What I Loved About Sundays.......

Driving home from the museum, top down, basking in the West Texas sun, radio blaring, the Craig Morgan song, That’s What I Like about Sundays, came on.  It took me back to Sunday nights, long ago, growing up on the coast and attending First Baptist Church which was the center of everything we did. 

Sunday nights were special.  Our church had a class called Training Union which everyone out of the cradle and not yet in college attended.  It wasn’t like the Catholic’s catechism, it was more like a class on character building. After Training Union, was the hour long, sometimes much longer church service.  We usually sat with the Grayson’s who had a daughter a couple of years younger than me.  But that wasn’t what made Sunday nights special.

After church, rotating each week, we either went to the Grayson’s for ice cream, cake and coffee, or to our house.  Sarah especially liked coming to our house because we had a den and a television.  Her father had been in the Air Force and their house was a smaller version of a military base.  Everything was in perfect order.  Floors were tile and shiny, furniture lined up against the walls, clean plain walls, every thing in perfect order…and with all that order, there was no place for a TV.  

Our two families were not the only ones who participated in this Sunday night ritual, Mr. Powell, and another teacher, Mr. Bray came as well.  Mr. Powell was serious, carefully thought out, well read and middle aged.  Mr. Bray was young, single, a bit flippant and bordered on being a know it all.   

On the nights at the Grayson’s, there were always discussions about current happenings in the world.  Sarah and I would go to the kitchen to get our cake and ice-cream and try to hide out there.  Before we could get settled though one of our mothers would call us, insisting that we join the conversation….and Mr. Powell, the facilitator, made sure we were involved, asking us questions and wanting our childish viewpoint.  

On the good nights Mr. Bray would make some outrageous statement, Mr. Powell would pounce and the debate would be off with hardly anyone getting a word in edgewise.  Those were the nights Sarah and I loved.  When the discussion got to fever pitch we would slip out the door and walk the half a block and around the corner, to my house to watch TV.

One such night, it had rained off and on all day.  The discussion had gotten to a fever pitch earlier than usual since Mr. Bray had ridden from church to the Grayson’s with Mr. Powell.  Sarah and I decided to ditch the cake and ice cream and head for my house immediately.  There was heavy cloud cover and it being fall, especially dark.   The trees, blowing in the wind, with their leaves fluttering, made creaky noises and cast spooky shadows on the street ahead.  Feeling scared about walking in the dark, we decided to hold hands and sing Amazing Grace.  

A car door slammed, then a shutter banging, pushed our fright to a fever pitch. Almost to the door of my house, the neighbor’s huge German Shepherd came running, barking, from the bushes, into the street, straight at us.  I took off running, as hard as I could, screaming, with Sarah, who was also screaming, pushing me from behind.  I got to the door, slammed the key in the door and just as I did, Sarah, not watching me… but rather looking back at the dog, slammed into me, breaking the key in half…in the lock.  The dog looked as surprised as me. About the time I thought we were dead, the dog recognized me as the girl next door, and trotted back to his porch.  It had started to rain again, and not being able to get in to the house, we headed back to the Grayson’s house, this time at a dead run.  

We walked in drenched and had to explain to my dad what had happened to the key.   Looking over to the table we realized not only did we not get to watch TV…..the cake and ice cream were gone too….then my dad stood up and announced we really needed to get home.  

The years passed, Sarah and I went off to college, the Grayson’s moved away and the Sunday night ritual became a thing of the past. I still remember fondly those evenings…….that’s what I loved about Sundays.......

1. Cut and paste to hear Craig Morgan’s song, “That’s what I like  about Sundays”
2. www.youtube.com/watch?v=pm3aCyRD3Vg

Dorm Move in Day...70s Style

The summer heat had once again caused our central air to roll over on its back and die.  In desperation we decided to take drive to stay cool until the breezes of the West Texas evenings sifted in.  We drove by the campus of Texas Tech University.  The “Garage Mahal” stood with lights ablaze but only one or two cars inside.  (It earned its name from the four million spent to provide a four level parking garage for faculty.)  The few maintenance workers driving by seemed to be leaving for the day. Grounds workers were putting the finishing touches on the new graduate student housing building, as the huge star sculpture in the courtyard blinked its continuing changes of colors. The parking lots were vacant, with only a random car parked close to a sculpture, where someone had stopped to take pictures...all was quiet.

Fall brings amazing changes.  The reprieve of cool breezes from the searing West Texas heat is one of the most anticipated.  Dorm Move in Day though comes first.  In the blink of an eye, every bike rack is full, and the parking lots have people circling for the closest spot. Then there are the freshmen.  Freshmen girls travel in large herds..all too unsure of themselves to go anywhere alone….not three or four girls but rather six or eight.  They are easy to spot, they all are carrying purses.  Not yet having mastered the idea of minimalism, they are still trying to show off their latest designer treasure. They look around nervously to make sure they look like the other girls in the group, their newest best friends, ones they have know for perhaps a day.  The boys are much the same in herds, only their herds tend to lean on walls and cars…..waiting for the girl herd to travel their way.  In the end their is mingling.

