressed and he later sent me a check for $2000.

Another thing we instituted was an emergency preparedness plan. After all, we live in a hurricane zone. We made sure we had access to a company that refrigerated trucks to store water damaged materials. During several close calls we wrapped the compact shelving in plastic. We had a printed plan in place and it was reviewed every year.

After my two initial terms as president, I became Chief Archivist (a lot of my training at FSU was in preservation and conservation). I was even invited to present a paper to the state library association at a meeting in St. Augustine. They were thrilled to hear of the success of the library and archives. The state archivist, who helped channel some funds to us for the compact shelving, asked for before and after pictures – that you see in this blog – so they could publish them in their newsletter. Remember, this funding from the state was during a fairly moderate Republican governor. As far as I know the library and archives has never received any more funding from the state as the state government has become more right wing. Fortunately, corporations, the city and county government have been more forthcoming.

Just before I left the library, the archives initiated an oral history project. It went on hiatus after I left but has since been brought back. One of the simplest things we did was to immediately write letters of appreciation for donations and explaining to the donor we were a 501(c)3 organization and as such, their donation was tax deductible. This had been an on again/off again process and I made sure it became a priority as president.

Apparently one donor did not receive his letter. He walked into the library and loudly complained to all his donation of magazines was not appreciated. John Graves took him by the arm and walked him out and said “Listen, we are an all-volunteer organization – give us a break.”

I worked with the library and archives for seven years. Most of what I did I could not have done without the help of Rob Nathans. After seven years and a lot of acrimony among board members, both Rob and I resigned.

After I left, the library moved into a section of the old city of Fort Lauderdale library. The building was owned by the city but the land is owned by the county (or vice versa). The majority of the building is taken up by ArtServe but a section was reserved for Stonewall. The name was changed to Stonewall National Museum & Archives. Of course, the mayor of Fort Lauderdale at the time, Jim Naugle, claimed we had pornographic material in the collection. Of course we did. We collected everything GLBTQ related included porn. It’s just not available to the general public. You have to be a researcher in order to access that material.

Originally our mission was to collect and preserve any GLBTQ material from a boundary south of Washington, DC, west to the Mississippi. It has since become a national collection. Probably the only thing close to Stonewall in size is the archive in San Francisco and I know of no other library with the number of volumes of GLBTQ books.

When I first became a volunteer we had around 10,000 volumes. Today the library has 28,000 volumes. You measure archives in linear feet. Today there is 2700 linear feet of archival material consisting of over 6 million pages. It has rare first edition books and manuscripts. The collection contains phonograph records, musical scores, club cards, tee shirts, signs from protests – you name it and the archives has it. All of it is properly conserved in acid free boxes and paper. It is all on computer and accessible to the general public.

While I was with the archives, we had students write their theses on topics that we had primary source material on. One undergrad from Harvard came down for a week. We’ve had several national researchers tell us our Anita Bryant collection is the best in the nation. We even helped a detective working on a crime by going through our archives based on the date of a murder.

The library consistently obtains grants these days to help fund projects. It sends exhibits all over the country and for several years, its had a full time paid director, fund raiser, and museum/exhibits curator. In addition, it opened up exhibition space in Wilton Manors, the hub of the gay community in Broward.

I loved the time I spent working as a volunteer, less love on the time as president, but more love as Chief Archivist. However, it was taking a toll and I knew when to throw in the towel and sit back and watch it grow. I’m still a member to this day.

Stay tuned!

4 April 2021

OK, you may not wish to read this one. It gets very personal. It’s time to explore my gay life. Let’s start with sex.

Probably like most people in Mississippi, I learned about the birds and bees, not from my parents, but from scrawls on the walls of men’s bathrooms and overheard conversations in the hallways at school. Most of it was pretty stupid. I remember one kid who was our high school quarterback who distinguished himself by telling everyone you didn’t have to be smart to be quarterback – and he proceeded to prove it with a terrible won-loss record. A group of boys were sitting outside on the football field and he stated he needed some woman to piss in. I seriously think that’s what he thought sex was – a male urinating into the vagina of a female.

You would think most of these boys would know more, particularly since they were often from farms. However, not everyone seemed to get the message via animal action on the farm. One cousin, when he married, got ready for the wedding night. He later realized his new wife had never been instructed as to what to expect. She was clueless.

Then there was the case where members of the basketball team got caught having sex with with the principals cow. Apparently the cow had a bowel movement during one of the attempted copulations.

The first time I saw a condom (we called them rubbers) was in junior high when one of the older boys showed one around in his wallet. I suspect the thing had been in their for years because it looked pretty beat up.

My sexual education was pretty much from bathroom walls. At least it was illustrated. Mother and Dad never mentioned the subject so one day, just to be mean, I asked Mom to explain about birds and bees. She was taken aback. She thought I knew nothing. I painfully made her go through the entire explanation. At least I now knew the illustrations were pretty accurate.

My first sexual experiences were pretty much like any teenage boy – nocturnal emissions. That hadn’t been part of Mom’s explanation and guys didn’t talk about them so it was new territory for me. Certainly pleasurable territory but mysterious all the same. Then came the realization you didn’t have to wait for nocturnal emissions – you could masturbate. That bolt out of the blue really took off and is still fun and entertaining today. I always loved a comment in an old Playboy magazine. They did a sex survey of their readership and reported 98% of all males had masturbated at least once in their life – and the other 2% lied about it.

Other than dates with my right hand, I was totally inexperienced sexually all through high school and undergraduate college. I had inklings that I was attracted to boys in junior high and high school but had not even heard of the word homosexual or gay in junior high school. None of the sex-ed films we saw ever mentioned the terms either. However, it seemed a lot of the students at high school certainly knew I was gay before I even knew it was a word.

I never really got into sports. I was, however, a killer at jacks. I could pretty much beat any girl in school except for Carol Cooper. I suppose that was a pretty good indication I was different. It was brought home in a very cruel way one day when at recess the boys were to choose teams for some game. I don’t remember the game but I wasn’t chosen. Not only was I not chosen but I was told I wasn’t wanted. I burst into tears and ran to Mrs. Hearn. I’ll always love her for wrapping me in her arms and soothing me and getting me to quit crying. She charged over to the boys and asked why no one wanted me on their team. After kicking in the dirt a while, one of the teams said I could play on their side.

That episode pretty much sums up my junior high and high school years. I was socially shy, insecure in my abilities, unpopular, and dealing with alcoholic parents at home. Shyness and insecurity have followed me throughout my life. Neither my Dad or Mom were affectionate. I certainly, to this day, have issues with intimacy, I assume because of all of the above.

By the time I was a senior at Ole Miss, I certainly understood the term homosexual and gay and knew that I certainly was. However, I never acted on my sexuality in college nor in my four years in the Coast Guard other than stealing glances at gay magazines in bookstores. I always restricted myself to masturbation and anal play in private. I also had never kissed anyone in a sexual way. That ended in graduate school at Ole Miss, however, not like most might imagine.

I was in the basement bathroom at the student union at Ole Miss sometime in 1974 or 1975 when in walks my old French teacher from undergraduate years. I always had my suspicions about him and we certainly made eye contact. We went upstairs for coffee and got to talking. He learned about my field work at Tishomingo and he said he would like to see the park. I invited him on my next field trip. One thing led to another and I had my first experience with oral sex. Later, when he found that was my first, he shook his head and told me he wished he had handled it a little differently but I certainly had no complaints.

We never really hooked up again in graduate school but he did introduce me to a friend of his. I hooked up with his friend twice and experienced anal intercourse. What was so funny at the time was I had a Siamese cat named Charlie. He was afraid of cats and I had to lock poor Charlie out of the bedroom.

Much, much later, while teaching at IJC, I received an opportunity for a Mellon summer fellowship in Nashville dealing with new advances in biology. I had a dorm room at Vanderbilt and thoroughly enjoyed it. However, my libido was in overdrive and I actually drove around Nashville and picked up a hustler (next to the Grand Ole Opry house) and took him back to the dorm for oral sex. I was so weirded out I left the program early and made sure I had my doctor in Fulton give me a penicillin shot. Of course, I had to explain why but he didn’t bat an eye and simply loaded up the syringe.

I also tied up once more with my old French teacher on a trip back to Oxford. We went for Chinese and had oral sex back at my motel. I don’t remember why I was in Oxford but I called him out of the blue. When I told him who was calling (back before caller ID) he repeated my name, excited. He had a wife and two kids at the time. The kids got excited because they though I was another Fred. The other Fred turned out to be his old lover from UNC Chapel Hill. It was a case of mistaken Freds.

Just before I left IJC, I had started traveling to Birmingham to visit my first gay bars. There were two that I would go to but didn’t do anything sexually at any of them. Then when spring break came, I decided to get into my truck and drive – somewhere, anywhere. I ended up in Key West and stayed at a gay guest house and went to the famous Copa gay night club. The massive dance floor was packed with absolutely beautiful men dancing their asses off. I got “gay overload” and had to leave. I did experience my very first visit to the baths. Key West, at the time, had several gay bath houses where the order of the day was anything but cleanliness. This was a very nice bath house (since out of business) but I was too paralyzed with fear to do anything other than take a shower.

After I moved to Jackson for graduate school at the medical center, I lived at Jacks and Jills, the oldest gay bar in the state. The only sexual experience I had was with a guy by the name of Butch at Archie’s cabin (we met at Jacks). Archie was nice enough not to disturb us. It was Butch who took me to my first opera. He wasn’t one to settle into any kind of relationship so it pretty much was a one and done thing.

I didn’t do anything sexually while in San Antonio other than going to gay bars. It was the same with my brief time in Atlanta with the exception of going to another bath house in Atlanta and actually participating for a change.

Once I got to Fort Lauderdale (actually Hollywood at Lincoln Chateau) my mentor for finding AIDS patients at Hollywood General asked me on a date. Later I invited him over for dinner one night and he showed up with flowers. You can’t not have sex when someone brings you flowers! Actually, as I wrote in a previous blog, it was just frottage.

Jump ahead several years and I would often spend a week or two in Key West during the summer (I taught first summer term and it was usually late July or early August in Key West). I always stayed at gay guest houses and hot tubs were usually very interesting. I remember one guy who was down for the weekend to meet his boy friend but wanted to have sex with me. We basically did mutual masturbation at the hot tub but then he wanted to have anal sex with me. All it took was one look at his penis to realize that wasn’t going to happen. It was huge.

At my favorite gay guest house in Key West, I had a favorite room. It was on second floor and at the top of the stairs. My window overlooked the condo next door. One day I was stunned to see a guy at the window of the condo looking at me while masturbating. It seemed that was his thing. Friends of mine would stay in the same room on my recommendation and they reported the same experience. It finally got so bad that the guest house had to police on him because he kept propositioning the guests.

My favorite story about the guest house (Curry House, not the historic one) was a professor from UF who had brought a favorite student down with him. The student was drop dead gorgeous. The manager of the guest house couldn’t put a complete sentence together when the guy walked into a room. He really was the most beautiful man I think any of us had ever seen. We also had the added benefit to get to see him swim naked in the pool.

Anyway, friendly me, I always spoke to him. One morning I came down for breakfast and find him all scratched to hell and back and bruises everywhere. I asked “Hard night?” He proceeded to tell me that he and the professor were drunk and they were on the balcony on the second floor (that faced Fleming Street) and the professor was performing oral sex on him. He got so excited he fell over the rail of the balcony onto the ground below. Fortunately/unfortunately for him, he landed in shrubs planted around the guest house. The alternative was a brick walkway.

To be honest, other than the one hot tub incident at Curry House, I’ve led a pretty chaste existence when I visit Key West. By the way, the Curry House is no longer a gay guest house.

In the 90’s I made it back to San Francisco for a National Education Association Convention. I was a delegate for UFF. As it so happened, the convention meeting was during the week of gay pride in San Francisco. I got to see my very first gay pride parade. It was great. Leading off the parade were “Dykes on Bykes.” They were mostly topless and there were quite a few that rode proudly showing their mastectomy scars.

The parade started at one end of Market Street near the Castro and marched down the entire length. Thousands lined the streets and the parade itself was probably a mile long. The highlight of the parade was a giant mannequin of J. Edgar Hoover in a polka dot dress. Rumor had it that he was once at a gay party and was dressed in drag in a polka dot dress.

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That trip to San Francisco reignited my love for the city and it was on this trip that I stopped in at the San Francisco Opera (at the War Memorial Building) and, on a whim, bought an opera ticket to see Verdi’s Rigoletto. I was hooked. While teaching at BCC, I started going to San Francisco Opera in the summer. SFO had summer series where you could see three or four operas in one week. I would stay a week, see three operas, and then fly back home.

