Entering College

I graduated from High School in 1962 at the age of 17 years. The principal of the school, Mr. Beck, had spoken to me about going to college, since the state would pay my way. He recommended (or the state did) that I go to Fugazzi Business College in Lexington, Kentucky. However, I was determined to stay out of school for a while, since I had been going to school for twelve long years.

After graduation I went to visit my uncle and aunt, Carl and Frances Raney, who lived on Limaburg Road in Burlington, Kentucky. I had decided that I was not going to take the offer given to me by the school. After being at my relatives' house for a couple of days, my mother called me and said, "If you want to go to school, you need to be in Lexington tomorrow." For some reason (I don't really know why), I said, "OK, come and get me."

My parents picked me up and took me home. The next day my parents and I made the trip to Lexington, Kentucky. We spent most of the day identifying the house where I was going to sleep and another house just up the street where I was to eat my meals. We went to the school to see where it was (about a mile away from the house where I slept), and talked with the school officials. I met the woman who owned the house where I slept, and I met the woman who was going to fix my meals for me.

After all of this was accomplished, my mother and father both said good-bye to me; and they went back home, leaving me standing on the sidewalk in Lexington, not knowing anyone as a friend and in a city that was overwhelming to this young, vulnerable country boy.

My heart sank as I made my way back into the house where I was to sleep upstairs. Mrs. Cliff owned the house. I had only one room, and I had to share a bathroom with two or three other men. Every room in the house was filled with what today we would call antiques. I slept in a bed with very tall posts on the corners. Across the room from the bottom of the bed stood a dresser with a swivel mirror on it. The lamps were ancient, and the rug on the floor was reminiscent of a period of by-gone days. Some people would call it rustic; I called it musty. A small table sat beside the bed upon which I kept my tick-tock alarm clock. I arose at 5:30 in the mornings in order to get to the bathroom for my bath before the other men got up to use it and so that I could be at breakfast at the house up the street by 7:00 AM.

Breakfasts were great. Mrs. Jordan, who owned the house, was a great cook. She cooked for about eight to ten men, some who rented rooms from her, and some who came in from other places. That first morning at breakfast, after I finished my breakfast, Mrs. Jordan asked me to come into the kitchen. Then she proceeded to give me a sack lunch to take to school with me. She did that every morning.

I walked to school nearly a mile carrying a book satchel and a bag lunch. In those days that was not a long walk for me. However, in the winter it was very trying to walk through some of the deep snows that came, especially early in the morning before the sidewalks were cleaned. One morning that first winter I walked to school in a temperature of -14F degrees. When I arrived at school, I was so cold that it took nearly all day for my body to thaw. Then I had to walk back home that afternoon after school was over.

My mother would give me $3.95 each week to purchase a bus ticket that took me back home on the weekends and brought me back to Lexington on Sunday afternoon. I would walk to and from the bus station, which was about a mile from my house. Before I left to go home for the weekend, I would change my book satchel from carrying books to carrying clothes, which my mother would wash so that I could take them back to Lexington clean. I may take one book to do some homework, and the rest was clothes.

The first week of my stay in Lexington, I could not go home for two weeks according to my parents. I remember how homesick I was, since I did not know anyone in the whole big city of Lexington. I believe it was on Saturday of that first week I saw a young boy across the street working on his bicycle, so I walked over to him and asked his name. His name was James Ellard Cecil. He was about 11 or 12 years old. We became very good friends, and after that sometimes I would eat at their house just to have some fellowship with someone I knew. It did not take long until I had several friends, and being only 17 years old that summer, most of my friends were the kids in the neighborhood. I told them that my father's nickname was Pinky, so the kids in the neighborhood called me Pinky. Later I told them my middle name was Willard, and they began to call me Willie. They had a very peculiar practice there. If they wanted to see me, they would stand out in front of of the house and say, "Oh, Willy Babe!" If I did not answer, they would continue until I had no choice but to come out. We would go to a famous place called Bell Court, and I would stay around with them while they played what they called Flashlight Tag. A couple of times a neighbor woman called the police on the kids, but the police would just come and say, "Just keep it down a little, OK? Then we would try to be little quieter.

After about a month of loneliness and homesickness, I finally was used to the city life, and I began to enjoy the great city of Lexington.