The upperclassmen are visible too.  They are taking their afternoon runs on campus….no purses of course….they have their debit card, IDs and phone stashed invisibly on their person.  They veer irritably around the herds and mingling.  College is a world of its own, a society of peers, an artificial environment that will never be experienced again in their lives…but always remembered as the best time of life.

On family vacations my parents were careful to point out all the universities.  Depending on where we had traveled the summer before, that was the university I had chosen.  Vanderbilt, U of Washington, U of Wyoming, U of Montana with the big M on the side of the mountain all looked inviting.   We stayed in Lubbock each summer as we headed west.  As I got closer to college, I realized seeing all the out of state universities had been nothing but a tease since my parents said I had to stay in the state.  Texas Tech was as far away from home as I could get and stay in the state.  I was happy with Tech as my choice…the ten hour drive from the coast made it seem plenty far away.

Senior Skip day I went with my friend Kay, to see Lamar University, where she planned to attend.  We were going to stay in the dorm with her sister, Shelly.  We were driving all the way from LaMarque to Beaumont alone which made the adventure seem that much more real.

We were welcomed aloofly by her sister and friends, we felt kind of lost, clutching our purses and looking for a friendlier herd to hang out with.  When dinnertime came we headed with Shelly and her friends to a pizza place that was popular with the college crowd.  As we talked, I became the subject of attention because I was not going to attend Lamar.  One of the girls I had been a twirler with when she was in high school,  Joy, asked where I was going to college. "Texas Tech University," I told her.  Leaning her head back she roared with laughter, 

“YOU are so spoiled, you will never make it!” she yowled.  Everyone started laughing.  She continued… “You have never been away from your parents, you have never had to share a bedroom, you have always had a car….you will never  be able to stay away from home without all your perks.  She will be home after one semester, don’t ya think?” she said as she threw the question to the crowd.  There was laughing and agreement, being embarrassed, I decided to just leave it out there, and not comment.

When graduation was over my mom and I flew to Washington State to spend the summer with my grandfather who was dying of cancer.  A summer at a nursing home, out of touch with my friends, was a good break from the old life to the new.  

When we got back, my mom drove me to Lubbock…..a WEEK before dorm move in day.  As was always with my mother, she didn’t want any distractions as she prepared for her school year, so I was dumped, at the empty dorm, Stangel Hall, with a closed cafeteria, no one there but the Resident Assistants and staff. 

Not having a “herd” to roam with I spent the days looking out my sixth floor window, going to the snack machine for meals and feeling very homesick.  I thought about what Joy had said and made up my mind to not be defeated.  

Dorm move in day finally arrived.  My door was closed, I heard a key slip into the slot.  It swung open and a tiny girl stood in front of me and in the loudest voice I had ever heard screeched, “Hidy I’m Agnes Bean!!!”  This was my roommate.  

I was extremely apprehensive.  Helping her move in were her boyfriend Angus, her sister Heidi, her mother, father and assorted other people.  My mom had insisted that I bring only the bare necessities but Agnes had brought everything she had owned, probably from infancy.  In a mere hour, her side of the room was so packed with stuff it looked like a state fair shooting booth with the prizes arranged along the wall. My side was empty except for the closet.  

Our dorm rooms had a single phone connected by a wire by the window between out two desks. From that moment on the phone rang constantly with calls from Angus.  If Angus wasn’t calling Agnes, Agnes was calling Angus.  And since I knew no one else, when she was at the dorm, I was with her.  We  had no television, my parents had determined, a television, distinctly, would be a distraction. So, I listened to Agnes talk…and talk…and talk about Angus.  She was from a tiny town in the Panhandle with about 6,000 people. To hear her talk, you would have thought she had come to Paris to study at the Sorbonne.  

As people began to arrive, much relieved, I started making an effort to meet other people, all of them asking me if Agnes and I had gone to high school together.    I made it very clear she was my “pot luck” roommate.

Then there were the “Beckies”, Small Becky, Tall Becky and Skinny Becky. Small Becky was like a Banny rooster.  She was the youngest of eight kids and evidently had ruled the roost.  Tall Becky was an upperclass transfer from a junior college, disgusted with all of us, and Skinny Becky was quiet and a lot like me.  Within the week I met Leslie from Fort Worth. Each day I seemed to meet someone further down the hall.  Leslie and I took off and explored the campus.  She walking to all of her classes, then I walking to all of mine.  The weekend consisted of hard partying. With girls running down the hall screaming, playing cards, teaching each other the newest Michael Jackson dance...all in the hall.  Then at 1 a.m. those with boyfriends came in from dates, joining the chaos that continued on until 3 a.m.   I spent the evening amazed at all that was going on, goofing off with  Leslie and Little Becky.  

It was while walking down the hall that I first heard the battle cry, “PANTY RAID.”  All the doors flung open on the left side of the hall and girls ran like a fire drill to rooms on the right side of the hall.  As I looked in the rooms, the windows were opened to their widest and out of the windows, all I could see were two rear ends in each window.  There was screaming and yelling from inside and out.  We were on the 6th floor so I couldn't imagine what on earth was happening.   About that time I ran into Little Becky telling everyone what to do. “What is going on???? Why is everyone hanging out the windows?”  To which Little Becky replied, handing me a pair of paper panties, 

“Write you phone number on these and throw them out the window!”