The only place I would stay would be at the Parker Guest House, an old Victorian reconfigured as a bed and breakfast. It’s primarily a gay guest house but is very welcoming to straight couples.

Courtyard at Parker Guest House

OK, enough about the Parker House, back to sex. I would also go to a bath house not far from the Parker. It was called Eros and it was huge and took up two floors. You paid a fee to enter, grabbed a towel and got an eyeful. I was too chicken to do anything but masturbate to porn movies. However, the place was very clean and they provided condoms and lube everywhere.

On one trip out to San Francisco, a good friend, Tom, joined me and we toured the wine country and stayed at a nude resort near the Russian River. A bunch of us ended up in the hot tub on the first night. I ended up going to the cabin of a guy (Tom chastely went back to ours

shared cabin alone). The guy, again, was waiting on his boy friend to arrive and he wanted to release some sexual tension before the boy friend arrived the next day. The reason I bring this up was this guy was heavy into nipple play. He really liked his nipples tortured. I couldn’t twist, pinch or bite hard enough for him. It seems like every guy I’ve ever been with in California is heavy into that. With me, I can take it or leave it but I’ve decided it must be a western thing.

Back home, I started volunteering for Stonewall Library and Archives (now Stonewall National Museum and Archives). It was there I met Robert Nathans. To this day I think our benefactor, John Graves, hired Rob to help me out with the library. Somehow I ended up as President and we moved the entire library and archives twice during my presidency. I was at my wits end.

John introduced Rob to me when the library was at the old GLCC building on Oakland Park Blvd. Rob and I sat down and I asked him how he would like to help. He said marketing was his strength but he would help in any way possible. We went to lunch and he told me his life story. He had AIDS and a lover had just passed away and he needed something to occupy his life other than grief. He was a godsend.

When things really got bad – we had just moved from the fourth floor of the building to the third floor (several thousand books) and were scheduled to move to a new building entirely – Rob suggested a vacation in Key West. We stayed at the Equator Resort – another favorite place of mine – and unwound.

Cognizant of his diagnosis, I made the first move on Robert at the guest house. He said stop. I did. I made the second move and he said stop. I did. I didn’t make a third move. I think he was surprised. It really wouldn’t have worked out anyway since we were both bottoms in our preference for sexual position.

Rob and developed a deep friendship, going on trips, eating dinner together, etc. I described us as an old married couple in that we did everything together except the sex.

After we moved the library into the new building, a patron asked me out. I agreed and we went to a pool party. He said he had a surprise for me. The surprise was he was the entertainment at the party – in drag. That didn’t bother me. What was a little bothersome was he didn’t feel comfortable enough to tell me. In any case, we saw each other a couple of other times but only one oral sexual encounter resulted.

My old undergraduate French teacher got in touch with me. He called out of the blue with a question about a wild orchid found near Oxford a friend asked about. He said he knew who would know the answer – me. One thing led to another. He ran a garden store in Oxford after retiring and had to go on buying sprees for plants to South Florida. I invited him to stay and he came back a couple of times.

Once I took him to Key West (again at Curry House) and for the first time in my life I topped someone. The second time he came down from Oxford I took him to a gay club in Fort Lauderdale and he was willing for sex with me but it just didn’t work out.

Michel and Nancy have tried to introduce me to people. Michel did introduce me to John, now a good friend but we lost touch early on and then re-established contact. He’s the second person to bring me flowers. No, there was no sexual interaction.

So, now you know something about my sex life. People ask me why I haven’t found someone to live with or have a relationship. The closest I’ve come is with Rob but it wasn’t a sexual relationship. I still have deep seated intimacy issues, I’m still shy, and I’m still insecure. I avoid conflict because I had enough of that with the screaming of my parents and grandparents. To be honest, I’ve never had any good role models for relationships in my immediate family.

For a long time, AIDS was a constant in the back of my mind. To be honest, I would probably be dead from AIDS very early on if I didn’t have my social problems. I admit to having a high libido even at the age of 72. My right hand is still my best friend in life. I am alone but not necessarily lonely with all my friends around me.

Would I prefer to have a relationship, or in this day and age, a marriage? Yes, I would. I also realize that at this late stage it’ll never happen. Do I have regrets? Yes. Would I do things differently? Probably not because it just isn’t in my capabilities.

One thing that has been interesting to me about sex. I once considered going into business with a bartender at Jacks (we thought about opening a pizza place). We were always gossiping about other people at the bar and we got around to talking about sex. His idea was that he didn’t like vanilla sex. He started out with vanilla sex but as he grew and aged, he liked new challenges and new things and was willing to try out more and more.

I’ve noticed the same trend in myself. I think after a while you get bored and want something new. It’s like looking a porn. At first, it’s exciting but then it all gets so formulaic that it no longer interests you. Don’t get me wrong, I still watch and like porn but it has to be a certain type. We all have our own peculiar fetishes and kinks. Things we like and things we don’t.

I guess if I have a type, it is the edgy look on a guy, like he’s street tough. Why, I have no idea. I also seem to have a smoke fetish. I don’t smoke, I don’t like smokers, but for some reason I like photos of men who smoke. It could go back to the days when I was a kid and pictures of the Marlboro man. I do like anal stimulation, particularly when it involves the prostate. Why, again, I don’t know. Mother was a big believer in enemas when I was a kid. If I had a complain, out came the enema bag. Maybe that’s where that comes from.

So, if you were keeping score, I’ve performed oral sex on a person five times, I received oral sex from a person six times, I been the bottom for anal sex twice and I have topped once. By this, I guess you could consider me versatile although there are so few data points you can’t draw any statistical conclusions.

What it does tell me is that I grew up with a skewed view of sex – from my upbringing and from the repressed sexual attitudes of the town in which I grew up. The topic was addressed once in high school with a film. My parents never talked about it until I forced my Mom. I was led to believe the only kind of sex that was legitimate was as a married heterosexual couple. I stupidly believed what religion taught. I was certainly surprised when I went to Ole Miss and found out people thought of sex like eating popcorn. A significant number of married couples I have known either cheated or got cheated on by their spouse. I acknowledge I have hang ups about sex but at least I acknowledge them and am not hypocritical about them and can be open and honest about them.

Stay tuned!

3 April 2021

I moved to San Antonio to live with my cousin Jo in the summer of 1984. She had a two story house on Ridgewood Court. Upstairs there were two bedrooms and a single bath. Downstairs there was a living room, kitchen, dining room, and 1/2 bath – and a floor furnace!

I had no job but I did have some money left over from my GI bill’s last payment and a little left over from my graduate stipend. For the first week or so Jo showed me all her favorite haunts in San Antonio but I knew I needed to find a job pretty quickly.

One of Jo’s neighbors was a woman named Laurie. She claimed to be an interior designer. I’m not sure she was actually licensed but I have to admit she was very good at interior design. In conversation one day, she admitted she needed someone to keep her and her business organized. She operated the business out of her second floor apartment which also housed her teenaged daughter. What is it about mothers and daughters? They fought constantly. I agreed to run her office and get her organized. I figured who better than I – Mr. Anal. Boy was I wrong.

The statement about organizing the Democratic party is like herding cats applied to Laurie to the nth degree. She was in the habit of dropping everything and going shopping five times a day because she forgot to pick the other four things up each time. Finally, it became my job to be the gofer to keep her from running off every few minutes. I even became the chauffeur for the teenage daughter to and from school. All this was compounded by her affair with a local Catholic priest.

Even though I was living cheaply at Jo’s, I needed money and got work as a helper to a contractor. It was off and on work but it paid. I probably wasn’t too good but I actually had experience at that since I had worked construction right out of high school.

I got to know San Antonio quite well. The one thing I learned quickly was not to get anywhere near any roadway from 8-10 am or 5-6 pm. San Antonio had a way of stopping traffic dead on every roadway at rush hour. I loved the museums, the Japanese gardens, and, in particular, all the cultural events available. I think Jo and I attended every art opening in the city.

Jo was still working at Incarnate Word University and I often made it home before she did. I would clean house, cook dinner, and do anything I could to make her life a little easier – except I seemed to play too sad of songs on my stereo.

It wasn’t long before I realized I didn’t want to be a gofer or construction helper. San Antonio’s job market was not great. I decided to move to Atlanta and try my hand there. I had a friend from Jackson, Carl, who had transferred to Atlanta and he agreed to let me sleep on his couch until I could find something. I was there looking for a job when I got a call from Dad. A place I had applied for a teaching position called me for an interview. It was Broward Community College in Fort Lauderdale.

I drove from Atlanta down to Fort Lauderdale for my interview. I wasn’t sure where to go for the interview. There was the administration center in downtown Fort Lauderdale, the North Campus, the Central Campus, and the South Campus. I finally figured out the position was at the South Campus and that was where the interview was to be held.

I walked in for the interview with the faculty. I don’t remember who the third faculty member was but the other two were members of the department: Darla Culmer and Steve Davis. They asked a few perfunctory questions and then said “thank you.” I was stunned. I had traveled all that distance for a fifteen minute interview. I didn’t get up and leave. Instead I said I had a few questions for them. I proceeded to ask them a series of questions and I think it threw them off guard.

I next met with the department chair, Mike Kovacs, and the provost of the campus, Ann McGee. Again, the perfunctory line of questions. I immediately started asking them questions and asked Mike if I could see the science facilities, especially the laboratory facilities. The position was for someone to begin teaching botany and zoology on that campus. Mike agreed to show me around and we talked more as we toured.

Later, I was to find out I was just a courtesy interview. They had already decided who they wanted for the job and they were just dotting their “i’s” and crossing their “t’s” for legal purposes. It depends on who you asked. If you ask Darla and Steve, they would say Mike didn’t want to hire me but they did. If you ask Mike, he would say the faculty didn’t want me but he and Ann did. In reality, I don’t think either “wanted” to hire me but I simply did a better interview than the other candidate.

By the way, the other candidate had a meteoric rise after she was turned down for the position I got. She went to North Campus and became department head, then Dean of Academic Affairs and finally Provost of Central Campus. I tease her sometime that I was responsible for her successful career as an administrator.

Mike, Steve and Darla all became good friends. Soon we added another faculty member, Daryl Miller and to this day we are all still good friends. However, it took me a little while to adapt to south Florida living. I’ve lived in a lot of places but this place was the hardest to make friends.

I kept waiting for someone on the department to ask me over for a get together. Not a word. They all lived their separate lives and once their day was over at BCC, they left everything behind. Finally, I got tired of waiting and threw a party at my place and invited everyone including the lab staff (we didn’t have to prep our own labs). Everyone had a ball and we started to do that on a regular basis. I like to think I had a little to do with that.

When I moved down to take the position, I found a place called the Lincoln Chateau in Hollywood on Lincoln Street (the streets are named for Presidents). I took a year lease. It was OK at first but turned into a nightmare. My next door neighbor went berserk one night and shot up his car and claimed he had been attacked. My a/c didn’t work for almost 6 months in spite of constant complaining to the management. If you parked in anything other than your designated parking space you were towed.

Mike Kovacs, the department chair, had a new girlfriend and he needed to move out of his little garage apartment off Funston Street in Hollywood (Hollywood/Pembroke Pines was the location of South Campus). I was introduced to his landlady and moved in. This was where the first faculty parties were thrown. I had a kitchen, living room, a tomb of a shower, and a bedroom the size of a closet. The parties were great. We even had the police called in on us one time.

The one thing about the city of Hollywood is every segment of society hates the other segment. The Italians hated the French who hated the Germans who hated the Russians who hated everybody.

My landlady was an 80+ year old Italian woman with her 80+ Italian boyfriend. She constantly brought me over all kinds of Italian dishes but I finally got to throwing them in the garbage when a soup she brought over one day had a distinct soapy taste.

After she decided to go up on the rent, I moved to a place near Cordoba Road in Fort Lauderdale. I loved this place. It was another garage conversion and the rent was reasonable – for a while. The guy was a bachelor for the first year but then he married a woman with two kids: Amanda and Blake – no fooling – shades of Gunsmoke. She decided my rent was too cheap even though I was finishing the interior and making repairs at no cost to them – I guess I did too good of a job – and she raised the rent.

Anyway, when she raised the rent – exobitantly – I moved into a friends condo in Fort Lauderdale and stayed there for about three years. A good friend, Judith Reiss, insisted I start looking to buy with my GI Bill and that’s when I moved to my current place. I’ve been here 27 years.

