After I finished my Associate in Arts degree at CNC in 1966, I needed a full-time summer job to help fund my further education that fall at William and Mary. I desperately sought help from any and all who had contacts with the world of $1.50 an hour, including my psychology professor at CNC, Mr. James Windsor. A few days later, Mr. Windsor phoned me. He opened his call with "I have an opportunity that I believe you may be interested in so please think about it.” He had received a request from the Richardsons, who ran a successful Dy-Dee Diaper Service in Hampton and needed a handyman for that summer.
I interviewed the very next day and got the job. Basically I would help out around the plant, and whenever an employee took a vacation, I would do that person’s job. I became a hands-on employee. Sometimes I drove a truck, delivering clean diapers and collecting "soiled" ones (we never called them "dirty") but mainly I counted and washed the soiled diapers and sorted and repackaged the cleaned ones.
Teamwork was important. Deliveries and collections started first thing each morning and depending on the route, trucks returned by early afternoon with stacks of plastic bagged soiled diapers. Drivers helped each other unload at the shipping station and any other available workers pitched in to move things along.
I'll never forget the time I substituted for the Virginia Beach Route man, during his vacation week. He had one of the largest routes, including all locations across the James river. I rode with him for a solid week and made driver’s direction notes on the back of each upcoming customer delivery card. Dy-Dee used a flip id identification page route book to identify delivery sequences. On day one of my substitution assignment I made my deliveries and pick-ups without a hitch. Day two was a different story. I forgot that the office pulled out delivery cards when customers changed or dropped service. My delivery sequence was different. I became lost on Witch Duck Road. Confused, embarrassed and a little bit scared I found a pay phone and called the shop. I was redirected and back on task but an hour behind my schedule. However, back at the plant nobody ever laughed at me (to my face). Lessons learned.
Vintage toy Dy-Dee truck
Visualize being in an un-air-conditioned room, surrounded by 4-by-6 feet carts full of used diapers. My primary summer work was in one of two such rooms, each with two industrial-sized washing machines and six commercial dryers that ran endlessly. The heat was nearly unbearable but we were provided all the free Cokes we could drink. I stood in front of a flapping conveyor belt where I picked up, counted, and placed "soils" into wash bags--with my bare hands. No protective gloves then. Exact counting was crucial because delivery counts of clean diapers were determined by the number of used ones returned.
Those “soils” customers returned were supposed to have been shaken above and dipped into toilets, wrung out, and then deposited into Dy-Dee's plastic bag-lined containers with deodorant compartments on top (photo left). I quickly learned that some adults don't follow directions. I took turns working the wash and dry rooms and filled well deserved vacations for two great guys who worked with me. We worked hard, laughed hard, and loved one another. It mattered not that our skin colors differed.
My previous summer employments were valuable experiences, but my job at Dy-Dee was my favorite for its positive learning opportunities. I loved the wide variety of activities and the fellowship. My two summers working with diapers essentially earned me a Dy-Dee-Service degree (DDS) that made possible two degrees from William and Mary and a wonderful career in education. I also learned to respect hard work and dedication no matter what the job required.
CHARLES GILLETT (Charlie) SNEAD, after completing his BA (Elem. Ed., '68) and MEd (Admin. & Supervision, '71) at William & Mary, took additional courses at ODU, ECU, & UNC-CH, where he completed the Principal’s Executive Program. After teaching elementary school 4 years in Newport News, he served as Principal in two schools on the Chesapeake Bay, then had a career of 32 years in school administration and supervision in NC, including 19 years as Principal of Manning Elementary School in Roanoke Rapids and 4 years as Program Administrator for Exceptional Children, Arts, Guidance, & Preschool Education. He next enjoyed 10 years as Principal of Hendersonville Elementary School, a National Blue Ribbon School of Excellence in NC. Now “happily retired” in Hendersonville, Charlie is fully enjoying having extra time with his family, serving his community and church, and returning to Newport News several times a year for reunions with classmates and teachers from NNHS and CNC.
Dr. E. Spencer Wise:
Colleague, Mentor, Close Friend
by Dr. Harold Cones
Distinguished Professor Emeritus of Biology
Revised February 2022
My first recollection of Edward Spencer Wise is from my job interview at CNC, in July of 1968. While I was waiting for Biology Department Chair Dr. Jean Pugh to arrive from her Freshman Biology class for my interview, in walked an older man with a full head of uncombed white hair, a jovial laugh, and a Harris Tweed coat covered in chalk dust. I later learned that Spence loved Harris Tweed, feeling it the mark of a gentleman, and bought most of it at a Virginia Beach thrift store. He introduced himself to me as Spencer Wise as he absent mindedly picked up the department secretary’s apple and walked out the door taking big bites. It didn’t seem to bother Ann Tiller, however, who told me later that Spence was always thinking about something and frequently took a bite of her lunch. (Once, I’m sorry to say, some of us fooled him by putting some yellow-dyed Styrofoam peanuts on Ann’s desk. I had to run after him before he could eat the handful he had scooped up.)
E. Spencer Wise, 1969 Trident, p. 24.
Dr. Jean Pugh, 1968 Trident, p. 17
Secretary Mrs. Ann Tiller, 1970 Trident, p. 18
Spence and I became very close friends, having almost a father-son relationship, and I learned he was a fascinating man with many interesting traits other than apple stealing. He was a brilliant field ecologist and could identify any plant he encountered (at times he stunned his students by grazing on some plant he pulled from the lawn). More fascinating to me, however, was his ability to look at an assemblage of plants and predict the details of the soil underneath. I tested him many times, and when we did a soil boring, I found he was always right! He had come to his field late, earning a PhD at the University of Illinois at Champaign-Urbana in the early 1970s, after his children were grown and about a decade after he had joined the Biology Department (1964).
He was born and raised as a member of a semi-prominent family in the timber business on the Eastern Shore of Virginia and knew the skeletons that resided in virtually every state politician’s closet, information which he used from time to time. His broad depth of life experiences provided rich stories in and out of the classroom and he was genuinely loved by the students.
An outstanding classroom teacher, Spence excelled in the field, providing experiences comparable to those at any major university. Many of his past students can attest to his almost magical knowledge of the outdoors, as well as their difficulty in keeping up with him as he walked. As he neared retirement, he asked me to go along on his field trips to do the heavy field work with his students, an experience that was probably more valuable to me than to the students. As my own career blossomed, I found myself drawing heavily on Spence’s methods and techniques (and stories). It was on one of these field trips to western Virginia that I came back from a midnight trap run to find Spence sitting by the campfire eating a can of ice cold giant lima beans with a spoon. I still have bad dreams about that.
Spence was loved in the community as well as at the College, providing lectures and experiences for a broad range of citizens, especially on matters dealing with environmental science, wetlands in particular. He was so highly regarded that the wetlands nature trail at the Virginia Marine Science Center was named in his honor, since he was instrumental in saving the land where the Science Center and trail are located, and in fact, had a hand in the very existence of the Center. Spence’s retirement party, in 1980, filled the Rooftop Garden of the Hotel Chamberlain, mostly with present and past students. As a retirement gift, CNC's Board of Directors designated the last remaining woods on campus as Wise Woodsand declared that it would remain forever a tribute to Dr. E. Spencer Wise. However, Wise Woods is now gone--buried under the massive Luter Center—joining the Polis Bench, theBraganza Garden, the Usry Board Room, and other major markers of Christopher Newport’s past.
Spence and Helen, his wife, lived across the highway from the beach at Virginia Beach, and my family often made use of his services when we came to the beach to swim. For several years after he retired he would call me occasionally to deliver a “bikini report” from his walks on the beach and to tell me that he was looking for a swimsuit that offended his sense of morality, but had yet to find one. It was after one of his frequent walks on the beach that Spence came home, sat down in his soft chair, and died—a fitting way to end the life of such an active man. Although his life at CNC might be long forgotten, the impact he made on his students lives on in the community. It would be good to hear from some of his students. I am sure they can add much to the Spence Wise legend.
Dr. Harold N. Cones, Jr. earned his BS degree at Maryville College, his MA at The College of William and Mary, and his PhD at Bowling Green State University. Hejoined the CNC faculty as Instructor of Biology in 1968 and remained for 40 years, retiring in 2008 as Distinguished Professor Emeritus. He chaired the Department of Biology, Chemistry and Environmental Science for 27 years and wrote seven books and fifty other publications.
The bearded Dr. Cones is the professor most students remember. 1971 Trident, p. 18
My education at CNC had two beginnings with a long pause in between. The first beginning was in the mid-1960s ... But college was not right for me at that time. I had a young child and a husband who was working long, irregular hours, and it was a challenge just to arrive on time for each class.
I tried again and began the 1970-71 school year by taking nine hours each semester and attending three mornings a week. It worked well. By that time, my son was a seven-year-old, healthy, and happy second grader.
I felt very comfortable this time among the diverse student population of traditional students, retired military, college graduates changing careers, and older students like me getting a late start. Faculty members were encouraging, and we students found ways to help each other, often forming study groups and tutoring those who might find a course difficult.
I had many fine professors ... two in particular. Dr. Theodora Bostic inspired my interest in European history and foreign travel, and Dr. Elizabeth Daly encouraged me to pursue graduate studies. I remember telling her that I was reluctant to apply to law school because, if accepted, I would be thirty-nine years old when I graduated. She said, "Well, you will be thirty-nine in 1977 anyway, so why not go?" I did enter Marshall-Wythe Law School at William and Mary, and when I graduated, I went on to practice law, later becoming a circuit court judge in Newport News.
Editor's Note:
As Joan Turner Beale, in 1974 Joan completed her B.A. at CNC as Class Valedictorian; she also earned honors at William and Mary's Marshall-Wythe Law School. After retiring at sixty-five as General District Court Judge, Joan traveled Virginia evaluating sitting judges. The evaluations were used by the judges for self-improvement and by the General Assembly in considering reappointments. She died in 2018 at 78.
*"From Stay-at-Home Mom to Courtroom Judge,” by Joan T. Morris, in Memories of Christopher Newport College: The First Decade, by A. Jane Chambers, Rita C. Hubbard, & Lawrence B. Wood, Jr. (Hallmark, 2008). To order book: Send check for $20 made out to Jane Chambers to: Dr. Jane Chambers, 15267 Candy Island Lane, Carrollton, VA 23314. Money (minus mailing cost) is donated to the First Decaders' Treasury.
I often gaze upon my life and marvel at how my seemingly trivial choices and actions led to my becoming a happy retiree on Charlie’s Mountain, N.C. One such event happened my first day in second semester World Geography early in January 1961. I was in the ninth grade at Newport News High School. In order to set aside my last class period for athletics, I had to transfer to a different World Geography class for second semester. Knowing no better, I chose to sit at what was someone else’s preferred desk.
Off to my left I watched the approach of a blond-haired, blue-eyed cutie to whom I offered my special “Hello there” smile. Ugh, what a glare she gave me in return! I was stunned. How could someone so attractive make such an ugly face? Why would she? Saying nothing she flopped down behind me where I could almost feel the heat from her breath curling the hair on my duck-tail decorated neck.
Rising to her challenge as well as seeking some cool relief, I turned and offered her my standard greeting for pretty girls, “Hi, I’m Charlie!” That earned me only a terse response which I soon realized meant “You’re in my seat!”
2013 church photo of Thommy and Charlie Snead
That fateful careless seating decision led me to stop talking so much but instead develop my note-writing skills with Thommy, which thankfully Miss Wise ignored for over five months. I earned only a B that semester in World Geography, but I was blessed to meet and fall in love with my sweetheart, wife, and best friend. She became the mother of my two wonderful daughters, “Ja'Ma” to my two adorable grandsons, the anchor for my career, and the breeze beneath my stubby little wings. I am thankful that this and so much more occurred because I sat in the “wrong” seat over 52 years ago.
Charlie as a CNC sophomore. 1966 Trident photo, p.59.
CHARLES GILLETT (Charlie) SNEAD, after earning degrees at CNC (AA, 1966) and William & Mary (BA, Elem. Ed., 1968; MEd, Admin. & Supervision, 1971), took additional courses at ODU, ECU, & UNC-CH, where he completed the Principal’s Executive Program. After teaching elementary school 4 years in Newport News, he served as Principal in two schools on the Chesapeake Bay. Then he had a career of 32 years in school administration and supervision in NC, including 19 years as Principal of Manning Elementary School in Roanoke Rapids and 4 years as Program Administrator for Exceptional Children, Arts, Guidance, & Preschool Education. He then enjoyed 10 years as Principal of Hendersonville Elementary School, a National Blue Ribbon School of Excellence in Hendersonville, NC. Now “happily retired” in Hendersonville, Charlie is fully enjoying having extra time with his family, serving his community and church, and returning to Newport News several times a year for reunions with classmates and teachers from NNHS and CNC.
Editor's Update:When I saw this little piece 7 years ago, posted by my former student Charlie Snead on his Facebook page, I got his permission to post it on our website. He and Thommy have now celebrated their 52nd Anniversary. Below is a photo of them leaving CNU's David Student Union after enjoying the 2019 Luncheon Reunion of CNC's First Decaders.
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Published September 6, 2013
Published again October 16, 2020
with Editor's UPDATE & another photo
Marine Sergeant James C. Windsor
in the Korean War
Revised version of 2013 article
by A. Jane Chambers
"In the Corps, he had had the extremely dangerous assignment of living moment by moment in the face of “this fell Sergeant, Death,” by walking in front of everybody into minefields to find mines, to use his steady hands to defuse these mines, and finally to walk on. This was to be done over and over again, day by day, month by month."
It was not until I read these words by Barry Wood, in 2007, that I knew about Jim Windsor’s heroic service in the Korean War. I was editing Barry’s essay “James C. Windsor: President, 1970 – 1979” for the book Memories of Christopher Newport College: The First Decade, which Barry, Rita Hubbard, and I were preparing for publication in 2008. I had known both Jim and Barry since I joined the CNC English faculty in the fall of 1963, but I had never heard Jim talk about his military service. Recalling a photo of him in Marine uniform, I found two photos in the 1966 Trident's dedication to "James Clayton Windsor--Teacher, Administrator, Counselor and Friend" (pp. 12 & 13)--the one right showing the Jim I knew, and the one left below showing Jim the young Marine.
Jim Windsor talking with student Norman Blankenship. 1966 Trident, p. 13.
About a dozen years ago, one of Jim’s grandsons, Jay Windsor, constructed a website to share some of his grandfather’s ideas “with a larger audience.” The various items there included essays, speeches, lectures and so forth on such topics as education, psychology, and religion. Following the “Welcome” page was a short “Biography,” followed by an “Oral History,” in dialogue form. In the "Oral History" excerpts quoted below, Jim talked to his grandson Jay about his experiences as a Marine. The brief topic headings are mine.
JOINING THE MARINES
Jim Windsor as a young Marine. 1966 Trident, p. 12.
“When I graduated from high school three friends and I decided to join the marines. I believe we were patriotic, and also wanted to see the world and save money for college. It was in June, 1950, about five years after the end of World War II, so it was a time of peace and we did not anticipate that we would be involved in a war. However, just three weeks after we enlisted North Korea attacked South Korea and the Korean War began. The war lasted three years, from June 25, 1950 to July 27, 1953. I was in Korea for almost one year, beginning in September, 1951, so my involvement was a matter of timing. I was on active duty when the war began.”
BASIC TRAINING AT PARRIS ISLAND
“I went to Parris Island, South Carolina and was there for three months. The training was very challenging and some did not make it through. The physical training was very intense with much running and hiking with heavy backpacks. We learned to shoot several types of weapons, and battle tactics. The emphasis was always on self-discipline, obedience to orders, working as a team, honesty, integrity, faithfulness. The Marine Corps motto is Semper Fidelis - ‘Always Faithful.’ I was at Parris Island in the summer months so it was very hot, frequently 90 - 100 degrees. The island was covered with sand fleas which were called ‘no see ums’ because they were so small, but they had a hurtful bite which left a red bump which itched. When standing at attention you were not allowed to swat the bugs, so you had to endure the bites without moving. This actually turned out to be good preparation for the swarms of large black mosquitoes which populated Korea. By the end of the training we were confident and proud to be Marines.”
COMBAT YEAR IN KOREA
Basic physical training at Parris Island.
Marine high rope training at Parris Island.
Marines marching in snowy Korean mountains.
“During the winter months my platoon lived in bunkers which were fortified holes in the ground. It was extremely cold, sometimes well below zero. We had small warm-up tents on the reverse slope which would accommodate two persons for a short time. Any fire or smoke on the forward slope would draw fire. I was a member of an Anti-Tank Platoon. Our weapons were heavy machine guns, rockets, flame throwers and explosives, so we were involved when there were difficult obstacles hindering progress, such as gun emplacements and bunkers."
Marines carrying a wounded comrade in Korea.