“Whaaaat???? Why would I do that?  

“Guys!! There are guys down there and one of them will get them and call you for a date.”

“Whaaaat? Who are they, I don’t even know them.”

“You don’t know anyone, so just do it.”  So I wrote my phone number on the paper panties, and then squeezing my way into my window now filled with two girls I had yet to meet, I tossed them down…a really cute guy catching them….then hollering up as he looked at me, “Are these yours?”  To which I smiled and waved.

Leslie had gotten a call from the panty raid too, so we secretly arranged to meet our panty raid dates at the same time in the same place.  They were fun guys who lived in the adjoining dorm.  They would become friends that we would meet in the cafeteria for meals.

Leslie had this whole dating in college thing down to an art.  In the 1970s, the women’s dorms didn’t allow men in the rooms. When a guy came to call for a date he could not come to her room.  He had to call from a bank of phones by the double doors downstairs in the lobby.  Leslie told me,  “Never tell a blind date what you are wearing, you ask him what he is wearing.  That way if you walk through the doors, see they are too disgusting then you just keep on walking…go in the phone booth…fake a call and then go back through the doors.  They will never know they have just been stood up.”  The method worked fine for everyone except me, by the time I got back up to the room, Agnes had answered the 2nd phone call from my goofy blind date and told him that I had just walked back in. Busted.

When classes started on Monday,  the strangest transformation took place.  Where everyone had been dressed like models, make-up, hair, and glitz, on Monday morning everyone had transformed into clones of each other, blue jeans, Tech T-shirts, droopy hair, no make-up and stumbling to 7:30 am classes without speaking.  

Since I had never owned a pair of jeans, and since Home Economic majors were required to “dress appropriately” I was dressed nicely and was distinctly, out of place. It was that morning that I saw another girl, dressed like me at the other end of the hall.  She was gorgeous.  Her hair was so thick and pretty that she had already acquired the name “The girl with the hair”.  Her make-up was perfect, clothes everything was like a model.  I observed her for several days, she was always beautiful and always looked like she was going out some place special.  She looked kind of lost like me.  

In the evenings though, I couldn’t find her.  I went down towards that room but the girls inside neither fit that description. I met her one day, found out her name was Janis..spelled like mine. We finished our morning classes at the same time so we decided to meet for lunch...I was so happy to have someone besides Agnes to meet for lunch.

That evening, I was enjoying the quiet of my room with Agnes out with Angus, for the evening when a girl appeared at my door.  She smiled, said hi, called me by name and sat down on my bed. I was thinking who is this???  When she referred to us eating lunch together that day.  It dawned on my this was Janis!!!!  Her hair was in curlers, a pink cap over them, she had on no make-up, no false eyelashes, no lipstick and was in a long pink nightgown. I couldn’t believe it was her.  I had seen her on other evenings but had not realized this was “The girl with the hair.” 

Janis’ roommate was a “shit kicker” name Gertrude.  Gertrude was a lot like Agnes and also had a boyfriend she talked about constantly.  She played her Charlie Pride records non-stop while talking about Johnny.  This particular evening Janis had noticed Agnes was gone and had come to my room to escape from Gertrude.  Our roommates were driving us nuts.  Janis had more of a break than me because her boyfriend would come and pick her up some evenings. Before long Janis and I were meeting for every meal and walking to the Home Economics building  plotting our revenge, trying to figure out how to ditch our roommates.  Agnes was ready to bail as well but she wanted to me to move out and I had no where to go.  Janis was experiencing the same scenario.  

Finally we had made it to Thanksgiving, a much earned break for all. When we returned from Thanksgiving….the announcement was made.  Agnes was getting married..she and Angus were expecting.  There were only two weeks left until Christmas break….I had made it and I was coming back in the spring.  Janis and Janis were going to be roommates.  This was the beginning of a lifelong friendship, that would be the closest thing to having a sister I would ever have.

It wasn’t until a year later as I moved in for my sophomore

year that I realized just how homesick I had been the year before.  I always had Joy’s words playing in the back of my head, “YOU are so spoiled you will never make it!”

I graduated four years later with a Bachelor of Science Degree from Texas Tech University. 

All Memories are not Good

In the early 1940s having a child our of wedlock was strictly taboo. A woman and her baby would be labeled for life.  As a result when the young woman got pregnant she would go to live with a relative or friend in a different city or state.

Such must have been the case with my great Aunt Dessie when she found out she was pregnant.  I am not sure of the details but she ended up marrying a man named Shaeff, and they had her baby, who was named after him, Hubert Larry.  Her baby was 10 years older than me.  Larry was a very brilliant student.  All who knew him thought him an outstanding person.....except me.

My great aunt and uncle lived in a yellow brick house on Amburn Road.  It seemed like an old house to me.  I always thought it was kind of a strange old house.  The house was yellow brick but the garage had yellow and red brick.  I asked why it was different and my dad told me that the garage had been a part of another house.  The other house had burned down.  When they built the new house they only had the yellow brick.

My parents frequently visited with Aunt Dessie, Uncle Shaeff and Larry.   Aunt Dessie had been instrumental in finding out about the opening at Union Carbide for my dad shortly before my parents married.  My dad was forever grateful to her for her connections and for suggesting him for the job.

