5.3.2:The Mexican Field School

 

THE MEXICAN FIELD SCHOOL

The Murrays talked us into participating in Sam Houston's "Mexican Field School" at the University of Puebla in the summer of 1950. Jesse Burleson, Head of the Foreign Languages Department [Spanish and French], had spent many years in Mexico and was head of the field school. If you were "selected" for the faculty, you attempted to hustle enough students to pay your salary with their fees. I convinced enough of my students [Jim Dan Hill, Harvey Sabara, Thurman Patterson, Jack Smart and several others] to sign up and, more importantly, put up the cash. The Korean War had just broken out so, as a brand new Second Lieutenant, I had to obtain permission from Fourth Army Headquarters to leave the country.

The day we were to leave, I went to the college-owned home of the President, Dr. Harmon Lowman, to pick up the state car I was to drive to Puebla. He was a florid, fat little man with a mane of beautiful white hair whom Tom said had not been able to tie his own shoes for years. He was a nice man who looked and acted like the president of a state teachers college ought to look and act.

We left, in caravan like settlers going west in covered wagons, with Jesse Burleson, the trail boss, leading the way. We were at the rear of the convoy, with two female students in the back seat, a position I regretted when the motor began complaining before we got to Houston. Somewhere in the pack were the Murrays in another state car, Harvey Sabara in his new green ford with a truck air horn mounted on the side, the Kuhls in an old second hand Cadillac, and several other student-owned cars. Students who drove their own cars and transported other students got some reimbursement in addition to having the freedom that personal transportation provided for fun in Mexico.

We made it, as intended, to Brownsville, Texas the first day. The next morning we cleared customs in Matamoros and drove to Valles. That evening the sixty or so of us sat at tables in the zocallo [town square] smiling back at the friendly locals and smelling the tropical flowers. We drifted off to sleep while listening to the tree frogs outside in the fragrant gardens.

The third day we arrived in Mexico City in mid-afternoon and, for the first time, experienced Mexico City traffic. No one but Jesse knew the way through the city, so we tried to stay in convoy. "Fat Chance". It seemed that every macho Mexican in Mexico City who owned a car was determined to isolate every car with a Texas license plate. Somehow, we all made it through Mexico City and, in various states of hysteria, reassembled on the highway to Puebla. We reached Puebla around dark and checked into the Hotel Colonial, across the street from the University of Puebla, completely exhausted.

The next morning Mr. Sparrow, an administrator and our contact at the University, took Pat and me to a private home to look at a place to rent. I had learned French in New Caledonia
by living in French homes where no one spoke English, so I thought that would be a good way to learn Spanish while we were in Puebla. All the students and other faculty stayed in the Hotel Colonial.

When we entered the house, Mr. Sparrow introduced us to Senorita Fontange, a maiden lady in her sixties. Without thinking, I said "Je ponce ca sais un nome Francais, pas Espanol,
n'est pas". That was the end of the Spanish lessons. Mme. Fontange had not spoken French after her father had died many years before. We rented the room [actually several rooms with a
private bath]. We also received our meals as part of the arrangement. We had a private dining room overlooking an enclosed patio. Although we ate alone, Mme Fontange would almost always join us as we were finishing our meal for some after dinner conversation. We didn't learn any Spanish but I had a great review of my French. Pat, who had taken a year of French in college, was too shy to enter into the conversations but understood everything I said well enough to correct all my exaggerations.

The food was excellent; we were the only ones on the trip who never got sick. Mme Fontange somehow learned of my birthday and baked me a cake. For many years we received a Christmas card and a birthday card on my birthday from Mme. Fontange.

Puebla was our first taste of luxury. We lived about six blocks from the University of Puebla and the Hotel Colonial, where I taught my biology class. I walked to class each morning,
stopping at a barbershop for a shave, hair trim, and a shoe shine. The cost of the whole thing, including tip, was two pesos, which at 8 pesos to the dollar came to almost twenty five
cents. At Mme. Fontange's place we not only had all meals prepared and served, there were no dishes to wash, no beds to make, no bathrooms to clean, and even our dirty laundry
disappeared to reappear cleaned and ironed, including underwear.

Teaching the class was fun for me as well as the students. I did not have any formal lesson plan or textbook. I just talked about whatever biological subject came to my mind as I walked to work. We held the class in one of the hotel lobbies, all sitting in comfortable chairs and talking biology. In retrospect it was probably one of the best seminars I ever participated in.

After class I would walk home, have lunch followed by a siesta, then back to the Hotel Colonial either for a field trip, mostly collecting lizards, or playing poker in the penthouse of the hotel. Pat was justifiably annoyed with me for the poker; she and the Murrays spent most of the afternoons visiting museums, art galleries, historical sites and other cultural activities. Harvey Sabara skipped the poker sessions to take the women anywhere they wanted to go; he was particularly valued because he spoke Spanish fairly well.

Our social life was with the Murrays or the students, mostly at the Hotel Colonial or nearby bars and restaurants. Early on some of the students discovered a resort on the edge of town called Agua Azul. There was a nice bar and swimming pool and it became our daytime party place. The owner, Senior Baratega, liked all of us, but he was infatuated with Lane Murray.

With Lane as bait, we and the Murrays were entertained royally, both at Agua Azul and his hacienda, by Senor Baratega. On one memorable occasion, we all sat in the huge living room while servants brought his favorite horses in for us to see [the floors were stone]. Lane went along with the deal so long as we never let Baratega get her alone. He told us he had previously been married to a blonde Norte Americana, so I guess he had developed a taste for Anglo women. Poor man, he must have been terribly frustrated. He spent much of the summer contriving situations for his planned seduction, but one of the three co- conspirators always spoiled his plans; we worked in relays to thwart him.

Weekends were mostly for trips. We spent several weekends in Mexico City, usually at the Hotel Reforma. Our entertainment was varied but always culturally uplifting. We spent hours in the Palace of Fine Arts, where all the contemporary as well past Mexican painters were well represented: Orizaba, Tamayo, Rivera, et cetera (we even watched Diego Rivera painting on one of his famous murals). Other cultural events included our first filet mignon at the Cadillac Bar--that eventually cost a lot more money than the price of that dinner, and live nightclub acts at places like the Uno, Dos, Tres [1,2,3] Club and the Catacombs. The latter was a spooky place, pitch dark except for a single candle at each occupied table. It had to have been the inspiration for the song "Hernando's Hideaway" in the Broadway musical comedy "Pajama Game". Robert Mitchum purportedly went there to smoke marijuana [if you had said "pot" back then people would have thought he was smoking in the toilet]. We didn't wonder why Robert Mitchell didn't stay in the safety and comfort of his hotel room or even back in Los Angeles rather than risk arrest [which rumor had it occurred to him in the Catacombs] as a "Dope Fiend".

One Friday morning we all left by car for a field trip to El Cordoba. We, along with two or three others, rode with Harvey Sabara. The route took us south on the 5,000-foot high Mexican Plateau, an arid plain mostly devoid of both plant life, except for an occasional cactus, and evidence of human habitation. There were, however, cones of numerous extinct volcanoes rising from the plain to break the monotony of the bleak moonlike landscape. About 10:00 AM we arrived at the edge of the plateau and could see the Central Valley of Mexico far below. We dropped, via a succession of terrifying switchbacks, almost a mile straight down to the valley floor, with both the vegetation and the temperature changing from high desert to tropical as we
descended.