"We also set and disarmed mines. It was dangerous work and we frequently suffered casualties. The most difficult experience is to lose a friend.When you are in combat, and getting shot at, your world shrinks down to the small portion of the earth you occupy, and to the few comrades on whom you depend. There is a strong bonding and you look after each other. You fear letting your buddies down more than you fear the enemy or death. We suffered a lot of casualties (dead and wounded) and were fully aware that we were living in harm's way. I was wounded, but not seriously, and survived the experience. I have felt since then that every day is a gift. Many of my comrades did not have the chance to grow up, and I have felt blessed all of my life.”
Marine tanks in Korea of the type Jim saved.
Notable in the above paragraph are Jim's very brief coverage of his extremely dangerous task with mines, described more fully by Barry Wood at the beginning of this article, and Jim's failure to mention not only his Purple Heart but also his Commendation Ribbon for Valor in saving a tank and its crew during a fierce battle, described in the letter below.
HISCLOSING THOUGHTS
“When I became involved in the war in Korea I felt it was a worthy cause and that once again [as in World War 2] the U.S. had expressed its support for freedom and justice. Communism was held at bay, and South Korea is a free country and has prospered. It was the right thing to do. I have thus far lived to be 74 years old. When I was in the mountains of Korea I never thought I would survive this long. I have already lived twenty years longer than my father, who was killed in a coal mine accident when he was fifty-four years old. The values which continue to guide me may be summarized in these principles: Do not be too concerned with what you have, or what you do, but rather focus on what you are becoming as a person. Seek truth, live love, do good.”
After the original publication of this article (August 9, 2013), Dr. Windsor wrote to me "Thank you for composing and printing the article on some of my experiences in Korea. It was very thoughtful and well done. I have not talked much about my service in the Marines, but at age 81, I suppose it is now worth mentioning as a part of my history. Thank you for remembering."
Born August 11, 1932 in West Virginia, James Clayton Windsor died April 3, 2016 in Williamsburg, Virginia, at age 83.
When I arrived on the campus of Christopher Newport College as a shy freshman in the fall of 1965, it seemed like I had traveled a very short distance from Ferguson High School. Before I left CNC, however, I wouldtravel a great distance in my knowledge of the world. I enjoy seeing the old pictures of the buildings on the 1960s campus, but the main thing I remember about CNC is a group of talented professors I had that the college had been fortunate enough to attract.
Dr. E. Spencer Wise, 1969 Trident, p. 24.
Dr. E. Spencer Wise
Dr. Wise had a great sense of humor. I remember him once saying, “I didn’t marry my wife because her family had lots of money. Of course, I didn’t let that stand in my way, either.”
Our plant taxonomy class only had four students, so we would all pile into his old Ford Falcon and go hunting for plants. We would be flying down the road in his Falcon and he would go, “Oh, oh, oh! I just spotted an interesting plant in the woods.” He would hit the brakes, throw the car in reverse, and back up until we could get out and see the plant. He definitely had an eye for plants.
Dr. Ruth Mulliken
I took a summer class in introduction to psychology after my freshman year. It was held in a lecture hall with 40 or 50 students. When Dr. Mulliken walked in, she said, “For those of you from UVA or William and Mary who think you are here to take an easy class, this is not easy.” I was instantly petrified. Could I possibly pass? I studied for the first test for hours and hours. The next class after the test, Dr. Mulliken walked in with a small piece of pink paper. She glanced at it, then asked, “Who is Mr. Moore?” I am sure I turned red in the face and began to sweat as I slowly raised my hand. She said, “Congratulations. You made the highest score on the first test.”
Dr. Ruth K. Mulliken, 1969 Trident, p. 26.
I credit Dr. Mulliken with helping me see the world from a different view. One of the things she did that summer was to walk in and slam her book on the podium and say, “Those crazy men drivers!” I had never heard that phrase with “men” in it before and it gave me a different perspective. I was hooked and became a psychology major.
Dr. Steve Sanderlin
I was trying to choose a professor to take for freshman English during my first semester. A friend made a suggestion that went something like, “Take Dr. Sanderlin. You’ll have to work hard, but you’ll learn a lot.” The first thing we all found out in Dr. Sanderlin’s class was that the following criteria were not used for assigning grades: age, need, or time since last taking a course.
Dr. W. Stephen Sanderlin, Jr., 1968 Trident, p. 32.
We had an in-class essay every Friday and a student had to get at least one C on an essay to pass the class. Of course, if the student used it’s or its incorrectly, it was a big deduction. A run-on sentence or fragment resulted in an automatic F. One of the students said he got back his paper and could see where Dr. Sanderlin had been marking it before hitting a sentence fragment. At that point there was a gigantic F R A G written on the paper in red ink and a 69 at the top.
My papers came back with basically the same message written at the bottom: “Mr. Moore. This paper is a series of disconnected declarative sentences. Please vary your writing style.” Since I was consistently getting low Cs on each paper, I was not about to tempt fate by varying my writing style. I figured a low C in his class was golden.
One of my friends said he was talking to Dr. Sanderlin and complaining about how much he was struggling in another class. Dr. Sanderlin replied that he knew how it felt because he had struggled while taking Greek. My friend said, “I was feeling so good knowing that a person of Dr. Sanderlin’s intellect had actually struggled with a class and could sympathize with me. Then reality returned when Dr. Sanderlin added, ‘It was so bad, I only got a B!’”
I did learn a lot in Dr. Sanderlin’s class and it helped me during the rest of my time in college.
Mr. Robert M. Usry
I was amused by Mr. Usry’s opening remarks in history class when he told us about how he decided to become a professor. He said, “I retired and got tired of waiting for the hearse to pick me up, so I went back to college.” I never met anyone who enjoyed being a professor as much as Mr. Usry. I remember when he had serious surgery and came to the student center wrapped in a heavy coat just to be on campus. I read Ron Hunt’s account* of how Mr. Usry told about the student who said that Martin Luther nailed his feces to the cathedral door. Mr. Usry told our class that he wrote in big letters on the student’s answer, “HOW?”
*Ron Hunt’s essay,Living with Professor Robert M. Usry, is in our Website ARCHIVES, subtab YOUR MEMORIES.
JOHN WILLIAM MOORE earned an A.A. at CNC in 1968, where he was on the men’s track team, then a B.S. in psychology at ODU in 1969. He next served in the U.S. Navy as a musician (1969-72). After that, he earned two more psychology degrees: the M.A. at Morehead State Univ. (1973) and the Ph.D. at George Peabody College (1979). He’s been at Belmont University since 1979, first teaching psychology, then working in administrative computing. He is currently Belmont’s senior systems analyst. John and his wife, Jeanne, a retired psychologist (Ph.D. from Vanderbilt Univ.) live in Nashville, TN and have one son.
John Wm. Moore as a CNC freshman, 1966 Trident, p. 67.
Dr. John Wm. Moore in November, 2014. Photo provided by John.
_________________________________________
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Originally published 2014
Republished March 16, 2018
FEEDBACK on My 1962 Empress of England Cruise from Canada to Scotland (article can be found in the WEBSITE ARCHIVES tab under YOUR MEMORIES):
From Barbara R. Jacobs
Hi Jane,
I enjoyed your article and pictures of your cruise. What a special thing that was for you to do with the "send off" from your Canadian friends and family members.
FromPatty Lottinville Kipps:
Jane, I enjoyed your "cruise to Scotland" piece. So nice to have that connection with your professor. Maybe you could do one on your tour of Europe. Illustrated, of course, esp re: things that have changed a lot since then.
My 1962 Empress of England Cruise
from Canada to Scotland
By A. Jane Chambers
he Empress of England passing under the Jacque Cartier Bridge in Montreal, Canada. Canadian Pacific Line postcard.
My first, and so far only, cruise was a six-day sail from Montreal, Canada, to Greenock, Scotland aboard the Empress of England, June 8th (Friday) through the 14th (Thursday), 1962. This cruise across the North Atlantic was the beginning of a three-months-long European adventure made possible by my living very frugally my first year of full-time college teaching (a one-room apartment with a Murphy bed), plus borrowing from the local Teachers’ Credit Union.
Wishing me “Bon Voyage”—front: Canadian friends (L-R) Pete Taillefer & Denis Brodeur (holding daughters); & back: (L-R) my sister, Gini, moi, my mother, my brother Bob, & Anita Taillefer. Photo by Mirelle Brodeur.
Biding my friends and family “Au Revoir!” as they prepare to leave the ship and return to the dock. Photo by Denis Brodeur.
Our ship set sail at noon on Friday, June 8th amid much fanfare, loud horns blowing as we passengers threw colored streamers to the people below on the dock. Around eight that evening, we stopped in Quebec to pick up more passengers and to leave off mail. I left a letter to be sent to my parents, reflecting my excitement about the cruise as well as my naiveté about the weather we would have on this northern voyage. The first day had been sunny and relatively warm, so I expected to sunbath in my bathing suit the next day. For the first 1000 miles, we would be in the Saint Lawrence Seaway, relatively sheltered from rough waters and cold winds. But I quickly learned why the ship’s pool was indoors.
I was with a group of ten women, headed by my former landlady in Fayetteville, Arkansas, a widow and English professor at the University of Arkansas. During the two years I had rented a room in her home while on a teaching fellowship, earning my M.A. in English, she had convinced me to join one of the groups she took abroad almost every summer. Seven of us in this 1962 group were young single women, current or recent University of Arkansas graduate students. In addition to our tour leader (amazingly energetic, although at least 60, we guessed), there were two other “senior” women in our group—middle-aged school teachers from Iowa.
Tourist Restaurant on the Empress of England. Our group had the same table & same 2 waiters throughout the voyage. Photo from Ebay ad.
Tourist Cocktail Lounge. Photo from Canadian Pacific brochure (CP) on Empress of England (E of E).
Our ship was the second of three Empress ocean linersbuilt in Newcastle, England for Canadian Pacific Lines. The Empress of England was then a mere five years young and, like her sisters, a top-of-the-line cruise ship, featuring such advances as total air conditioning (for winter cruises to southern climes) and individual temperature controls in each passenger room. She was 640 feet long and 85 feet wide, with a crew of 464, virtually all English. Her tonnage was 25,585 and she cruised at 20 knots. Her full passenger capacity was 1,058—158 in First Class and 900 in Tourist Class.
First Class single outside room, viewed from porthole side. Photo from CP brochure on E of E.
Tourist Class outside 4-berth room, viewed from porthole side. Photo from CP brochure on E of E.
There were three passenger decks: A (First Class), B (Tourist), and C (Tourist Class + First and Tourist restaurants). Above Deck A was an enclosed Promenade Deck used by all passengers, with, on the inside, as best I recall, a movie theatre, a large ballroom, several lounges, and a Smoking Room. Above this was an open deck painted for deck games such as shuffleboard and the 12 lifeboats, 6 on each side. Toward the bow was one area that housed some of the crew, and above that, another small deck that housed the rest of the crew, plus the pilot house. Below Deck C was the cargo area, divided into sections, including one section for cars.
The indoor pool was at best about the size of a 12 x 12 bedroom, although this CP depiction in the brochure on E of E makes it seem a little larger.
Two of the young women in our group sunning under wool blankets on the North Atlantic. Photo by A.J. Chambers.
Passengers in First Class had suites of 2 or 3 rooms, including bathrooms, with either showers or bathtubs. Tourist passengers had single rooms and no bathroom facilities except a small sink. There were public bathrooms down the hall, much like those in American schools and restaurants. To take a shower or a tub bath, you had to make an appointment. Our group traveled Tourist Class, of course, with two of us per room. We had outside rooms (each with one porthole) with 2 berths—one upper and one lower. I took the upper berth, which was fine except that I could not sit up straight in the bed without bumping my head.
Typical lunch menu on the Empress of England, although this one is dated 1963. Photo from Ebay ad.
What did we do for entertainment on this week-long cruise to Scotland? We ate a lot, and often—with 3 outstanding meals daily, plus mid-morning snacks, afternoon teas (it was an English ship) and bedtime snacks. We drank wine with meals and cocktails in the evenings (but very moderately; alcohol was an extra expense). Sometimes we danced to the live orchestra at night (but male passengers our age were very scarce). We watched movies. Some of us might have used the very small indoor pool (I did not). It never rained, fortunately, so most of us spent several hours a day “sunning” (but under wool blankets). We also sometimes saw whales or other ships. I recall that one day we saw three ice bergs in the distance. And we read, and talked, and wrote letters to mail when we landed. Also, the day before we reached Scotland, we did our laundry in the ship’s laundry room. Each of us had only one large suitcase and a moderate-sized valise for all of our clothing and other needs for three months. We took noshorts, slacks, or jeans, because Europeans then disapproved of women wearing such “unladylike” clothing.
We were piped aboard our Tender by these kilted Scotsmen. The dark circles upper left of the photo are port holes on the Empress of England. Photo by A.J.C.
The Empress of England anchored in the Clyde River, with the Tender departing from her. Visible midship, near the water, is the opening through which passengers debarked and the floating platform connecting the ship and its tender. Canadian Pacific postcard photo.
On Thursday, June 14, 1962, our ship anchored in the Clyde River, at Greenock, Scotland. A Tender was sent out to bring all passengers ashore, which took several trips, since there were some 800 of us. Much to our delight, aboard the Tender were two Bag Pipers in full costume, sent to pipe us ashore. As we left our grand liner, we finally saw, for the first time, what she looked like in her entirety. My emotions were mixed. I was sad to leave the ship, but happy to begin a five-week tour of Europe, to be followed by six weeks at the University of London.
Although entertainment was limited—no casinos, no Las Vegas style shows, no shops (although we could buy postcards and simple souvenirs) —and accommodations were (by today’s cruise ship standards), almost primitive, my cruise on the Empress of England was a wonderful, unforgettable experience. Sadly, however, such grand luxury liners were already beginning to face serious competition from major airlines. I must admit that as the time approached in August for my scheduled return cruise to New York, I opted to exchange my ocean liner ticket for an airline ticket, so that I could stay a week longer in London—plus have another new adventure: flying across the Atlantic for the first (but not last) time.
Published June 6, 2014
A Grand CNC Decader Reunion
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, in a place called Newport News, there was an old World War II-era housing complex called Ferguson Park Apartments. In 1955, the Spriggs Family, with son David, lived on Hornet Circle in a second floor unit. Directly below lived the Anderson Family, with daughters Charlotte, Pamela, and Judy.These families were close friends for that brief time. In September of 1955, the Spriggs Family moved to Maryland, but met the Anderson Family in Washington DC during a vacation the following April. The children posed for this photograph:
(l-r) David, Charlotte, Judy, Pamela
The Spriggs Family eventually returned to Newport News; over the years, our mothers had remained in contact. “Fast Forward” to 2009. Dr. Jane Chambers is looking for CNC Decader alumni, and David is assisting. Dr. Chambers wonders where she might find Miss Christopher Newport College of 1963, Miss Charlotte Anderson. David makes the connection through Charlotte’s mother and finds an address. Leaving out a lot of details, all the sisters are located, and a grand reunion takes place in Newport News at the home of their mother, Dorothy. It is learned that, in addition to Charlotte, Judy had also attended CNC. We all drive over to the site of our old apartment block at Ferguson Park Apartments, now razed and the landscape terraformed into an expanded Huntington Park. We pose for a photo under a tree, which is the sole landmark of where our apartment once stood.
(l-r) Pamela, David, Mrs. Dorothy Anderson, Judy
Sadly, Mrs. Anderson passes away in March of 2010. David attends the services and a reception at the home. On this occasion, we all decide that this is an opportunity to repose the 1956 photo and to see what changes have occurred during the intervening 54 years.So, pictured here are the three Decaders (plus one).
(l-r) David, Charlotte, Judy, Pamela
Remembering Odell Jackson
by A. Jane Chambers
The obituary in the June 5, 2012 Daily Press opened: Odell Jackson, 96, went into eternalrest on May 31, 2012. The photograph showed an elderly, white-haired man with closed eyes and a faint smile on his lips. The creases radiating outward from the bright pink pillow behind his head suggested a halo. His was a face indeed at peaceful rest. I wondered if the photo had been made while he was sleeping--or after his death?
My search for Odell Jackson ended with that obituary, which, as too often happens, I did not see until after the funeral. I had looked for Odell off and on since 2008. Barry Wood had written a tribute to him for our book Memories of Christopher Newport College: The First Decade (p. 162). We hoped we would find him alive, still in the area, so that we could give him a copy of the book.
Barry was not the first to immortalize him in print. In 1976, Odell Jackson was the subject of one of several articles in the Daily Press's " Panorama: Independence for CNC," written on the occasion of CNC's gaining its independence from The College of William and Mary. The article included a photograph of Odell at work, tending equipment that usually kept the Shoe Lane buildings warm enough, or cool enough, for everyone to work in relative comfort.