Larry, who was 13 would always lure 3 year old me out of earshot of my parents, with a book or some candy.  Once away, he would try to restrain me.  When I would try to pull away he would hold me even tighter.  When I would start to protest he would put his hand over my mouth and nose until I was struggling to breathe.  Then he would remind me that everyone loved him, and thought he was very smart.  He told me that no one would believe anything I said because I was just a little kid and little kids were always stupid liars. I quietly complied and tried to stay as close to my father and mother as possible during the visits.  I protested whenever they said they were going to go to Aunt Dessie's house but my protests fell on deaf ears.

By the time I was 5 my mother had started to work on one of her master’s degrees.  I stayed at Mrs. Hudnall’s house during the school year while my parents worked,  but since it was summer, my mother had to find someone else to keep me.   That was how I ended up being at my great aunt’s four days a week for half the summer.  Larry was always there, when my great aunt was there he didn’t pay much attention to me.  Sometimes she ran errands and would take me with her in her big pink 1955 Buick Special. I enjoyed getting to ride in her big old car.  Sitting in the middle of the seat, the radio was just at my eye level.  She would let me tune the radio to the station I wanted to listen to.  

One day she had to meet my uncle for lunch.  Anticipating getting to go, I was devastated when she told me I would be staying at the house.......with Larry.  I cried and begged her to let me go.  She sternly told me ,”No”, that it was rude to ask to go somewhere you had not been invited.  I wanted to tell her...I wanted to go because I was afraid of Larry....but remembering he had told me that adults thought little kids were “stupid liars, “ I just curled up on the couch at the other end of the kitchen and cried.

She had only been gone a few minutes when Larry came into the kitchen.  He told me that his mom had been making me doll clothes for my favorite doll, Toodles.  I couldn’t believe my ears.  He told me they were in the bedroom and he would show them to me. I eagerly jumped up and started to run towards the bedroom where she kept her sewing machine.  There, on the sewing machine table were the clothes, each outfit spread out to see.  They were in beautiful bright colors and just the right size for my beloved doll. How I wished I had brought her with me.  I scooped the clothes up, clutching them to my chest to carry them back to the kitchen, when turning,  saw Larry, leaning against the closed door.  I knew he was about to do something to me.  I dropped the clothes, started backing away from him, crying.  He grabbed me by my arms and told me how my arms would be bruised if I pulled away from him.   Then he asked me what would I say to explain the bruises?  As I screamed he pushed me, put his hand over my mouth and nose, and as I struggled for air, he pushed me down on the bed....

When he finally let me go, I ran as fast as I could...out the front door...down the steps... all the way across the front yard, past the big tree and around the garage with the yellow and red brick.  There I fell down behind a shrub, in the tall, cool grass and sobbed.  

I cried for what seemed like forever.  I was so alone, no one knew where I was, my mother wouldn’t like him doing those things to me or my being left alone.  As I cried, in the shadow of the bush, I felt something scratchy wipe across my face.  Scared it was Larry, playing some horrible trick on me, I barely peeked up. I looked into the green eyes of a big spotted cat.  As I lay there on the grass...the big cat looked at me and started once again to lick the salty tears from my cheeks with her tongue.  I started to stroke her soft fur.  She laid down and cuddled by my side.  As the sobs slowly left my body, I could feel the rumble of her purrs against me. I put my arms around her and held her tight.  I thought about all the beautiful doll clothes I had left behind.  I was determined to not go back into that house again. Larry didn’t call for me, I hoped he thought I had run away for good.

I heard my aunt’s big old car pull up, the car door slam, her heels on the sidewalk, the squeak of screen door as it opened, the slam as it closed.  A few moments passed then I heard the squeak of the door, the slam, the heels on the sidewalk again and her calling my name.  

I waited until she had called me several times before I answered.  She didn’t seem alarmed that I was there alone and said, “Oh I see you found the cat.”  Aunt Dessie had to have seen my tear stained face.  Then she said, “Let’s go, your mom will be home soon. I told her I would bring you home.”  I didn’t reply, I just got up and climbed into the car.  I didn’t scoot over to the middle, in front of the radio like I usually did, instead, I stayed close to the door.  We rode to my house in silence.  

When we got to my house, Aunt Dessie greeted my mom and presented all the beautiful doll clothes she had made me for my beloved doll, in a little round blue suitcase.  I took them reluctantly. My mother, I could tell, was embarrassed by my ingratitude.   I tried to smile...it had been such a horrible day.  I took the little blue suitcase to my room. I felt dirty just putting the clothes on my precious doll.  

For the rest of the summer, whenever my aunt left, I ran and hid until I knew Larry was no longer looking for me. Had it not been for the old cat waiting for me behind the garage...I would never have been able to keep the horrible secret to myself.  The old cat, always waiting for me, seemed to know what I was going through.

Finally one day on the phone, my aunt told my mother that she had a few errands to run and, “Would it be okay to leave Jan with Larry for a few minutes while I am gone?" When Mother told me, I immediately started begging Mom not to let her leave me with Larry.  She asked me why.  I told her I didn’t like him, that he was mean to me, that I was scared of him.  She was upset.  Her classes were over for the summer, Mom decided to take me with her while she got her classroom ready for the first day of school.  I did everything she asked me to.  I emptied trash cans, swept, and tried to be the best helper she had ever had.  Other teachers even commented on what a great helper I was, to not even be in school yet.   I never stayed with Aunt Dessie and Larry again.