We stopped for "coffee", mostly beer or cocktails after the terror of the descent, at a hotel in El Fortin des Flores. We sat at tables beside a swimming pool covered with gardenias. The odor of the flowers, floating on the surface of the water, was almost overwhelming, but no one complained. Jesse, after several attempts, finally got us out of the bar and back on the road to El Cordoba. We arrived there in time for lunch as guests of the local Rotary Club, probably the major, if not the sole, reason that Jesse, a Rotarion, had arranged the field trip. After lunch, we toured a local cigar factory, for which EI Cordoba was famous. I was into cigars then in the forlorn hope they would help me cut down on cigarettes. (They didn't, I had to have a cigarette as soon as I finished a cigar.) I bought several boxes, especially some huge ones, thick and about eight inches long, that Winston Churchill made famous by frequently being photographed with one of them clamped in his English Bulldog-like jaws. He ordered them in bulk from Cordoba and apparently never ran out even during the problems with the German U-Boats during World War II. "First things first", you might say. Those cigars were amazingly mild and because they took so long to smoke, probably did cut down on my cigarette consumption.

When we got into the car for the return to Puebla, someone, probably Harvey, said "lets go to Vera Cruz for the weekend; it's only a couple of hundred miles". As we approached Vera Cruz in the late afternoon, we passed a large complex of buildings on the beach with a large sign saying "Hotel Mocambo". We stopped, asked at the desk if they had vacancies, and registered when the answer was affirmative. After washing up, we regrouped in the bar. Not only did they have vacancies, we were the only patrons in the bar. After a delicious dinner, again the only guests in the restaurant, we sat out on the balcony, drinking Daiquiris and watching the moon come up over the Gulf of Mexico. Through the palm trees we could see the surf breaking gently on the deserted white beach. We felt RICH.

Not having expected to be away overnight, let alone for the weekend, no one had pajamas, clean underwear, a change of clothes or toilet articles, even a toothbrush. We showered a lot, slept nude (at least Pat and I did--didn't enquire into the others' room arrangements or sleeping attire). We went into Vera Cruz the next morning and toured the city; we found everyone friendly to the crazy Gringos.

We spent most of the weekend chasing Iguanas for our lizard collection. The Iguanas were huge, three or four feet long including tail. They were everywhere: in trees, on the ground or on mounds near their burrows. We soon learned why they were so numerous; they could run like deer, climb like monkeys, dig like badgers and fight like tigers. Also, when apparently trapped, they would lash out with their tails like alligators. Equipped as they were with scales and a dorsal crest of spines, the tails were formidable weapons. Although we had our hands on several, I don't think we captured even one the entire weekend.

We sweated profusely in the midsummer tropical sun and, with no change of clothing, no deodorants, and a three day growth of beard on all the men, we were a motley and pungent crew when we arrived in Puebla on Sunday night. We all agreed, though, that it had been one of the greatest weekends any of us had ever had.

Another group had decided to go from Cordoba to a newly opened Resort in the small town of Acapulco on the Pacific Coast. The Vera Cruz veterans were fired up to go to Acapulco the next weekend, but the group that had gone there discouraged us. The roads were terrible, mostly unpaved and lots of mountain driving, there weren't many people and the ones they saw all looked like banditos, and there was only one hotel and nothing to do in Acapulco. Instead, we, accompanied by the Acapulco survivors and others who had heard our stories, returned to Vera Cruz the next weekend.

Several car loads of us checked into the Hotel Mocambo on Friday night, probably making it their biggest weekend of the summer. This time we were not the only guests; there were two or three friendly Mexican families who along with the hotel staff treated us like old friends. This time we had clothes, bathing suits, toilet articles and all the other accouterments for staying in a luxury hotel. The service was again superb, the food and drinks outstanding, and the moon appeared on schedule over the Gulf of Mexico.

During the week between trips to Vera Cruz, a friend from Baytown, Texas joined us for her vacation. Goldie Faye Harper was from northwestern Louisiana and she and Pat were sharing an apartment in Baytown when I returned from World War II. Goldie was a beautiful girl; she had a thick mane of the most beautiful dark red hair I have ever seen, alabaster skin and a gorgeous figure, despite the fact she could put away more food than any field hand I ever knew. Goldie Faye was a lot of fun, but I doubt she would have been a serious candidate for Phi Beta Kappa if Northwestern Louisiana College had had a chapter.

Goldie accompanied us to Vera Cruz and loved it. After dinner on Saturday night, we were in our accustomed place on the balcony overlooking the Gulf, drinking in both the ambience and the booze, when Goldie suddenly announced "I think I'll go brush my teeth". Pat got up and said "I'll go with you". Pat returned from the restroom a few minutes later and, in an incredulous voice said, "She actually is brushing her teeth". Everyone thought Goldie had something else in mind, but Goldie Faye didn't deal in euphemisms.

Most times an attempt to repeat a pleasurable event results in, at best, disappointment or, at worst, disaster, but the second trip to Vera Cruz was better than the first. We were, because of careful planning and advanced technology (shovels and a .22 rifle and shot shells) even successful in collecting some iguanas. And Goldie brushed her teeth after every meal and
sometimes in between.

We took Goldie to Mexico City for our last weekend before returning to the prosaic life of an assistant professor at a small East Texas teacher's college. Actually, we were on our
way back to Huntsville; the back seat was vacant because the two girls in the back on the way down who didn't say anything had either learned how to say yes or couldn't say no and had
established lasting relationships with two of the male students. (the relationships lasted through the summer and the trip back--I don't know if they led to more permanent arrangements).

We checked into the Hotel Reforma, either in a two room suite or adjoining rooms, left our bags, and went out to show Goldie the sights of Mexico City. After tiring of yet another
visit to the Palace of Fine Arts, the Plaza de la Reforma, and the leather and other tourist shops, Pat and I went back to the hotel for fun and games followed by a siesta.

When we awakened we were surprised that Goldie was not in her room. We checked several times, then, really worried, checked with the front desk. Goldie was a guest of the hotel; on returning to the hotel she had asked for her key, the right room number but the wrong floor. When she entered the room her luggage had "disappeared" we were not in the room next door and Goldie was abandoned in Mexico City. She apparently panicked and when she contacted the front desk in a state of hysteria, they sent the Hotel Physician to her room. He assuaged her fears (we never asked for details, but it at least included dinner) and would not accept our contention that we had not changed floors and taken Goldie's luggage with us. Dr. Alvarez gave his medical opinion with emphasis "Miss Harper has had a traumatic experience and should remain in the hotel, under my care, for several days".

The next morning we had breakfast in the hotel coffee shop, where Goldie, despite professing to be "sick as a dog", was able to put away a full order of Huevos Rancheros and the Crepes Suzettes that were called Pancakes and Strawberries on the menu. I loved them, even though they were sickeningly sweet-strawberry jam inside rolled up small pancakes. During breakfast, I decided Goldie was well enough to travel and got her, along with Pat, into the car and on the road to Texas before Dr. Alvarez found us.

The return trip was uneventful. We spent one night in Ciudad Victoria, a dirty little town populated mostly by scowling Pancho Villas. I never let Goldie out of my sight except for bedtime and discouraged all would-be Latin Lovers who approached us at meals and rest stops.

 

 

5.3: Sam Houston State Teacher's College, Teaching and Friends

 

SAM HOUSTON STATE TEACHERS COLLEGE

After receiving my Master of Science Degree in Biology, I accepted a job as an Assistant Professor at Sam Houston State Teachers College (now Sam Houston State University) in Huntsville, Texas, about 65 miles east of College Station. We obtained college housing, for students and faculty, at Country Campus, a former World War Two Prisoner of War Camp ten or so miles east of Huntsville.