Odell's obituary photo (DP: 06/05/12, p.7)
When CNC opened in September of 1961, Odell was there--sole keeper from floors to furnace of the old Daniel building. He was then about 45. Fifteen years later, when the Daily Pressinterviewed him, he had advanced to Housekeeping Supervisor, overseeing a small crew of workers, and he took that job quite seriously, having little patience for "people coming in and not wanting to work, not wanting to do certain jobs...each person is responsible for one building. If the work's not done, I know who didn't do it." And the slackers "didn't last long" (DP, 06/27/76, P. 9).
I don't remember exactly when Odell retired, but I believe he was into his seventies by then. He had rarely missed a day of work. He had arrived early for decades to open the buildings and raise the flags. He was an important member of our CNC family. If I could find the "devoted nephew and niece" listed in his obituary, I would be happy to give them each a copy of Memories--in his memory.
Odell at work (DP: 06/27/76, p.9)
An Overseas Brat’s Fourth of July Memory
by James D. Lowell
My brother Charles and I grew up as Overseas Brats, because our father’s career was the Army. I completed the third and fourth grades (Charles the fifth and sixth) at AnkaraElementary School in Ankara, Turkey. I believe it was a DODDS (Department of Defense Dependents School), although many of the students’ parents were Department of State, CIA, and civilian business people.
Jim Lowell in 1970, in his Riverside Hospital RN uniform. Family photo.
There was no regular U.S. Army base in Ankara, but a joint American and Turkish military compound called Jamat, which housed Turkish barracks, a few offices, and a very small commissary where American canned goods were available, but nothing fresh or refrigerated. We were appropriately advised to avoid Turkish milk, so we had to rely on Klim (milk spelled backward), which came in large cans and was the most God-awful tasting concoction you can imagine. We were allowed to consume yogurt, however, and I still love it to this day. There was no bottled Coke, but we could buy large cans of Coke syrup, and with our Seltzer bottles, make our own Coca Colas, albeit not as tasty as the real item. The only soda available was Gazoose, a Turkish lemon-lime type drink similar to 7-Up. We had to buy our fruits, vegetables, meat, poultry, and fish at local markets. The meat was usually water buffalo, and very tough. My brother and I spoke Turkish at the level of baby talk, and had to do the haggling for my mother over the price of everything we bought. Entertainment at Jamat was also limited. There was no television, but in the summer, we viewed movies outside in the court yard there, and indoors in the winter. I remember watching a film of Queen Elizabeth's coronation outdoors there.
Ah, but then there was the Fourth of July! For Charles and me, that holiday ranked right up there with Christmas. On July Fourth, the American Ambassador would lease the race track. There we were treated to imported, bottled Coke, real hot dogs and hamburgers, and all sorts of other treats not available locally. Booths were erected that housed games kids were guaranteed to win. Camel and ishack (small Middle Eastern donkey) rides could be had, as well as ishack races. The ambassador and a couple of other dignitaries, all dressed in the garb of Arab sheiks, competed against each other in a camel race. The day ended with fireworks. It was a slice of home we all loved. Still, my brother and I shed a tear when we left Turkey, which had also been our home.
A recent photo of Jim Lowell and his wife with one of their grandchildren. Family photo.
James D. (Jim) Lowell (FD 72) first attended CNC in 1965-66 while also serving in the US Coast Guard. He earned an RN in 1970 from the RiversideSchool of Professional Nursing (the first male in the RSPN program), a BS in Psychology in 1972 from CNC, and an MD in 1977 from The MedicalCollege of Virginia at VCU. Now retired from his medical career, Jim lives in Addison, TX, with his wife, Carol. They have four children and four grandchildren.
Published July 5, 2013
Marine Sergeant James C. Windsor
in the Korean War
by A. Jane Chambers
In the Corps, he had had the extremely dangerous assignment of living moment by moment in the face of “this fell Sergeant, Death,” by walking in front of everybody into minefields to find mines, to use his steady hands to defuse these mines, and finally to walk on. This was to be done over and over again, day by day, month by month.
It was not until I read these words by Barry Wood, in 2007, that I knew about Jim Windsor’s heroic service in the Korean War. I was editing Barry’s essay “James C. Windsor: President, 1970 – 1979” for the book Memories of Christopher Newport College: The First Decade, which Barry, Rita Hubbard, and I were preparing for publication in 2008. I had known both Jim and Barry since I joined the CNC English faculty in the fall of 1963, but I had never heard Jim talk about his military service. Now I dimly recalled seeing a photo somewhere of him as a young Marine. Searching my stack of CNC yearbooks, I found that photo (see right) in the 1966 Trident, in the book’s 2-page dedication to “James Clayton Windsor”—“Teacher, Administrator, Counselor and Friend” (p. 12).
Jim Windsor as CNC counselor, teacher, and dean. 1966 TRIDENT, p. 13.
About 6 or 7 years ago, one of Jim’s grandsons, Jay Windsor, constructed a website—www.jamescwindsor.com—to share some of his grandfather’s ideas “with a larger audience.” The various items there include essays, speeches, lectures and so forth on such topics as education, psychology, and religion. Following the “Welcome” page is a short “Biography,” followed by an “Oral History,” in dialogue form. In the excerpts below, Jim talks to his grandson Jay about his experiences as a Marine. The brief topic headings are mine.
Jim Windsor as a young Marine. 1966 TRIDENT, p. 12.
JOINING THE MARINES:
“When I graduated from high school three friends and I decided to join the marines. I believe we were patriotic, and also wanted to see the world and save money for college. It was in June, 1950, about five years after the end of World War II, so it was a time of peace and we did not anticipate that we would be involved in a war. However, just three weeks after we enlisted North Korea attacked South Korea and the Korean War began. The war lasted three years, from June 25, 1950 to July 27, 1953. I was in Korea for almost one year, beginning in September, 1951, so my involvement was a matter of timing. I was on active duty when the war began.”
BASIC TRAINING AT PARRIS ISLAND :
“I went to Parris Island , South Carolina and was there for three months. The training was very challenging and some did not make it through. The physical training was very intense with much running and hiking with heavy backpacks. We learned to shoot several types of weapons, and battle tactics. The emphasis was always on self-discipline, obedience to orders, working as a team, honesty, integrity, faithfulness. The Marine Corps motto is Semper Fidelis - ‘Always Faithful.’ I was at Parris Island in the summer months so it was very hot, frequently 90 - 100 degrees. The island was covered with sand fleas which were called ‘no see ums’ because they were so small, but they had a hurtful bite which left a red bump which itched. When standing at attention you were not allowed to swat the bugs, so you had to endure the bites without moving. This actually turned out to be good preparation for the swarms of large black mosquitoes which populated Korea . By the end of the training we were confident and proud to be Marines.”
Basic physical training at Parris Island.
Marine high rope training at Parris Island.
Marines carrying a wounded comrade in Korea.
COMBAT YEAR IN KOREA :
“During the winter months my platoon lived in bunkers which were fortified holes in the ground. It was extremely cold, sometimes well below zero. We had small warm-up tents on the reverse slope which would accommodate two persons for a short time. Any fire or smoke on the forward slope would draw fire. I was a member of an Anti-Tank Platoon. Our weapons were heavy machine guns, rockets, flame throwers and explosives, so we were involved when there were difficult obstacles hindering progress, such as gun emplacements and bunkers.
We also set and disarmed mines. It was dangerous work and we frequently suffered casualties. The most difficult experience is to lose a friend.When you are in combat, and getting shot at, your world shrinks down to the small portion of the earth you occupy, and to the few comrades on whom you depend. There is a strong bonding and you look after each other. You fear letting your buddies down more than you fear the enemy or death. We suffered a lot of casualties (dead and wounded) and were fully aware that we were living in harm’s way. I was wounded, but not seriously, and survived the experience. I have felt since then that every day is a gift. Many of my comrades did not have the chance to grow up, and I have felt blessed all of my life.”
Marines marching in snowy Korean mountains.
Marine tank in Korea of kind Jim Windsor saved.
Jim seldom if ever mentions the Purple Heart he was awarded in Korea.
There's no "V" on this ribbon with metal, but I believe it's probably the one Jim was awarded. Again, this award is one not even mentioned in his "Oral History."
This Citation letter explains why Jim received the Commendation Ribbon with Combat "V" [for Valor].
CLOSING THOUGHTS:
“When I became involved in the war in Korea I felt it was a worthy cause and that once again [as in World War 2] the U.S. had expressed its support for freedom and justice. Communism was held at bay, and South Korea is a free country and has prospered. It was the right thing to do.
I have thus far [in 2007] lived to be 74 years old. When I was in the mountains of Korea I never thought I would survive this long. I have already lived twenty years longer than my father, who was killed in a mine accident when he was fifty-four years old.
The values which continue to guide me may be summarized in these principles: Do not be too concerned with what you have, or what you do, but rather focus on what you are becoming as a person. Seek truth, live love, do good.”
On August 11, 2013, Dr. James C. Windsor will be 81 years old.
To read more of the "Oral History"--covering Jim's childhood in a small West Virginia coal mining area during the Great Depression and World War 2--go to the link here, click "Biography" at the top of the "Welcome" page, and then click "Oral History" at the very bottom of the "Biography" page. www.jamescwindsor.com.
Published August 9, 2013
FEEDBACK
(Dr. Windsor article)
Dr. James C. Windsorwrote: "Thank you for composing and printing the article on some of my experiences in Korea. It was very thoughtful and well done. I have not talked much about my service in the Marines, but at age 81, I suppose it is now worth mentioning as a part of my history. Thank you for remembering."
Dalton Kelley Blankenship (FD 66 & 71) found the article about Dr. Windsor as a Marine "wonderful." She also wrote that the student sitting with Jim Windsor in the first photo is her husband,Norman Blankenship, adding, "After all the years that I sat in that chair, we always thought it was funny that HE ended up with the photo in the yearbook. I know this wasn't a mystery photo, but solved it anyway."
Dr. E. Spencer Wise:
Colleague, Mentor, Close Friend
by Harold Cones
My first recollection of Dr. Edward Spencer Wise is from my job interview at CNC, in July of 1968. While I was waiting for Biology Department Chair Dr.Jean Pugh to arrive from her Freshman Biology class for my interview, in walked an older man with a full head of uncombed white hair, a jovial laugh, and a Harris Tweed coat covered in chalk dust. I later learned that Spence loved Harris Tweed, feeling it the mark of a gentleman, and bought most of it at a Virginia Beach thrift store. He introduced himself to me as Spencer Wise as he absent mindedly picked up the department secretary’s apple and walked out the door taking big bites. It didn’t seem to bother Ann Tiller, however, who told me later that Spence was always thinking about something and frequently took a bite of her lunch. (Once, I’m sorry to say, some of us fooled him by putting some yellow-dyed Styrofoam peanuts on Ann’s desk. I had to run after him before he could eat the handful he had scooped up.)
E. Spencer Wise when young Harold Cones first met him. 1969 TRIDENT, p. 24.
Biology Department Secretary Mrs. Ann Tiller. 1970 TRIDENT, p. 18.
Spence and I became very close friends, having almost a father-son relationship, and I learned he was a fascinating man with many interesting traits other than apple stealing. He was a brilliant field ecologist and could identify any plant he encountered (at times he stunned his students by grazing on some plant he pulled from the lawn). More fascinating to me, however, was his ability to look at an assemblage of plants and predict the details of the soil underneath. I tested him many times, and when we did a soil boring, I found he was always right! He had come to his field late, earning a PhD at the University of Illinois at Champaign-Urbana in the early 1970s, after his children were grown and about a decade after he had joined the Biology Department (1964).
Dr. Jean Pugh, first Biology Department Chair. 1968 TRIDENT, p. 17.
He was born and raised as a member of a semi-prominent family in the timber business on the Eastern Shore of Virginia and knew the skeletons that resided in virtually every state politician’s closet, information which he used from time to time. His broad depth of life experiences provided rich stories in and out of the classroom and he was genuinely loved by the students. Although an outstanding classroom teacher, he excelled in the field, providing experiences comparable to those at any major university. Many of his past students can attest to his almost magical knowledge of the outdoors, as well as their difficulty in keeping up with him as he walked. As he neared retirement, he asked me to go along on his field trips to do the heavy field work with his students, an experience that was probably more valuable to me than to the students. As my own career blossomed, I found myself drawing heavily on Spence’s methods and techniques (and stories). It was on one of these field trips to western Virginia that I came back from a midnight trap run to find Spence sitting by the campfire eating a can of ice cold giant lima beans with a spoon. I still have bad dreams about that.
Harold Cones as a young Instructor of Biology. 1970 TRIDENT, p. 28.
In 1980, the CNC Board of Directors declared that Wise Woods would remain forever a tribute to Dr. E. Spencer Wise. It was demolished 3 decades later to make room for construction of Luter Hall.
Spence was loved in the community as well as at the College, providing lectures and experiences for a broad range of citizens, especially on matters dealing with environmental science, wetlands in particular. He was so highly regarded that the wetlands nature trail at theVirginiaMarineScienceCenter was named in his honor, since he was instrumental in saving the land where the Science Center and trail are located, and in fact, had a hand in the very existence of the Center.
Spence’s retirement party, in 1980, filled the Rooftop Garden of the Hotel Chamberlain, mostly with present and past students. As a retirement gift, CNC designated the last remaining woods on campus as “Wise Woods”—now gone, buried under the massive Luter Center—joining the Polis Bench, the Braganza Garden, the Usry Board Room, and other major markers of Christopher Newport’s past.
Spence and Helen, his wife, lived across the highway from the beach at Virginia Beach, and my family often made use of his services when we came to the beach to swim. For several years after he retired he would call me occasionally to deliver a “bikini report” from his walks on the beach and to tell me that he was looking for a swimsuit that offended his sense of morality, but had yet to find one. It was after one of his frequent walks on the beach that Spence came home, sat down in his soft chair, and died—a fitting way to end the life of such an active man. Although his life at CNC is long forgotten, the impact he made on his students lives on in the community. It would be good to hear from some of his students. I am sure they can add much to the Spence Wise legend.
Dr. Harold N. Cones, Jr. joined the CNC faculty as Instructor of Biology in 1968 and remained for 40 years, retiring in 2008 as Distinguished Professor Emeritus of Biology. He earned his BS degree atMarywille College, his MA at The College of William and Mary, and his PhD at Bowling Green State University. He chaired the Department of Biology, Chemistry and Environmental Science for 27 years. He is the author of seven books and fifty other publications.
The bearded Harold Cones, leader of the Oceanography Program, is the professor most students remember. 1971 TRIDENT, p. 18.
Published March 29, 2013
Wrong Seat; Right Choice
by Charles G. Snead
Editor’s Note: When I saw this little story posted by my former student Charlie Snead on his Facebook page, I got his permission to post it on our website. He and Thommy, his wife, recently celebrated their 45th wedding anniversary, which occasioned the writing of this memory of their first meeting.
________________________________________________
I often gaze upon my life and marvel at how my seemingly trivial choices and actions led to my becoming a happy retiree on Charlie’s Mountain, N.C. One such event happened my first day in second semester World Geography early in January 1961. I was in the ninth grade at Newport News High School. In order to set aside my last class period for athletics, I had to transfer to a different World Geography class for second semester. Knowing no better, I chose to sit at what was someone else’s preferred desk.
Off to my left I watched the approach of a blond-haired, blue-eyed cutie to whom I offered my special “Hello there” smile. Ugh, what a glare she gave me in return! I was stunned. How could someone so attractive make such an ugly face? Why would she? Saying nothing she flopped down behind me where I could almost feel the heat from her breath curling the hair on my duck-tail decorated neck.
Rising to her challenge as well as seeking some cool relief, I turned and offered her my standard greeting for pretty girls, “Hi, I’m Charlie!” That earned me only a terse response which I soon realized meant “You’re in my seat!”
That fateful careless seating decision led me to stop talking so much but instead develop my note-writing skills with Thommy, which thankfully Miss Wise ignored for over five months. I earned only a B that semester in World Geography, but I was blessed to meet and fall in love with my sweetheart, wife, and best friend. She became the mother of my two wonderful daughters, “Ja'Ma” to my two adorable grandsons, the anchor for my career, and the breeze beneath my stubby little wings. I am thankful that this and so much more occurred because I sat in the “wrong” seat over 52 years ago.
Charlie & Thommy Snead, 2013. Church membership photo.
Charles Snead as a sophomore at CNC. 1966 TRIDENT, p. 59.
CHARLES GILLETT (Charlie) SNEAD, after earning degrees at CNC (AA, 1966) and William & Mary (BA, Elem. Ed., 1968; MEd, Admin. & Supervision, 1971), took additional courses at ODU, ECU, & UNC-CH, where he completed the Principal’s Executive Program. After teaching elementary school 4 years in Newport News, he served as Principal in two schools on the Chesapeake Bay. Then he had a career of 32 years in school administration and supervision in NC, including 19 years as Principal of Manning Elementary School in Roanoke Rapids and 4 years as a Program Administrator for Exceptional Children, Arts, Guidance, & Preschool Education. He then enjoyed 10 years as Principal of Hendersonville Elementary School, a National Blue Ribbon School of Excellence in Hendersonville, NC. Now “happily retired” in Hendersonville, Charlie is fully enjoying having extra time with his family, serving his community and church, and returning to Newport News several times a year for reunions with classmates and teachers from NNHS and CNC.