The college campus was relatively new. When South Campus was first established, it had been in a Presbyterian Church on Federal Highway in downtown Hollywood. While the new campus was built, they also operated out of a shopping center across the street from its current location. Finally, three new buildings were constructed and the science labs were in building 70, along with my office.

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Early in my tenure at South, Peggy Green from North and I attended a seminar to promote the Keys Marine Lab on Long Key. We both agreed it was a perfect place to bring students on field trips.

You had to get a species permit from the state. In all they years I took students down to the Keys, not once did a Game and Fish officer check my permit. Just a few steps away was a canal across the street that had a mangrove area. It was better diving than on the coral reefs.

There was better diversity in the mangroves and most of our specimens came from there. You did run the risk of nurse sharks but fortunately, they are very docile.

One year I was teaching a plant morphology course for Florida Atlantic University and took students to the Keys to collect marine algae. I needed a permit and applied to the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission. I got a phone call from the director – a good ole boy from the panhandle. We chatted a little about the permit request and it seemed there was no problem. Then he said “Pardon but could I ask a question?” I said sure. He said “What the hell is an algae?” I explained and he signed the permit and sent it to me in the mail.

The Keys Marine Lab was next door to one of the better restaurants in the Keys. It was called The Little Italy. I would eat all my meals there when students would use the kitchen at the lab. Sometimes, we would all meet up at Little Italy for the last night in the Keys.

Another place I took students on field trips was to Archbold Biological Station near Lake Placid, Florida.

The main attraction to Archbold were the native scrub jays. They mated for life and had extended families (kids and grandkids) within a territory. They had no fear of humans and you would often bend down to look at something on the ground and one would land on your shoulder. I would take raw peanuts (unsalted) with me and feed them for the students. Technically that was a no-no but everyone at the station did it.

I spent 29 years at the college. I also bought in 5 years of Mississippi retirement and 4 years of military so I, in effect, retired with over 34 years in the Florida retirement system (somehow they didn’t count all the years but accepted the money which was all I really needed – it boosted my retirement pay).

In that 29 years, I did establish the botany and zoology programs on South campus and then watched it disappear when the universities classified those courses as 300 level courses. I ended up teaching mostly majors biology for premedical, prepharmacy, predental and preveternary students.

There are several things I am proud of during my tenure at the college. I spent two years as Faculty Senate President and two years as UFF Chapter President. Those two years almost killed me and did cause me to have a nervous breakdown. I spent those two years visiting faculty and administrators on all four campuses on a weekly rotation. There was a time I knew every administrator and every faculty member at the college and most of the support personnel. This was with an enrollment of over 46,000 students so there were plenty of faculty and administrators and support personnel. The president of the college one time at a Faculty Senate meeting was answering a question about whether or not faculty would believe something I said and he said there was no question in his mind about my influence on the faculty. I later led a vote of no confidence in him.

A good friend and colleague, Steve Watnick, suggested to me it was time to bring before the board of trustees the idea of domestic partner benefits. I was reluctant because the board of trustees was appointed by a Republican governor. I had to take it to the Insurance Committee first and I pulled all the data together to show that offering domestic partner benefits did not cost the institution (or institutions) more money. The insurance agent for the college, Lloyd Rhodes, surprised me and supported my claim.

The real problem on the insurance committee was physical plant. They were mostly high school graduates and were probably very leery of domestic partnership because of the “gay” connotation. One guy was speaking against it when his buddy elbowed him in the meeting and told him to shut up, it meant his girlfriend could get on the college insurance policy. It passed unanimously in the Insurance Committee.

Amazingly, it passed the board of trustees and was enacted for the college. The Florida legislature tried to bully the college into nullifying the policy but to the college’s credit, they stood by the policy.

Another thing for which I’m proud is the Wall of Fame for the Science/Wellness Department on South. We had a lot of students go on with their education and become outstanding in their field. At the time, the college did not really trace former students. I spent a lot of time working up a list of former students who had done well in the post-BCC careers. I asked the other Science/Wellness faculty to do the same.

Once a year the Science/Wellness Department would welcome new science oriented students to campus and do faculty introductions, do icebreakers, etc. The book representatives would often provide us small gifts or donations through the bookstore for prizes. We would then introduce the Wall of Fame winner for the year. They would make a small speach and we’d take their photo and mount it in a frame and put their bio with it and put it on our “Wall” of Fame. It was quite impressive what some of our past students accomplished.

One got into Harvard in premed (he later changed to business), another got a PhD at Penn State in biochemistry (ahem!), another became a physicians assistant through the masters program at UF and became associated with a famous thoracic surgeon. Another got a free ride to the University of Miami medical school.

For years I had been trying to get the campus to put in a nature trail. Finally, Hank Martel, one of my department chairs over the years, got promoted to the dean of academic affairs on South and he found the funding for the signage.

During my last years at the college, I promoted the idea of Professor Emeritus. When a faculty member retired, the college didn’t keep up with them since the state paid their retirement. I learned quickly as union president that retired faculty were great to serve on college committees. It then hit me to have the college acknowledge their service through the emeritus concept. There was a great deal or resistance from the administration until the dean of academic affairs on North Campus supported it. Hettie Williams and I had a rough relationship when she was dean on my campus but she and I finally had a breakthrough. She supported the idea of Professor Emeritus and brought other administrators along with her.

As it passed the board, the idea was to issue an ID card, allow for access to the libraries of the college, reduced rates for functions at the college, ability to take one course per semester free of charge, a faculty parking decal for all campuses, and an office space reserved for emeriti.

Also before I left, I digitized the biology, botany, zoology, and anatomy and physiology slide collections and placed them on the web so students and faculty to access them any time and any place. The site has now been archived and they can still make use of those. I did the same with the herbarium I constructed.

I also made instructional videos on lab safety and the microscope. One problem we had was students missing the first lab where those were the main topics. Lab safety was critical and so was the microscope. The videos allowed the students to review the concepts and be ready for the second lab.

In addition to those videos, I put out additional videos on things like how to read a pipette, how to use a pH meter, how to dilute an acid, etc. I still get emails from some faculty thanking me for the videos and requests to use the slides and videos.

Finally, I was fortunate enough to be awarded the Endowed Teaching Chair twice. This was started by Will Holcombe during his presidency and continues to this day. Corporations, businesses, and individuals endowed the fund and a specific number are awarded each year. When it first started, the award was $7,500 to the faculty member and $5000 for equipment/program purchases. It’s since been reduced in amount but I was fortunate in the two years I was awarded it, I got the larger sum. It really helped out financially. I’m not sure it really meant I was a good teacher but I certainly worked hard for the college for 29 years.

Stay tuned!

2 April 2021

After meeting with the dean of academic affairs and reading the handwriting on the wall, I begin to look around for something new to do. The University of Mississippi Medical Center had a lab technican program. It looked interesting. For some reason, science labs and I always clicked. I decided I needed to check out the program.

For some reason, my phone call about the lab technician program got routed to the microbiology department to a Dr. William Clemm. After clearing up the misunderstanding he asked why I was interested in the program in the first place. I explained my love of everything laboratory. He asked “Why not come get a PhD in microbiolgoy from us?” I was stunned. I told him I didn’t think they would be interested in me. He suggested I fill out the paper work and submit my résumé. I did and I got a call from him later saying to come on down to Jackson. I was given a graduate stipend of $5000 a year and I still had money left on my G.I. Bill. It seemed a win-win situation.

It was reinforced that I needed to leave IJC when Dad got sick and was in the Veterans Administration hospital. I asked for leave from the IJC to go down and see about him. By the time I got there, he was back home. I found out the dean of academic affairs had called to make sure he was really ill. He thought I had lied to him about Dad’s illness. I packed up and headed to Brandon for a talk with my brother. He had a cabin on a piece of property out from Brandon and said I could stay there for graduate school at the medical center.

Previously, good friends from IJC had moved to Jackson and they took me around to the two local gay bars. One was called Emerald City and the other was Jacks and Jills. Emerald City had entertainment in the form of drag queens.

Jacks and Jills was one of the oldest gay establishments in the south. It was located on the west end of Capital Street and been in continuous business since World War I. The bar was divided into two parts – Jacks for guys and Jills for gals. In reality, everyone was welcome on either side. Between the two bars was a massive dance floor.

It was at Jacks and Jills one night with Steve and Bobby (friends I knew from IJC) when I ran into an old high school chum Mike. He and I were in the Boy Scouts together. Small world.

Slowly but surely I was introduced to the gay community of Jackson. I even had a gay doctor. Also, because I was at the Medical Center in Jackson, it was recommended I get the hepatitis B vaccine. It was the gay doctor who administered the shots. Sadly, he was later found murdered in his home in Jackson.

One of the fraternity initiations that local colleges would do would be to drop someone off at the front door of Jacks and have them come in to get a beer to go. The front door at Jacks was so seldom used it always drew attention of the crowd if anyone walked in that route. This college dude would come in, walk up to the bar and it would slowly sink in to him that there were no females anywhere around. One guy was brave enough to ask “Is this a gay bar?” The response was pretty raucous and he ran out pretty quickly.

I knew I would be hanging out there on my free time and I knew Archie got around enough in Jackson and knew enough people he would eventually get wind of me at gay bars. I asked him to meet me at the cabin he’d offered me and we sat outside in the swing and I told him I was gay. He took it pretty well and said no matter what, he loved me. Thus begin a PhD program at the University of Mississippi Medical Center in Jackson. The drive from a rural area near Brandon to the medical center didn’t take too long. I always parked in the Mississippi Memorial Stadium parking lot across from the medical center. The department was located on, I think, the third floor.

The microbiology department was undergoing a shift to new blood. Dr. Clemm was from the University of Florida and had become chair. He brought two youngish PhD’s with him. To get him, the university had to significantly expand the budget of the department and agree to increase graduate school enrollment. I think at the time, Clemm was getting paid more than the governor of Mississippi. I, along with 4 others were given a while to settle in but we had to pick an advisor pretty quickly. I’ll be honest and say I probably made a bad choice. The guy I chose spoke very softly (too softly) and seemed easy going but I was later to find out he was wound pretty tightly. His interest was fish immunoglobulins. By studying the immune system of fish he hoped to translate that to the immune system of humans. This was in the early 1980’s and there was still a lot of confusion about the human immune system and a lot of the particulars were just being worked out – things like the compliment cascade, killer T-cells, etc.

One of the things we would do would be to travel to the Mississippi Delta and collect live catfish and bleed them through the caudal artery for their blood. Once back at the lab, we would spin it down and try to culture the white blood cells. Once enough were grown, then we would do cell counts through a very expensive cell counter and try to determine the type of white blood cells found in fish.

We also raised catfish in the basement of the medical center. We had huge plastic fish tanks and I would have to periodically climb up on them and net catfish and bleed them and put them back in the tanks. I slipped and fell more than once but it never did knock any sense into me.

All graduate students also had to take a veterinary science course where we had to operate on a cat and a dog – common research animals. The Medical Center had been the center of a controversy on how they did or did not humanely treat their research animals and having all grad students take the course was their way of insuring safe and humane treatment. We had to remove the spleen of one dog. The team I was on had a guy that was a little loose and apparently nicked an artery. The dog almost didn’t make it. The instructor had to go back in operate again. He did make it.

We had to scrub and dress like surgeons with the whole nine yards of gowns, masks, and gloves. It was a great learning experience.

Since we were also taking classes with the med students, we had to participate in their POPS exercises – I forget the acronym but it had something to do with proper diagnoses and treatments. In one of the exercises we had to draw blood from each other. The instructor gave very brief instructions and turned us loose. The guy who did me did well but when I drew blood from him, he pulled away from the needle and I ended up giving him a hematoma. He turned very ashen and was very shaky for a while but recovered OK. By the way, what we wanted to blood sample for was to test for syphilis. Fortunately, I was clear.

Interestingly, in the department was one of Crag Knox’s old girlfriends. She was working on a PhD under the resident virologist. We always had to wear dosimeters in the department as standard gear because we were constantly dealing with radioactive isotopes. Of course, we always went way over the count. She had a way of dealing with the over count. She would simply lock it up in a drawer in her office for a week before it got read. Otherwise, she would have been forced to take a week away from her research.