The first night in our new quarters the lights suddenly went out. As we, Pat and I, Donner and Schatzie and Bianca, huddled together in the dark in our new surroundings, there was a knock at the door. Our neighbors from across the street, Lane and Tom Murray, were there with candles. They explained that the electricity frequently failed at Country Campus and candles were a necessity. We invited them in and, as we got acquainted, talked far into the night. That activity was repeated frequently over the next two years with two of the most fascinating, fun
people we have ever known. We could make a bottle of sloe gin, mixed with 7UP for sloe gin fizzes, and a couple of packs of cigarettes into an all night serious discussion of literature or
hilarious comedy, depending on the mood of the moment.

Lane Murray grew up on a cotton and wheat farm outside Muleshoe, Texas near Lubbock. She and Tom met while undergraduates at Texas Tech, then college--now university, in Lubbock. The story we heard was that, at a college area soda- coffee hangout, Lane responded to some ridiculous statement with- "anyone who believes that stand on their head and throw me a half dollar". Tom, overhearing from the adjacent booth, immediately did both and gained her attention--and he never lost it.

Upon graduating from Texas Tech, they went to New York where Tom earned a Master of Education degree from Columbia, while Lane worked to support them. They then moved to Boston where Tom was a PhD candidate at Harvard; they had returned to Texas without the degree a year before we met them. Their presence at Sam Houston was a commentary on their relationship. Tom had somehow scheduled two job interviews for the same day, one at Sam Houston and another at East Texas State Teachers College in Commerce, Texas. They decided the East Texas State position was the one they wanted, so Tom went there for the interview and sent Lane to Sam Houston to substitute for him. He was not offered the job at East Texas, but the interviewers at Sam Houston were so impressed with Lane's presentation they offered the job to Tom. Subsequently, the both earned Doctor of Education degrees from the University of Houston. Tom has been a full professor for many years and Lane, unable to teach at Sam Houston because of the State of Texas' nepotism law, became the first female school superintendent in Texas-- of the Texas Prison System Schools.

Tom was fastidious: I never saw him sweat, in our World War II, non-air-conditioned, former POW Barracks converted to College Housing, or even on the nearby College owned Golf Course (no greens fees for students and faculty) when the temperature topped 100 Degrees Fahrenheit. He always shaved before anyone, except possibly Lane, saw him in the morning and smelled like after shave rather than how men were supposed to smell. He wore a suit to work every day and sent each to the cleaners after one wearing. He became a sort of role model for me, as far as the way a college professor should dress, and we occasionally traded ties to add variety to our wardrobes.

Tom also introduced me to the "Book Club Scam". All book clubs offer enticements to join: they also reward members who recommend potential members who subsequently join. Tom would recommend me to BOOK OF THE MONTH CLUB, receiving bonus books when I returned the application. As a bonus for joining, I would receive several bonus books (all six of Winston Churchill's classic volumes on World War II, for example) with a commitment to buy at least four selections within one year. Tom, after receiving his bonus for my joining and buying his four books, would drop out.

I would, after a suitable waiting period, recommend him for membership, receive my bonus books, complete my commitment for the purchase of four books. GUESS WHAT! new BOOK OF THE MONTH club member Thomas Murray would recommend one Albert K. Sparks for membership and the cycle continued. We carefully studied the Sunday Supplements, magazines and other advertising media for the current best deals. We kept several revolving at a time, including, in addition to BOOK OF THE MONTH CLUB, the BOOK FIND CLUB, the LITERARY GUILD, The CLASSICS BOOK CLUB, and several others. We built up fantastic libraries at little cost. (It has probably cost more to ship them in our subsequent migrations than
it did to buy them.)

The Murrays had three small children. Mark, the oldest, was in First Grade. Joyce and Mike [?], the latter still in diapers, were still at home. Joyce always had a runny nose and Mark a dirty diaper. When either of them approached Tom, he or Lane, would say "don't get Daddy's clothes dirty". When Lane's mother, Mrs. Stone, visited, she would always buy new clothes for Joyce. It wasn't that the Murrays didn't love their children, and I don't think they really neglected them, but they were not their entire lives.

Lane and Tom were then, and still were in our last contact with them, so wrapped up in their relationship and what they were doing at the time they had little commitment to anyone else. Their children were probably the better for the lack of over protection, but it was impossible to maintain a lasting relationship once you left their immediate vicinity. "Out of sight out of mind".

 

 

 

TEACHING and Friends AT SAM HOUSTON

Teaching at Sam Houston was a fabulous learning experience. Both years [1949-1951] I taught a two semester course in Vertebrate Comparative Anatomy [the primary reason I was hired], Histology, Embryology, Parasitology, Natural History and Taxonomy
of the Lower Vertebrates [a combination of Ichthyology and Herpetology in one semester], Ornithology, and Farm Wildlife Management [primarily the building, stocking and management of farm ponds for Agriculture majors]. Because all undergraduates were required to take a full year of General Biology, I also taught at least one, usually two lecture sections each semester.
At least I was spared the boredom of teaching Gen. BioI. Lab.-- that was the only course in which I had a teaching assistant.

The faculty of the Biology Department was an interesting mélange of personalities. The retiring chairman, who hired me, Dr. S. H. Warner, was a forester of some repute and had had in
the past much influence on the affairs of what was still an incredibly inbred institution. The heir apparent, Mr. Cowan, was a former lineman on the University of Texas football team and had
been working for years on his PhD. in Zoology there on sarcophagid flies--that's blowflies to the non-entomologist. In addition to doing most of the administrative work, Cowan also taught General Zoology and Entomology.

The eldest was Miss McKinney, a spinster who lived in an ancient pioneer home with her spinster sister. Their father had. administered the last rites to Sam Houston, the Father of Texas
Independence, victor of the defeat of Santa Ana at the Battle of San Jacinto, the first President of the Republic of Texas, for whom the College was named.

There was also Miss Norman, middle aged and another spinster. Both of them taught General Biology primarily, but each probably had other courses as well. Claude MacCleod taught most of the Botany courses and Bill Dacres taught Microbiology and was my biggest headache in the department.

Teaching was a full time job. I was in class, lecture or lab, an average of six hours a day. Because I was teaching all the courses for the first time, I barely stayed one lecture ahead
of the class with lecture notes the entire first year. The second year, during which I repeated all courses taught the first year, seemed like stealing instead of earning my salary.

During that second year I shortened my Master's thesis and submitted a manuscript "The Helminth Parasites of the Largemouth Bass in Texas" to the Editor of The Transactions of the American Microscopical Society, Dr. Frank Eggleton. It was accepted, with an embarrasing number of typographical and grammatical errors corrected by Dr. Eggleton. When I received the galley proofs of my first publication, I proudly showed them to Dr. Warner, probably hoping to impress him. In a fatherly tone he said "Sparks, I have no objection to your doing research, I've
published some myself, but don't tell everyone. If the administration finds out you have time to do research, they'll want to increase your teaching load". I think that was the exact moment that I began to wonder if Sam Houston was the place I wanted to spend the rest of my career, even though we had wonderful friends and loved Huntsville.

 

The Andersons

Shortly after we arrived in Huntsville, Jack Anderson called me at my office. He had heard that I had been hired and, as any good Aggie should, welcomed me. Jack had a B.S. and M.S. in Agronomy from Texas A&M and taught in the Agriculture Department at Sam Houston. I had known him during my Cadet Corps' days, but only vaguely. He, along with Henry Crew, was a bouncer at a notorious "Beer Joint" [Tavern] on Highway 6 on the north side of Bryan.