Published September 6, 2013
Operation Pedro Pan and I, Part 1:
From Hope to Horror
By Herminio Cuervo
“Our revolution is green like the royal palms,” Castro said. My grandfather said it was more like a watermelon: “Green on the outside and red on the inside.”
On January 1, 1959, Cuba’s President Fulgencio Batista left the Republic of Cuba suddenly, without warning even his most intimate friends. At age 12, my life changed abruptly.For the previous two years, my father, Dr. Teobaldo Cuervo Castillo, had been in prison, in the Isle of Pines, for conspiracy to depose Batista. My dad had been involved in the second military attempt (Sept. 1957) to change the government by force. Batista had installed himself by force on March 10, 1952, deposing the elected president (Carlos Prio Socarras). Of the many groups involved in attempting to change the government, the 26 of July group, with Fidel Castro as its leader, had been the best organized and now quickly took over the government. The military opposition decided not to prolong the bloodshed. My dad was freed!
I was elated that he was again home in Habana and glad that the guys who beat him up (and nearly killed him during detention) were gone. Following their release from prison, the military officers involved in the failed coups in 1955 and 1957 were the first to occupy the government and re-establish order. Before his arrival at the capitol, Castro sent his right-hand man, Comandante Camilo Cienfuegos, to La Habana’s military camp to take over the Cuban armed forces from these newly-freed military officers. There was no opposition from the officers. Ten days later, after a long victory caravan through the length of Cuba, Fidel Castro arrived in Habana.
My father quickly became part of this new, promising government. He was placed in charge of the national military hospital (a mini Walter Reed) and our family’s life soon got back to normal. Although Dad was very busy running the military hospital and a very busy trauma service, whenever he was free I was back to spear fishing and snorkeling with him.
My mother was teaching at the Teacher’s College and at Phillips School, an expensive private school which I attended. Because she taught there, she had gotten a good deal on tuition for my brother, Teobaldo, and me. Owned by an American couple, Phillips was an excellent school, attended by many upper-class Cuban children and children from the American Embassy. Many of the embassy spouses also taught there.Classes were in English in the mornings and in Spanish in the afternoons. What a great idea that was! Much later I realized my parents were geniuses for sending Teo and me there. Our sister, Amalia, much younger than us, was then attending a nuns’ school called the Divine Shepherdess. Almost three years older than I, Teo soon was accepted to the NavalAcademy and was gone from home, which was fine with me, because I inherited his bicycle.
The Cuervo family on July 30, 1960, 19 months after Castro’s Revolution. L to R: Amalia, Herminio (age 14), Mother, Father, Teo (age 17). Taken by a professional photographer in front of the condominium building where the family had an apartment, in Varadero Beach, Matanzas, Cuba. Photo courtesy of Teobaldo Cuervo.
Fidel Castro began his reign with interminable speeches, which sounded great. He promised many reforms: he would get rid of corruption, encourage Cuban industries and hold open elections in six months. Prominent members of Castro’s inner circle came to talk to my dad on Sunday afternoons, trying to woo him to support the Castro brothers. They offered him villas, brand new automobiles (confiscated) and even a sailboat. He would not accept these gifts, because he was so straight and honest that he squeaked when he walked. I wanted him to take the sailboat. Later, we joked that he should have accepted the boat, because it would have come in handy.
After the initial euphoria of the government change, there developed a general concern, in the people we talked with, that there were Communist elements in Castro’s group (notably Ernesto “Che” Guevara and Raul Castro, who had already been traveling to Moscow). This fear caused many intense discussions (Cuban conversations can get loud and animated) about whether or not Castro wanted to impose a Communist dictatorship. There was no support in the general public for such a thing. “Our revolution is green like the royal palms,” Castro said. My grandfather said it was more like a watermelon: “Green on the outside and red on the inside.”
Then the killing began. Summary executions, after kangaroo trials without defense representation, became routine. There was fear as to where we were going with this new Revolution. There were militiamen armed with submachine guns everywhere you turned. There was too much revenge, and women and children were not respected, as with previous governments. Castro seemed to be obsessed about the “enemies in the North” (the dreadful Yankees). He was always railing against them. He also proceeded to purge his own ranks: he arrested Comandante Huber Matos, a teacher who had become a Comandante in his revolt but objected to the Communists in the government. The most notorious purge was that of Comandante Camilo Cienfuegos, a beloved hero of the Revolution, who “disappeared” after refusing to arrest Matos. We learned later that the Castros had him and his pilot murdered. Fidel Castro was jealous of Camilo’s popularity and had a personal disdain for his wearing a cowboy hat (like a Cuban “redneck”) instead of the green or black beret. Camilo’s mother was my dad’s patient, so we knew the family fairly well.
In February of 1960, a little over a year after the January 1959 Revolution, Soviet Foreign Minister Anastas Mikoyan came to Habana, invited by Fidel Castro. He was the first Soviet official ever to visit Cuba and stayed many weeks. When the Soviets tried to place flowers at a statue of Jose Marti (Cuba’s equivalent of George Washington), in downtown Habana, a riot broke out, with students of the University of Habana fighting against the Castro police. This riot, quickly quelled, was edited out of the newsreel about Mikoyan’s visit that reached the world, however, because the officers of the Revolution did not want any bad publicity.
The Jan. 26, 1959 TIME cover story on Castro's Revolution ("The Vengeful Visionary") began: “The executioner's rifle cracked across Cuba last week, and around the world voices hopefully cheering for a new democracy fell still. The men who had just won a popular revolution for old ideals—for democracy, justice and honest government—themselves picked up the arrogant tools of dictatorship. As its public urged them on, the Cuban rebel army shot more than 200 men, summarily convicted in drumhead courts, as torturers and mass murderers for the fallen Batista dictatorship. The constitution, a humanitarian document forbidding capital punishment, was overridden.” Read more: http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,892091,00.html#ixzz2MAoRA0od
In January of 1961, the USA withdrew its ambassador in Habana and broke off all diplomatic relations with Cuba. Things began to look much worse. The Castros began to confiscate private industries and farms. All television (4 channels) was “nationalized.” Newspapers whose writers dared voice opinions different from the party line were confiscated and shut down. Castro began to print a new newspaper in one of those confiscated plants: Revolucion. It was like Pravda. Education also had to be “standardized,” to present the Revolution’s point of view on all subjects. All history had to be re-written.This badly affectednot only the public schools, but also the many private schools throughout the island.
When it became clear that Castro was going to “nationalize” (confiscate) PhillipsSchool, my parents transferred me to Colegio de Belen, Fidel Castro’s old alma mater. He had graduated from there at age 18, the year I was born, 1946. He had been the captain of the Debate Team and liked to play basketball. Perhaps my parents thought Castro would not “nationalize” his old school. It was a JesuitSchool, so the students had to wear uniforms and do a lot of praying. I quickly volunteered to do mass at 06:45 (in Latin, of course) with a priest who looked like he had come over in one of Columbus’s boats. He mumbled but was blinding fast in Latin. I was surprised that my new classmates did not speak English.
The political situation worsened and children from my class began to disappear. At the beginning, I thought it was good: more food for us at lunch and more space to play. I did not realize what was happening. Then we heard rumors that my disappearingclassmates were going to other countries—Argentina, Venezuela, or Spain. The majority, however, were going to the United States. They were leaving without even saying “adios” or giving us forwarding addresses.
To be continued March 8
Herminio Cuervo as a CNC sophomore. 1966 TRIDENT, p. 28.
DR. HERMINIO CUERVO (66 FD), after completing his sophomore year at CNC, next earned a BS at William and Mary in 1968. He then furthered his studies abroad, earning his MD/PhD in 1974 at the University of Salamanca-Spain. Following in his father’s footsteps, by becoming a surgeon, he also added two more degrees to his resume: An MH from HarvardMedicalSchool in 1979 and an MPH from Florida International University-Miami in 1988. His career in neurology has included service in the USAF in Europe and the Middle East. He also participated in the rescue of the American hostages in Iran in 1981. Currently, Herminio is Chief of Neurology at LakelandRegionalMedicalCenter. He and his wife, Joy, live in Lakeland, Florida. They have 6 children and 2 grandchildren.
Operation Pedro Pan and I, Part 2:
From Fear to Freedom
By Herminio Cuervo
In early 1961, rumors of an impending Cuban exile force invasion began to circulate and the military presence on the streets increased. Cuba now had militias in formation marching all weekend long. The opposition developed a mocking cadence: “one, two, three, four, eating **** and wasting shoes” (it rhymes in Spanish). On 14 April, 1961, I heard news that airplanes had bombed the airbases. I heard they were airplanes with Cuban flags and numbers.
My father quickly became part of this new, promising government. He was placed in charge of the national military hospital (a mini Walter Reed) and our family’s life soon got back to normal. Although Dad was very busy running the military hospital and a very busy trauma service, whenever he was free I was back to spear fishing and snorkeling with him.
My mother was teaching at the Teacher’s College and at Phillips School, an expensive private school which I attended. Because she taught there, she had gotten a good deal on tuition for my brother, Teobaldo, and me. Owned by an American couple, Phillips was an excellent school, attended by many upper-class Cuban children and children from the American Embassy. Many of the embassy spouses also taught there.Classes were in English in the mornings and in Spanish in the afternoons. What a great idea that was! Much later I realized my parents were geniuses for sending Teo and me there. Our sister, Amalia, much younger than us, was then attending a nuns’ school called the Divine Shepherdess. Almost three years older than I, Teo soon was accepted to the NavalAcademy and was gone from home, which was fine with me, because I inherited his bicycle.
The Cuervo family on July 30, 1960, 19 months after Castro’s Revolution. L to R: Amalia, Herminio (age 14), Mother, Father, Teo (age 17). Taken by a professional photographer in front of the condominium building where the family had an apartment, in Varadero Beach, Matanzas, Cuba. Photo courtesy of Teobaldo Cuervo.
We drove back to Matanzas , where the internal resistance folks who were trying to get us out, hid us at a very nice hotel: Hotel Paris. It was a great building, turn of the century Spanish architecture, right after the River San Juan Bridge , and it was on the main road. We were hidden on the top floor, usually reserved for the help. We stayed there Saturday and Sunday. We were not allowed to go out of the room. The hotel manager would bring us our meals. Then, early Monday morning (April 17, 1961), we got news that there was an invasion in the Zapata Swamp (Bahia de Cochinos—The Bay of Pigs) and that the invasion was supported by the USA . I thought, “Great! The Yankees will fix this mess and then we can go back home. Surely, they are not going to allow some Communist idiot to set up shop 90 miles from Key West .” Then, reality sank in: who would be so stupid as to organize an invasion on a swamp? No air cover and nowhere to hide.
Still, things looked promising on Monday. We saw truckloads of the red militia men wounded and dead being sent back from the battle. On Tuesday, however, we also saw loads of long range cannons and tanks in flat bed Soviet trucks going down to the swamp. Then Castro’s militia men began to round up all civilians in the country whomthey did not trust and place them in concentration camps, to prevent an uprising. People were packed inside movie theaters without air conditioning, baseball fields, chicken farms, whatever was available to hold large numbers of persons. It was terrible. We were waiting for the Yankees to come and bomb the daylights out of the reds, but nothing happened. The Yankees could be seen from the invasion area (according to survivors who were there), in their naval ships, but they took no action. Calls for help were left unanswered. It was a horrific mess.
On Wednesday April 19, the invaders ran out of ammo and had to surrender. The red militia began a door-to-door search for people like us, who were missing. Boy that I was, I insisted that we needed to evacuate the hotel and Dad soon agreed. Years later, my father would often remind me that if I had not done that, we would all have been killed. My father and brother destroyed all identifications and flushed them down the toilet. The hotel manager got Dad some peasant clothing and he took out his partials, to help alter his appearance.
Castro watching the failed Bay of Pigs invasion on April 17, 1961. MIAMI HERALD photo by Martin Merzer.
Captured anti-Castro forces at Bay of Pigs. Photo from National Security Archives: nsarchive.wordpress.com.
We went our separate ways. It was the last time I saw my father for quite some time. After he and my brother left the hotel, I walked out and went to the main central square, where I was able to buy a bus ticket back to Habana. I could not go home, however. I learned that the secret police had already been there and taken my mother and young sister to the secret police headquarters for interrogation. I called my aunt and she hid me for a couple of days. Then my maternal grandfather came and took my mother, sister and me out of Habana, to her family’s home in Pinar del Río. How I survived that bus ride from Matanzas to Habana is still a mystery to me. I remember multiple road blocks and frequent orders for everybody to get out of the bus, show our papers, and then get back in the bus. I was constantly sweating ink that the militia would discover who I was.
After the debacle of the invasion, there was great panic among the non-Castro part of the civilian population. The word got out that there was going to be a new constitution, with laws giving all parental rights to the State (the commies). There were great reprisals against anyone who did not support the Revolution. The dreaded Committees for the Defense of the Revolution (CDR) were installed in every city and town block, to spy on everyone else. No one could move.
Cuban families loading their children onto Pan American flights to Miami during Operation Pedro Pan. Photo supplied by Herminio Cuervo, from OPP Group literature.
In the Fall of 1960, Mr. James Baker, the director of one of the American schools in Habana, Ruston Academy , made a trip to Miami and spoke with representatives of the U.S. State Department and the Catholic Relief Services (CRS, headed by Father B. Walsh).The parents and the school principal wanted to set up a program which would allow Cuban children to come to the USA without their parents, to find shelter, go to school, find sponsoring families and wait until their parents were allowed to join them. A Cuban born worker at the Miami CRS, named George, was to be the contact man. He would receive the children at Miami International Airport and take care of them. The name Pedro Pan was attached to this effort later.
At the beginning it was a trickle, then the homes the children were being placed in ran out of space and the organizers had to expand to a camp in the sticks (Matecumbe) outside today’s city of Kendall , near Miami , in a pine forest surrounded by tomato farms. The girls were kept close to town in better accommodations.
My turn came on August 20, 1961, when I was 15 years old. My brother had escaped from the island in early June and using his navigational education, sailed a vessel from the southwestern coast of Cuba , to Key West . Once in the US, Teo was able to “reclaim” my mother, sister and me. My mother then spoke with a lady (Polita Grau), who was one of the contacts for the program of children leaving alone and obtained their permission to add me to the program. She then purchased a one-way ticket on Pan American Airways from Habana to Miami: $25.00 (I still have that ticket). I had no clue what I was in for. I tried to convince myself that our family would be back in Cuba for Christmas 1961.
Pedro Pan Group emblem, provided by Herminio Cuervo, from OPP GROUP literature.
Herminio Cuervo as a CNC sophomore. 1966 TRIDENT, p. 28.
DR. HERMINIO CUERVO (66 FD), after completing his sophomore year at CNC, next earned a BS at William and Mary in 1968. He then furthered his studies abroad, earning his MD/PhD in 1974 at the University of Salamanca-Spain. Following in his father’s footsteps, by becoming a surgeon, he also added two more degrees to his resume: An MH from HarvardMedicalSchool in 1979 and an MPH from Florida International University-Miami in 1988. His career in neurology has included service in the USAF in Europe and the Middle East. He also participated in the rescue of the American hostages in Iran in 1981. Currently, Herminio is Chief of Neurology at LakelandRegionalMedicalCenter. He and his wife, Joy, live in Lakeland, Florida. They have 6 children and 2 grandchildren.
Published March 8, 2013
Operation Pedro Pan and I, Part 3:
Learning to Adapt
by Herminio Cuervo
How do you prepare for a trip to the unknown? Particularly when you are a boy of fifteen not interested in leaving his homeland. Although the adventure part of the trip to America sounded attractive, I really did not want to change countries, language, weather and beaches. I tried to imagine what it would be like having to think in English all the time, not just the few hours each day we did in school. I was familiar with traveling by air, because I had flown with my mother and sister to visit my dad in the prison at the Isla de Pinos, South of Habana province [See Part 1 in YOUR MEMORIES Archives]. That flight, my first, on an old WW-II C-46, had been exciting, though noisy and short. This trip to Miami would be different—on a Pan American DC-7B.
On the day of my flight (Sunday, August 20, 1961), it was infernally hot and humid, but I had to wear a suit, because traveling by plane was then a formal occasion. There was a 60-pound luggage limit, so I took with me only a kind of duffle bag called a chorizo (a Spanish sausage), into which I had stuffed all the clothes I thought I would need: everything that was in good shape, including plenty of shorts and swimsuits. I really did not know where I was going. A friend of my mother’s drove my mother and me to the airport in Habana for a noon flight.