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One day, I had to work with the radioactive isotopes and check my cultured catfish cells for any radioactivity. It was an automated machine much like a wheel. Someone had just used it and I was next in line. I got my readings and left for the day. My advisor comes in the next morning all hot and steaming and screaming at me that I had contaminated the machine. I really don’t think I did but since I was the last logged, I was the first blamed. He was really upset because he thought it reflected poorly on him. He shouted I needed to immediately go decontaminate the machine. I finally looked him in the eye and said very calmly, I’m going to go get a cup of coffee and when you calm down, come see me and let’s go over how you want me to decontaminate it. To this day, I don’t think it was me that contaminated the machine. There was a chemical that supposedly absorbed the radioactive isotope.

As mentioned before, as graduate students we had to take some classes with the medical students. One was biochemistry. I had a biochemistry course at Ole Miss which was a terrible experience. It was a weed course for premed students at Ole Miss and the test questions were all multiple choice. All five answers varied only in one word. In other words, you didn’t need to learn the material, you needed to memorize your notes word for word from the professor’s mouth. It was my worst college course up until I took biochemistry at the Medical Center.

The biochemistry course was team taught. It was divided into five or six sections and a different professor would lecture over their speciality. Fortunately, the grad students had available to us the note taking system of the medical students. For a fee, we were provided printed notes from the lectures. Of course, we all were required to do our time taking notes ourselves.

When it came time for me to take notes, I was given the recorder. I taped the lecture, took notes during the lecture and then played the tape back and corrected my notes and added things I missed. It took me a couple of days. The lecturer was a dietician who was new to the university and it was her first lecture to the medical students. I knew something was wrong when I got a note to go see the her.

She immediately told me that she didn’t say anything like what I had presented for photocopy. I was stunned. It was pretty much verbatim without any editorial comments. She insisted I correct the notes. I refused.

I was then called into the anatomy lab to meet with the note taking coordinator. He happened to be the anatomy lab assistant. He again demanded I correct the notes. I again refused. I asked to have the tape of the notes so I could compare it again to the notes I printed. He said (two days after the day I took the notes) that it had been erased. He explained that I would no longer be able to receive the notes and I was barred from any note taking copies.

My suspicion was she made some errors during her lecture and she realized it or someone pointed it out to her and instead of issuing a correction, she blamed the note taker. In any case, it saved me some money. All my grad student buddies allowed me to photocopy their notes.

I didn’t think anything would turn me off to biochemistry but the one course at Oxford and the team taught course in Jackson almost did. Once I got back into teaching, I rediscovered my love of biochemistry. I finally eked out a B in the course. Other courses I took were medical microbiology, introduction to animal medicine, microbial physiology and, of course, seminars. I only needed one more course to finish my academic coursework.

Very early, we were asked to present a seminar to the department. I had to choose a scientific paper with the approval of my advisor and present the research. I opted to go with his first recommendation. I had it down pat. I was also not adverse to public speaking since I had taught the last five years at IJC. I was just waiting for the knives to come out from department factions and was not disappointed. Fortunately, they were not aimed at me. One of the professors asked me a question and I honestly replied I didn’t know the answer because that was not addressed in the original article. Another professor suggested a solution and another challenged the first professor – and they were off. I only got about 1/2 of the way through my presentation before the place erupted in debate among the professors. Later, all the biggies in the department complimented me on my presentation. What presentation? I was interrupted midway and never got a chance to say anything else!

About midway in my first semester, Archie began to have business problems and marital problems. It got to be real difficult for him and as a consequence, it fed over onto me. I decided the best thing I could do would be to give him some space so he didn’t have to worry about me. I found a room on State Street near Millsaps and the Medical Center. I was close enough I could walk to the Medical Center – and pass Bailey Junior High School every day (just the memories I wanted to re-live. It was a great apartment and it even had a “roof” terrace. Actually, you had to climb through the kitchen window and the terrace was simply the flat roof of the room below me. However, I kept a couple of deck chairs out there and a table.

Some of the graduate students and faculty were very social. I would invite them over to my apartment and we’d play Trivial Pursuit all night long and drink beer. I probably should have signed up with the professor that always showed up at these events, in retrospect.

Speaking of gay bars…. I had the conversation with Crag Knox. It didn’t seem to bother him and he admitted he and his current girl friend used to got to Jacks and Jills to dance. He was surprised he had not seen me in there. It really did have the best dance floor and music. Archie and Tanis used to go and dance the night away and Archie loved playing pool at Jacks.

I spent two semesters at the Medical Center and finished all my coursework except for one course. The rest of my course load would be research hours. It was at that point that I decided I didn’t want a career in research. I learned a tremendous amount and actually utilized a lot of it in my next teaching position but I didn’t want to spend three more years for the PhD and another two or three years getting a postdoc and then a second postdoc. For some reason, a PhD means original thinking. I didn’t categorize myself as an original thinker.

I made it around to the various faculty and notified them of my decision to leave. I think it hit Clemm pretty hard. I was pleased when Clemm and a couple of the other professors told me I would be welcome back into the program anytime. I even had one professor offer to take me as a student to get me away from my advisor. That left me feeling pretty good.

I kept up with most of the graduate students in the program for several years and I’m still in contact with one who eventually finished her PhD in virology.

So what to do next. I stopped my PhD program and had no job. On a phone call to my cousin Jo in San Antonio, she blurted out “Come live with me!” I love San Antonio – having spent some time there while in the Coast Guard. I agreed. I loaded up my truck and headed west.

Stay tuned!

1 April 2021

Hilda Hill worked her magic once again. She knew the president of Itawamba Junior College and she figured it was the perfect place to park me while the nature center was being funded and built up near Iuka, Mississippi. It didn’t hurt that the president was a former high school science teacher.

Like most junior/community colleges in Mississippi, Itawamba Junior College started as a continuation of the agricultural high school in Fulton, Mississippi. In 1941, the high school started a two year extension with college classes at the and the college became a separate entity in 1948 – the year I was born. Most junior/community colleges provided basic two year college instruction because students couldn’t afford to travel to Oxford, Starkville, Hattiesburg. Remember the 40’s were part of the period of segregation in the South and no Black students need apply.

By the time I was hired on at IJC (later ICC) the agricultural high school was still located on the same campus as the college. I was asked to teach biology, botany, zoology, and physical science. IJC only hired you for the fall and spring semester. If you were lucky, you could pick up summer classwork and I was often asked to teach either chemistry lab or, on occasion, chemistry lecture. Eventually, I was also to teach anatomy and physiology at night for nursing students. I think my beginning salary for two semesters was somewhere around $7,000 (1979 dollars).

Eventually, I developed such a tough reputation I was put in the embarrassing position of having the department chair having to split classes so I would have students to teach. No one seemed to want to take my general biology classes because I was considered too hard. I usually made my botany and zoology classes pretty easily.

For a while, I was still living at the house in Fulton paying rent to the superintendent of education via proxy to the owner. The Dean of Student Affairs, who was in charge of dormitories on campus, asked if I would be interested in helping with dorms. They had just built a massive men’s dorm and the dorm manager was a sweet old lady named Jewel Blaylock. She needed some help corralling rambunctious freshmen and sophomores. I sold all my belongings at the house and moved into one of the rooms on the third floor of the dorm and helped her out. It was rent free for me and a great savings.

Later, a new women’s dorm was built and Jewel moved over to there and I took up residence as the manager of the men’s dorm. The residence had a kitchenette, living room/dining room with a full bath, a bedroom with another full bath. It was luxury after living in a small dorm room for about 6 months.

Jewel would occasionally ask for help in the women’s dorm and she more than compensated me by cooking me meals. After she retired from the college we still remained close friends and I would often go over to her retirement house and eat dinner with her.

The biggest problem in the dorms was getting noise levels down at night, getting the guys to clean their rooms, and to keep them from drinking and smoking dope on campus. Every so often you’d have to chase a girl out of one of the rooms but the other issues were more constant.

Again, my intimidating personality helped with the noise. I would walk the halls at night and very courteously knock on a door and ask them to turn a stereo down. I would hold weekly inspections of their rooms. Otherwise, the debris got so bad in some of the rooms that you couldn’t walk on the floor. Beer sales were across the county line and I really didn’t have too much trouble with that – they drank beer at home on the weekends. Marijuana was a bigger problem. For college students, they never seemed to realize that smoking dope had a distinctive smell.

One year, we had a welcome party in front of my dorm for new students. One student in the music department served as DJ and the Dean of Students provided refreshments. Apparently, some of my dorm students figured this was the perfect time to get stoned in one of the rooms. Their mistake was they chose a room on the first floor right by the front entrance of the dorm. To be safe, they smoked in the bathroom of their room and put a towel under the door to the bathroom and to their dorm room. What they didn’t take into account was the vent into the bathroom emptied out into the vestibule of the front door. The campus security required no investigation.

I became friends with campus security because they were often called for dorm issues. They once brought me a specimen and asked if it was marijuana. Cannabis has such distinctive hairs (trichomes) on its leaves that I was readily able to identify it for them. Another time, they asked me to open a room for them to search. They were looking for evidence of grass. I was just sitting there after they had finished searching the room and they hadn’t found anything. Security couldn’t understand it because they supposedly had an informant. I was sitting at a desk in the room waiting to lock up and noticed a band aid box sitting on the bookshelf of the desk. I thought – strange – why isn’t that in the medicine cabinet. I opened it up to take a look and it was filled with marijuana seeds. I knew them immediately because in graduate school, we used irradiated marijuana seeds to grow certain aquatic fungi.

The college was very conservative. The board of trustees was mostly Church of Christ members. Fulton was a very closed town. The physics teacher, Jim Long, had been teaching there for 20 years and he told me he still felt like an outsider. If you were born in Fulton, you were OK. Otherwise, you were a foreigner.

There was a faculty senate (and yes, I did my stint as president) with virtually no power but at least you could air issues. However, you were never allowed to attend board meetings.

The heart of the college was the faculty lounge – about 400 square feet with a coffee urn and seating. It was where everyone congregated in between classes and after class. That’s were you made friends, caught the local gossip, and found out what the college was doing administratively. The dean of students and the registrar often joined faculty. About the only administrators who did not attend were the dean of academic affairs and the president.

Speaking of the president, the president’s wife was the head librarian at the college. For some reason she took a shine to me and if I asked for it, I got it in the library. I ordered videos, slides, books, and magazines. I don’t think she ever told me no to any request.

The department at the time consisted of two other biologists besides me, Lucy Senter and Johnny Mattox, a physics teacher – Jim – and a chemistry teacher, Herb Parham. IJC had a reputation in the physical sciences. Students trying to get into med school would often take chemistry under Herb. He had a way of explaining chemistry that students could understand. Ole Miss often referred students to him for freshman chemistry. The engineering school at Ole Miss and Mississippi State often referred students to Jim Long for physics. To this day I’ve never met any better teacher in physics or chemistry than those two – and I’ve know a lot of chemistry and physics teachers over the years.

Not part of our department but someone who would also teach physical science was Reid Smith. He was actually in the math department. We would eventually become best friends. Reid and his wife Jane owned a shoe store across the street from the college. Jane ran it while Reid taught and then Reid would run it when he was finished with classes. They paid the way for college for three kids with that store.

To get the faculty a little closer, Reid and I hatched the idea to throw some parties. Reid and Jane would host and I would provide the guest list. We knew some people wouldn’t come if others did so it was like walking through a mine field to get the guest list correct.

One party we threw was a crawfish boil. Reid and I went out to the bottoms around the college and collected crawfish. We then purged them in salt water. You have to purge them (get them to puke and crap) to clear out the digestive tract otherwise they taste like mud. We didn’t have a whole lot of crawfish – enough for everyone to have 4 or 5 so we supplemented the menu with shrimp and plenty of booze. Another lifelong friend, Effie Kemp, provided the bourbon tea. To say the party was a hit is an understatement. It got to where we had to throw one every couple of months. Reid and I are still friends to this day (he’s 90 this year)!

All of the science people were great to work with. It was a pretty decent place to work as long as you didn’t upset the board or displease the president. Next to the faculty lounge was the faculty dining room which was also attached to the college cafeteria. The cafeteria and faculty dining room were run by Morrison’s. Not too long after I got there, they changed managers. The new manager was Les Miller. His wife and his son also worked the cafeteria.

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Les knew I lived on campus and for some reason he took to me. I always ate early so as not to be bothered by too many students. He got to where he comped my evening meal every so often. I think I probably paid for only 5 or 6 evening meals at the college in five years – Les always complimented me. It was some of the best institutional food I’ve ever eaten.