Jack immediately took me under his wing; taking me to all his favorite fishing and hunting spots and advising me on campus politics. I soon learned that his knowledge of places to hunt and fish was superior to that of college politics. Jack was a good looking, even handsome, man. Big, but not fat, with straight jet-black hair, and huge hands. He was also the most opinionated man I have ever known in my life. Probably because of that, he was an excellent teacher, especially for those East Texas farm kids majoring in Agriculture at Sam Houston. There was only one answer to any question and Jack knew it. Nothing was controversial in Agronomy-there was one best crop and one best fertilizer for a particular soil and locality--and Jack would tell the students what it was. Unfortunately, that characteristic extended to other areas. Anyone who did or liked anything different from what Jack did or liked was "crazy". "Anybody who doesn't drink cream in their coffee is crazy"; "anybody who doesn't smoke mentholated cigarettes [Kools] is crazy"; "anybody who plays bridge, golf or goes to plays, or drinks mixed drinks, et cetera is crazy".

When the Government magnanimously decided to pay World War II veterans for all their unused leave time, I got a bundle. I had spent seven months in the U.S. and 27 months overseas with only a five day "Delay in Route" furlough on my way overseas. When I received that unexpected "Manna from Heaven", Pat and I drove to Houston to invest it wisely. Having worn only uniforms from September of 1941 until February of 1946, followed by three years of minimal income while going to college, I lacked what Pat and I thought was appropriate clothing for a college professor. I bought three suits, several white shirts, and a bundle of ties. I also bought a "starter set" [1 and 3 woods, 2, 5, 7, and 9 irons and a putter, plus bag] of Johnny Bulla golf clubs.

When I told Jack Anderson what I had bought, he was incredulous "What would anyone possibly want with three suits? You can't wear but one at a time. What are you going to do with
the others?" Jack always wore a khaki shirt, with tie, and khaki pants to class. (I don't know if even owned a suit; I never saw him in one, but he must have had one for funerals). I suppose
that was appropriate for an Ag Teacher, but it seemed inadequate for the rest of the faculty. When he heard about the golf clubs, Jack was even more vehement "Golf Clubs; Golf Clubs! Anybody that spends good money on golf clubs is crazy. Anybody that hits a little white ball with a stick and then goes and hits it again is crazy". I didn't agree with Jack then, but there have been a lot of times since that I've wondered what the hell I was doing hitting a little white ball with a stick and then hitting it again and again. Maybe he wasn't too far off on that one, but he sure missed the boat on a lot of others.

The Anderson's lived in one of the big old houses typical of Huntsville, along with various other renters. They had an apartment on the bottom floor, off the main hall. One morning I arrived before daylight to pick Jack up for an early bass fishing session. (He had previously told me that they never locked their door and if I ever stopped by for him and he wasn't awake, to "just come on in and wake me up"). I knocked softly on the front door; getting no answer I entered the apartment and went to the open bedroom door. After quietly calling "Jack, Jack" several times without result, I moved to the side of the bed and touched him on the shoulder. In action too quick for me to follow in the dim light, Jack's hand snaked under the pillow and I was suddenly looking down the business end of a cocked .45 caliber US Army automatic. Careful not to make any sudden moves, I slowly and quietly said "Jack, it's me, Al, put the gun down." I don't remember the results of the fishing trip, but I'll never forget the sound of that pistol cocking. Needless to say, I never entered the Andersons’ bedroom again.

We couldn't find bridge players in Huntsville, so we played lots of penny ante poker, mostly with the Andersons and various others. Pat had never played poker, so I told her all things to do and not to do to play winning poker, "never draw to an inside straight"; "never draw two cards to a flush"; "never hold a kicker"; along with the odds of making a straight open on both
ends compared to open on one end only, making a flush with a one card draw, a full house drawing to two pair, three of a kind drawing to a pair, etc. I also told her the general rules of
when to stay in and, most important of all, when to get out. Using my system better than I did [she never played hunches] she won $10.00 to $15.00 every time we played. Both the Andersons
continually talked about how "lucky" Pat was.

Part of the reason for our consistent winning or, at least Netta Anderson's losing was their son Douglas. "Dougie" would sit in his mother's lap, playing with her chips and occasionally
flinging a few into the pot or across the table. "Don't play with Mommie's chips, Dougie" would eventually culminate in "God Damn it, Douglas, leave Mommie's chips alone". Douglas was two
years old when we moved to Huntsville, but looked four. He was huge, but amazingly precocious. At two he could talk and get his bottle from the refrigerator. After Netta put him down for playing with her chips, Dougie would soon 'be tugging at her skirt, saying "Momma, I want my bottle". The invariable reply was, "God Damn it, get it yourself, you know where it is". Doug would then go to the refrigerator, get his bottle, climb into a chair and stay out of everyone's hair for a while.

One Saturday night while we were playing poker on the kitchen table in the Anderson's apartment, Jack's younger brother suddenly and unexpectedly appeared. He had served one enlistment in the Army before starting college at Sam Houston. Jack, who was the Commanding Officer of an Infantry Company in the Reserve 22nd. Armored Division and an active recruiter, talked him into joining the Reserves as an easy way to make money while going to
school. He joined as a corporal or sergeant, so a day's pay for a two hour drill once a week wasn't bad, and two weeks of Active Duty during summer vacation was icing on the cake. Unfortunately for the younger Anderson, the Korean War broke out and he was called to Active Duty as an individual, something the Army had promised not to do.

"You Son of a Bitch", he said to his big brother. "It was a honest mistake, but it seemed like a good idea at the time" was Jack's reply. That, along with a number of Jack's other classic
lines, became part of our family humor. Most of the time when I really "screw up", I can get off the hook by saying very slowly and sincerely, "It was A honest mistake, but it seemed like A
good idea at the time". Pat will try to keep her frown of disapproval, but usually breaks into an involuntary laugh as she recalls that ludicrous scene.

Jack was instrumental in getting a Medical Detachment of the 22nd. Armored Division authorized for Huntsville with me as the C.O. I simply transferred all my enlisted men, at the same rank, from my previous unit, deactivating the old one while activating the new [actually, of course, the local Army Reserve Office did it]. After I won the Division Ml [rifle] championship during our first summer Active Duty at Fort Polk, Louisiana, Jack tried to talk me into transferring from the Medical Service Corps to the Infantry, assuring me that I could never get higher than 1st. Lt. in the Medical Service Corps. Fortunately, I knew more about the Army than Jack's brother, so I didn't fall for that. Jack was astounded when he later returned from a job in the Caribbean and learned that I was a Captain and the Tactical Officer for one-fourth of the Texas A&M Cadet Corps. I don't know what rank Jack attained before dropping out or retiring from the Army Reserves, but I can't help laughing about his reaction if he ever learns that I retired as the senior full Colonel in the Medical Reserve Corps.

Johnella Sparks

Shortly after we arrived in Huntsville, we decided that a High School Teacher's certificate and a Master's Degree in Chemistry would be an excellent insurance policy for Pat. She came home from the first meeting of one of her Education courses and said the girl assigned to the seat next to her was also named Sparks. It turned out they had several classes together and
always sat next to one another. When time came for quizzes, they studied together and teamed up for several class projects and term papers. Because of those initial contacts related to their courses, we became better acquainted and were soon good friends.

Johnella was a Journalist and had just been hired as Head of Publicity for Sam Houston (I believe it was a one woman shop--the college was pretty small time then). She was somewhat younger than us, unmarried, attractive and had a great sense of humor. There were several other young, attractive, unmarried females and a corresponding number of males of the same category on the faculty. We quickly became involved in a busy social relationship with that group. Some of us had Masters degrees, but no one had a Ph.D. and Assistant Professor was the highest
academic rank in the group. The Murrays were part time participants, the Andersons never.

