9 Adolescence, Baylor

Adolescence, Baylor

I started middle school with the seventh grade at Brainerd Junior High, where my sister was remembered. My homeroom teacher taught Latin; I remember “non iam brachis” (no longer at arms); she remonstrated with me about my posture, saying I would become a hunchback.

I began at The Baylor School in the eighth grade, with a small scholarship renewed every year; my mother sacrificially paid the rest. My cousin started (for all six years) at the same time. Baylor (at that time it was for boys only, and was military), founded in 1893, was situated at the foot of Signal Mountain on the Tennessee River’s Moccasin Bend.

A typical day at Baylor went as follows:

Buses arrive with day students
8:00 Opening formation flag ceremony and announcements
8:15 Lockers, Classes begin
11:30 Mid-day formation, Lunch in dining hall
12:00 Classes resume
2:00 Afternoon formation, Chapel
2:45 Fetch rifles, Drill
3:45 Athletics, Chimes
4:45 Wash, Dress
5:00 Buses leave

The school’s headmaster and the military commandant lived with their families in apartments at the top of the hill, beyond an ivied brick bell-tower that housed a set of carillon chimes, and the venerated library, with board room upstairs. There was a brick walk, lined with boxwoods (I liked the smell) around this area. The student body numbered around 450, and was about half boarding and the rest day students (as my cousin and I) who lived at home and usually rode the bus.

Baylor had five regional buses, each driven by its own driver. I remember crouching on the floor of a bus, “shooting craps” with dice I brought from home, with a boarding student – we skipped athletics for this. Once in the ninth grade I caught a flying squirrel in the gym and brought it home on the school bus in a cardboard box; it wasn’t there long.

We had grey wool uniforms (I got mine used from an upper-class boy) and Eisenhower jackets, both with “cross-arms” bearing on a red enameled center the school’s motto “Victoria Amat Curam”; we wore a cross-arm on our garrison cap, too. We also wore light blue oxford cloth long-sleeved shirts and black ties (with collar points held straight by a “Spiffy”); it all made a very handsome uniform. The school had a student-run uniform shop and a book store where students could buy books for their classes, supplies or knick-knacks, added to their monthly school bill. At first we were given wooden rifles, but upon reaching ninth grade we were issued .30 caliber M-1 Garands, of which we learned nomenclature and field-stripping in the old gymnasium, used as an armory. The armory also housed a rifle range, where for a brief time I fired, under supervision, the school’s single-shot .22 rifles (we shot a box of 50 rounds at a time at paper targets); I thought I was pretty good, but this activity soon ended for me, so I guess I didn’t make the cut.

A staff of three former US military officers, with the school’s commandant (the senior of these) oversaw the school’s routine administrative matters and discipline; they assigned and posted demerits, and I was often on the list, usually for offenses like insubordination or obscenity. Graver infractions were heard by the “Guidance Committee” (commandant, headmaster and other senior teachers), and might result in demerits or other suitable punishment. We “served” demerits on Saturdays, by whatever means they deemed appropriate. I remember sitting in “study hall” to serve demerits; once I spent the day roaming the spacious grounds or fishing, confined to the school property (this seems like fun, but the confinement was actually punitive – maybe they didn’t know what else to do with me.

All students were required to attend (and occasionally lead – I did this once) services in the school’s chapel, and to attend services at the religious institution of their faith; many cadets and teachers went to Centenary, as I did. The carillon chimes played old popular songs every afternoon, during athletics. I was an enthusiastic learner in all my classes, but my favorites were math, English, the sciences and Latin, which was a cornerstone of our excellent education; I took Latin for all five years I attended Baylor.

We had military drill every afternoon, after fetching our rifles, on the big field at the foot of the hill, next to the gymnasium; we often marched “out the old road (with homes for staff and junior teachers) and in the new” – a total distance of about a mile. There was a drum and bugle corps (D&B) for marching accompaniment; drill lasted about an hour; then we put away our rifles in the armory and went to athletics. There were occasional parades in which our school participated, as the city scheduled, and periodic administrative inspections of our unit; we practiced for these on the same ground in front of the gymnasium. Once I passed out (fainted) on the school’s parade ground; after I was revived, I was admonished not to lock my knees while standing at attention. The cadet regiment consisted of three battalions, each with two companies of two platoons, all by grade level, with the auxiliary bodies – uniform shop and D&B (drum and bugle corps). Seniors could be military officers (captains or lieutenants), and wore metal insignia of rank, and a sword (owned by the school). The platoons typically had three squads, each led by a Junior, who wore a brass whistle.

Sports were required for all students, and were coached by teachers. Usually there were three options with one major sport (football, wrestling, or track, depending on the season); occasionally there were others, like weight training. My sports were tennis, wrestling, track, and weights beginning my junior year. My track career was brief – I broke my left arm in an uncoached landing, pole-vaulting in spring; for six weeks I endured a plaster cast, which was removed just in time for the SAT, administered at a public high school. Of course there were extracurricular activities, so everyone was occupied.

I was invited to spend the night in the home of a Baylor chum who lived on Lookout Mountain; he had a collection of “American Rifleman” NRA gun magazines, and twin caliber pump action .22 rifles, and we hunted squirrels (took none) in the woods behind their house.

The school had its own photographer, and each class and honors group had a picture taken every year on a grassy hill at the drill field; besides candid shots at most events. There was a school newspaper and a yearbook, both student staffed and faculty advised; each student was given an annual book, the “Klif Klan”, to commemorate his Baylor experience.