When I was fifteen, about ten years later, my aunt came to our house with a baby in her arms.  Larry had married several years before and the baby was his little girl.  I was so outraged.  I took one look at the baby and told my aunt, “I hope Larry never does to her, what he did to me," and I walked out the door.  Later my mother confronted me. I told her the whole story.  She just looked at me and cried.  

We never talked about it again until she told me my Great Aunt Dessie had died, I was 30 years old. Mom told me how sorry she was over what Larry had done to me, but until that moment, I had never been sure if she had thought I was terrible or him.  When she was growing up, she said every family had a dirty old uncle that every girl in the family knew to stay away from, they just didn’t talk about it.  She said she had not known what to do, except to never go around them again. 

There was an Old Man Named Henry......

In 1994 we moved to Beaumont, Texas.  It was a different world from San Antonio.  We had come from a large multicultural city to a place where the description “The Deep South,” fit perfectly.

Within a few months of our move we joined First Baptist Church (FBC).  It was one of the oldest churches in Beaumont.  Started in 1875, it was steeped in tradition.  

One tradition was Henry.  When I first met Henry I thought he was well up in years.  His clothes were old, tattered and hadn’t been cleaned in quite a while.  They were worn layer upon layer.  On first sight, I was sure he must be wearing everything he owned.  I thought he was a homeless person.  His short gray hair stood on end, reminding me of a tomcat whose fur was still rumpled from a cat fight.  His pockets buldged with treaured belongings.  Occasionally he would pull out a cellular phone, not that common in 1994 (one of those big ones the size of a brick) and make a call to someone who sounded important....like the mayor or governor.  Around his neck was a headset to his walkman, and on his lapel, a badge of some kind, the writing long ago worn away.  On his finger was a class ring from the University of Texas. 

My first assumption was that he was a wino or a drunk, but he didn’t act like either of those.  He seemed to know everyone in the church, children and adults alike.  It was as if no one could see his appearance...or it didn’t matter.  On the Sunday we joined the church we stood at the front of the church to be welcomed as the  congregation filed by, traditional in Baptist churches, and along came Henry calling each of our family members by name and welcoming us.

Several weeks later I was in the church office when Henry walked in.  I expected to see him shooed back outside but he helped himself to donuts and coffee.  The office staff seemed to hardly notice him. I asked Beverly what the deal was with Henry.  “He is just an old street person, I wish he would stay outside, he stinks so.  I am afraid he is going to leave lice on the sofa.”  
I asked, “What’s wrong with him?” 

“Oh I don’t know, I heard he was a successful CPA at one time and was in an accident,”   Beverly told me with disgust in her voice.  That wasn’t the only story..there were more.  Each was about as varied as the person who told it.  The one thing people knew was that he did have money in the form of a trust fund, so no matter how bad he looked he did not have to go hungry and he didn’t sleep on the street.

From time to time he would come into the church office to see Robert, our pastoral Care minister.  One day I heard a heated arguement going on.  “Okay Henry, I will give you ten dollars but you cannot buy cigarettes with my money! Do you understand?”  Henry promised solemnly, like a child, and in his slow shuffling walk disappeared out the door.  Robert stood looking after him,  “He’s off to buy cigarettes again.... I just know it!” as he shook his head.  At the end of the month Henry usually ran out of money. He would come to Robert to get a few dollars to tie him over until the first.

I continued to be curious about him and would see him at various places around town. I was sort of amused at myself actually knowing this unusual little man.  The thing that baffled me was that everyone knew him, but knew little about him.  

Our church wasn’t the only one who claimed Henry.  When Pastor Sandy was new to our church, he and several other pastors had a lunch meeting to get better aquainted.  As they were walking out of the church Henry walked by, our pastor said hi to Henry.  He was surpised when the other pastors said hi, and called him by name too. Pastor Sandy said, “He is a member of my church,” the others smiled. It turned out Henry was a also member of their churches. He was diligent too. He made it to all the services every Sunday morning.  At First Baptist he would slip into the balcony just as the offering was being taken.  He would drop his handful of coins into the offering plate and then proceed to stand at the end of the pew and finish up as an usher.  I had noticed in the back row of the balcony, there was usually an assortment of street people.  I heard someone say that Henry had invited them.  They were people Henry met who had “ roubles" and he told them they needed to come to church.

For as happy as Henry always seemed, his life was not easy.  He had been beaten up by gangs and almost killed.  They knew he always had a little money on him.  Although he didn’t live on the street, in many ways his life was the same as if he did.  One time while jay walking, he was hit by a car...both of his legs were broken.  After a long stay in the hospital, he was back out walking along the streets again.  He always assured the church staff that he “only crossed at the corners now. That way I won’t get hit again.”  His little shuffling walk was so slow that secretly everyone who knew him worried.