Katherine Blankenship was in the Art Department. She was beautiful, had been a Redbud Princess at TSCW and probably a lot of other awards for her looks that we didn't know about. She also wore gorgeous clothes; I'm not sure whether the clothes made her look better or vice versa. She, like Johnella, had a room at the McKinney's beautiful old house. She was from New Orleans, had black, short hair, beautiful complexion, but was short and plump. However, she had, as the old cliche goes, "a great personality".

Ken Grubbs was in Economics; he was originally from Denton and obtained his Bachelor's degree from North Texas State Teacher's College. He had a Master's in Economics from the university of Texas. Ken was slender, dressed like a male
fashion model, and drove a new Olds 88. He was mad about Katherine and spent all the time she allowed with her, but she had a "crush" on Roy Toma.

Roy was a handsome man; dark complexion, black wavy hair and a good, but not spectactular, physique. He was pleasant, but I do not remember him as having much of a personality--good or bad. I don't recall anything about his background, he was in the
Chemistry Department.

Charlie Schmidt was fairly short, but well built, and nice looking. He was in Drama and Music and, I believe, shared an apartment with Roy Toma at one time. Charlie was also a 2nd Lt.
in the Armored Division.

Thurman Patterson

One of my favorite people in Huntsville was Thurman Patterson. I met him when he was a student in my General Biology class. Somehow we discovered we shared a passion in common,
Bass Fishing. Once we were fishing a farm pond near Conroe that I had permission to fish because the owner's daughter was also one of my General Biology students. After a fruitless hour
or so using various bass lures popular in that section of East Texas, I put on a "Bomber", a deep running lure designed for use in the big reservoirs of North Texas like Lake Texfoma. Thurman
ridiculed my Bomber while I was attaching it to my line, but on the first cast into the roots of a drowned tree left in the pond I hooked a nice bass.

I had another Bomber in my tackle box and offered it to Thurman as soon as I landed my fish. Haughtily, he refused, "that was a accident, you'll never catch another East Texas Bass
on that damned thing". A couple of casts later I hooked another one: "Thurman, the price for that Bomber just went up to $5.00". There was no response. After the third fish, the price went to
$10.00. When I landed the fourth bass, Thurman, still without a strike, rowed to the bank and, without a word, got into his car and drove away.

About an hour later he drove back into the pasture and parked. I paddled to the bank, tied up the boat, and along with about 10 bass, got into the car. Halfway back to Huntsville, he
uttered his first word since the first fish "if you ever outfish me again I won't come back for you".

Thurman's father worked for an oil company [the Texas Company, I believe] and they lived in "The Camp", a well kept group of houses with big screened porches, huge pecan trees, and manicured lawn near Silsbee, Texas. We drove down from Huntsville one weekend for a fishing trip. Mr. Patterson had an old Touring Car of ancient, but indeterminate age that was his
"fishing car". We packed the fishing car, top down, and headed out for what Thurman promised "some REAL bass fishing". I don't remember the fishing as particularly good, but the food was
spectacular. Mrs. Patterson had barbecued ribs, fried chicken, corn on the cob and every conceivable East Texas gourmet dish waiting when we returned from fishing. We ate it, accompanied by lots of cold beer, on picnic tables under the pecan trees at the camp.

Dan Rather

All undergraduate students were required to take, rather pass-- since some took each course more than once, a full year of General Biology. This was a direct result of the influence of
Dr. Warner, the outgoing Department Head who had once been Acting President of Sam Houston. I taught one or two sections each semester. It was usually boring; almost all enrollees (I'm at a loss for a descriptive noun--they certainly weren't students and most weren't participants) had an abysmal lack of knowledge and even less interest in biology, including the anatomy and physiology of their own bodies. A lot of them were interested in the anatomy and physiology of other student's bodies; that, combined with their lack of knowledge, led to occasional unexpected pregnancies.

On those rare occasions that a semblance of interest was shown, it really stood out. I remember going home during the first semester and telling Pat "I have a winner in my General
Biology class, his name is Dan Rather." The next year I was the Faculty Advisor or sponsor of a student men's club, the "Ravens". There were no fraternities or sororities at Sam Houston; the
clubs were a substitute for them. The Ravens were named for Sam Houston whose Cherokee name was" The Raven". Dan was a Raven and, as their sponsor, I got to know him better and my opinion of him didn't change.

Another men's club, the xxxxxxxxx, challenged the Ravens to a charity football game, the proceeds of which would go to a fund for needy students. The kicker was that the members of the xxxxxx were mostly varsity athletes and the Ravens were the nearest thing to intellectuals there were on the campus. Although the challenge stated that the varsity football players would not play, most of the baseball and basketball players had played high school football.

Upon receiving the challenge, the Ravens called a meeting and asked me for advice. "Those jocks will kill us and, besides, they'll show us up in front of the whole college" was their consensus. "That's not the point" I pontificated, "the point is raising money for needy students." The Ravens then nailed me to the cross by pointing out that I was bigger and had played more
football than any of them and that they would play if I would play with them. I said the other club probably wouldn't agree to that, but I would if they agreed and if the other club's sponsor,
Bill Dacres played for them. I couldn't have been more wrong; most of the kids in the xxxxxx had taken or were taking my General Biology course. They all wanted a shot at me. Bill
Dacres was too smart to agree to anything so stupid (I would have liked to have had a shot at him), but I was stuck.

Both teams practiced in shorts for a week or two before: my big mouth had got me into trouble again; I was in no condition to play football--especially to play end; and the one or two weeks of practice was not going to be enough for me to get in shape.

We borrowed uniforms and equipment from the Sam Houston Athletic Department. We played before almost a sellout crowd at the Huntsville High School-Sam Houston Stadium. Because I was the largest [also the slowest] player on our team, I played tackle and Dan played the end next to me. We got off to an early lead because, I'm convinced, everyone on the other team was concentrating on hitting the "professor" rather than playing football.

I played the entire game except for the second half kick- off. I was pretty sure that if I had to run forty yards on the kick-off, they would have to carry me off the field on a stretcher. Dan Rather was fantastic! All we did on offense was throw the ball to Dan and he caught everything he touched. I'm sure he caught more than twenty passes in the game, but we lost, I believe, by one point. We did win a lot of respect, though.

While we were undressing and showering after the game, Puny Wilson, the Sam Houston Football Coach, came into the locker room and offered Dan a football scholarship. Dan's deprecation of his athletic ability in his own books amuses, and, I must admit, slightly irritates me. He was, I later learned, an All City end at Reagan High School in Houston, Texas. Best of all, though, whatever he did, he did well.

5.2.5: My Father's Death

 

 

My Father’s Death

Fortunately, we had to face reality on leaving River Oaks. On her feet from eight to five, Pat worked in the Biochemistry Lab and carried a heavy course load without a black cook and only Elsie May Watson, a skinny 16 year old black school girl who charged 25 cents an hour for house cleaning (Pat alienated several of the neighbors in Veterans Village by giving Elsie May 35 cents an hour)

My father visited us in Munnerlyn Village and was in obvious poor health; he had lost a lot of weight and had diarrhea, a condition that was impossible to conceal in the tiny, one
bathroom, unsound-proofed Dallas Huts comprising Munnerlyn Village. I attributed it to inadequate diet and increased consumption of cigarettes and beer subsequent to my mother's
death. He was in and out of the hospital several times with intestinal problems and jaundice, but without a definitive diagnosis.