As I said, my favorite class was Latin. Our wooden desks were positioned around the classroom according to final standing for the previous marking period; I was usually in the top three, which often interchanged. Rank in the class was computed each six weeks’ grading period and determined seating for the next period. For eighth grade we studied life in ancient Rome and the Forum (we carved models of famous Roman temples from blocks of soap); there was always grammar; it took several years to learn the language enough to read recreationally, as our teacher did. Ninth grade we read Julius Caesar; tenth grade we read Cicero; for eleventh and twelfth grades we read Vergil and Ovid. Most students had a contraband “pony” (interlinear translation) to help with reading (mine came from the Brainerd drug store, as did my collection of “Classics” comics for English class). Participation went around, and each boy kept his own score for the day’s work; if the teacher deemed a boy’s contribution laudable, that boy would be told “mark off a round” (improving his grade that day) – or vice versa. Every year I was awarded a certificate for excellence in a national Latin examination but knew nothing about the test; I guess our teacher put us all in for it.

I also liked Mathematics, for which I had the same teacher four years. In order we took Algebra 1 and 2, plane geometry, solid geometry, trigonometry, pre-calc and calculus, and differential equations. The teacher, who was also the tennis coach, took us to Atlanta once to see Pancho Gonzales, Ken Rosewall, Lew Hoad and Pancho Segura play a tennis exhibition “match” on a canvas court – very fast!

For English we had grammar in eighth grade; then literature: short stories, poetry, and novels (The Round Table read and discussed similar works). In eleventh grade we studied for the SAT, and learned many vocabulary words and their spelling.

For Science we took Biology, Chemistry, and Physics.

Baylor had several academic honors, of which I won a few. Notable among these was The Round Table; this literary discussion group met 3-4 nights yearly in the luxurious lounge of the school’s gymnasium, each time to discuss a book selected by my Latin teacher, who was the group’s founder and leader. Besides the student members and our leader/host, our meetings had a small number of regular members (teachers) and usually a guest (also a teacher). We wrapped up each year with a formal banquet, to which we invited guests as our dates.

My graduating class in 1960 was about 110: I think I was around 5^th, and went onto Emory in Atlanta GA.

My best friend at Baylor lived on Missionary Ridge, on Crest Road in a hillside house with a short winding drive to the road in back, with stone walls to match the house; the front entry wasn’t used. His father, a doctor, was my idol and mentor until disillusioning events which I’ll describe later; my friend’s mother was a socialite in Memphis TN, and often summered there; he had fraternal twin sisters, who attended GPS, a Baylor equivalent for girls. Their house had tile floors and intercom tubes for the former owner’s tubercular housekeeper. They had a dog, which mysteriously died and was replaced. In the well-equipped basement my friend tried to teach me boxing.

The father was a stocky, soft-spoken man, with varicose veins in his lower legs that he had had repaired. Once when I had lower back pain from intramural wrestling at Emory, I complained to him, contemplating surgery; I can almost hear him: “Stuff, don’t ever let anyone in your back; you’ll never be right again” – he must have had a bad experience. He had a Mercedes convertible, which was in the (no doubt expensive) shop more than it ran; nevertheless my friend liked driving it. The father also enjoyed riding his Harley-Davidson “Duo-Glide” motorcycle. I remember once riding with him – him on his big, low Harley with its 74 cubic inch engine and deep, throaty exhaust note, and me on my small, high Triumph with its much smaller 650 cc (about 40 cubic inch) engine and higher exhaust note – we went out by the lake (though we wound up on Signal Mountain); there our ride ended, as my bike broke, and he towed me home – a humiliating end to a glorious beginning. He seldom used my name, calling me “Stud” and “Stuff” interchangeably; I think he liked me because I was intelligent and mechanically curious; perhaps he pitied my fatherless state. Besides, he enjoyed being admired.

My friend had a new compact car, a Rambler “American” (which explains why he liked driving his dad’s sports car); we often took it to Baylor, or simply joy-riding around town. We joined the Chattanooga Sports (body-building) Club downtown, where we worked out after school (in lieu of Baylor’s mandatory sports program).

In college I fancied myself an atheist, and believed the answers to life lay in the DNA molecule and spontaneous generation a la the Russian scientists. My young friend’s father had a collection of Scientific American magazines, and invited me to stay the night with them in his small bedroom, where I suppose his wife had banished him for his unfaithfulness, which I ignored, lacking proof. One night while she was in Memphis, I called at their home and was greeted by a scantily clad blonde woman, whom I supposed to be the older man’s lady-friend. Disappointed, shocked and saddened for my friend’s family, I hurriedly left and resolved to change my major from pre-med; on my return to Emory I changed to double majors in chemistry and physics, since I had taken several courses in each, and liked both disciplines.

When I was a college senior, my young friend’s father was hospitalized in a motorcycle accident one night: he spun out on gravel and slid under the back of a truck on Crest Road some way down from their home; after many weeks comatose he died in the hospital from pneumonia.

After that I had no contact, except that one time after I was saved I spoke to them in their home, expressing my sympathy about the man’s death and witnessing of my radically changed life and salvation through Jesus. I later looked up my friend online, intending to send him the Mercedes replica but didn’t; I think he became a doctor near Chattanooga.

In October 1985 I returned to Baylor for my class’s 25^th reunion; I stayed in my mother’s home, and attended my class functions, including the annual homecoming football game against McCallie, I took my 1960 annual for others to sign – the greeting messages were touching, since I hadn’t known many of the people very well. I was taken to my mother’s home by a Jewish man who had been my principal rival in Latin; it was a pleasure to see him again.

I took our youngest daughter Irene to Baylor in 1994, when she was thinking of going to the school; we toured the campus and met several key people, including the headmaster. She was highly eligible, but we decided against pursuing it, because she would be a boarding student for 9-10 months each year, and we hadn’t the means.