Les’ son was Steve. He was in his early 20’s and didn’t really hang around the college crowd. He was also a lot more mature than others. He found out my love of music – by then I had quite a collection of albums plus a killer stereo system. He started coming over and hanging with me at the dorm.

We got to be pretty close. One night, I get a knock on my outside bedroom door. It’s Steve with a strange look on his face. He looks at me and asks “Are you gay?” I said yes and he says “OK” and starts to walk away. I said “Wait, you don’t get to ask a question like that and then walk away.” He came inside and we sat and talked a long time. He was the very first person I had ever come out to. He could have easily have gotten me fired from an institution that in the hiring interview asked what church domination you were.

If anything, we became a lot closer. I knew Steve was straight and knew several of his girlfriends over the years. Once, when I was in Fort Lauderdale, I got a call from his then wife wanting to know if Steve was gay. She was getting a divorce and wanted some ammo. She knew I was gay and assumed from that. I said she would have to ask Steve. I then called him and let him know about his wife calling me. It was good to know that he eventually married well a second time. To this day, when he sees me when I go to Fulton, he gives me a great big bear hug.

Steve also became my hiking and camping buddy. The year I moved to Hollywood, Florida, Steve went with me to Europe. He’s a great traveling companion.

About the time I was ready to leave IJC for the graduate school at the medical center in Jackson, Steve knocks on my door and walks in with a tray of brownies. I think you know the kind. He ate two, I ate two. I felt absolutely nothing. Steve later told me when he left, he drove home and stopped at a stop sign and was so stoned on two brownies he was waiting for the stop sign to change colors. Those must have been some potent brownies.

Anyway, a few other friends wanted to give me a going away party. As I got ready to leave, I popped a single brownie in my mouth and headed to the party. I can’t tell you how many times people at the party told me how relaxed and calm I looked. Apparently, brownies mellow you out pretty well.

Jim Long (physics) was a big fisherman. He suggested I might like to join their fishing club. I did and went to my first tournament somewhere in Alabama. By pure dumb luck I caught the biggest fish and the most fish and won all the prize money. Jim thought I was a ringer and that worried him until the next tournament when I got skunked. I finally quit after a few more tournaments because these people were obsessed with fishing. Jim probably could have turned professional.

While at IJC, I convinced the faculty to go all in on a science competition for the regional high schools. We worked hard on making test questions for general competition and for lightning rounds for both biology, chemistry and physics. All the high schools participated and we had hundreds on campus. It kept going for a while after I left.

I was also able to write a grant and get a greenhouse attached to the biology/chemistry/physics building. The other thing I did that I’m proud of is that we took one of the classrooms and converted it to a lab. I was asked to write up an equipment list. I admit to dirty pool here. Instead of ordering one microscope for a pair of students, I ordered one for each of the students and ended up getting new microscopes for my botany/zoology lab. At least I helped get some new equipment.

Since I taught botany, I decided to teach the students how to make homemade beer as a lesson in fermentation. It was working pretty well. I would have students come in during the week and do readings for alcohol content with a hydrometer. Then I noticed it looked like the container was loosing a lot to evaporation which was strange because it had a lid on it.

I noticed one kid was absent several lectures and one lab and asked if anyone had seen him. The class broke out in laughter and said he had been sneaking the beer and hadn’t made it out of the bathroom yet. Beer than hasn’t been fully processed is an excellent laxative. Lesson learned for him.

One year I had them make alcohol with peaches to show you could ferment just about anything. I then had them distill it down into peach brandy. Whenever I made booze, I would always ask Johnny Mattox to try it out. I walked into his office one day with the peach brandy and handed it to him and said taste this. Before I could add “It’s brandy.” He downed it in one shot because he thought it was the usual beer recipe. It took his breath away. You could ignite that brandy it had so much alcohol in it.

We had to set up our own labs at IJC. I always taught at least three so I was always in the storeroom pulling out equipment and supplies. We did have one work study student but he mostly helped anatomy and physiology lab set ups. One afternoon I walked into the storeroom and the lights were off. I didn’t think anything of it because there was a single bulb in the center with a pull cord. I went to reach for the cord and stepped on the work study student’s back. He was having sex with his girlfriend on the floor. I shut the light off and said excuse me and allowed them to put themselves together and leave. I never said a word to any of the faculty.

One of my years teaching at IJC I took students down to the Gulf Coast Marine Laboratory in Biloxi. It was great. We stayed in the dorm, had a boat take us out and trawl to collect specimens. Once at sea, the captain pulled up to an oyster reef and plucked some oysters for us to eat right from the sea. My students wouldn’t touch raw oysters but I was in oyster heaven.

We also trawled and pulled up shrimp and squid. I had a collection permit from the state. It was not shrimp season but since I had the permit, my class had the only legal fresh shrimp on the Gulf Coast. What was amazing was the squid. When they net was pulled on deck, they couldn’t decide what color they were supposed to be so they just flashed every color they were capable of trying to match something.

Later that night we had a shrimp and squid boil. It was amazing. I later told the students that they were 18 (drinking age was 18 then) and they could go out and see the sights of Biloxi but they had to be back in the morning by 8 am to leave to go home. I told them they were on their honor for best behavior and not to embarrass the school. Everyone complied except one kid. He came in around 2 am drunk and kicked a transom out of one of the dorm doors. Later, I had him write the station and apologize and offer to pay for damages. To their credit, they didn’t make him. Could you imagine doing that today?

The dean of academic affairs was very religious – remember, one of my interview questions was with what church I was affiliated. Yes, it was illegal to ask that even back then. He also had a PhD from Nova Southeastern. At the time, Nova degrees were generally not recognized as legitimate by some states and colleges. Today, it’s considered an innovative institution.

Anyway, one of the dean’s pet projects was the new performing arts center. It caught fire. I was out watching the fire department try to put out the fire when the dean started to walk into the building. I blurted out “Are you crazy!” The next day I was called into the office and officially reprimanded with it entered into my record. I was simply concerned for his safety.

By that time I had spent five years there and would have probably spent the rest of my life there but I realized the dean simply had it in for me. I applied and was accepted to the microbiology PhD program at the University of Mississippi and left soon after that. My good friend Carl Comer, the registrar, called me into his office and said if the dean had threatened me, not to worry about it. I lied and told Carl no, I just wanted to pursue other things. Not long after, I headed to Jackson to have a long talk with my brother.

Stay tuned!

31 March 2021

The only time I ever heard of Itawamba County was when Mr. Johnson made us learn the 82 counties in Mississippi and their location in his Mississippi History class (I can still recite most of them). It’s a small county in the northeastern part of the state and abuts Alabama to the east and Tishomingo County, Mississippi to the north. The 2010 census listed 23,401 residents. By far and away the largest town in the county is Fulton with a 2010 population 3, 961. The biggest claim to fame prior to the Tennessee-Tombigbee waterway was Itawamba Junior College (now Itawamba Community College).

Hilda hill set me up with a job at Mantachie High School in Mantachie, Mississippi, a vast metropolis of 1,144 people. I met the county superintendent at the county courthouse in Fulton (it has a very nice town square) and he told me the name of the principal and what subjects I would be teaching.

I drove out to the school to see my classroom/laboratory and meet the principal and get my textbooks. I was going to be teaching biology, biology lab, chemistry and chemistry lab and would be asked to add physics and physics lab in the future. I then looked for a place to live in Fulton.

The county superintendent had just the place. A relative – soon to be a common refrain – had a place to rent. All I had to do was put down a deposit – 1st month and last month and cleaning fee. I had to do the cleaning. It was a house with two bedrooms, a floor furnace, kitchen, living room and a single bath. It also had an extensive back yard. Later, when I explained the state of the place before I moved in, the superintendent took off the cleaning fee from the next month’s rent.

I got Rascal and Sam back from Dad and began a delicious grind of getting up, eating breakfast, driving to Mantachie, a fourteen mile drive one way. I taught four classes/labs, one study hall and had the last period free. I spent the rest of the afternoon surveying the equipment and materials. I usually left at 6:30 pm, got home, jogged, cooked dinner, graded papers until midnight, and started all over again. I was so very happy!

The reason I liked teaching at Mantachie was because it was so easy to engage the students. They hadn’t had a proper science teacher in quite a few years. I think they had four microscopes. The students told me they were broken and hadn’t been used in years. They were actually very good quality scopes. The only problem was they had not been cleaned in about 25 years and they had no external light source. Instead they had the classic mirror attached to the bottom of the scope to get sunlight. After I spent time cleaning them, students fought to get to look through the microscopes and loved what I showed them.

Sorting out the chemicals for chemistry was another matter. Very few containers were labeled. One gallon jar with no label had a rectangular piece of material covered in white powder-like substance. I was at a loss until I took the piece out and scraped the white away. It was pure sodium metal. I can’t imagine having that large of a piece of sodium metal.

I was assigned a student helper to get the labs set up and I hadn’t had time to put the sodium back on the storeroom shelf after I properly labeled it. I walked in just in time to see the student worker about to dump the sodium metal into the sink and turn the water on. I’m afraid I scared the poor kid to death with my “STOP! Don’t do that.”

Another container I found that was labeled was a jar of picric acid. If picric acid sits for any length of time it becomes very unstable and the simple act of picking it up off a shelf can cause it to explode. I had to look up how to dispose of the acid. I was glad to get that out of the lab.

I asked the chem students from last years bio class what dissections they did. One student said they didn’t do any dissections. Another student looked at her and said “Yes we did.” “We did the earthworm, the clam, the starfish, a fish, a shark and a cat.” I was impressed. The other student said she didn’t remember any of those. Without missing a beat, the other student said “Oh, that must have been the day you missed.”

When I questioned where they got the cat for dissection, the student said one of the boys in the class brought in a stray cat. I asked how they euthanized the cat. She said “Oh, the teacher just poured acid on it.”

I had some really good students. One young girl was exceptional. She aced every test and if you ask anyone about my tests, you will know they are not easy to pass, much less ace. I asked her what she wanted to be. She replied “a nurse.” I suggested she consider going to medical school. Later, the principal got a call from her parents wanting to know why I was trying to talk their daughter out of nursing. I told the principal honestly that she had the ability to do medical school and wanted her to aim her sights a little higher.

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In biology, there were a group of boys that sat in the back. They were a clique and they all flunked everything I tested them on. One boy was an exception. I knew he was bright simply from his questions in class and conversations with him. He would flunk one test and barely pass another. After a while, I caught on. He wanted to be popular with the rest of the clique so he was able to calculate from one test to the next what he needed to get a “D” average for the year. He would pass but his friends would fail and he did poorly enough to still be popular with his friends.

One of the things I had a tough time with was Mantachie allowed students to smoke on campus. They had a designated smoking area and I was, at times, called on to police the area. It was so incongruous to see middle school and high school students puffing away. I was talking about it with one of my bio students and she said – “Oh, when my daughter is hyper I give her a cigarette in the morning to calm down.” The daughter was five.

Mantachie believed in corporal punishment. One of the first things the principal issued me was a paddle. I didn’t really want to enforce paddling but eventually my hand was called. There was this one kid on the basketball team. Athlete that he was, he was a regular at smoke breaks. Anyway, he did everything he could to needle me. I finally had to paddle him. It was my first. I took him out into the hallway and had him bend over and grab his ankles (I had watched others do it so I knew this was the routine). I gave him five licks. It brought tears to his eyes. I really hated having to paddle anyone but once I did it and the kids knew I would do it, they behaved differently and better. I only had to paddle one other kid after that.

The kid who teared up improved. I decided to find out his story. I went to the office and pulled his record. There was very little entered into his permanent record but somewhere in middle school some teacher (female by the handwriting) had entered the statement “uncircumcised male.” I thought why would the school want to know that? I checked a few other permanent records and none had any similar entry. Wonder what was up with that teacher?

One day I was on my break (5th period) in the teachers’ lounge. The study hall teacher came in and asked if I could help her quiet down the study hall. I grabbed my paddle and walked back with her. I walked to the librarians desk amid the din of talking and laughing and slapped the paddle down on the desk as hard as I could and said something to the effect that the next person who uttered a word would meet me in the hallway. I must really be intimidating (students my entire teaching career have told me this) because I never had to go back after that day to quiet her study hall down.

I later gave the library my entire book collection. By that time, I had moved so many times, I was tired of having to move so many books. I probably had several hundred books. I must have doubled the holdings of Mantachie High School library.