Eventually, in the Fall of 1948, he was scheduled for exploratory abdominal surgery. We drove to Fort Worth, where I dropped Pat off at her parent's place and I drove on to Wichita
Falls, to be with my father before and after his surgery. I sat in the lounge off the operating room for much longer than the estimated duration of the surgery. The surgeon's expression when he finally appeared confirmed my suspicions that all was not well. He said, "your father has cancer of the colon; it has spread to his liver and all through his abdomen. I just tied off the transverse colon and connected the ascending colon to the descending colon and left the transverse colon in place. He has about six months to live."

Although I was not too surprised, it was a load. After talking briefly to my father in his room, I went to the nearest cafe for a cup of coffee. I lit a cigarette and, after the first drag, raised the cup for a drink. Just as it reached my lips, I had the urge to sneeze. Rather than blow coffee all over the counter, I suppressed the sneeze and "slipped" a lumbosacral vertebral disc. Almost passing out at every movement, I somehow managed to walk back to the hospital, up the steps and to my father's room.

I told his private nurse what had happened and asked her to get a doctor for me. My father's surgeon and an orthopedist appeared almost immediately (the nurse had put me on the bed in the next room). The orthopedist confirmed my diagnosis and said, "don't tell the Medical Association, but I'm going to do a chiropractic manipulation to get the disc back in place. It'll hurt like hell, but you'll feel better when it's over." He turned me over on my side, put one of my knees over his shoulder and did something to my back with both hands. He was right; it did hurt like hell and I did feel better afterward.

After a day or two in the hospital, I called Mrs. Page, Marjorie’s mother. She came to the hospital and took me to the Page residence. Every move was torture, getting into and out of
the car. Once inside, she asked me if I would like some lunch; I said, "no, just some ice cream that I'll eat from the top of the refrigerator." That eliminated the agony of slowly easing myself into a chair and out of it when I had finished eating. While I was eating the ice cream, either Mr. or Mrs. Page asked me a question and when I turned my head to answer, I fainted from the excruciating pain.

Somehow the Pages got me into the bed in what had been Marjorie's bedroom. I stayed there several days except for occasional EXPEDITIONS to the bathroom for essential body functions. It would take an interminable time to get out of the bed, make my way to the bathroom, carefully lower myself on to the toilet, and try to relax the proper sphincters. Several times my efforts resulted in such intense pain that I would faint and falloff the commode. Mrs Page would hear me fall and come help me back to the bed. She finally said, "I don't like
emptying bed pans, but you're too heavy for me to carry, so use a bed pan until you can make it to the toilet and back to bed." I doubt I ever told Mrs Page how much I appreciated her taking care of me when I really needed it.

After about a week I was well enough to travel. Pat came up and drove me to Fort Worth and then to College Station. I spent most of both trips lying down as best I could in the back seat.
It was difficult for both of us; Pat was never a long distance driver and I couldn't get into a position that wasn't painful.

We made several trips to Wichita Falls as my father wasted away. Somewhere along the line he married one of his nurses, who I realized at the time knew he was terminal. She kept him
virtually free from pain through her connections with sources of morphine, for which I was grateful. On one of the trips, I sold the house for him; he split half (our mother's half) between all
the children, our share was about $600 each. I threw a rod in our 1946 Hudson on the way back to College Station and the replacement engine cost $800. That took care of my inheritance; the new wife's lawyer drew up a new will, leaving everything to her and she wouldn't even give me my father's railroad watch.

I was notified of my father's death while I was taking my last final exam in the course work leading to my MS. We drove to Wichita Falls for the funeral. I was a spectator; the grief
stricken new wife of a year or so, along with her grown children from a previous marriage, occupied the mourner's bench. Pat, my brother and I sat in the next row. After the funeral, Pat, my brother, and I had a couple of beers at a tavern and we drove back to College Station to finish up the last details, like the Oral, for the Master's Degree. The latter was a snap; George Potter
and Richard Turk were real nice and Sewell Hopkins handled the Exam masterfully. He did sock it to me with a couple of questions at the end to which I could only respond "I don't know". I'm sure he was just letting me know that I did not know everything.

I was appointed an Instructor my second year in Graduate School and had several courses of my own, including the lectures. One was HUMAN ANATOMY AND PHYSIOLOGY, a two semester required course for all Physical Education majors, i.e. varsity athletes. My best student was Wally Moon, who subsequently was National League Rookie of the Year (beating out Hank Aaron) with the St. Louis Cardinals and National League All Star Left Fielder for the Los Angeles Dodgers. Wally was actually interested in learning anatomy and physiology-- most of the other "jocks" just wanted to get a passing grade. One even offered me a full set of golf clubs and a leather bag he had won for a C in the course if he didn't have to take any of the exams. I just laughed at him, even though I didn't own a set of golf clubs, let alone a leather bag.

All the jocks were proud of their athletic ability and thought they could do any sport better than a college teacher. I had been playing handball for years and none of them had played
the game before coming to A&M. I LOVED whipping their butts on the handball court-- that was a blow to their ego that got their attention so I could get through to a few in the classroom.
Incidentally, none of them ever beat me at handball, even though they were all much superior to me athletically.

One afternoon George Potter entered the Comparative Anatomy Lab where I had a lab section going-- he was accompanied by an elderly man to whom he introduced me. He was Dr. S. H. Warner, Head of the Biology Department at Sam Houston State Teachers College in Huntsville, Texas. He was in the market for someone to teach Comparative Anatomy and George Potter was Mr. Comparative Anatomy in Texas. Dr. Potter recommended me and, after talking for a while, Dr. Warner offered me the job as an Assistant Professor of Biology. I told him I was very interested, but I would have to discuss it with my wife.

I thought Pat might not want to go to Huntsville-- I was REALLY wrong on that score. She welcomed the opportunity to quit working and didn't care at all that my salary would not equal our combined salaries at A&M. The appointment was to begin September 1st and since they also wanted me to teach Embryology, we spent the summer at A&M so I could take Embryology and we would have an income. I accepted the position at $300 a month, but was soon notified that the State Legislature had authorized raises that brought my salary to $380. We could live with that-- we bought a 1950 Plymouth, the first new car we had owned, and carried everything we owned in it to Huntsville.

5.2.4: The Georges

The Georges

            I didn't realize what I was getting into when I married into the George Family.  The matriarch of the family was Muddie, actually named Dora, who was one of the strongest and meanest people I ever met.   While still a young girl she was married to Joe George, an itinerant Baptist preacher, and as quickly as the biological processes permitted had five children: Paul, Bessie, Dode, Nellie Jo, Jessie, and twins that didn't survive. The Reverend Joe George died of the flu and was buried in Old Dime Box, Texas (not New Dime Box which is five miles away) twenty six miles west of Bryan, leaving a young widow with no money and five small children to support. 

Muddie

 

She and the children, with their few possessions and $1,000 contributed by the members of the churches her husband had served, went by wagon to Belton, Texas probably in 1901.  There she opened a boarding house, bought with the thousand dollars, for students at Baylor Belton, a branch of the Baptist operated Baylor College in Waco for females.  Probably with her resident students and certainly with her children, she was a martinet; everyone had chores and she demanded instant obedience, enforced with a leather belt.  Obviously it was a hard row to hoe, but she never made it a secret that all her love had been buried in Old Dime Box.  Many years later, Paul, Pat's father, reported that he had heard her say more than once "I'd rather have dug the graves of all my children with a spoon than bury my husband".

The Five George Children

 

  Almost certainly because of their relationship with Muddie, the George children, at least the ones I knew and those I heard about, grew up with serious  motional problems.  They all had a love hate relationship with her.  Bessie apparently became pregnant while young and Muddie made the defoliator marry her; she then soon died of tuberculoses.  

