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.