The women’s basketball coach was a great guy and we became good friends. I would often be required to take up tickets at basketball and football games as part of my duties. For basketball games, after the game started, I would go up into the stands and watch the games. All the faculty were astounded I stayed around to watch the games. The women’s coach really appreciated me staying and cheering on his team. He asked me how much I knew about defenses. I didn’t. He taught me the basics of high school basketball defenses. Later, when I moved to Itawmaba Junior College, he would still check in on me every so often.

One night we were taking tickets at the football game. I think in the middle of the first quarter the lights in town went out. I was joking around with the women’s coach and the principal overheard. He was dead serious and said “Don’t even joke about this.” Fortunately for everyone, the lights came back on about 30 minutes later.

As Halloween approached, I asked what my students were doing. There didn’t seem to be any school event for them. I was immediately informed the mains source of entertainment was toilet papering each others’ yards.

One set of parents asked to see me after class. They were concerned about their son’s grades. I explained to them their son was very capable but he didn’t apply himself. They explained that he was interested in band and they wanted him to put his emphasis on that. I was dumbfounded. I still, to this day, don’t know what kind of career band is for a student. He had no intention on going any further. What the students didn’t know – and I didn’t at the time – was that I would see a lot of them at IJC later.

I didn’t know it but the principal at Mantachie had been getting a lot of phone calls about me. I found this out through the women’s basketball coach. I asked the principal about the calls and he said not to worry about it. The parents were concerned I was being too hard on students. The principal simply told them I was teaching them what they should have been being taught for years. The principal, about mid semester, finally called me in and told me I had to tone down my purchases for the classes. I managed to zoom through his budget for me by mid semester. He did let me order a couple of new microscopes. He really supported what I did. What I didn’t know was he and the county superintendent were at odds.

One night, I got a phone call from a “parent” who was complaining his daughter had been benched from the women’s basketball team because of her grade. When he told me the name of the student, I said I don’t know about that. I consulted my grade book and she had indeed failed the most recent grading period. He called me a liar and started screaming into the phone that he had her report card right in front of him. I thought it was my friend who coached the women’s team just trying to wind me up. He was known to do that. As it turned out, it really was the parent and he was really, really angry. The report cards were due back the next class and I looked. She had changed the grade from an “F” to a “B” because she didn’t want the father to know. I later received an apology from the Dad.

I got a call from the county superintendent at home one night. He wanted to know if I would mentor an education major who needed to practice teach. I thought it a little strange. I told the superintendent I didn’t think it would be a good idea since I was teaching on a temporary certificate at the time and I wasn’t sure the state would support such a move. He reassured me it was OK.

On the first day the practice teacher showed up, I found out he was originally from Mantachie. It then dawned on me I was training my replacement. When I called the county superintendent on it, he replied, “Fred, I think Tremont High School will be a better fit for you.” Back to Hilda Hill. She got me an interview at Itawamba Junior College.

30 March 2021

Park Manager. Golden Memorial State Park. Another trailer to live in. At least there was a storm shelter in back of the trailer. Walnut Grove, the closest town, is in Mississippi’s tornado alley. I can recall at least three times the town has been hit.

I couldn’t keep the cats in the park so Dad took them at his trailer in Pulaski. They pretty much loved the place. Unfortunately, not too long after, Sam disappeared. Dad supposed it was squirrel hunters who shot him. They don’t like cats because they can take out squirrels – Rascal actually brought one to Dad. Sam was always a roamer anyway and his curiosity probably got him shot.

One rainy Sunday Dad called me up and said Rascal was in a tree and could get down. I told him it was a cat. It could go up and down if it wanted to. He couldn’t stand it. He parked his truck next to the tree and climbed atop the cab to coax the cat down.

Golden Memorial is a very small state park. It does have a 15 acre lake on the property and I put in a nature trail while there. There are two pavilions and at the time, you could camp there with trailer pads available. We never had a lot of traffic. Today, it’s a day use park only.

There was a concession stand that provided all kinds of snacks (uncooked) for visitors and it was run by a particular governor’s mother. When I first got there, I didn’t pay it much mind but I later found out she was working about 4 hours a day and getting paid for 8. I had a quiet conversation with her and told her that in good conscience, I couldn’t do that. She left soon after.

Years later I was working at Itawamba Junior College in Fulton, Mississippi and the department head came rushing into my lab and said in a panicked voice “The FBI is here and want to interview you!” I laughed and headed over because I figured what it was about. They asked me if the governor had ever coerced me to do something that was illegal. I explained that no, he hadn’t and I had even chased off his mother who once worked for me. It really shook up my department head. He thought he had hired a crime figure.

I had an assistant park manager and two grizzled guys for maintenance. We also had a YCC program with 3 kids. I wasn’t impressed with any of them except for one Black female teen. She was very sharp. I put everyone to work on building the nature trail and then worked with the Black teen on hosting nature walks during the day. She jumped in with both feet and learned everything I tried to tell her about the flora and fauna of the place. I actually put her in charge of the YCC group. That caused the two white guys to quit. They wouldn’t work for any n****r girl. I was OK with them leaving. Their positions were filled relatively quickly and before I allowed them to work I made sure they had no problem with working with her.

We had a lot of mature pine trees in the park. Several were dead and a danger to people in the park and several were infected with the southern pine beetle. You could walk by a tree and hear them gnawing. I called a person I knew in the state office (my immediate supervisor) and asked permission to remove the diseased and dead pines. I got a verbal OK. Yea, I know, I was young and stupid.

I had arranged for a local business to haul the trees away, saw it into timber and pay the company by simply sharing the timber. We used our portion of the shared timber to make bridges along the lake for the nature trail.

I soon got a call from the head of the Mississippi Park Commission. He wanted to know why I was clear cutting the timber in the park. The call was on speaker phone in his office and I asked if my immediate supervisor was in the room. He spoke up and said yes he was. I then asked if he remembered me getting verbal authority to clear diseased and dead pines. I was ready for him to deny it but to my surprise, he admitted he had given me permission. The call quickly ended after that.

My park assistant had a wife and young son and both parents were young themselves. They were from out west somewhere and were into health food. In particular, I remember them never eating processed cheese. I don’t think you could buy non-processed cheese in Mississippi at the time. I was later heard that after I left the park system, the assistant was caught selling drugs on park property.

My lifeguard was Larry Thrash from Sebastopol, Mississippi. My grandmother Ruby used to go there all the time to buy antiques. I think that’s where I got my fascination with old things. The antique shops were like museums to me. There’s not much there in Sebastopol other than a few antique stores and a post office.

Anyway, Larry only worked the summer. In the fall he started at Millsaps. It turned out to be a lifelong friendship and we are still in touch today. He ended up as a postal carrier and retired a few years ago in San Antonio. Every time I visit my cousin Jo out there, I try to make time to visit with Larry.

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Anyway, to be honest, there wasn’t a whole lot to do at the park other than swim, fish, and hike. I kept trying to find some way to bring people into the park and Forest radio had an answer. It was the only radio station you could get consistently and they had a segment where they aired all the events going on.

I approached my best friend Crag Knox and asked if he would be willing to have his band show up and play for 4th of July. I couldn’t promise them very much money – just petty cash but I also promised them all the beer they could drink after the event. They agreed. Crag’s band was a blue grass band. He and I built a small covered stage next to the concession stand, did the wiring for overhead lights and amps and microphones. I advertised a 4th of July party at the park with Forest radio and put up flyers in Walnut Grove.

People came out of the woodwork! It was the busiest day of the park. People had to park on the side of the road to the entrance of the park. G.V. (Sonny) Montgomery was campaigning for U.S. House re-election. He showed up at the park and walked straight towards me and said “I came to Walnut Grove to campaign and no one was in town.” Everything was closed. He said he now knew why. He asked my permission to go through the crowd and pass out cards. I figured it was OK and let him. There’s nothing more patriotic than campaigning on the fourth. He was also running un-apposed. He later wrote me a glowing letter and copied the park commission. I thought to myself – this can’t be good. They don’t like someone being complimented. I was soon to be proven prescient.

Crag and his band played for hours. There were others who volunteered, including my two grizzled workers. All in all, it was a great success to get people to the park.

One day I was walking below the dam of the lake and noticed water coming out of crawdad holes in the dam. That got me worried. At least the water was clear and not muddy. I put in a call to the park commission and asked for help. It took a while but they sent out an engineer. He hinted, obtusely, that it might be best to shut down the swimming area – our biggest draw to the park. It turned out to not be such a problem because it was after labor day. Later, the engineer approved reopening the lake. I did spend some time blowing up crawdad holes with acetylene.

I also had the problem of stray hunting dogs in the park. They got to be a nuisance. If they had tags, I would call the owner. One of the YCC people overheard me saying I was gonna shoot the next wild dog. He didn’t realize I was kidding. I would shoot a pistol with rat shot into the air to scare the dogs away but I would never kill one or shoot one.

Later this guy drives up in a pickup and starts swearing at me for trying to kill his dogs and said he was more than willing to shoot me. I calmed him down and explained that if they had tags, I called the owner and if they didn’t, I would shoot in the air to get them to leave the park. He apologized after he calmed down and left. A YCC kid told me later told me it was his uncle and he had embellished the story to get his uncle riled. He didn’t realize the uncle would jump in his truck and come after me and threaten to shoot me.

I was out around the park one day when my assistant came looking for me. Two people from the state came up. One immediately jumped on me and started in on how he knew I was ignorant of child labor laws and I had to shut down several operations in the park. It was just the way he said it and I went red in the face. I told him quickly he might be surprised how much I did know about child labor laws and I would be happy to show him to the exit of the park. (I didn’t say it quite that nicely.) His buddy with him had to get between him and me and calm me down and pull his buddy away. The other guy apologized and provided me with a piece of paper that was much more innocuous that the firebrand buddy led me to believe. Here’s a hint. Don’t start a conversation with how ignorant the person you are talking to is.

Soon after I had my tête à tête with the governor’s mother, I got a phone call from payroll asking me to provide a secondary payroll. When I asked what that was, I was told to take a payroll sheet, put all the peoples’ names on it, put no hours down and sign it and turn it in. I told her I was uncomfortable with that. We hemmed and hawed a while and finally she grew frustrated and said it was OK if I wrote across the payroll sheet “Not for payroll purposes.” I was asked to do this once a month.

I was friends with the park manager at Roosevelt State Park near Morton. I called him up and asked him what this was about. He had no idea and had never had to submit a subsidiary payroll. He asked me to provide him copies to look over and I did. After a while, payroll quit calling me asking me to submit subsidiary payrolls. I never figured what that was about.

Soon, I was called in for a review at the Park Commission. I met with my contact and the park commissioner. I was stunned when they asked me to take over as manager of Roosevelt State Park – a much larger and busier park than Golden Memorial. I said no. I didn’t want to be a local boy managing a park where everyone thought they could get me to do whatever they wanted. The director was perturbed. He said I “was not my own man.” Again, I turned red with anger and said he might be surprised how I was indeed my own man and had been for most of my life. He backed down after he saw how angry I was. However, I knew my time with the park commission was fast drawing to a close.

Hilda Hill contacted me and said she had a job for me teaching biology at Mantachie High School in Mantachine, Mississippi. I leaped at the chance to get out of the job.

Before I left, I was in a conference with other park managers down on the Mississippi Gulf Coast and happened to catch a ride with the park manager at J.P. Coleman State Park and Roosevelt. I casually dropped into the conversation that I had been offered a new park. They didn’t bite. So I finally asked them if they were curious as to what park I was offered. They finally said yes and I told them Roosevelt. As you might guess, it was a total surprise to the manager of Roosevelt. It was my way of warning him before I left the park service.

On to Mantachie!

Stay tuned!

29 March 2021

Great! I’ve got a masters degree in biology so what do I do with it? The first thing I did was put in applications everywhere I could for a job as botanist. I had briefly toyed with the idea of going for a PhD and Dr. Pullen had gone so far as to ensure my admission at the University of Georgia – his alma mater – but it came with no financial support. I would have been on my own. I turned it down. I would have been working with Sam Jones – one of Dr. Pullen’s former students.

The most common place for a botanist to seek employment outside of academia was with the government. If you have never filled out a government employment form – good for you. They are challenging to say the least. In the meantime, I got a temporary gig as a director of the Youth Conservation Corps at Tishomingo State Park. It was patterned on the Civilian Conservation Corps but provided summer jobs for teenagers. They would come work on some project in the park and then go home at night.

I was assigned my group and we took on the project of renovation of the museum in the upstairs part of the visitors center and a complete renovation of the basement to make additional space for a museum.

Even though some of the teens in my group were also in shop at their local high school, I quickly learned they did not know how to read a tape measure. We needed to cut a great deal of lumber to “panel” the basement and I had to teach juniors and seniors what 3/4 of an inch was on a tape measure.