 

 Dode got her Bachelor's degree from Baylor Belton and was accepted by the Graduate School at Columbia, where she earned a Master's Degree.  She returned to Texas and worked in Dallas, where Nellie Jo and Muddie had moved.  There she lived with a Miss Cloud for a while until she and Nellie Jo had a major confrontation, after which she moved to Southern California to live with "Miss" Cloud and her husband, a wealthy business man from Philadelphia.    Subsequently, she became one of the first female pilots, a friend of Amelia Ehrhart, and participated in cross country races and other pioneering women's events before the term "Women's Lib" was coined.  She and Nellie Jo, had no contact for more than 30 years (those Georges did know how to hold grudges).  She and the rest of the family-- Muddie, Paul and Jesse -- continued to correspond.  Somewhere along the line Dode developed severe high blood pressure and had to spend most of her time in bed, in the home of "Miss Cloud" and her husband.  She and Nellie Jo were reconciled via the telephone prior to her demise and Nellie, Paul and Jessie visited her shortly before she died.  I suspect that she and Miss Cloud were lesbian lovers and that Nellie Jo discovered it, causing the estrangement, but no one even hinted at such an immoral relationship by the daughter of Baptist minister  [This seems to be true.  Many years later, my Aunt Barbara went out to California and found Dode’s grave; she was buried next to Miss Cloud and another female friend. EKS]

Aunt Dode 

Paul bailed out as soon as he could; apparently Muddie gave him a particularly hard time as the senior male in the household at ten years of age. He got a job working at a creamery in a
nearby town at thirteen and moved out; at sixteen he was managing it and had bought it before he was twenty. He often told me tales of making butter and, especially, ice cream--to which he was addicted until he died. He left the creamery in the stewardship of the local Baptist preacher when he was drafted in World War I, and always claimed the preacher stole it from him while he was away to the war.  Actually, I have the feeling that Paul had an absolute genius for not trusting the right people and trusting the wrong people. He missed a lot of opportunities because of mistrust and lost a lot of money because he trusted people who eventually ate his lunch.

Going away to war was not arduous. He reported to a camp in Waco, Texas, less than a hundred miles from Belton, and never left it. Because he had been fascinated with the newly invented automobiles, he had spent all his spare time learning about them; not only driving them but also taking them apart to see what made them work. He was immediately assigned to the Motor Pool where he repaired cars and trucks and even assembled them from parts shipped in from the factory. Paul told me that he never wore his uniform; life in the army was no different except it was easier and he had more privileges.

Having lost the creamery, Paul joined the migrant workers in the developing Texas oil business. With his talent with all things mechanical, drilling oil wells was a natural for him. They started out moving essentially water-well digging equipment to lease sites by teams of horses and wagons and providing power for drilling the well with steam engines complete with boilers
fired by wood. Paul told me, and I don't know whether it's true or not, that one night while waiting for the steam pressure to build up enough to begin utilizing it the thought occurred to him that "if I ran a belt from the can shaft to the drill shaft, the car engine would provide the power". Whoever thought of it, that was the end of steam driven power in the oil industry; as a minor result my father, a boiler maker and fireman, went to work for the Fort Worth and Denver City Railroad as a fireman, still shoveling coal into a fire that powered a steam engine. 

Paul and Nellie Jo

 

Nellie Jo was unquestionably the PICK OF THE LITTER. I don't know much about the early days in Belton, but she moved to Dallas as soon as she could manage it. There she met and married a Bob Tarrant. Muddie didn't like him and the marriage didn't last long. Muddie soon moved to Dallas to "take care of Nellie Jo"; that relationship, although always tense, lasted for more than 30 years.

Nellie worked for the Dallas Automobile Club (AAA) for many years, virtually running it as Executive Secretary for much of the time. She was the first person I knew with real CLASS; she loved beautiful things and spent all her money on the BEST: clothes from Neiman Marcus, jewelry from Linz, Steuben Crystal, sterling silver flatware and serving dishes, Havilland China, lovely porcelain "knickknacks", and beautiful furniture. Nellie Jo was also the most generous person I have ever known; she never forgot a birthday or anniversary and her gifts were always perfect. Her gift list was not confined to the family, but encompassed a wider circle of friends than the family knew.

She ALWAYS, with rare exceptions, prepared Christmas Dinner for the George Family. But first, there was the opening of gifts--most from beneath Nellie's exquisitely decorated Christmas Tree and provided by her. Paul, Nellie's big brother, always got the most, but, as the first male to marry into the family, I was a close second for a few years. Nellie always overdid it for Paul and he responded by sneaking outside and nipping from his pint of bourbon until he was half crocked and resentful that he could not reciprocate.

We didn't drink in Nellie's home for years because Muddie didn't approve. I think I broke that barrier by bringing my own bottle and calmly fixing myself a drink while talking to Muddie. I don't think she was educated and certainly not amused when I reminded her of Jesus's encouragement of the custom of drinking wine and noting that if they had known how to distill liquor back then, he probably would have put in a good word for whiskey. I'm sure I was an enigma to Muddie; I was the first one in the Family who was not intimidated by her. All her children and their spouses observed her restrictions in her presence; I decided I was not going to let a warped old woman control my behavior in her daughter's house.

Christmas Dinner, itself, was a pageant. No one seemed aware that Nellie Jo had been up since 4:00 AM to put the turkey on, basting it every half hour while she prepared the Waldorf
Salad, baked sweet potatoes, rolls, various vegetables, fruit salad, giblet gravy, pumpkin pie, pecan pie, and other desserts. In between, she set the table: Irish Linen table cloth, napkins in napkin holders, crystal water glasses, silver flatware, serving dishes and spoons, demitasse cups for after dinner coffee, china for each course. Everyone sat down to dinner at Nellie's summons; the turkey came out of the oven golden brown, stuffed and surrounded by delicious dressing (that had taken a little time, too), all the vegetables and the rolls were hot, the butter, salads and the drinks were cold, and everything arrived on the table simultaneously. It was just ACCEPTED; it was there and perfect like everyone expected from Nellie. We took the seats assigned by Nellie Jo and enjoyed the meal, unless Paul tried to spoil it by going into one of his tirades.

Nellie Jo had a "boy friend", Earnest Thornton, of long standing when I joined the family. Muddie didn't approve of him, either; he had been married and DIVORCED twice and had two
children from the second marriage. I don't know how faithful he had been to his former wives, but he was always waiting in his car to take Nellie Jo to work and bring her home in the afternoon. He took her to all the SMU home games during the football season and less cultural events like plays and symphonies that Nellie wanted to attend.

Nellie Jo and Earnest took a "vacation" together every year: Colorado several times, Mexico, Chicago for the World's Fair, Lake Louise. I'm sure Muddie, if she thought about it at all, assumed they had separate rooms, but I never believed it for a minute. I prefer to believe they celebrated a couple of weeks of freedom from Muddie with all sorts of sexual experiences. In addition to his unflagging devotion, Earnest gave Nellie Jo numerous material gifts: a mink stole, diamond bracelets, etc., all viewed with a frown and sniff of disapproval by Muddie.

Earnest was probably the nicest man I ever met, aside from the fact he could stand on his head. Also, as I learned much later, he was an avid deer hunter, sharing a lease in the "Hill Country" with several friends for many years. He always drove the newest car and wore the latest clothes, neither of which ever had a wrinkle. He was always cheerful, unflaggingly courteous to Muddie despite her blatant disapproval of him, and obviously totally in love with Nellie Jo. Even Paul liked him, but he maintained a low profile at Christmas and, I assume, other times when he was allowed inside the house.