The airport was a scene that would have made Federico Fellini jealous: hordes of very anxious people, surrounded by heavily armed militiamen and soldiers with machine guns. Mother and I were able to stay together briefly, and then the processing began. My bag was inspected. I had nothing to declare—no jewelry, just the stainless steel watch my dad had given me for finishing seventh grade with good grades. Then we passengers were moved to a holding area called the pescera (fish bowl). We could see our relatives or friends, but we could not touch them or speak with them anymore. We were told the aircraft was coming late. Hours went by. My mother stayed there outside the holding area, watching me, until we finally boarded the plane, late that afternoon.
Teenaged Herminio was alone on a Pan Am flight like this one. The lucky children (about half of them) were accompanied by relatives or met by relatives in Miami. Photo from the Operation Pedro Pan Group website.
Map showing Havana and Miami.
I was filled with anxiety, fear, and silent anguish as I climbed into the aircraft and found my seat. I was sitting on the right side at the edge of the wing, so I could see down to the ground, ahead of the propeller of the DC-7B. I clicked my seat belt and took a deep breath. I was startled by the voice of a stewardess, asking me if I wanted something to drink. She spoke fluent Spanish; I replied in English. The rustling noise of the other passengers was all I could hear until the engines were turned on. I kept telling myself that this was going to be a short stay in the USA and then I would come back home—when the Commies were kicked out.
To distract myself, I paid close attention to the taxiing and take off of the aircraft, looking down at the scenery flashing below me. The airplane took off to the east, flying over the grounds of the State Fair, where once my grandfather showed cattle and my brother competed in horse jumping. Then the plane crossed the avenue on which we had driven to the airport. I saw the factory for an orange soft drink named Green Spot (made by an American Company), then some chicken farms, and then the airplane turned north. The last thing I remember seeing of the Cuban coast was the towns of Cojimar, inspiration for Hemingway’s TheOld Man and the Sea, and further east, Santa Cruz del Norte, home of the distillery that makes the famous Ron Habana Club rum. I could read the distillery’s tall white chimney upon which was written, vertically, “Santa Cruz.” When the Captain announced the airplane had cleared Cuban air space, almost everyone broke into applause and tears. I was so tired and hungry (having had no food since early morning), and so scared about my future, that I remained tense while the engines droned on.
Herminio's watch ("It still works") that his father bought for him at his cousin's shop, Cuervo y Sobrinos-- "the best jewelry shop in Habana. Look it up on Google," wrote Herminio. "You can read the name in gold on the face plate."
It was almost dark as we prepared to land. Looking down I saw many lights on in Miami, which looked like a large city. I vainly hoped I would see someone I knew in the airport. The plane touched down flawlessly. I followed the other passengers down the steps to the tarmac and then to Customs. I handed the officer my passport, and he kept it. I didn’t know why but thought it must be okay. It would be five months, however, before my passport was returned to me. At the baggage station, I waited a long time for my chorizo, but it never came—not ever. All I had from home other than what I was wearing was my watch. I still have it.
A priest in civilian clothes (except for the collar) was in that room, gathering the children who had arrived alone, like me. He was a lean, cool-looking guy with dark sunglasses. His name was Father Pala and he was very reassuring. When he asked me if I wanted to go with him, I said yes, but that I was concerned my bag was missing. He told me not to worry because “It happens all the time.” I thought my bag might arrive later, but it never did. There were about six of us, boys and girls. I did not recognize anyone, so I did not talk much. We boarded a 1961 light green Ford van and the priest drove for what seemed like a long time, going west, past homes and through a pine forest. We finally reached a school-like camp in Kendall, where we were given sandwiches and milk. I was loaned some clothes, so got out of my sweaty suit. When I went to bed, I slept like a rock.
The girls stayed in that camp, but the boys were driven the next day to CampMatecumbe, a summer-type facility with cabins fitted with bunk beds. It had a dining area, an office and a swimming pool with three-meter and one-meter diving boards. I liked the pool! Soon I met some boys I knew from Habana. We were all very surprised to see each other and spent time telling stories. Nights were lonely, however. I missed my mother and family. I had not heard from my dad since the fiasco in April [see Part 2 in YOUR MEMORIES Archives] and there was no telephone or mail communication available. I had to quickly make do with what I had and adapt to the new reality. I loved listening to the radio, WQAM, playing the latest tunes. My favorite was the top hit ”Take Good Care of My Baby.”
The food at the camp was great, although we did not have our coffee café con leche (the Americans were flabbergasted that Cuban children drank espresso coffee all day). For breakfast we had Wheaties and milk. We spent most of our time doing chores such as cleaning and laundry, but we also had English lessons (the camp staff was not very good at this, however) and exercise. I swam in the pool, did push-ups and sit-ups, and ran—to stay in shape.
There were a few good surprises. One of my dad’s cousins, who used to be a swimming champion in Cuba, became one of the swim coaches in the camp, and another man, who had been my grandfather’s aide, came one weekend and took me to his home for a weekend visit. I had to hide at the house, though, so that the landlord wouldn’t know I was sleeping there. Being away from the camp was a most welcome break, even though I slept on the floor. The World Series was going on and my host was an avid baseball fan, so I quickly learned who Roger Maris was. Mickey Mantle I knew from when he went to Habana in the winter, to play with the Cuban Sugar Kings.
The separated Cuervo family: Herminio (2nd from left) in July, 1960, at age 14, with his parents and siblings in Cuba. Brother Teo later escaped alone, sailing a boat to Key West. Their father was in hiding from Castro's army when Herminio's mother sent him to Miami.
In the early sixties the locals in Miami did not welcome the Cubans. There was discrimination regarding things like rental properties and jobs. I also saw shop windows with little signs depicting a Southern gentleman telling me, “Keep your cotton picking hands off the glass,” and water fountains and bathrooms marked “white” and “colored.” Even the police were unfriendly. They would become irritated easily if Cubans asked for directions. I quickly learned to adjust to this new-found experience: discrimination, which we did not have at home.
The next big hurdle came when I realized that CampMatecumbe was a holding unit from which boys were dispatched to what I thought were God-forsaken places like Nebraska, Iowa, Illinois and others that frightened me—way too cold and too far up North. There was always a lot of talk among campers after “lights out” about the different places where boys were being shipped. We all wanted to stay close to home. The comings and goings at camp were traumatic: people I just met and liked disappeared and were replaced by new frightened kids. During a meeting with the camp directors, I made it clear that I was not willing to go anywhere outside Florida. I threw such a fit over that matter that I was labeled “uncooperative.”
The people in charge had to keep moving children to the different camps or orphanages, however, in order to make room for the new arrivals, so about four weeks later, I was summoned to the office and told I was leaving the next morning for Jacksonville. I looked at the State of Florida map pinned to the wall and I thought, “What cabrones! A few more miles and I would be in the Okeefeenokee Swamp.” But I agreed to go, since Jacksonville was in Florida. That made me smile.
I did not yet know that I was a Pedro Pan child--one of what would ultimately be over 14,000 Cuban children in an historic exodus of unaccompanied minors from Cuba during the years 1961 and 1962.
To be continued
The official Operation Pedro Pan logo, which is on the website: http://www.pedropan.org/.
Herminio Cuervo as a CNC sophomore. 1966 TRIDENT, p. 28.
DR. HERMINIO CUERVO (66 FD), after completing his sophomore year at CNC, next earned a BS at William and Mary in 1968. He then furthered his studies abroad, earning his MD/PhD in 1974 at the University of Salamanca-Spain. Following in his father’s footsteps, by becoming a surgeon, he also added two more degrees to his resume: An MH from HarvardMedicalSchool in 1979 and an MPH from Florida International University-Miami in 1988. His career in neurology has included service in the USAF in Europe and the Middle East. He also participated in the rescue of the American hostages in Iran in 1981. Currently, Herminio is Chief of Neurology at LakelandRegionalMedicalCenter. He and his wife, Joy, live in Lakeland, Florida. They have 6 children and 2 grandchildren.
Published April 12, 2013
Living with Professor Robert M. Usry
By Ron Hunt
.
I lived with government and history professor Mr. Robert Usry my last two years at CNC (1963-65) before I went to Old Dominion and finished my degree in History. I found Mr. Usry set in his ways with more idiosyncrasies than I could count but he also really cared about the well being of me and the other young men living with him. He was an especially gracious person who loved what he did.
He was a bachelor and over the years obviously determined how things were supposed to be. Exceptions to his way of doing things were to be held to an absolute minimum. For example, my roommate, Jim Paxton, and I had a huge list of do’s and don’ts which included all kinds of cleaning and hygiene items—such as that beds had to be made every day, the bath had to be cleaned according to certain instructions, dinner was to be eaten at 5:00 p.m. (no exceptions), and bed time was 10:00 p.m.
However, I really appreciated him—especially his integrity and the fact that he gave me room and board at a great price of $100 a month. I had so little money and had to work part time, so his price couldn’t be beat. Despite the fact we had black eyed peas five days a week, Mr. Usry was a good cook and he really cared about our well being. He also had a good sense of humor. I particularly remember an incident that occurred one night in his living room. We were studying and all of sudden Mr. Usry broke out laughing. He was grading history papers. “Here, read this,” he said. The student had written: “and Martin Luther hung his 99 feces on the Augsbury church door.”
All in all, living with Mr. Usry was a great inspiration and was the main reason I ended up majoring in history at ODU.
Mr. Usry, 65 TRI, p. 18
“Ronnie” Hunt as TRIDENT staff member. 1965 TRIDENT, p. 26.
Recent photo of Ron Hunt in his office, sent by him.
RONALD H. (RON) HUNT (65 FD) was active at CNC as 1965 Trident Advertising Manager, Dramatic Workshop Secretary, and an officer in the first Student Athletic Association (SAA) in 1964-65. He earned a BA degree in history at ODC [now ODU] in 1967. Since 1977, he has been a real estate developer and manager of apartments and mixed use in Richmond. He and his two sons own and operate Genesis Properties, Inc., specializing in adaptive reuse and renovations. Genesis has completed over 2500 units, manages some 1500, and currently has 469 units under development. Ron and his wife, Patti (married since 1965), also have five grandchildren and live in Richmond.
Published March 8, 2013
Republished June 23, 2017
Then, Now, and Sometime
By Lois Wright
Author’s Note: The following is a slightly modified version of an article I prepared earlier for the Office of Alumni Relations in conjunction with CNU’s Homecoming celebration. It is a tradition of the Office to celebrate alumni during Homecoming, and this year’s focus was welcoming all generations of alumni from CNU’s 51-year history. Thus, they invited past graduates to share their memories about life at CNU by preparing narratives for posting on a blog line. The link to the original article, posted on November 1, 2012, is http://captainforlife.tumblr.com/post/34786635739/then-now-and-sometime-by-lois-wright-class-of-1962
As the first graduate—I was the entire 1962 graduating class—of Christopher Newport University and a long-time professor at The University of South Carolina, I have a 50-year perspective on education and CNU. What is the same and what is different? Here are some thoughts on the times, the place, and the people.
The change in the times that I believe has most affected the college experience is technology. This is too well know to merit retelling, but I invite you to imagine (or remember, if you have been around long enough)
· handwriting papers or, if you were really modern, typing them using the just-invented IBM Selectric (no Word documents);
· making copies using carbon paper or mimeograph machines (no Xerox copying machine, no printing out multiple copies);
· sending hard copy by land mail only (no fax);
· sending messages only by phone or in person (no E-mail or texting);
· analyzing data by hand or using punch cards, which you dropped, leaving a scattered mess on the floor (no immediate analysis by SPSS, Excel, or Access); and
· shuffling through a card index at the library to locate articles and taking handwritten notes (no electronic catalogues, no Internet).
I have no nostalgia for the pre-technology “good old days.” They are as well forgotten as chamber pots and washboards. We were so primitive in 1962. Yet current CNU students will look back 50 years hence and marvel at how primitive they were in 2012!
Lois Wright as a CNC student
Lois Wright now.
The location of my classes at CNU was the old Daniel Elementary School in downtown Newport News. It was the sort of building one associates with kindly principals (our equivalent was our Director, the great gentleman, Scotty Cunningham) and nurturing first grade teachers. I do have some nostalgia for the old school. It was cozy. Did you experience a cozy CNC? Does cozy exist in the modern CNU? Do students and faculty create it in some new way? Does it even matter to today’s students? I don’t know.
One thing about education hasn’t changed over the past 50 years: What really matters, what creates memories, is the people. Thus, I offer a few memories about faculty and how I experienced them.
Faye Green—Mr. Green taught me that the inclusion of rich and accurate detail could add depth and meaning to an otherwise pedestrian piece of writing. “The cat purred” is bland. But “The plush calico Persian squeezed her eyes, shifted her bulk, and settled into a velvety purr” provides visual and emotive impact. Green also taught public speaking. His humor and accepting attitude enabled me to grow from a shy gal who wouldn’t give book reports in high school to a fearless speaker.
Augustin Maissen—“Miss Wright, you translate French beautifully, but you can’t speak a word of it!” So said Dr. Maissen to me one afternoon after class. He was not reprimanding but more puzzled and perhaps exasperated. My feelings weren’t hurt; I knew he was right. Most weekends, Maissen traveled to Williamsburg to spend the day in the College of William and Mary library. I drove him there once. I think he was awfully scared, and justifiably so, as I had just received my license, and my driving hadn’t progressed beyond that jerky beginner’s stage. I never knew what he did at the library, but I hoped it was more intellectually rewarding than trying to teach me to speak French.
CNC’s first home: the former John W. Daniel Elementary School at 222 32nd Street.
Georgia Morris Hunter, instructor of biology, who was absent in the group photo made in CNC’s first year. From CNC’s 1965 TRIDENT, p. 16.
Eight of the 10 original CNC faculty: Seated (L-R): Ernest Rudin, instructor of French; Col. Faye Green, U.S. Army, Ret., instructor of English; Allen Tanner, adjunct instructor of business and economics; and Barry Wood, instructor of English. Standing (L-R): Dr. Augustine Maissen, assistant professor of European languages; James Liston, instructor of chemistry and physics; Robert Vargas, instructor of mathematics; and Robert (Pat) Usry, instructor of history.
Robert Usry—Usry was a story teller, and his story was US history. Under his magic, the line between “then” and “now” disappeared. It was all part of the same narrative. And I was part of that narrative. For the first time, I understood that history was about real people and the places and events they created and lived through. Usry was particularly skilled at describing the Civil War. I could almost smell the powder and feel the wounds.
Allen Tanner—I signed up for Tanner’s class before I knew that economics was the “dismal science.” Though the way we use the term today is not as it was used by Carlyle, many students experience economics as dismal indeed. However, Tanner brought an interesting twist to the subject. He was a business man, a banker, and approached the topic more from a practical than a theoretical perspective—though he didn’t stint on the theory. Also, he came with a point of view. All instructors bring a point of view. But it was refreshing for the instructor’s perspective to be obvious rather than covert.
Georgia Hunter—I remember Hunter more for her soft southern accent than for what she taught me. To be fair to Hunter, I offer this disclaimer: “Any similarity between what Hunter taught and what I learned was purely coincidental and any failure entirely my own.” In the textbook, botany made perfect sense, was even sometimes elegant. But for me, it was divorced from reality. Like James Thurber, when I looked through a microscope, all I saw was the reflection of my own eye. And field work was hopeless. I spent afternoons traipsing around my back yard in unsuccessful attempts to identify various plants. To this day, I can’t tell an Oak from an Elm. Are the leaves broad or narrow? Simple or compound? Alternate or opposite? I don’t know.
Barry Wood—Wood was always the entertainer. Though he may be best remembered for his Chaucerian characterizations and antics (including jumping out the window), he brought dramatic flair and humor to all his teaching. Class was fun and full of surprises. Of all my professors at all the colleges and universities I have attended, he best demonstrated a teaching style that I describe as “playful mood, serious intent.” The playfulness wasn’t just so we could have fun. He understood it as a means to an end. The playful mood—the drama, even the silliness—captured our attention and our imaginations. And that is when learning occurs.
What are your memories? What do you think current CNU students are experiencing? In 2062, how will they remember CNU?
Just Jean: Memories of Dr. Jean E. Pugh
CNC Professor Emerita of Biology
Part I
by
Her Students, Colleagues, and Close Friends
Jean sat under a tree one day with me when she was about to leave, and told me that when I retired,
nobody would thank me for what I’d done. She was correct when it came to the Powers,
but she certainly wasn’t when it came to the students and the colleagues.
Jane Carter Webb (colleague)
Dr. Jean Elizabeth Pugh (1928-2012) joined the faculty of Christopher Newport College of the College of William and Mary in its fifth year (1965-66). CNC Director (later President) H. Westcott (Scotty) Cunningham hired her to head the Biology Department and lead it quickly into a position to offer a BS degree in biology, just as, four years earlier, he had hired Dr. Wallace Stephen (Steve) Sanderlin, Jr. (1921-2010) to chair the English Department and lead its development of a BA degree in English. Steve was the first, and Jean the second, permanent member of the faculty with a Ph.D. Both were Tidewater area native Virginians, both had taught previously at Old Dominion College, both had earned their Ph.D. degrees at the University of Virginia, and both faithfully served CNC until their retirements in the late 1980s.