Henry was not just a familiar face at all the churches.  He also made it to all the city council meetings.  Three mayors had known him.  At the end of each meeting the tradition was to open the floor for anyone to speak... and at the end of each meeting, Henry did.  He sometimes started his speech with “I am sure you didn’t know this, but I am a member of the Police Department.”  At the time he really thought he was.  One of the Police officer’s had gone so far as to give Henry a Junior Police Officer’s badge, which he wore faithfully.  He wanted to be someone important that people respected.

On January 15th as I was driving to my job at the church, a traffic jam, unheard of in Beaumont, stopped me on the overpass.  I could see some big tie up at the corner of the church.  As I looked at my watch, my heart almost stopped, it was right at the time Henry usually stopped by the church office. As I got closer I could see someone covered up, lying in the street.  Strewn in the street was a headset and an old coat.  The police detoured me one block over.  Finally making it to the church parking lot, I jumped out of the car, ran inside, to find everyone standing, stunned.  Someone looked up and said, “It’s Henry.” Tears were streaming down everyone’s faces......and now mine as well.

Pastor Sandy and several other ministers met the ambulance at the hospital.  Henry had been crossing at the corner but his little shuffling walk was just too slow.  He had only made it to the middle of the street when the light changed.  A young woman rushing to work turned the corner and didn’t see him.  He was hit and thrown several yards, sustaining massive head injuries. He was put on life support immediately.  As they took him to the hopital, the police listed him as a fatality.  A well known neurosurgeon from our church rushed in to consult on his case, but it was too late, his inuries too severe.  At noon he was taken off life support and died.

On Tuesday there was an extensive article in the paper about Henry. That was the first time I had heard his last name. He was known by everyone in downtown Beaumont.  He attended every city council meeting, had been known by mayors and police chiefs.   He had told people he had been a police officer, a fireman, a graduate of the University of Texas and, yes, a staff member of each of the churches. Everyone who knew Henry thought he must have had an awful family to leave him to fend for himself when he was obvisouly so incapapble.  

His family though, was not uncaring at all.  Henry was mentally challenged.  He was like “Rain Man” of the movies. He could remember the names and birth dates of every church member but he couldn’t care for himself. He loved the children because they would all proudly say hi to him and call him by name.  They respected him.  He had been taken care of by his mother until she died.  After her death his two brothers each wanted him to come and live with them.  That meant leaving Beaumont.. the only place he had ever known.  He refused, so they found a group home where he could live.  They expected him to stay there so they could check on him and visit him from time to time. As time passed, he moved from place to place around town.  He never remembered to tell anyone where he would be.  The Christmas and birthday remembrances sent, were then, returned to sender, when Henry couldn’t be found.  His brothers wondered where he was or if he was even still alive.   The fact that hedidn’t hear from his brothers  on his birthday or Christmas didn’t seem  to be of much concern to Henry.  He kept their names and addresses safely tucked away in his wallet, which was where Pastor Sandy found them when Henry died.

His family was thrilled to know that in spite of his limitations Henry had managed to be someone special.  They were overwhelmed that so many people had cared about and loved Henry.  “Henry always wanted to be someone important... he would have been thrilled to know that he made all three TV stations and got a nice write-up in the newspapers,” Robert remarked. 

Memorial services were held at First Baptist Church, First United Methodist Church, and St. Mark’s Episcopal Church...each filled to capacity. People from all walks of life attended, city councilman, the mayor, pastors, lawyers, doctors and the street people.  Henry was someone important.

I first had looked at Henry and thought, “What a wasted life.” I was wrong, his was a full life, lived to his greatest abilities.  He was quite remarkable.  Robert would smile and say, “Henry is with the angels now,”  and...of course he is.

Today if you are close to the Greyhound bus terminal in Downtown Beaumont you will see at 1107 McFaddin Street,  "Henry’s Place. "   Inside the door is a picture of Henry. It is a soup kitchen named in his honor.  When you walk in and ask, “Why is this called Henry’s Place?”  They will tell you, “Well, there was an Old Man Named Henry......”

Pinkie and the Banner

One of the things I was looking forward to about Junior High school was that I wouldn’t have to take classes like reading.  I had been reading since I was four and did not really see any point in continuing what I perceived as an instructional class on the subject.

But once again I found my self in yet another class called reading. It wasn’t the elementary type of DEAR  (Drop Everything And Read) reading like we use today.  We had to read the stories before class..like homework..and then discuss it.  

My teacher’s name was Theo Granville Powell.  He was a tall man, probably 6' 7”.  Had he been any taller he would have had to duck through the doors. His stature was large with a shape similar to that of Alfred Hitchcock. He wore his trousers pulled quite high with his belt buckle like a crown on his vast stomach.  He always wore a short sleeved  white shirt with a tie.  What hair he had left was blonde, fringing around his very pink bald head.  His most outstanding feature however was his very bright pink complexion earning him the nickname of Pinkie Powell.

Being rather reserve he tended to only speak when something needed to be said.  During passing period he always stood like a giant pink column in the hall beside his door.  He never yelled at anyone or called them down, but just his presence made everyone careful about what they said or did. In reality he knew what girls and boys were going steady on any given day.  He also knew that we all called him “Pinkie”.

We sat in alphabetical order in his class which put me in the next to the last seat on the second row.  Right in front of Nan.