 

Jesse was the STAR of the George family; he was a gambler from childhood until he lost his last bet to disseminated prostatic cancer. He was the most exciting, fun person I have ever known. According to Paul, he was playing high stakes poker with the bankers and leading businessmen of Belton, smiling and taking their money, before he was sixteen years old. He was a freshman in the first class at Southern Methodist University (SMU), but left to join the Lafayette Espadrille in World War I. He was one of the first US Military Pilots; I don't know whether he saw combat in World War I, but he knew all the right people and they remembered him.

I don't think Jesse went back to college after the war, but he got a job with the Gulf Oil Company as a geologist, probably smiling while he took their money, and was sent to Tampico where he met Girlie. They soon returned to Houston, where he was a midlevel executive with Gulf Oil Company, living in a modest house and having three children. The eldest, a son, was drowned while attending summer camp and the two daughters, Ray and Mary Jo were subsequently over-protected and over-indulged.

Jesse was always the big spender; his Christmas presents were spectacular: Pat and her sister Barbara each received Hartman luggage one Christmas and diamond studded watches
another. He and Girlie took Ray and Mary Jo to Dallas every year to shop for school clothes at Neiman Marcus. They always had a suite at the Baker Hotel, at least after I knew them.

Gulf Oil was not big enough for Jesse; in the mid-thirties he opened an office as an independent oil operator and in 1937 or 1938 bought a house in River Oaks, then and still THE EXCLUSIVE residential area in Houston. He also joined the Houston Club where, with his personality, he was one of the most popular members. He took me to lunch there a couple of times, once with Eddie Dyer who was Manager of the St. Louis Cardinals and several important Houston citizens he wanted to show me off to.

Jesse told me once while we were having lunch that he had made more money playing bridge at the Houston Club the previous year than from his oil business. I'm sure he kept them laughing while he was taking their money, and I'll bet they didn't mind.

Jesse loved sports events and he never missed an important one. The entire Jesse George family went to the Kentucky Derby every year; he was an avid football fan, following Rice mostly but liable to turn up at important A&M games after I married into the family. He always had at least a half dozen 50-yard-line tickets for every game, including the Cotton Bowl. For years during my graduate school times and spending the holidays in Fort Worth or Dallas, he would call and offer me from two to a half dozen tickets--50 yard-line, of course--to the Cotton Bowl. I'd take a few friends and sell the rest of the tickets outside the Cotton Bowl. Jesse would never accept any money for the tickets he gave me, even for the ones I sold.

When he, and the rest of the Houston Georges, came to Dallas for the Cotton Bowl, they would have a suite at the Baker Hotel-- he did it for the Texas-Oklahoma Game some years. All the family would be invited to their suite for dinner; Jesse would order for everyone: sirloin steak or prime rib, always rare, plus salad and appropriate vegetables and catered by black skinned white coated waiters. Only Jesse and I ate much of the rare beef, with the blood running before you speared it, all of us had grown up on chicken fried veal steak and only Jesse and I had learned how good raw meat could taste.

Jesse was ALWAYS the center of attention, ordering and officiating at the catered dinners at the Baker Hotel, at the rare visits to Nellie Jo's for Christmas, and in the exact middle
of the 50 yard-line at football games. He was like Robert Preston in THE MUSIC MAN, almost hypnotic and always entertaining, but he cared about people, too, or at least put on a good show. He appeared, unannounced, when I was awarded my Master's Degree--the first person to congratulate me after I came off the stage. I didn't even know he was aware I was getting the degree, so I was surprised to see him.

The Christmas at Thompsons was special. Jesse had taken on the role of the cattleman and the place was set up to meet his concept of the 20th Century Gentleman Rancher. The huge old house and yard must occupy almost five acres; the kitchen was staffed by several black women who, I believe, were descendants of Mr Thompson's slaves and had never left the property. They were in complete control of the kitchen. Interestingly, Girlie had never cooked a meal in her life; they had a full time cook and housekeeper in Houston, probably one of the black women from Thompsons.

The lush Gulf Coast Coastal Prairie around the mouth of the Brazos River supports the highest cow-to-acre ratio in Texas and Jesse had the property loaded to capacity with Hereford cows bulging with the spring crop of developing calves. Some of his friends in the Houston Club gave him a bull or a heifer or two to welcome him into the cattle business. Jesse obviously enjoyed taking the men around in a jeep to view the bulls and pregnant cows; after all, what Texan wouldn't--especially Texans who had grown up dirt poor.

Pat and I drove from College Station to Thompsons in our new second hand 1947 Hudson. Paul and Agnes were there, as were Nellie Jo, Ernest, and Muddie. We were in Jessie's house and he defied Muddie by making liquor openly available and encouraging its consumption by setting a stalwart example. Jesse, especially, but aided and abetted by Paul and Nellie Jo, raked Muddie over the coals. They talked about the good times and the bad times of growing up in Belton, mostly the latter, and how mean Muddie was to them. I'm sure that was one of the most difficult times she ever experienced, but that old woman showed no emotion; I didn't particularly like her, but I must admit she had more guts than most people I have known.

The meals, especially Christmas Dinner, were great; breakfast reminded me of growing up: hot biscuits and ham or sausage or bacon or all three and eggs prepared exactly the way
you wanted. The other meals were as good or better. I would have been more than willing to stay there for an indefinite time.

Jesse, who had lied about his age to get into World War I, had not stayed in the Reserves and had not kept up with his flying; but when World War II broke out, he HAD to be in it. He
went to Washington and met with some of his cronies from World War I, all of whom were generals, and some Texas congressmen and returned to Houston as a Major in the US Army Air Corps.

Fortunately, they didn't let him fly, but put him into Administration. He was Executive Officer at a couple of Air Bases, and soon a Lt. Col. and Commanding Officer of the base at Recifie, Brazil where he hosted, among other celebrities, Eleanor Roosevelt and Madame Chiang Kai-Shek. According to Jesse, Mrs. Roosevelt was not a problem but Madame Chiang Kai-Shek, often known as the Dragon Lady, did have some special requirements. She had to have satin sheets and they had to be changed in the morning and after her afternoon nap. Jesse was not enamored by either of them, but I'll bet he charmed them both.

Meanwhile back in River Oaks, Girlie had a problem. Not only had she not ever paid a bill, she had never written a check in her life. She had an expensive home, two daughters, one or
more servants and not the foggiest notion of how to run the house or pay the bills. The family attorney came out and showed her how to write a check; actually, he took care of everything but the groceries. Girlie was not stupid; she had just been sheltered all her life like many southern women in her time. She was the most gracious lady I ever met and worked hard to instill her social graciousness into her daughters in the face of Jesse's gaffes. She must have been terribly embarrassed many times by Jesse's extroversion, but she never criticized him.

As soon as the war was over, Jesse let his friends in the right places know he was ready to go home and was soon awarded a medal or two and relieved from Active Duty. I'm surprised they didn't promote him to full Colonel as a going away present; I'm sure if they had, all the Georges would have known. Still, he didn't do too bad for someone who hadn't hit a lick in more than 20 years--just a born leader, I guess.

The Jesse Georges invited Pat and me down for the weekend a couple of times while I was finishing off my BS and working on my Master's. That was gracious living; black women who prepared the meals also served them and removed the dishes, sheets turned down in the guest room, several kinds of liquor on the bar in the family room--it was like being in a movie, and I loved every minute of it. If Jesse had offered to adopt me, I would have accepted on the spot.