There all similarities end. Steve was the stereotypical Virginia gentleman: three-piece suit and tie, with his Phi Beta Kappa pin from William and Mary prominently displayed on a gold chain, his shoes always polished, his speech refined and elevated, occasionally punctuated with a Latin phrase. He loved classical music, the opera, and martinis (one, occasionally two, each evening) and had given up cigarettes in his early thirties. He traded in each car every three years for a new one, to avoid mechanical problems, and proudly boasted that he had never changed a tire.
Jean was...well: just Jean, one of a kind. Just herself. She dressed casually (too casually, some thought) and spoke frankly, even bluntly at times, punctuating her points with profanity. She loved the pop music of radio station WGH (D.J. Dick Lamb was one of her students), daily Coca-Colas (and sometimes a weekend beer) and cigarettes, which she chain-smoked until age eighty. She worked on her red Chevy truck and yes, even changed tires. And she was loved and appreciated by many for all she gave to her CNC students, her colleagues (some, her closest friends), CNC itself and the Tidewater community. The anecdotes below--fond, funny, sometimes enlightening-- are offered here as our collective tribute to her.
A. Jane Chambers (colleague)
The yearbook was dedicated to Dr. Pugh in her third year at CNC. 1968 TRIDENT photo, p. 17
Quintessential Jean: First Encounters
Lady-like language wasnot one of Jean's strong points. One day I was interviewing a very prim and proper candidate for our secretarial position. I had just said, "You might hear some things that are a bit strong so I want to warn you." As if on cue, Jean came busting through the outer door, yelling, "Shit! Why in the Hell can't these God-dammed students study!" and slammed her office door. All I could say was, "Sort of like that."
Harold Cones (colleague & close friend)
Wearing his "very best gray-striped seersucker suit and tie," in July of 1967 young Harold Cones arrived for his job interview with Dr. Jean Pugh. Here's his description: "Like a hurricane, the office door burst open and a figure in red shorts moved quickly into the end office and yelled in a very authoritative voice, 'Are you here for the interview? Get in here, I don't have much time.' My interview took place ... while she ate a cheeseburger during a break in a summer school class... I have no idea today what we talked about during the interview, but I felt instant liking for [her] ... and I hoped all would turn out well for me. And it did."
(from Memories of Christopher Newport College: The First Decade, 1961-1971, p. 57).
I was totally unprepared for this dynamic onslaught of a personality! "This is college people! Get used to it!" And we did. What a presence she was! I was just not quite ready for college, or hard work—which she required—and I produced—under duress. She was born to teach. We all knew that as soon as we met her. I was just not mature enough at the time to realize what her teaching meant to her, or to me.
Dalton Kelley Blankenship (student), remembering her first day in Biology 101 as a freshman, in 1965.
It was a Thursday morning at 8:00, my first day as a freshman at CNC. I was in the biology lab, getting to know my lab partner, when Dr. Pugh walked in with one of her lab assistants. In their hands were stacks of trays. She took a drag off her cigarette, a sip of her cola and loudly said, "I'm Dr. Jean Pugh. This is Biology Lab 101. If you are not signed up for this lab, get out!" She then put the trays down and added, "Here are the frogs. Go to it! "
Kenneth Flick (student)
Jean's initial arrival as a faculty member (August of 1965) closely connected to the opening of Gosnold Hall. Scott Cunningham had accepted Gosnold from the builder before its completion so that all of CNC's teaching could be at home on Shoe Lane (the previous year had forced science instruction to remain downtown at Daniels School). Jean made her rather unconventional campus debut riding her motorcycle. When she had circled the flag-bearing ellipse that gave shape and direction to the campus, she headed her cycle to and (in a sense) into Gosnold. Reaching the breezeway that linked the parts of Gosnold, she bumped her cycle onto it, only to find that the slate slabs that formed the floor had not yet taken hold and thus, the cycle's force dislocated and broke several slabs. Jean did not wear embarrassment well under any circumstance, but on this, her first day, such a cloth was added to her attire.
Barry Wood (colleague)
Jean working at her desk in Gosnold Hall. 1966 TRIDENT photo, p.24
Student studying dissected frog in Biology 101 LAB.
Professor Extraordinaire
Of all my teachers, she was the one who taught me how to study and how to retain information, and I passed that on to my students. Dr. Pugh's weekly quizzes compounded to include all 15 weeks of her notes by the last quiz, compelling me to read my notes weekly if not daily in preparation for those weekly tests. By the end of the course, I was quite ready for my final. I used the same strategy with my students with great success.
Wade Williams (student)
Dr. Pugh was one of the greatest teachers I ever had. Her dedication to her students and to CNC were second to none. I was never one of her greatest biology students; on the contrary, I might have been one of her worst, but she always had time after class to help me through her courses, as she did with all of us.
Kenneth Flick (student)
Jean always stapled a candy cane to her final exam just before Christmas.
Harold Cones (colleague and close friend)
Jean's mastery of the “Grand Exit” strategy of classroom discipline was legend at CNC. I was fortunate enough to witness it personally once when I visited her large Elementary Biology lecture. These lecture classes, usually composed mostly of freshmen students, tended at times to get noisy and generally out of order. Normally Jean had little trouble keeping her students' attention, but occasionally, as all of us who taught large lecture sections know, a class would become so disengaged that the usual tricks for gaining attention simply failed.
Jean’s most elegant solution was what I called the Grand Exit. After attempting to establish order and failing, she slammed her textbook shut, quickly picked up her notes and marched out of the lecture hall without saying a word. The students sat quite stunned until they figured out that the day’s class had ended and began leaving the room. Jean would return to her office and then a steady stream of students would come by offering apologies and concerns. I learned that one such Grand Exit was sufficient to keep order for the whole semester or even the year by way of the student grapevine.
I admit to trying to emulate this technique with only mixed results. Jean, however, was the master, getting the desired results without raising her voice or stressing out. I wonder if this strategy would work with today’s college students who seem believe that attending class is a burden on their busy lives. Well, I think not!
Sam Bauer (colleague and close friend)
Part II will be published next Friday, October 26.
Just Jean: Memories of Dr. Jean E. Pugh
CNC Professor Emerita of Biology
Part II
by
Her Students, Colleagues, and Close Friends
Dr. Jean Pugh was one of those rare, remarkable people who provide a pivotal presence in the lives of others by simply representing the reach of possibility. Among my favorite memories are the simplest of interactions --botany walks through the CNC neighborhoods, clean-up mornings on her farm lawns, bus trips with the basketball team, even those relentless Friday quizzes--but most of all that smile. The sense of loss is felt by many who were enriched by the time we shared with her on this precious green planet.
Brenda Burnette Tagge (student )
CNC Supporter Extraordinaire
As Coach of the first Women's BasketballTeam (1968-69): "She was promised $500 for undertaking this additional duty, but at the end of the season, Dean Jim Windsor told her there was no money available, so she didn't receive anything for her efforts-- except the satisfaction of having helped the team and the College.... The costs of basketball uniforms and other expenses that first year were paid out of Jean Pugh's pocket. The first uniforms were white blouses embroidered on the front with CNC and the players' numbers in blue. Jean purchased the shirts and paid a little old lady in Gloucester to embroider the letters and numbers. The blue shorts worn by team members were part of their physical education uniform." (See photo below)
Mary Lu Royall (Colleague), inMemories of Christopher Newport College: The First Decade, 1961-1971, pp. 105-106.
Dr. Pugh was my first basketball coach as well as one of my favorite professors at CNC.
At that time we were still playing 6 girls on a team with stationary and rover positions. One personal experience I remember was when at basketball practice, she was emphasizing the effectiveness of setting screens--getting in a position to impede a players’ movement. I was playing stationary guard at midcourt.A teammate passed me the ballandI turned to drive down the court. No one told me Dr. Pugh had set a screen on me and Kapow! I ran full force into her. She stood her ground, but paid the price with a monster black eye that stayed with her for days. We laughed about thatyears later. Memories of Dr. Pugh will be with me forever.
Terry Gooding (student), who later played for the ODC Lady Monarchs.
Using her own car, Jean helped provide transportation for both the first Women's Field
Hockey team (1967-68) and the first Women's Basketball team (1968-69) before the College had its first athletic bus, "the Blue Goose." She also attended the hockey games and often performed first aid on players wounded during games (see photo below ).
Jane Chambers (colleague)
Coach Pugh (far left) with the first Women's Basketball Team. Note the embroidered blouses. 1969 TRIDENT, p. 97.
Coach Pugh doctoring field hockey player Patsy Phelps (now Perkins). 1968 TRIDENT, p. 9.
In 1968 or 1969 there was a faculty talent show. Tiny Tim was the person of interest at the time, so we decided to work him into the talent show. Picture this: Dark Gym. Spotlight. Into the spotlight I stepped. I moved slowly across the floor, singing "Tiptoe through the Tulips." As I approached a poor representation of three closed flowers, they slowly opened, revealing Jean and two of our colleagues. I would like to think it was pretty cool, but as I look back on it, it was probably pretty bad--but, we won the contest.
Harold Cones (colleague & close friend)
Under President John Anderson (1980-86), Jean was annually elected by the Faculty as Faculty Representative to the Board of Visitors. At that time, I served as Secretary to the Board of Visitors. That Jean was chosen over and over again always seemed to me to demonstrate that the Faculty wanted to be heard and to be understood by the Board and they knew, above all else, that Jean's speech was neither soft nor timid. Even if she were in the proverbial Lion's Den, she would announce herself forthrightfully. For years, I recorded her hand-pounding speeches in the "Open" sessions of the Board, and then had to put my pen aside in the "Closed" sessions, where President Anderson often had to take her voice under the control of his comedic detachment.
Barry Wood (colleague)
Jean contributed substantially to campus-wide beautification in the early decades, when there was no money for professional landscaping. As Harold Cones wrote, in Memories of Christopher Newport College, "Almost from the minute I arrived, I joined Jean Pugh, Ron Mollick, and several students in a campus-wide landscaping effort that occupied many Saturday mornings....There existed only one professionally landscaped area on campus, the azalea garden in front of the president's office. Each Saturday, an azalea or two was removed from that garden and moved to the front of Gosnold. The beautiful azalea display each spring in front of Gosnold [was] testimonial to the president's garden and the selective replanting done by the Saturday group" (pp. 223-224).
This informal student-faculty group installed nearly all the landscaping around the first buildings, with Jean contributing not only her time, muscle power, and red truck, but also most of the money for plants purchased, mulch, fertilizer and so forth. Among the major landscape acquisitions which Jean made possible were 50 camellias, donated by a camellia specialist who died in Hampton, and a large number of sugar maple trees. By the time the first biology majors were in their senior year (1970-71), there was a Biological Society, which did much landscaping with Dr. Pugh as its Spiritual Leader (see photos below).
Jane Chambers (colleague)
A Generous yet Frugal Lady
Jean was extremely generous in support of her students and her friends. However, she very much did not want to be recognized for her charities and gifts, which I greatly admired as true charity. My wife, Karen, and I moved to Hayes, just a few miles from Jean in the early ‘80s. We had this old farm house, and in the process of moving and beginning to clear land for gardens, etc.,we had to borrow a truck from time to time. When Jean’s brother, L. E., passed away she bought his Toyota pick-up truck and gave it to us, making our lives a lot easier and allowing me to get rid of our old van that never had a transmission to last more than 5000 miles.
Sam Bauer (colleague & close friend)
There are many stories of Jean's generosity to specific people. I know she bought cars for some, financed trips, and helped many people with a number of projects. For example our building housekeeper in Gosnold Hall had terrible teeth and was in constant pain. One day Jean gave her a bus ticket to a dental clinic in N.C., where she had paid for her to receive a new set of teeth. She asked the maid not to tell anyone who had bought the teeth for her.
Harold Cones (colleague & close friend)
Dr. Pugh as Spiritual Leader of the CNC Biological Society. 1971 TRIDENT, p. 42.
Dr. Pugh (L), Danny Peters (M), & (probably) Dr. David Bankes planting a bush on the Shoe Lane campus.
I was one of the recipientsof Jean's generosity. In 1988 I was able to be part of a People to People tour to China that was for biology instructors. Spouses were allowed to go but the expense was my responsibility. At the time I knew my wife, Marcia, should go but did not have any idea how I could afford to do this. No problem--there was Jean making sure I did the right thing. Always there when needed!
Edward Weiss (colleague & close friend)
Jean always made a large donation to the Daily Press Christmas Fund. Never looking for her name to be attached to her good deeds, the name that appeared in the Daily Press was "Tinkerbell," her little dog.
Harold Cones (colleague & close friend)
Jean was one of the most frugal people I have known since my grandparents. When Jean offered to give me the land (5.5 acres) to build my house, I told her that I was going to have it surveyed. Her reply was, "Why are you going to waste your money on this? I'm not going to cheat you." My response was that being a realtor at the time, I knew it was best to get a survey. "Ok, but you're wasting your money," she replied. When I went to get the plat, the surveyor asked me to look at the survey that had been done in the early 60's, where an addition error was evident--the land was actually 4.5 acres. When I showed the new survey to Jean, I asked, "Where is the other acre?" Jean wasn't amused. She took the plat to the Commissioner of the Revenue to get back the taxes that she had been paying on the non-existent acre for 15 years!
Danny Peters (student & close friend)
On George Washington's Birthday, back in the early days, stores had great sales onFebruary 22nd. A specific number of limited items, such as shirts, toys, garden supplies, etc. were on sale for 22 cents each at a number of stores. Jean would do a careful analysis of what was on sale, where it was geographically, both address wise and in the store, and on the morning of the 22nd, Jean, Sam, Edward and I would head out early on a sort of Black Friday kind of event (we would wait at the front door of the store with a lot of other crazies, waiting for the door to be unlocked, then rush in). Her most wanted item was usually hoses for her gardens, and among the four of us, each limited to five hoses, we came home one 22nd with 20 hoses among our other purchases. We moved from store to store buying what ever Jean figured we needed at 22 cents each, and by 10:00 or so we were finished. Jean loved that sort of thing and I gotta admit, so did I (although I have no idea what I might have bought for 22 cents for myself).
Harold Cones (colleague & close friend)
Jean donated $10,000 a year to the Biology Department, supporting many student trips, but most importantly, Pizza for every senior.
Harold Cones (colleague & close friend)
Her Friendship and Sense of Humor
My wife and I started life in this area living in a trailer. One day Jean told me that the house next to her house on 60th Street was for rent. We checked it out and the result was that we lived next to her for two years. I learned stuff! Jean baked cookies every few weeks--not just a few cookies, but hundreds of cookies--and mixed the dough in a small wash tub. She often called on us to help stir the 25 pounds or so of mix. Everybody in the neighborhood received a pile of cookies on baking Saturdays.
Harold Cones (colleague & close friend)
Jean was a master of jokesand shared them often. When her major professor, Dr. Horton Hobbs at UVa, needed a joke for the weekly department meeting, Jean was asked to supply him one that was easy to remember and clean! Here is the one she gave him: "What happened when the woman backed into the plane's propeller?" Answer: disaster. A few days later Dr. Hobbs returned to Jean and said that no one laughed at her joke. Well Jean couldn't believe it and ask him to repeat everything that was said. All was fine until the punch line was given-- Dr. Hobbs said, "decapitation." Neither she nor Dr. Hobbs ever forgot this.
Danny Peters (student & close friend)
Jean, several other folks, my wife, Linda, and I, spent several weeks planting 150 pecan trees on her new land when she moved to Hayes--she said it would support her when she retired. We joked for years about her moving through her orchard, picking nuts in her rolling chair, at a very ripe old age.
Harold Cones (colleague & close friend)
After Jean moved to Hayes she bought a player piano, the kind that used paper rolls. Whenever the department (then probably 8 folks or so) had a party at her house, we all gathered around the piano and sang the words printed on the roll. We always had real difficulty with one particular song. Jean revealed years later that the words were misprinted so that the music and the words did not match, but she didn't tell us because she had so much fun listening to us try to sing it.
Harold Cones (colleague & close friend)
One year many years ago, Jean, Sam Bauer, Ed Weiss, and I traveled very early in the morning to Madison College for a conference (a very, very poor biology conference as it turned out). All we could receive on the car radio was a fire and brimstone sermon by Brother Green, who told us all about picking fruit from the tree of life. His metaphors were so outlandish we laughed for hours. From that point on, the four of us called ourselves "the Bro."
Harold Cones (colleague & close friend)
Remembrance, Remorse, Reflection
by Wade Williams
Sitting on the bar stool at Jack's diner, I had little on my mind save the bacon and egg sandwich that was coming. I perused the sports pages that May morning of 1968 while waiting for my shift to begin at the Esso station on 30th and Jefferson. Exams were over, grades had been mailed, and track season had ended. I had nearly three weeks before Old Dominion College's summer session, a rare respite from my 32-hour work weeks, full course load and track practice fueled by five or six hours of nightly sleep. Reluctantly, I was leaving CNC to attend ODC. Although a third year of course work had been added at CNC in the fall of 1967, the fourth year would not be added until the fall of '69, necessitating my transfer.