George Gilpin, the park manager, was very supportive and gave me some good advice. He said to spread the wealth around the town of Tishomingo. I asked what did he mean? He said not to buy all my supplies from one hardware in town. Duh! There were two hardwares and it made sense to purchase from both to keep both happy. We spent a lot of government money in the very small town of Tishomingo that year.

I was housed in the old park manager home. The front room was a storage facility but the park cleared out the back bedroom and bathroom for me. It was idyllic. My entrance looked out over the public area of the park including the swimming pool. I had pileated woodpeckers to wake me every morning.

One night, I heard something down by the pool. I called George and he came tearing down from his residence at the other end of the park. It was some teen agers who had climbed the fence into the pool facility around midnight and were skinny dippin’. George put the fear of God into them by threatening arrest. I ended up being his eyes and ears on that end of the park for any trouble.

George had a great crew with him and one night, they came knocking on my door and asked if I wanted to go to see the Coon Dog Cemetery in Alabama. I declined but they kept enticing me with beer and whiskey and eventually three of us loaded up in a pickup and set out. It’s amazing we got there in one piece much less made it back in one piece as drunk as we were. I guess they could hold their liquor better than I.

The cemetery was massive. It started in 1937 and there were quite a few dogs buried there and almost all had some massive monument to mark their graves. Apparently, coon hunters love their dogs.

I admit to being drunk on occasion. However, I’ve never been as drunk as I was the night I got back from the cemetery. I had to sleep with one foot on the floor to keep the world from spinning off its axis.

They were simple, good ole boys and they did everything they could to help me in any way they could. It was one of them that pointed out my new truck tires were out of round. They didn’t want me to get into an accident. You can’t buy friends like that.

The YCC group worked very hard. We were nearing completion of the museum and I asked them, as an exercise, to identify the stuffed birds and write a little description of each. I had a meeting to attend at another state park concerning YCC and so left them to it. While I was gone, an ornithology professor from Mississippi State, who was a roving YCC director came in and ripped into their identifications and statements – before I had a chance to check their identifications and correct their statements. I came back and they were in tears. I called up the state YCC director and reamed out the professor to him. It was uncalled for and mean.

Later, I met a grad student of his – who later married the Mississippi State professor – and I eventually taught a short time with her while at Itawamba Junior College. I mentioned it to her and she was apologetic and agreed he could be an ass sometimes.

The YCC work was coming to a close and I got a job acceptance at the Bureau of Land Management at Miles City, Montana. I loaded up everything I owned in a U-Haul, my two cats – Rascal (Siamese) and her “kitten” Sam and drove to Montana. Sam caterwauled the entire trip and Rascal nursed in my lap the whole time. By the time I got to Montana I didn’t have a dry tee shirt from her “nursing” from me.

I made it to Miles City and found a trailer in town in which to live.

I was given a desk at the Bureau and my assignment was to do a plant survey of 858 square miles of eastern Montana – the Wibaux-Beech area. However, there was very little I could do because I hired on in October. It snowed on Thanksgiving day and the original snow was on the ground when I left the job in April.

Miles City was a cowboy town. It had one hotel (with a Chinese restaurant) and a main street. That was pretty much it. The last whorehouse closed the year before I got there and ranch hands would still come into town on Saturday night and shoot up the place. It was also a dangerous place to drive. People from the ranches would come into town on weekends. They were used to driving over thousands of acres and not having to check on traffic around them when they went in reverse. It was not uncommon for someone to back out of their parking space in town without looking.

Too keep me busy, the Bureau gave me a brand new 4 wheel drive truck, per diem and sent me on a information finding trip of all the universities in Montana, Wyoming, North and South Dakota. I visited each biology/botany department and asked if any of the botanists would be interested in anything I found and any extra herbarium specimens. Everyone was enthusiastic except an older professor at Montana State University. He wanted nothing to do with me – even though I was doing all the work and was willing to provide him herbarium specimens free of charge. Later, the department head called me up and apologized and said the professor, after consultation, had changed his mind.

I traveled so much that one morning I woke up and called the front desk to ask what town I was in. I didn’t even remember what state I was in.

I also found another government agency in town – the U.S. Forestry Service – had an herbarium they no longer wanted and asked if the Bureau would like it. I jumped at the chance. It was delivered and I had it put in the loft of the vehicle service/storage area which became my secondary office space. I think it was three full herbarium cabinets. Later, I mentioned it to the local college. It had originated with them and a change in personnel in the botany department requested it back. I reluctantly complied but it really helped me get a feel for the vegetation in the area.

Since I couldn’t collect plants in the winter, I went ahead and made plans for the spring to lay out my tracts and plots. I was then asked to help a wildlife biologist with his studies in the same area. For the winter I survey deer mice, mule deer, and sage grouse.

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For the deer mice, we baited traps with peanut butter. When we opened the trap, we would take measurements, clip one toe off (and record which one) and then release. The toe was in case we re-trapped the same mouse.

We would also take count of sage grouse. To do that you had to be up before sunrise and be ready next to their dancing grounds. Sage grouse come back to the same place year after year for mating rituals. We would creep up on their dancing ground and wait until the party started. Only males danced in the center with females along the periphery to select their mate. Because they return year after year, the ground gets beaten down pretty well. Think of what hundreds of years of pounding of little tiny feet will do.

There’s the story, perhaps apocryphal, of newbies moving out west and finding a nice flat place to build their dream home only to be driven crazy in the spring by sage grouse dancing on the roof of their house. They had built their house on a sage grouse dancing area.

With winter arriving, I knew I wouldn’t survive in the trailer. I found a home on the outskirts of town for rent. It was the old home of the owner of the furniture company next door.

The house was a nice change from the cramped trailer. It even had a floor furnace. I did, in December, have to climb up on the roof and chip icicles off the roof because it was getting up under the eave, thawing and causing leaks in the ceiling. I also had to shovel snow off the roof on occasion.

I would be gone a week at a time and have to leave Sam and Rascal alone. I left plenty of food and water and new litter. When I returned, I would always have to clean up shredded toilet paper from the bathroom. I guess it was their way of paying me back.

Sam wasn’t a needy cat. Rascal was very affectionate – not Sam. However, every time I came back home from a week in the field, Sam was the first one to climb into my lap and seek pats and rubs. Rascal would pout and snub me for a couple of days.

They also saw the first snow in their lives and it was hilarious to watch them walk in it for the first time.

I met some very interesting people in my quest for permission to get on peoples’ land for my survey. There’s the old joke about the three greatest lies: The check is in the mail. I’ll love you forever. I’m the government and I’m here to help you. Government workers were not always welcome. However, when they heard my southern accent, they all seemed to warm to me. I had ranchers offer me the key to their house with directions as to where the coffee pot was located.

We are not talking about small ranches. Most of the ranches were 25, 50, or 100 sections of land. A section is 640 acres and it was not uncommon to ask permission to go on a piece of property that was 25,000 acres.

The strangest person I met was a lone female (who had about 15,000 acres). I actually called her “sir” when I first met her because I didn’t realize she was female. She brought me into her house through the living room. I noticed I was steeping in about 1 inch of liquid all through the living room. She looked back and told me not to pay attention – it was dog urine. She raised chihuahuas and told me she couldn’t let them out during the winter so they used that room to poop and pee.

You might think this a tad eccentric. She was a rich old woman. She raised and sold Arabians. She had just sold one for $25k. She seemed to like me and I got permission to go on her land.

It was in the new house that I got the sickest I’ve ever been in my life. There was a Dairy Queen close to the house and I got in the habit of stopping there for dinner. They had a pretty good hamburger. I must have gotten a bad one because I came down with food poisoning. I was so sick I could not turn over in bed without vomiting. I had a phone to call for help – I just couldn’t get to it. I was so weak I had to put a trash can by the bed to pee. It stayed with me for about three days.

Later, when lecturing in college, I talked about sea sickness in relation to Charles Darwin. Darwin was chronically seasick during the entire voyage of the HMS Beagle. Anyway, my lecture would talk about Darwin’s seasickness and how he would use that as an excuse to leave the ship to go collecting. I told students that food poisoning could kill you and seasickness would make you wish you were dead.

Two days after I was back on my feet, an old graduate school buddy, Sara Hurdle, came to visit. I had promised I would take her to Yellowstone.

After we got on the road, I felt better. Sara was an older graduate student at Ole Miss. Her ex was a fancy lawyer in Holly Springs. She caught him cheating and her three sons made sure her ex saw that she was well off. She actually went to school with Andy Griffith at Chapel Hill. She was in public health and he was trying to break into acting. She tells of his lamenting he couldn’t lose his southern accent. She would throw pool parties in Holly Springs for biology graduate students with her indoor pool.

Sara, as a graduation present, bought me a very expensive Canon camera. I think the reason was no one wanted to go on field trips with the “old” lady. I was always up for a field trip and I always took her along. She collected insects and I collected plants. We made a good team.

Anyway, we had a ball in Yellowstone. She insisted on paying for everything – a great room in an historic hotel in Jackson Hole, a bombardier trip into the park, snow shoe lessons, ski lessons, and a trip to the National Elk Herd.

I was to go back to Yellowstone some 50 years later and they still used the same old bombardiers that Sara and I took into the park.

I have to tell you she and I both tried downhill skiing at Jackson Hole at -20°F. It was a little too much for her when they taught us how to get up after we fall but she was game to try.

Later, at Yellowstone, she insisted I learn cross country skiing. It’s a lot harder than it looks. That was also my first time on snowshoes.

Sara and I kept in touch the rest of her life. Before she passed, she gave me her entire lifetime collection of insects. I later donated it to the college at Broward. It was two insect cabinets full of specimens and literally tripled the collection I had amassed for the college.

It wasn’t much longer after she left Miles City that I realized I was living the life of deficit spending. I think I was on a GS-4 pay grade. The cost of living in Montana is extremely high because everything has to be imported into the state. They have timber but it’s sold out of state so if you want a wooden screen door, you have to order it from either the east or west coast.

I reluctantly decided to leave Montana. I never collected a single plant – hard to do when it’s under 3 feet of snow.

Hilda Hill, back in Mississippi, was trying to get an environmental center going near the headquarters of the Tennessee-Tombigbee Waterway project near Pickwick Lake on the Mississippi/Tennessee state line. She had met me while I was a graduate student at some presentation I made and she basically decided I was the perfect person to run the center. The only problem was it not only hadn’t been built, it hadn’t even been funded.

She cooked up the idea that I could be a park manager in a state park in Mississippi until the funding came through. I think she probably personally walked my job application through. Hilda was a force of nature. When I drove back to Mississippi – with Sam caterwauling and Rascal “nursing” me the whole way – I had a job as park manager of Golden Memorial State Park near Walnut Grove, Mississippi.

Stay tuned!

28 March 2021

Graduate school was liberating for me. After I figured I did not want to re-up in the Coast Guard, I got to thinking about a botany course I took as an undergraduate. A Doctor Thomas M. Pullen taught the class and he was no nonsense. I liked that in an instructor – nothing cute – just the facts. I also remembered an exhibit he did on the third floor of the biology building that showed off poisonous plants of Mississippi using herbarium specimens. It was impressive.

Not only did I have his general botany course but I also took his Spring and Summer Flora of Mississippi – a taxonomy course at the 200 level. In addition, I took Plant Anatomy with him. Both were demanding courses and right up my alley.

On a wing and a prayer, I wrote him from the Coast Guard base and said he probably didn’t remember me but I asked if he would be willing to take me on as a graduate student. To be honest, I didn’t even expect a reply.

A week letter I got a letter from him saying he did remember me (dubious) and he would definitely be interested in me as a graduate student. I had to take the Graduate Record Exam (GRE) and if my grade was good enough, I needed to apply. He also suggested to apply for a teaching assistantship. I did, I passed, and I got admitted with the teaching assistantship. However, I had never had chemistry or physics as an undergraduate and he required me to to “remedy” that by taking general chemistry, organic chemistry and general physics at the same time I was doing graduate work.

I was scared of chemistry. I was scared of physics. Ole Miss’ chemistry and physics departments had quite a reputation and it wasn’t a good one. In one chemistry lab, you were required to set up your apparatus and have it approved by the lab instructor before proceeding. Chemistry was required for premed and students were cut throat in lecture and lab. I saw one kid set up his apparatus and asked the instructor to come approve it. The instructor screamed
“Wrong!” and pushed the whole apparatus set up off on to the floor breaking glassware everywhere. The student got charged for the broken glassware.