Nan seemed to know about everything.  She told me if I didn’t know an answer to look down at a book on my desk and I would not be called on.  Since Nan was so worldly wise, I spent a fair amount of my time turned in my chair facing her.  Then right as class started, before I even had a chance to turn around,  I would hear this booming, “Jan would you please turn around and pay attention!”

Each day he would assign us something to be read before we came to class. This was especially hard for me since I could read something the day before, and completely lose all of the details since I had slept.  And then there were the days I completely forgot to read the assignment at all.

Mr. Powell expected everyone  to take his class seriously, he accepted no excuses for not having read the assignment. When he got upset or seemed nervous, you could see the muscles in his jaw flexing back and forth. I found it so hard to remember to read the assignments since nothing had to be 

turned in. No one was ever too excited about discussing what we had read.  As sure as someone held up their hand and made a comment, there would be giggling and snickering in the room. The thought of making a comment and having someone giggle or snicker mortified me.

When no one volunteered, Pinkie would begin to stride up and down the isles of desks, looking to see if someone was writing a note or goofing off.   If he caught someone, bingo the next volunteer!  Fridays were an especially dreaded day in Pinkie’s class because we always had a poem to memorize.  Then each  of us had to recite it...alone...in front of the class.  

The first few weeks I had it memorized perfectly held up my hand eagerly and was one of the first to recite.  Then Nan pointed out to me how unbecoming being so eager was. She said I didn’t need to waste time memorizing it at home when if we could manage to be one of the last ones, we  could have it memorized after hearing it 10 or 12 times.  I tried her suggestion and it worked really well.  We would sit with our heads in our books, looking studious, then would manage to be on of the last ones called upon.  Fridays in his class were always the longest class of the day, hearing the same poem droned over and over for an hour. My patience would be gone by the time the bell rang.

As the year went by each of us seemed to put less and less time into memorizing the poem...more and more of the class had figured out Nan’s theory of listening to others say to memorize it in class.   Pinkie of course was no newbie to this theory, having taught school...almost forever.

One Friday we had the dream poem to memorize, The Star Spangled Banner.  Everyone knew that, a slam dunk..no studying at all.  

Failing to see Pinkie walk in the room, still turned around talking to Nan, his voice boomed, “Jan turn around please, and since you are so busy talking you can be the first to recite.”  My brain immediately went on lock down.  All I could think of were the words to American the Beautiful...which had slipped out before I could think.

“Jan—please sit down,” Pinkie's voice boomed.

As I turned to sit down I  saw all the anxious faces, I realized they realized they did not know the words either, and everyone was sweating.  Instead of snickering as usual I saw real concern on those faces, that scared me even more.  I stumbled past a couple of desks and noticed that Nan had her head completely down on her desk.  “Does anyone actually have The Star Spangled Banner memorized or were you all planning to be the last one chosen like Jan?”, his booming voice questioned. 

Silence...total and complete silence covered the room like a blanket, not whisper, not a cough...nothing but silence.  He stood there looking at us, flexing his jaw as he did when he stood in the hallway.  

He turned, strided to his desk, pulled out his chair with a long scraaaaape and sat down.  We were all frozen, afraid to move or say a word.  He had never sat down at his desk during class before.  His eyes were still fixed on the class.  

Finally he said, “Put everything away and clear your desk, I am going to tell you a story.”   He slowly stood pulling up all of his six foot seven frame to its full height.  Crossing his arms over his vast chest, and flexing his jaw, he slowly scanned the entire classroom, looking into each of our eyes.

“Francis Scott Key was a respected young lawyer living in Georgetown just west of where the modern day Key Bridge crosses the Potomac River. He made his home there from 1804 to around 1833 with his wife Mary and their six sons and five daughters. 

At the time, Georgetown was a thriving town of 5,000 people just a few miles from the Capitol, the White House, and the Federal buildings of Washington. But, after war broke out in 1812 over Britian's attempts to regulate American shipping and other activities while Britain was at war with France, all 

was not tranquil in Georgetown. The British had entered Chesapeake Bay on August 19th, 1814, and by the evening of the 24th of August, the British had invaded and captured Washington. They set fire to the Capitol and the White 

House, the flames visible 40 miles away in Baltimore. 

President James Madison,his wife Dolley, and his Cabinet had already fled to a safer location. 

A thunderstorm at dawn kept the fires from spreading. The next day more buildings were burned and again a thunderstorm dampened the fires. Having done their work the British troops returned to their ships in and around the 

Chesapeake Bay. 

In the days following the attack on Washington, the American forces prepared for the assault on Baltimore that they knew would come by both land and sea. 

Word soon reached Francis Scott Key that the British had carried off an elderly and much loved town physician of Upper Marlboro, Dr. William Beanes, and was being held on the British flagship TONNANT. The townsfolk 

feared that Dr. Beanes would be hanged. They asked Francis Scott Key for his help, and he agreed, and arranged to have Col. John Skinner, an American agent for prisoner exchange to accompany him. 

On the morning of September 3rd, he and Col. Skinner set sail from Baltimore aboard a sloop flying a flag of truce approved by President Madison. On the 7th they found and boarded the TONNANT to confer with Gen. Ross and Adm. Alexander Cochrane. At first they refused to release Dr. Beanes. But Key and Skinner produced a pouch of letters written by wounded British prisoners praising the care they were receiving from the Americans, among them Dr. Beanes. The British officers relented but would not release the three Americans immediately because they had seen and heard too much of the preparations for the attack on Baltimore. 