Reading the sports page, I saw my name at the top of a small article: "Wade Williams gets Bahr award.'' The article stated that "the athletic award was given in memory of Richard Bahr, a CNC alumnus, and the first of the college to have been killed during the Vietnam fighting." I was perplexed because I had not been notified of the award, and worse, I had not been present to receive it from the Bahr family.
The next week, when I went to CNC's Registrar's Office to have my spring grades forwarded to ODC, I inquired about my award, thinking I would receive a plaque. To my surprise, it was an academic award of $500, going to the athlete with the highest GPA. It would cover my tuition at ODC for the upcoming school year. My wife and I were elated.
A young man had died in combat, and I would have my senior year paid in full because of his death. I did not think then to contact his parents to thank them, nor did I seek out his young widow. Often, it is not the evil that you do that haunts you, it's the times when you are given the opportunity to do the right thing, the honorable thing, but you didn't.
I graduated in the summer of 1969. Sitting in the audience was my wife, pregnant with our second son. She worked, sacrificed, saved to help me through those years, but that year's tuition had been provided by the Bahr family. My award, added to my resume would no doubt enhance my chances for employment. It was a gift that would keep on giving, but to my shame, an unrequited gift. As decades passed, out of a sense a shame and guilt, I often thought of Richard, his widow, his family and his sacrifice for his country and the men serving under him, but it took a near-death experience in 2012 for me to seek out his family and do what should have been done years ago.
Wade Williams at CNC, 1968 TRIDENT photo, p. 105.
Richard Bahr, date unknown, from document Black/Savage/Alverson/Burgess Family Tree.
Rebecca Susan Burgess Bahr, date unknown, from document FIND A GRAVE, under the name Rebecca Bahr Burgess. Note by Sandy Burgess under this photo states that after many years, the widow changed her name like this.
From The Virtual Wall. VIETNAM VETERANS MEMORIAL.
Since Richard Duncan Bahr had attended CNC, I turned to Dr. Chambers for help locating the family. She in turn enlisted Dave Spriggs in the effort. What he uncovered and his efforts were appreciated more than he can imagine. He found the obituary in the Daily Press archives, searched the Warwick High yearbooks, real estate transactions, tax records, and finally, accessed a veterans site that offered information on Richard's service record, his honors, and his final resting place. I was given personal ancedotes about Richard from Jim Hubbard, his high school track coach and my college track coach in 1968. By chance I discovered my good friend Robert Brooks had been Richard's high school teammate and had lived across the street from the Bahr family.
From these sources I learned that Richard had been an outstanding student, a hard worker and fierce competitor on the track team, a team leader and a loving, affable young man, admired by all who knew him. He attended UVA for a year, then CNC the following year before enlisting and marrying his high school sweetheart, Rebecca Susan Burgess, called Susan. He was selected for Officers Candidate School, graduated and sent to Vietnam. His military service was outstanding. He received the Bronze Star and Purple Heart in leading a night patrol, putting himself in harm's way for his men. His death on river patrol one year later was instantaneous. Another Purple Heart and a Meritorius Service award were awarded posthumously. Richard's courage, love for his men and leadership qualities were proven in the crucible of combat and are a timeless tribute to this wonderful young man.
From The Virtual Wall. VIETNAM VETERANS MEMORIAL.
Susan, his widow, is with Richard now. Richard's mother and father are deceased as well. A sister lives in Florida and a brother in New York, but neither has responded to my letters or calls. There is no one left to thank, and even if I could, my gratitude is 44 years late. No apologies, no contrition, no catharsis.The regrets and shame became a permanent part of me.
I did the only thing I could. I sought out Richard's final resting place at the Hampton National Cemetery.
The grave site had no flag, flowers or any indication of a recent visit. It was Memorial Day weekend. I brought two small flags and an arrangement of red, white, and blue flowers. I sat on the ground next to his grave and shared what I knew about him and Susan and told him about my life, both good and bad; about my children, and about our ties to each other. And finally, I sincerely apologized for not doing what was right in 1968. I told him I had lived the life that he and Susan were denied. I would not turn this into a Saving Private Ryan moment. There was no one to ask if I had been a good man. I had examined my life and found it wanting. I had ample time to seek out his family, and like some of us, I had tended to throw away time with both hands: priceless, irreplaceable time.
Sunday, September the 30th will not be one of those times. I will be at the First Decaders Picnic. Former students, families and faculty members will meet again, smile, laugh, hug each other and share sweet memories. This will be time well spent, not wasted. I will sit and enjoy the loving spectacle. Unfortunately I won't know many of you there since my CNC memories are limited to those of work, a family, a smattering of athletic moments, a lost love who sent me back to raise that little boy, and deceased classmates. However, I won't be alone, for Richard, Susan and the Bahr family will be in my heart.
And afterwards, when I take the fresh flags and Fall flowers to Richard's grave, I will sit for a visit: "Richard, let me tell you about my grandchildren.There are 14, and I have the joy of raising one. She is 14..."
From Find a Grave.
Wade Williams, the first recipient of the Richard D. Bahr Memorial Athletic Award, had an outstanding career in both teaching and coaching, starting at Ferguson H.S. (Newport News). Next he was head track coach and assistant athletic director at VMI (Lexington) for 11 years (1974-86), then head track coach at Clemson University (Clemson, SC) for 3 years. Afterwards he returned to teaching high school English and coaching high school track and football, serving at Warwick H.S. (Newport News) and then Western Branch H.S. (Chesapeake). He retired with 44 years of exemplary service in education and athletics at the collegiate and public school levels. He and his wife live in Portsmouth, VA.
Wade Williams in 2006. Family photo.
FEEDBACK on Revisiting Ric Bahr (article can be found in the WEBSITE ARCHIVES tab under YOUR MEMORIES):
From Dan L. Coleman: Remember Ric well, and when he died. Used to talk with him at track meets, along with Larry Brady, Steve Lowe, Buddy Kays, Max Taback, and others.
From Patricia Tinker Harrison:I looked on Find A Grave and found [Ric’s] pic along with his grave. Rebecca, I see, died a fairly young woman as well, although she is not buried with Ric. There is a place to write remembrances from those who knew Ric on FAG and I was proud to do such, today. I was happy to have read [Wade’s two articles on Ric] before searching FAGrave. The story was a Memorial blessing.
From Susie Leavell:Thanks for sharing that ... it's good to remember everyone, especially those [who] were closely connected to us.
From Jane Renn Eadie:Yes. I knew Rick very well....so smart, so funny! Becky was a very pretty, sweet girl.
FromDavid Earnest:Hi Jane. I am class of 61 and did not know [Ric Bahr] but I remember Becky Burgess very well. She was so pretty and was always smiling every time you saw her. So sorry to hear of this and the passing of them both. I have spent the evening reading as much as I could find on the article you made reference to about Lt. Bahr and his wife Becky, as I knew her (somewhat). It has been an emotional and trying thing for me as I did not know of her passing. I was not a friend but I knew of her seeing her at school for a couple of years. I was a fan in hiding you might say as she was always smiling and seemed so happy. I was in the class of 61 and did not know many juniors. Do you know what happened to Becky after losing her husband and what caused her passing? Please email me. Thank you. Dave
From Jane:
I have connected David Earnest with Wade Williams, who is giving him more information about Becky.
Revisiting Ric Bahr:
A Veterans’ Day Remembrance
by Wade Williams
Editor’s Note:Army Lt. Richard D. Bahr was the first CNC student known to have lost his life in the Vietnam War. He was killed in action on March 7, 1968. Wade Williams was the first recipient of the Richard D. Bahr Memorial Athletic Award, given annually in his memory to the full-time varsity letterman possessing the highest GPA. More details and photos regarding Ric Bahr are in Wade’s earlier essay, Remembrance, Remorse, Reflection, located in our Website Archives, under the subtab Your Memories.
“Don’t make him out to be more than he was, Wade” was the mild admonishment I received from Jim Verser as we shook hands and departed. It had been a most fulfilling two days I had spent with Jim, an ordained Presbyterian minister and family counselor from New Jersey who had been Richard Duncan Bahr’s best friend. After reading myRemembrance, Remorse, Reflection essay on the CNC First Decaderswebsite, he had sent me a letter and we had arranged to meet and talk about Ric during Jim’s 50th Warwick High School reunion weekend.
When I picked Jim up at his motel, he immediately produced a treasure trove of photos, newspaper clippings, and memorabilia I wish I had had access to before I wrote “Remembrance” --including a sterling silver letter opener he received as a groomsman at the wedding of Ric and Becky Burgess, used daily for the last 45 years to open his mail, and a peace bell on a chain, worn around his neck in memory of his best friend. We drove to the Warwick Restaurant, a landmark since the fifties for a late breakfast. Robert Brooks, a teammate on the Warwick High Track Team with Ric and Jim, joined us, and over 50 years were brushed aside as I had the privilege of learning all about Ric Bahr.
Best frIends Ric (L) and Jim (R) in their Warwick track uniforms. From "Warwick, Typhoon Renew Track Feud," Times-Herald Sports, May 15, 1961, p. 13. Courtesy of Jim Verser.
Groomsman Jim (L) and Groom Ric (R) at the wedding of Ric and Becky Burgess, Dec. 21, 1966, in the Chapel of the Centurion, Fort Monroe. Courtesy of Jim Verser.
Bride Becky's photo in the DAILY PRESS, Dec. 22, 1966, p. 20. Courtesy of Jim Verser.
Jim and Ric met in the sixth grade when Ric’s father, an air traffic controller, was transferred from New York state to Newport News. The Bahrs were originally from Bar Harbor, Maine. I learned of the open door policy at the Bahr and Verser houses, of the father who taught the boys to play baseball and football using balls made of socks; of Mrs. Bahr’s, a vivacious, beautiful woman, ritual of eating supper by candlelight; of the nightly fireside chats, weather permitting, where stories were shared and memories made; of forts built in the woods, rope climbing and rope swings over creeks; of the nearly daily wrestling matches where Ric always prevailed, but Jim refused to accept the daily outcome; of the teenage years when Jim did all the driving because Ric didn’t have his license until after high school. Had it not been for double-dating with Jim driving, Ric would have enjoyed a sparse social life.
Both ran track at Warwick High, which in the fifties and sixties was one of the top five teams in the state. As in their backyard wrestling, Jim could never beat Ric running. I learned that Ric placed fourth in the state championship in the 440. Also, when I learned that Ric was a sprinter who ran cross country and middle distance events because the team needed him there, I felt even closer to him, because I too had been an athletic duck out of water. At CNC, I was a sprinter who ran distance because the team needed me to and a former high school football player without a college team to play on.
After high school, the best friends went their separate ways, Jim to St. Andrews College and then William and Mary; Ric to UVA, then CNC. Becky, who was soon to marry Ric, went to DukeUniversity. Ric was a quick study who got by on uncanny academic potential but his lack of daily focus was his undoing at UVA and later CNC, the latter being a surprising academic buzz saw for the unprepared, unmotivated or unfocused, as many of us First Decaders would discover. After CNC, Ric’s father refused to finance any more academic undertakings. Rick did not wait for the draft but volunteered for the Army. After basic and officers’ candidate training, he and Becky were married. He was wounded in Vietnam and spent ten days on leave in the Philippines with Becky in 1967. He was then killed in action in Vietnam in 1968.
Newspaper photo with headline about Ric's death. Source unidentified. Courtesy of Jim Verser.
Ric's obituary, DAILY PRESS, March [8 or 9?], 1968. Courtesy of Jim Verser. CLICK ON PHOTO TO ENLARGE.
Ric's medals, from The Virtual Wall. Vietnam Veterans Memorial. CLICK ON PHOTO TO ENLARGE.
After two days of Jim Verser’s sharing his life with Ric and a 2½ hours’ breakfast on the second day with Ric’s high school track coach Jim Hubbard and former track teammates Dr. Frank Brown, Robert Brooks, and several others, I found the thread that sums up Ric Bahr: he never wanted to disappoint his loved ones. To avoid disappointing Jim after a rare hangover in high school, he begged Jim’s mom, a registered nurse, to help him but to keep it from Jim because “He would be so disappointed.” His volunteering for the Army was an attempt to rectify his academic failure and his father’s disappointment as well as a means of providing for Becky, the love of his life, while she excelled in college. She would go on to earn a Ph.D. in English and have a career as a college English professor. His “hurricane runs” with Jim in high school, conducted after major storms in that period, were also devoted to helping people along the way overcome the ravages of the storm to their property, a means of alleviating the despair and disappointment of strangers. His unexpected all-state performance in the track championships was motivated by his coach’s disappointment in the overall performance of his team that day. However, the greatest disappointment for Ric’s loved ones was one he could not control—his death.
Jim recalls the day in March of 1968 when he received a call at the Newport News Detention Center, where he then worked, informing him of Ric’s death. He left work crying, hopping on one leg (having sustained a broken ankle) and drove to the grieving Bahr household. The closed casket funeral was held at Mount Carmel Catholic Church. During those turbulent times, Jim developed anti-war sentiments fueled by the death of his best friend and by years spent at seminary deeply involved in anti-war protests. It was at one of those protests that Jim received a peace bell emblem on a neck chain that he wears daily in memory of his fallen loved one.
Jim’s accomplishments include being a Presbyterian minister and a Hebrew scholar, and having a family counseling practice. Jim is a brilliant man who doesn’t wear his brilliance on his sleeve. A man in his late sixties who looks fifteen years younger, with salt and pepper hair and full beard, impeccably groomed, with shining, intuitive, kind eyes, more attuned to listening than to talking. When we parted, he took my hands in both of his and implored me not to make Ric out to be “more than he was.” I didn’t have to, Jim. Despite his short-comings in his short life, Ric was, is, and always will be a wonderful young man who has touched so many lives and continues to do so. I will say hello for you, Jim, this Sunday, Veterans’ Day, November 11, at the HamptonNationalCemetery.
Wade Williams (1968 First Decader) had an outstanding career in both teaching and coaching, starting at Ferguson H.S. (Newport News). Next he was head track coach and assistant athletic director at VMI (Lexington) for 11 years (1974-86), then head track coach at ClemsonUniversity (Clemson, SC) for 3 years. Afterwards he returned to teaching high school English and coaching high school track and football, serving at Warwick H.S. (Newport News) and then Western Branch H.S. (Chesapeake). He retired with 44 years of exemplary service in education and athletics at the collegiate and public school levels. He and his wife live in Portsmouth, VA.
Wade Williams as student at Hargrave Military Academy. Yearbook photo from family collection.
Wade Williams, 2006 photo from family collection.
Land Transportation and Freshman Orientation
by James D. (Jim) Lowell
My first installment in this series recounted several difficulties I encountered in registering for my freshman year at CNC, culminating in a tuition battle with Mr. DunawayAfter release from active duty in the Coast Guard, I faced yet another major obstacle.CNC had no dormitories, and I had never driven a car in my life.I had spent 7 of my 18 years overseas, where I took trains, trolleys, and buses to arrive within walking distance of my destinations.
My father obtained a DMV Drivers’ Manual, which I dutifully read.I went to the DMV to take the drivers’ written exam and secure a learner’s permit to drive.After I passed the written exam, the DMV clerk, who could not conceive of an American youth my age not being able to drive, insisted, in spite of my repeated protestations, that I take the driver’s test.The first task I had to perform for the examiner was parallel parking.I drove over the curb and almost his feet.In his astonishment, he yelled at me, “You drove over the curb and nearly my feet!” and suspended the remainder of the driving test.
At that time, I lived with my parents in Colony Hilton Apartments just off of Main between Jefferson Avenue and Warwick Boulevard.My father taught me to drive on Jefferson .The only means of transport I had ever steered was a ship.I initially approached this car driving thing as if I were steering a ship.I would allow the car to drift a little to port or starboard, and then shift my helm to correct my course.This created some problems on Jefferson, and my father, a retired Army Master Sergeant, vigorously expressed his displeasure with my inappropriate driving technique in a very basic vernacular which would be inappropriate to repeat here.I did finally sufficiently master driving skills to pass the driving test.I had the same examiner, who this time stood farther back from the parallel parking mock up in order to protect his feet.
Jim as high school senior. Lowell family photo.
Jim in his USCG uniform, at his parents' Colony Hilton apartment, 1965. Lowell family photo.