The general chemistry teacher I got was far above the heads of the freshman class I was in. He couldn’t explain his way out of a paper bag – as brilliant a researcher as he was. It was sink or swim time. I eventually eked out a “C” in first semester and managed a “B” in second semester.

Organic was nothing but memory. Fortunately, I had a good enough memory to get me through both semesters. However, I refused to take the second semester lab. I related to Dr. Pullen how one young idiot didn’t read the lab before hand and poured diethyl ether into a beaker over a direct flame. I told him I would finish first semester lab but had no intention of getting killed in second semester lab.

Our physics instructor walked in the first day of class and said “Physics is nothing but math.” He then proceeded to prove it. I was drowning. Finally, I realized I had to do something so one night in my office in the biology building, I sat down and told myself I wasn’t leaving until I understood the math homework. I think about 2 am the light came on and after that point, physics wasn’t a problem for me.

Second semester physics was weird. The professor dealt with million volt lasers. He was very religious. One student, hoping to get in on his good side requested we start every class with a prayer. The physics professor considered it and very reluctantly said he didn’t think that would work. Strangely, all but one physics professor I’ve known over my entire academic career have been deeply religious.

Physics lab, on the other hand, was a problem. The lab instructor didn’t like me. I ended up helping most of the students in the lab understand what they were to do but the instructor kept marking down my lab reports. I managed a “C” in the lab.

All this was going on with graduate courses in biology as well as prepping and teaching labs in botany and biology. As an undergraduate, Ole Miss taught me how to write. Graduate courses in biology taught me how to write concisely, clearly, and to the point.

Dr. Pullen was of the opinion you could not understand plants unless you understood animals (and vice versa). As a consequence, I took as many zoology courses as I did botany courses. It was a good thing he did. I ended up teaching as much zoology as I did botany over the years.

Field courses were my favorite courses. One course, Field Botany, required us to make an extensive plant collection. That entailed collecting the plants, drying them for preservation, identifying the plants, and then mounting them on herbarium paper.

We had a great class of graduate students. Dr. Pullen walked in the first day of class and had a worried look. He said he had been checking everyones’ schedules for field trip opportunities and it didn’t look good. He said the only option seemed to be weekends. We all jumped on that – weekends were about the only free time we had and it was perfect for everyone. Everyone in that class worked well together. If I found a plant someone didn’t have, we would trade out specimens. I made some of the best friends for life in that class.

As a matter of fact, two of those in the class, Charlie Cooper and Chris, and the photographer for the department, Bill Martin, and I went on a canoe trip to the Quetico Provincial Park in Canada. Once we got back, the faculty asked us to produce a seminar. We brought my canoe up through three flights of stairs (not so easy when it was 15 feet long) and I showed them how to lift the canoe and carry it over a portage. I even made Hudson Bay Bread for them so they could see the energy food we used on the trip. Everyone said it was the hit of the seminar season.

I loved the graduate courses. I took Plant Morphology, Aquatic Plants, Survey of Fungi, and Agrostology. For zoology, I took Entomology and Invertebrate Zoology.

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I learned that I liked teaching lab. On occasions, Dr. Pullen would ask me to sub his lectures. That was a real thrill.

It finally came time to discuss my thesis project. He recommended I do a floristic study of one of the state parks in Mississippi. At the time, Dr. Pullen was working on a flora of Mississippi and anything I could add with a floristic study would help his work. There were several parks within driving distance from Oxford: J.P. Coleman State Park in northeast Mississippi near Pickwick Lake, Tishomingo State Park, also in the northeast, and Wall Doxey State Park near Holly Springs.

I visited Wall Doxey on my own but took my buddy Crag Knox with me to the other two. We did J.P. Coleman first and it was OK. However, the moment we drove into Tishomingo we knew we had found the one. It was like a trip to the Smokies.

I spent the next two years collecting plants at Tishomingo. I would collect during the day, press plants at night and dry them over plant dryers overnight. I would then take that weeks’s haul back to campus and work on identification. It was bliss. I found 10 new state records in the park. Dr. Pullen was ecstatic.

New species recorded for the state were
Quillwort – Isoetes engelmannii A. Br.
Slender False Foxglove – Agalinis tenella Pennell
Windflower – Anemone quinquefolia L. var. interior Fern.
Carex – Carex baileyi Britton
Carex – Carex caroliniana Schweinitz
Crinkleroot – Dentaria diphylla Michx.
Yellow Wood Sorrel – Oxalis floridana Salisbury var. filipes (Small) Ahles
Nevius’ Stonecrop – Sedum nevii Gray
Lesser Ladies’ Tresses – Spiranthes ovalis Lindley

I was a little taken aback at the hatred among faculty in the department. The faculty in biology had their meetings in the class room a few doors down from me and you could hear the screaming. I think the smaller the department, the more vicious it becomes. The faculty forced out the department chair and hired a new one.

Faculty would get into fights with one another and take it out on graduate students. I saw one graduate student do a seminar on his PhD dissertation. Two of the faculty honed in on him and reduced him to tears in his presentation. The tear down of the graduate student was based on a single word he used in his dissertation. At one point, one of the members of his committee said he was going to reconsider his vote on his degree. It was all based on animosity towards his major advisor.

Somehow, I ended up as president of the biology graduate students and had to deal with the new chair. Finally, we had it out in his office one day – both of us shouting at the top of our lungs – over the tear down of the PhD candidate. Later he told me he thought botanists were mild and meek but I had certainly changed his opinion of that.

Later, he would come out for field trips to Tishomingo under my collection permit. We got along well after the knock-down, drag out and he even later came and produced a program for my students when I taught at Itawamba Junior College.

To his credit, Dr. Pullen didn’t get involved in department politics. They respected him too much. As a consequence, I was never threatened or put upon by other faculty. I didn’t get along with all of them but they never attempted anything with me.

My third year was basically finishing up identification of my collection. I also got to work on a wildflower guide for the park. Fortunately, the Mississippi Wildlife Museum agreed to fund the project. I selected the plants to include and wrote the text. I even tried my hand at illustrations. I showed them to the herbarium technician, Carole Ritchie, and she said “Humph! I think I can do better.” She was right. She came back a few days later with beautiful illustrations of two of the plants I included in the book.

She agreed to do all the illustrations – without pay. What’s even more amazing is Carol had never had an art lesson in her life.

I finally finished my thesis (A Floristic Study of Tishomingo State Park) and the wildflower book (Ferns and Wildflowers of Tishomingo State Park) and was ready to graduate. Now I needed to go out and get a job.

Stay tuned!

24 March 2021

I was sent for permanent duty to Communications Station New Orleans located at the old ammunition depot for the U.S. Navy out from Belle Chase. New Orleans wasn’t new to me. There are two places that call to Mississippians: Memphis and New Orleans.

I spent a lot of time in Memphis as an undergraduate at Ole Miss and did the requisite things – like watch the ducks march from the fountain to the roof at the Hotel Peabody and the Ole Miss pep rally in the lobby of the Peabody.

New Orleans, on the other hand, was to become my home for the next two years. Actually, my very first visit to the city was with my cousin Jimmie with her sister Jo. It was also my first hurricane at Pat O’Briens. Actually, I had two and learned to never do that again. That had to be around 1966-67. It was also my first Mardi Gras. I loved the first one. Later, I was trapped in the city for three more and learned to steer clear of the city when that time of year rolled around. I guess I’m just not a big partier.

The Coast Guard Communications Station is really outside of Belle Chase and very isolated from the city. It consists of two thousand acres. A lot of the acreage is old navy ammo storage dumps with the rest is antennas for the radio station. There were two main buildings when I was there – the base itself with a dining hall, a rec hall, a garage for the vehicles and tractors (to mow under the antennas) and a dormitory. I had a private room to myself in the dorm. After sharing berthing space with 15 of my closest friends, it was paradise.

The other building was located a mile or two away and it was the “radio shack” which housed the commanding officer (CO), executive officer (XO) and the radio room. The radio room was about 900 square feet with stations along the periphery and the officer in charge’s (OinC) desk in the middle.

Next to the OinC was a row of teletypes. There were one Morse code site and one voice communications room – glassed in but away from the sounds of the teletypes and Morse code dits and dahs. We generally rotated duty among the teletype, voice, and code station. I had gotten pretty good with Morse code – I was up to 30 words a minute in copying code and it got to the point that the OinC would often put me on code when an SOS came in. I worked several of those during my stay at the base. There were others that were better than me in code but if they weren’t on duty, it was me on the code desk.

I was even better on teletype. As I previously wrote, the Coast Guard taught me Morse code and typing at the same time. To send a message on the teletype, you would type the message out on the keyboard. It would generate a punched paper tape. To send the message, you fed the punched tape through a reader which sent the message at 100 words per minute over the air waves or by landline. By the time I finished my tour at the station, I was able to type a leader on the tape, plug it into the reader/sender and then keep up with the sending of the message. I could type 100 words per minute with no errors. You couldn’t make errors. That meant all kinds of problems in trying to correct them in a message that had been sent out.

Sitting the code desk was kind of miserable if there was nothing exciting going on. We would receive weather reports from ships at sea and there were often 20 or 30 of those a watch. They were all encoded in a standard format that anyone could read if they knew how. I do remember copying one weather report from a ship in the Gulf that was in 80 foot seas. I was glad I wasn’t on board that one.

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I made some good friends at the station and one in particular became a lifelong friend – Lester Theriot – yeah, a true blood Cajun. He was an LSU fan and we got together to make a plaque that held 100 years of Ole Miss/LSU football scores. We passed that plaque back and forth for years. Unfortunately, LSU is ahead of Ole Miss in the win column. Les passed last year. I still hear from his wife Debbie. When they had their son Colin, I would send Ole Miss memorabilia just to piss Les off.

At the time, I thought you could eat better, cheaper in New Orleans than any place in the world. The food was unbelievable. I didn’t really eat at any of the fancy places but once, places like Antoine’s, Court of Two Sisters, Brennan’s. I instead stuck to the hole-in-the-wall restaurants that served good, cheap food. One of my favorite places of Mosca’s.

There are two major bridges across the Mississippi River in New Orleans. At the time, the one that crossed over to the west bank near downtown New Orleans was called the Greater New Orleans Bridge (now two bridges called the Crescent City Connection). The other bridge was upriver and called the Huey P. Long Bridge. To get to Mosca’s from New Orleans, you crossed the Huey P. and traveled to the boonies. I mean literally. This place was a shack in the middle of nowhere. It was an all wooden building with checkerboard red and white plastic table cloths. It was also the absolute best Italian food I’ve ever eaten. The radio station was on the same side of the river and it was a 25 minute drive from the CG Station – and it was worth it.

I got in the habit of jogging around the base. I think it was three miles around the base and I would jog on top of the levee. What was really strange was to walk below the levee and see a ship above your head and seemingly above the levee. I often wondered what would happen if one missed a turn and plowed into the levee.

I might have made a career out of the Coast Guard (20 years) but for one incident at the radio station. The commander was Chief Warrant Officer (CWO) Cobb from Cobb County Georgia. I got along well with him – we both spoke southern. He pulled me from radio watch and assigned me Officer of the Deck (OOD) duty at the base. I was the daytime OOD and in charge of pretty much everything – dining hall, dorms, rec room, grass mowing, etc..

At the time, whoever was OinC at the radio station during the day would call the OOD (me) and request meals be sent down for lunch and dinner. Someone from the base would load up the requested meals and deliver them to the radio shack. After a while, Cobb noticed that more often than not, no one would take the used dishes back to the dining hall. He pitched a fit and ordered me to never allow another delivery of meals. If the radio watch wanted meals, they had to send someone up to base to get them.

Usually, during the day, the OinC was a Radio Master Chief (RMC). I forget his name but he called me one day and “ordered” me to have the meals delivered. I patiently tried to explain to him that Mr. Cobb had “ordered” they never be delivered again. He continued to press. I knew better than to go against the commander of the entire base and told the chief “no.” He said, “I’ll remember this.”

Eventually, I rotated back to the radio shack and the RMC did everything in his power to punish me – sticking me on mid-watches, making me the janitor of the radio shack – literally every demeaning task he could come up with. He later looked over at me and said “I told you I would get you.” I figured it the Coast Guard allowed people like that to stay in service, it didn’t need me. It was getting close to my enlistment to be completed (4 years) and instead of re-enlisting, I applied to graduate school at the University of Mississippi.

Stay tuned!