They were placed under guard, first aboard the H.M.S. Surprise, then onto the sloop and forced to wait out the battle behind the British fleet. 

At the star-shaped Fort McHenry, the commander, Maj. George Armistead, asked for a flag so big that "the British would have no trouble seeing it from a distance"  The flag was so large that it had 400 yards of best quality wool 

bunting. The stars measured two feet from point to point. Eight red and seven white stripes, each two feet wide, were cut.  It measured 30 by 42 feet .

At 7 a.m. on the morning of September 13, 1814, the British bombardment began, and the flag was ready to meet the enemy. The British had said that when the flag fell that would signify the American’s surrender. 2,  The bombardment continued for 25 hours,the British firing 1,500 bombshells that weighed as much as 220 pounds and carried lighted fuses that would supposedly cause it to explode when it reached its target. But they weren't very dependable and often blew up in mid air. From special small boats the British fired the new Congreve rockets that traced wobbly arcs of red flame across the sky. The Americans had sunk 22 vessels so a close approach by the British was not possible. That evening the connonading stopped, but at about 1 a.m. on the 14th, the 

British fleet roared to life, lighting the rainy night sky with grotesque fireworks. Key, Col. Skinner, and Dr. Beanes watched the battle with apprehension. They knew that as long as the shelling continued, Fort McHenry had not surrendered and the flag was still there.   Its pole was standing at an odd angle but standing none the less. But, long before daylight there came a sudden and mysterious 

silence. What the three Americans did not know was that the British land assault on Baltimore as well as the naval attack, had been abandoned. Judging Baltimore as being too costly a prize, the British officers ordered a retreat. Waiting in the predawn darkness, Key waited for the sight that would end his anxiety; the joyous sight of Gen. Armisteads great flag blowing in the breeze. 

When at last daylight came, the flag was still there!  The men at ft. McHenry had refused to let the great flag fall.  They had held the pole with their hands and when those men had died holding it, others took their place, and then others—

and in the end the flag had been held up by the soldiers and the bodies of soldiers who had fought for their country. 2.

Being an amatuer poet and having been so uniquely inspired, Key began to write on the back of a letter he had in his pocket. Sailing back to Baltimore he composed more lines and in his lodgings at the Indian Queen Hotel he finished 

the poem. Judge J. H. Nicholson, his brother-in-law, took it to a printer and copies were circulated around Baltimore under the title "Defence of Fort McHenry".  It was printed in a newspaper for the first time in the Baltimore Patriot 

on September 20th,1814, then in papers as far away as Georgia and New Hampshire. To the verses was added a note "Tune: Anacreon in Heaven." In October a Baltimore actor sang Key's new song in a public performance and 

called it "The Star-Spangled Banner". Immediately popular, it remained just one of several patriotic airs until it was finally adopted as our national anthem on March 3, 1931. The flag, our beloved Star-Spangled Banner, went on view ,for 

the first time after flying over Fort McHenry, on January 1st,1876 at the Old State House in Philadelphia for the nations' Centennial celebration. “ 1.

I learned all four verses of the Star Spangled Banner.  Everyone in our class did.  I have never seen the flag or heard the song, that I wasn’t proud that Mr. Powell 

had required us to learn it.  I wish I had been thoughtful enough to tell him that.

Mr. Powell never married or had children.  He spent his entire life teaching seventh graders reading and having them memorize poetry.  He touched my life in a very meaningful way.

Note:  Mr. Powell knew everyone call him Pinkie....and was quite proud that he had a nickname.  Once, when my mother taught with him, she asked him if it offended him.  He said, “No. Quite the opposite....after all they don’t have have a nickname for you do they?”

In Ocotber 2014 I have been asked to give a presentation on the Star Spangled Banner for the Daughters of the American Revolotion (D.A.R.).  I plan to use this for the presentation.

1.National Flag Foundation website

2. Unknown source, included in the story told by Mr. Theo Granville Powell

Texas City Sun

Published December 28, 2003

Theo Granville Powell

Theo Granville Powell, 78, of Texas City, passed away Friday, December 26, 2003 at Mainland Medical Center in Texas City.

Funeral services will be 10:00 a.m. Monday, December 29, 2003 at First Baptist Church in La Marque, Texas with Rev. David Smith and Rev. Grayson Glass officiating. Burial will be 1:00 p.m. Tuesday, December 30, 2003 at Evergreen Cemetery in Lipan, Texas. Visitation will be from 1:00 p.m. to 3:00 p.m. Sunday, December 28, 2003 at Emken-Linton Funeral Home.

Mr. Powell was born December 9, 1925 in Lipan, Texas. He was a retired school teacher for La Marque Independent School District, and a Deacon Emeritus for First Baptist Church in La Marque, Texas.

Survivors include his sisters, Dorothy Powell and Vera Allen both of Lipan, Texas and Helen Powell of California; numerous nieces and nephews and other relatives and friends.*

* And hundreds of students whose lives were made better for having had him as a teacher.