My freshman year began the fall semester of 1965 with an orientation session in the Lecture Room in Newport Hall.I have looked for myself in the pictures of the event on this web site [see below] without success.I do recognize some of the faces of classmates, but not their names.I remember two of the presenters, however.President Cunningham asked that we look at the students to our left and to our right; then stated that half of us would not meet CNC’s academic standards, and would not be present at the end of the year.Mr. Usry gave a presentation on how to open, season, and read a book.There was also a presentation on the Honor System, and I believe another on how to optimally profit from lectures via note taking and other means.I believe we were also given a campus tour.I vaguely remember that walkways between buildings had not been completed, and planks had been placed on the ground to avoid the mud. Gosnold Hall, the science building, was still under construction, and I believe some classes were still being held downtown.I have no recollection of the remainder of orientation.I left orientation both eager and apprehensive about beginning college.
Freshman heading for Orientation, Fall, 1965. 1966 TRIDENT, p. 15.
Director Cunningham addresses incoming freshmen, Fall, 1965. 1966 TRIDENT, p. 30.
Freshman Orientation, 1965: another view. 1966 TRIDENT, p. 54.
NOTE: Freshmen in these 1965 Orientation Photos
Jim Lowell thinks he might be, in the LEFT photo, the man near the back, who is behind and left of the woman on the aisle who is wearing sunglasses and a sleeveless dark dress. He is in a light-to-medium colored jacket, with white shirt & dark tie; he has his left hand against his chin. Beside him, on the aisle, is a man in a short-sleeved white shirt and tie.
Do you recognize yourself and/or any classmates in either of these photos? If so, please contact us with a name and a description for each person--clothing, pose, location. Email your ID NOTE to cncmemories61_71@yahoo.com. It will be POSTED on our website.
James D. (Jim) Lowell earned an RN in 1970 from the Riverside School of Professional Nursing, a BS in Psychology in 1972 from CNC, and an MD in 1977 from The Medical College of Virginia at VCU. Now retired from his medical career, Jim lives in Addison, TX. This essay is the second in a series of essays he is writing for our website about his memories of CNC.
My Difficult Beginning at CNC
by James D. Lowell
In 2010, when I was Medical Director of Good Shepherd Medical Center Occupational Medicine Services in Longview, Texas, a young woman I had treated asked me if I had ever been in the service. I told her that as a boy I was in the U.S. Coast Guard. She then astounded me, stating, "Thank you for your service." I cannot remember in what manner I acknowledged her comment. I was too totally nonplussed by her expression of gratitude, the first I had ever experienced, and certainly contrary to what I had experienced during the time of my service. Even now, I find it difficult to tell the story without emotion misting my eyes. It brought back memories of that summer in 1965 when I was about to separate from active duty and was excited to begin my freshman year at Christopher Newport College.
JIm as high school senior, shortly before joining the USCG
The ship JIm served on: USCG Cutter ABSECON
It was in late July or early August of 1965. My ship, the U.S. Coast Guard Cutter Absecon, had just returned from a one month tour of ocean station duty in the North Atlantic. Ocean stations were extensions of the DEW Line (Defense Early Warning System), an array of radar stations extending across Canada and Alaska and also extending down the coasts of the Atlantic and Pacific. We were now in our home port, Berkley Base, Norfolk, directly across the Elizabeth River from Portsmouth City Hall, and I was among the first to receive a 72-hour liberty. I quickly prepared to go ashore to visit my parents in Newport News. As I approached the bus stop, running to catch a bus beginning to depart, the bus driver saw me and motioned me on. But when I reached the bus, he closed the door in my face. I caught the next bus to downtown Norfolk. Then, walking fast toward the Trailways bus station to catch the bus to Newport News, I was insulted a second time that day when a policeman yelled "Swabbie!" at me for no good reason. I knew better than to respond.
Upon arriving home, I began sorting through the mail for me that had accumulated in my absence. I saw a letter from CNC informing me that my tuition was due. I was shocked to learn that I had to pay non-resident tuition. I remember telling my father that I had to go to the college immediately, before the business office closed. I had never driven a car in my life, so I had to scramble from bus to bus to get to CNC.
In the business office, I told the staff person I initially dealt with that the non-resident tuition must be a mistake, as I was a legal resident of Virginia. I was referred to the office of Mr. Dunaway, CNC's Business Manager. He asked me several questions, including where my home ashore was, how long it had been my home, where my parents lived, had they paid property tax in Virginia, and so on. He even called the county tax assessor's office to confirm that my parents had paid local property taxes.
It all culminated with him telling me that I would have to pay non-resident tuition, that he, not state or local authority, determined residency status, and that this was justified because, "We get a lot of service trash here."
You can imagine how this was received by an 18-year-old boy standing there in uniform, whose only home before his father retired from the military in Virginia had been the U.S. Army. I continued to protest Mr. Dunaway's decision, and he finally agreed I would be allowed to pay in-state tuition if my father would write a letter to him stating he would make not only Virginia, but Newport News his home for the rest of his life. My father complied, and I paid in-state tuition.
My memories of CNC are some of the dearest I have, although they begin with this negative one. Over time, I came to love my college, but that is another story, to be told in later installments.
Business Manager Tom Dunaway
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Editor's Note: Dr. James D. (Jim) Lowell earned an RN in 1970 from the Riverside School of Professional Nursing, a BS in Psychology in 1972 from CNC, and an MD in 1977 from The Medical College of Virginia at VCU. Now retired from his medical career, Jim lives in Addison,TX. This is the first in a series of essays he is writing for our website about his memories of CNC.
Our Long Goodbye: Dr. Sanderlin and I
by Wade Williams
According to Flannery O’Connor, one of God’s great mercies is a long, gradual death where you have years to say goodbye. This was on my mind when I contacted Dr. Chambers to inquire about Dr. Sanderlin. He was the professor who had one of the greatest impacts on my life, the one who struck a chord, who made a difference. I was unprepared for college and, I suspect, so were some of my CNC classmates. Marriage and fatherhood before the age of 19 and a two-year sentence in the shipyard working on the bull gang were the impetus that drove me back to the classroom. At the Old Daniel campus, I took the non-credit courses in English and math, followed by freshman English and history. Finally, with 12 credit hours I entered CNC full-time in the fall of 1965. I already knew Dr. Chambers and Dr. Sanderlin since they had been my night school professors – she, pounding grammar down my gullet; he, relentlessly yet affably assigning copious reading and writing assignments while regaling us with anecdotes that always, somehow, related to the theme of the reading assignments.
I would have him for two more courses before I left CNC for my senior year at Old Dominion, and there would be others who left their mark on me: Dr. Doris Reppen, my ever-patient Spanish professor for two years; Dr. Chambers, a tough taskmaster who would not accept less than your best; Dr. Jean Pugh, whose weekly quizzes compounded to include every weeks' lecture notes by the fifteenth week; Raoul Weinstein, my math professor and track coach, along with Jim Hubbard; Mr. Usry, who took off ten points on my final exam for writing on the back of my blue book pages; and Dr. Joyce Sancetta, who instilled in this young rustic an appreciation for and love of poetry. I took from each of them something I could use as a teacher and coach.
Dr. Sanderlin in 1968, in his usual 3-piece suit. 1968 Trident, p. 32.
Wade Williams in 1968, as CNC student. 1968 Trident, p. 105.
A rare sight: Dr. Sanderlin coatless and in short sleeves. 1972 Trident, p. 116.
Starting in 2010, I visited Dr. Sanderlin in his Norfolk apartment at least once a month for nearly two years. I would bring breakfast or lunch, including treats for his cat, according to his preference and the time of day. We would talk for hours about CNC, his students, his life from childhood through retirement. I learned much about the man but what struck me most was his kindness, his humanity and his humility, which came as no surprise to me since those qualities were evident in the classroom, and I told him so. He asked me why I thought this of him, and I said that he was always patient with a wrong answer, leading us gently to the right answer, never berating, belittling or rubbing our noses in his vast intellect. He smiled but made no response. I reminded him of a remark he made once in class – a person’s vocation should be his or her avocation if one were to be truly happy. I suspect many of us would go on to be teachers because of his comment. Back in ’68, he once, in a one-on-one conference, asked me what my plans were after graduation. I told him I wanted to teach and coach track. He responded, “Major in English. You will always have a job since very few English teachers coach.” I took his advice. During one of my monthly visits in 2011, I brought my resume to show him my life on a page. We talked about my life, my family, the accomplishments on the page--to which I added my failures, which were not on the page--and what I had learned from each. For over a dozen visits we shared our lives and had our long goodbye. He had a clear understanding at the end how much I admired, respected, appreciated and loved him. The last time I saw him, he was in De Paul Hospital in Norfolk, recovering from a fall and pneumonia. Uncharacteristically, I took his hand, kissed his forehead, told him to consider me a metaphor for all his students, told him I loved him, and said, “Think about what you want for breakfast….”
From The Corps Roots the Loudest: A History of VMI Athletics, by Thomas W. Davis. Charlottesville: Univ. Press of Virginia, 1986, p. 187.
Editor's Note: After running track atCNC from 1966-68,Wade Williams received the first Richard D. Bahr Memorial Athletic Award, given annually to "the full-time freshman or sophomore varsity letterman possessing the highest quality point average for the period of time he has been in college"--an award "given in memory of the first Christopher Newport College student known to have lost his life in the war in Viet Nam" (CNC Catalog, 1970-71, p. 29). This monetary award enabled Wade to complete his BA in English at ODC in the summer of 1969 and begin an outstanding career in both teaching and coaching.
After a successful career at Ferguson H.S. (Newport News), Wade was head track coach and assistant athletic director at VMI (Lexington) for 11 years (1974-86), then head track coach at Clemson University (Clemson, SC) for 3 years. After that he returned to teaching high school English and coaching high school track and football. In addition to Ferguson, he taught and coached at Warwick H.S. (Newport News) and Western Branch H.S. (Chesapeake). He retired with 44 years of exemplary service in education and athletics at the collegiate and public school levels. He and his wife live in Portsmouth, VA.
Wade Williams in 2006. Williams Family photo.
Forty-Nine Valentines: A CNC Love Story
by Mike Smith (62 FD)
The first time I saw Doris McCauley was during a change of classes at ChristopherNewportCollege in early January 1962. I was going up the stairs at the old Daniel school building and she was coming down with a friend. I still to this day remember what she was wearing: a navy blue plaid pleated kilt and white blouse and loafers. We exchanged “Hi’s” and smiles. I told my best friend and fellow student, Ed Knight, “You know, I’m going to marry that girl.” He responded, “Yeah, right.”
Ed had convinced me to apply to CNC after my uninspired freshman year at Frederick College in Portsmouth. This was the inaugural year of CNC as a two-year branch of The College of William and Mary, so I would have a good opportunity to transfer to W&M and enroll in the ROTC program there. I had planned a career in the U.S. Army, but my appointment to the Military Academy at West Point by Senator Harry S. Byrd had been ruined by a wrist injury that made me unable to pass two of the physical requirements.
Doris was new at CNC that semester, and like me, I soon learned, had begun her college work elsewhere, at MadisonCollege. She had left after her first semester because she felt the classes seemed too much like high school classes and she didn’t like attending what was then an all-female school. Having some friends at CNC, she decided to transfer there for her second semester.
CNC’s home 1961- 64: The former Daniel Elementary School
Mike Smith and Doris McCauley in 1963. Family photo.
Robert Madison Usry: Mike's CNC mentor. 1965 TRIDENT, p. 18.
When I learned that Doris and I both were enrolled in Mr. Usry’s government class, I asked him if I could sit next to her. Mr. Usry, however, had a strict alphabetical seating order and wouldn’t make an exception for me in spite of my incessant pleading. He just smiled and said, “You will see plenty of her after my class.”
At the prodding of Ed, I asked Doris to go out on a double date and she accepted. It was a pizza date. I had helped to establish the CNC bowling league and to convince various area businesses to support it with gifts and gift certificates. Vic Zodda offered a free pizza to anyone who bowled three consecutive strikes. I had a particularly good night and won three pizzas. I told Doris that we would go out for three pizza dates. Being a southern belle from North Carolina, she wasn’t used to good Italian pizzas. That large pepperoni pizza was so good that she couldn’t wait for the next date. I thought it was me that she couldn’t wait for; instead it was the pizzas. Hoping to have even more dates with Doris, I managed a backlog of pizzas in the hopper.
Fortunately, she did look forward to seeing me too. After finishing my sophomore year and her freshman and sophomore years at CNC, we continued dating, along with pursuing our studies at William and Mary, and two years later we were married in the Wren Chapel. On February 8th, 2013, Doris and I celebrated our forty-ninth wedding anniversary. We have a son and a daughter, nine grandchildren, and a great-grandson on the way.
A recent family photo of Mike and Doris Smith.
I think Doris and I were the first couple to meet at CNC, fall in love, get married and stay married to each other. Coincidentally, my brother Terry Smith met his wife-to-be, Lorena Elder, during this period at CNC also. They married two months after Doris and I and they too are still married and will celebrate their forty-ninth anniversary in April.
CNC not only brought Doris and me together but also gave both of us a sense of academic excellence, self confidence, the foundation for a solid work ethic, and fond memories that have influenced our lives to this day. CNC will always be an important part of our lives.
Michael A. Smith studied history, English, and military science at William and Mary in 1962-63, spent some time in the U.S. Army, and then went into the health care field. He worked with Blue Cross/Blue Shield in Virginia and Tennessee. In 1992 he became founder and president of Rural Health America, a consulting firm for Medicare Certified rural health clinics in eight states. He enjoys his work so much that he has “no plans to retire anytime soon.” He is also “an avid history buff” (influenced by Professor Usry) and has written a book about his “brief tour in Vietnam.” He enjoys most of all “watching Doris spending everything” that he earns “on my children and grandchildren.”
Doris McCauley Smith earned both BA (1965) and MEd (1985) degrees in education at William and Mary, as well as an Associate’s degree in Legal Studies at Cleveland State Community College in Tennessee, where she worked as a law librarian and a legal assistant (paralegal). Her primary career, however, was in education, as a reading specialist. Now retired, Doris “finds herself trying to find enough hours in the day to accommodate her many interests,” Mike says, which include “quilting, gardening and Christian apologetics”—not to mention those children and grandchildren!
Mike and Doris reside in Spotsylvania, Virginia.
Postscript:
Completing the Full Circle
by A. Jane Chambers
On November 5, 2017, after a three-year battle with cancer, Doris McCauley Smith died peacefully, freed from her burden of pain. She was 74. Mike Smith arranged to have two services: First, on December 15, a memorial service at her church in Fredericksburg, and then, on December 16, a Celebration of Life service at Christopher Newport University, in Pope Chapel (photo below).
Mike felt that returning to CNU for such a service would be a "completing of the full circle," since it was at the early CNC, in January of 1962, that he and Doris began their over 54-years' journey together. "I think Doris and I were the first couple to meet at CNC, fall in love, get married and stay married to each other," he wrote.
As friends, relatives, and former classmates gathered at the chapel for the one o'clock Celebration, he was pleasantly surprised to see President Paul Trible arrive. Mike had invited him, but Trible had written that he did not think he could attend. Mike and Doris's son, Ted, made videos of the memorial program, delivered by Mike, and of a Slide Show memorial tribute, pictures of Doris from infancy onward. Here are the links to these:
Following the Memorial Celebration, the group moved to CNU's Alumni House (artistic rendering above) for a reception. Everyone enjoyed the light refreshments and socializing.
CNC was where Mike and Doris met and fell in love. The College of William and Mary was where they married, on February 8, 1964, while continuing their academic studies there. Their wedding took place in the Wren Chapel, and they established a tradition of returning to that chapel each year at or near the anniversary of their marriage.
The above photo of Mike and Doris inside Wren Chapel was made in 2015, when Doris was at the threshold of her 3-year battle against cancer. As their 54th anniversary grew near this year, not yet three months after Doris's death, Mike made a difficult decision: to make the trip to the Williamsburg chapel alone. To his surprise he found it "comforting" to go there. "I felt my Doris with me and I had a sense of peace and comfort while I was there," he wrote. He has made a vow, "as a tribute to her," to continue the anniversary visits to Wren Chapel as long as he can. He left behind on a chapel chair a framed copy of the above picture and a note explaining why he did so.
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Published February 16, 2018
A Practical Joke on Uncle Steve
by Robert Brown
Throughout my life it has been my duty as a nephew to perform pranks of various elaborations on my uncle, Steve Sanderlin. When I finally convinced him to let me equip him with a computer so that he might use email, it occurred to me to have a little fun. I took French in high school but promptly forgot what I never learned in the first place. (Steve was always disappointed that I had been such an indifferent student, from his point of view.) So once he was reasonably proficient with the email program, I would compose notes and then use software to translate them into French before sending them. He was astonished! Thunderstruck! He could not get over my fluency. He made suggestions concerning grammar and word choice. This went on for several weeks.
Then one day I walked into his apartment and he said, "I have learned of your ruse..."
Dr. Sanderlin in his usual 3-piece suit
Robert Brown is Dr. Sanderlin's only nephew. He and his wife, who live in Norfolk,VA, were his major caretakers during his last years.
Link to Christopher Newport University home page: http://cnu.edu
