A 40th Reunion Is Missed

One has to pay a price if one wants to accomplish anything of value, and this truism came home to me again over the weekend.

My college class was holding its 40th reunion on the Berea College ridge in Kentucky. How I wanted to attend the gathering. I have not been to a Berea reunion since the 30th reunion.

But given my situation at The Journal, it is virtually impossible for me to get away for three or four days. Besides, there was a murder to check on, at least two traffic fatalities, and Lord knows what else to deal with. Go to Kentucky? Not on your life.

One of my favorite classmates, Dr. David Hunter, of Knoxville, Tenn., recently told me he had been retired for a decade. He had taught at the University of Tennessee. I guess he and my other classmates who made it to Berea last weekend have been more successful than I. I have never worked harder in my life than I have and do in Crewe.

I learned a long time ago around here not to expect compliments, just grief. But Crewe Town Councilman Harrison “Skip” Skipwith stuck his head in The Journal’s front door late last week and thanked us for our high school graduation edition.
I was shocked and very humbled. Thank you, councilman. His words eased my sense of loss in not going to Kentucky for the weekend.

It is a small thing, I suppose, a small thing not getting to attend a major reunion. I can only think of one other more significant Berea reunion and that will be the 50th, and some of us may not be around to make the trip. But as I wrote at the beginning, if you want to do something in life that you think is important, you have to pay the price.

Berea College taught me that lesson 40 and more years ago. Every single member of my class and the larger student body came from the wrong side of the economic and social tracks. We knew Berea, a private college of renown that charges no tuition, was our way to a better life. Most of us gave it our all to make it through the place.

Frankly, I absolutely love Berea and if I had a million dollars, I would will it to the college, so that other needy students would have the chance the class of 1967 had to earn a priceless education.

I think of Berea daily and what it did for me and the rest of us in our generation, just as it had served generations who came before and after us.

There were so many lessons, some of which he probably resented from time to time. But among them was this little notion that there is dignity in all worthy toil. Every one of us had to work in a manual labor job outside the classroom. The same requirement continues to this day.

The mid-1960s were a tough time to be a college student. Many of our peers at other colleges and universities got caught up in the frenzy of the day — drugs, firebombing administration buildings, and the rest of it. Not one of us in that Berea era was destined for the College of Cardinals. But we knew we had to put aside our immediate pleasure for the longer gain. We knew we had to pay the price.

Whatever else may be said of some of us aging Bereans, we have in our various ways paid the price and then some. I feel as though I have paid and do pay the price. Frankly, I would have it no other way. That’s the Berea Way.

(This column was originally published in The Crewe-Burkeville Journal on June 14, 2007.)

One has to pay a price if one wants to accomplish anything of value, and this truism came home to me again over the weekend.

My college class was holding its 40th reunion on the Berea College ridge in Kentucky. How I wanted to attend the gathering. I have not been to a Berea reunion since the 30th reunion.

But given my situation at The Journal, it is virtually impossible for me to get away for three or four days. Besides, there was a murder to check on, at least two traffic fatalities, and Lord knows what else to deal with. Go to Kentucky? Not on your life.

One of my favorite classmates, Dr. David Hunter, of Knoxville, Tenn., recently told me he had been retired for a decade. He had taught at the University of Tennessee. I guess he and my other classmates who made it to Berea last weekend have been more successful than I. I have never worked harder in my life than I have and do in Crewe.

I learned a long time ago around here not to expect compliments, just grief. But Crewe Town Councilman Harrison “Skip” Skipwith stuck his head in The Journal’s front door late last week and thanked us for our high school graduation edition.
I was shocked and very humbled. Thank you, councilman. His words eased my sense of loss in not going to Kentucky for the weekend.

It is a small thing, I suppose, a small thing not getting to attend a major reunion. I can only think of one other more significant Berea reunion and that will be the 50th, and some of us may not be around to make the trip. But as I wrote at the beginning, if you want to do something in life that you think is important, you have to pay the price.

Berea College taught me that lesson 40 and more years ago. Every single member of my class and the larger student body came from the wrong side of the economic and social tracks. We knew Berea, a private college of renown that charges no tuition, was our way to a better life. Most of us gave it our all to make it through the place.

Frankly, I absolutely love Berea and if I had a million dollars, I would will it to the college, so that other needy students would have the chance the class of 1967 had to earn a priceless education.

I think of Berea daily and what it did for me and the rest of us in our generation, just as it had served generations who came before and after us.

There were so many lessons, some of which he probably resented from time to time. But among them was this little notion that there is dignity in all worthy toil. Every one of us had to work in a manual labor job outside the classroom. The same requirement continues to this day.

The mid-1960s were a tough time to be a college student. Many of our peers at other colleges and universities got caught up in the frenzy of the day — drugs, firebombing administration buildings, and the rest of it. Not one of us in that Berea era was destined for the College of Cardinals. But we knew we had to put aside our immediate pleasure for the longer gain. We knew we had to pay the price.

Whatever else may be said of some of us aging Bereans, we have in our various ways paid the price and then some. I feel as though I have paid and do pay the price. Frankly, I would have it no other way. That’s the Berea Way.

'Smitty' Smith Has A Big Heart

The announcement that Antioch University plans to close its doors probably hit the radar screens of no one but a weary editor in Southside Virginia. Even if you know about Antioch and know that it once was the center of Hippie culture, that is not the kind of thing with which most locals would feel comfortable.

In its heyday of the 1960s and a bit beyond, Antioch asked this of its students:

“Be ashamed to die until you have won some victory for humanity.”

That line came to mind the other day when I thought of one of my Florida friends, Robert “Smitty Smith, former mayor of Winter Haven, Fla., and former U.S. postmaster of that central Florida city.

I hope “Smitty” has long years ahead of him, but he really has done many good deeds for humanity, and I want briefly to tell you about one of his good works.

This good deed began in 1989 when I was a newspaperman in his city. Smitty wanted to help the young people from one of the city’s poorest neighborhoods to get an education that would give them a future.

He targeted Snively Elementary School and established mostly, maybe entirely, from his own funds a scholarship for a smart Snively fifth-grader. One scholarship was funded.

Through the years, Mr. Smith, a native of Claxton, Ga., worked diligently on this project. He modestly told me in an email last week, “…Many great people got involved and this year we gave 122 scholarships to Polk Çommunity Çollege to graduating fifth-graders.”

That is an amazing story, a story of persistence, a story of love, a story of vision and the future.

Eight of the scholarships went to Snively students and were presented to the youngsters by Mr. Smith.

The impact of this man’s work is awesome to behold. Smitty, you understand, is not a wealthy man. He gets by, but he is not a gold-plated Florida millionaire. His lack of money did not stop him for doing what he did. He has made a difference for humanity. He has passed a torch to the next generation surely in hopes that some of its members will do the same for those who follow them.

I find this to be a truly wonderful story, an inspiration to all who know about it. And yes, I am proud to call Robert “Smitty” Smith my friend. I could have no better one, no more inspirational one.

Jim Shoulders, American Cowboy

By RICK GUNTER
Whenever Americans think of macho men, of so-called real Americans, they still would list the likes of John Wayne, George Patton, and a few other kindred spirits. Jim Shoulders belongs on that list, too.

He was called the Babe Ruth of the professional rodeo. He did not come by the title easily, either. I suspect nothing came easily to this city boy who made it big on the rodeo circuit.

He rode bucking broncos and irate bulls to a record 16 world-championship titles.

He got hurt a lot. “They hadn’t even invented concussions when I was still in rodeoing,” he told The Daily Oklahoman in February. “Back then, you just got knocked out and they poured water on you and drug you out of the arena and let you come to. I had a few of them.

“I got both collarbones broke a couple of times. I had a few ribs. A bull hit me in the face in Houston and broke 27 bones in my face. They had to do some plastic surgery on me there. Whey you got banged up, you just learned to heal real quick.”
Life magazine, while still in its prime, dubbed Mr. Shoulders “Mister Broken Bones.”

For all his tenacious efforts, Jim Shoulders probably never earned more than $50,000 in a single year. What he did earn the very hard way, his way, was seven bull-riding, world titles, four bareback-riding world crowns and five all-around world championships between 1949 and 1959. He captured three consecutive rodeo crowns, finishing first in each of three-world-championship categories in 1956, ’57, and ’58.

But his larger achievement may be that he moved the professional rodeo to a higher level of attention in the sporting world.
James Arthur Shoulders was born and reared in Tulsa, Okla. As the story goes, when he was 14, he took a break from his job harvesting wheat for 25 cents an hour to watch a smalltime rodeo on July 4th, in Oilton, Okla. An older brother, he recalled, had been riding bulls, so he figured why not give it a whirl.

“I won it and won $18, and that sure beat the hell out of 25 cents an hour.”

He was hooked. He also was a natural in what can be a violent game.

Across the years, the injuries increased. But so did his legend. He became an icon even to Americans who were not exactly rodeo fans.

With the legend and fame came a huge responsibility that Mr. Shoulders, a Westerner through and through, understood. Listen to his words:

“Being an ole bull rider, I always said we carried the rest of the rodeo anyway, because they always had the bull riding last and it was the most popular event. When we go to a car race, if you don’t see a wreck, you are a little disappointed. If you go to a rodeo and don’t see some wrecks, you are disappointed. The American people don’t want to see somebody get killed, but if someone gets killed, we don’t want to miss it.”

Finally retired, he experienced another level of fame appearing in Miller Lite commercials. The producers paired him with the outrageous Billy Martin. In one spot, the two legends are seen sidling up to a bar. Both are wearing cowboy hats. Mr. Shoulders announces to the camera, “I’ll teach Billy to be a cowpuncher as long as he don’t practice on my cows.”

He was not too impressed with today’s rodeos even though the purses are so much larger than they were when he was on the circuit. Last year, he visited a rodeo in Ada, Okla. “These days,” he said, “it seems like they need a little more riding and a little less bull. There were guys laying all over. Folks like to see a bull rode occasionally.”

Jim Shoulders, a true all-Åmerican male, died Wednesday, June 20, in Henryetta, Okla. He was 79 and he truly was an American

We're Back

Sorry it has been so long since we posted to this blog. We've been busy doing our weekly paper and attending to some health concerns. But with this post, we are back and hope to have a full and regular lineup in the days, weeks, and months ahead.

Happy Fourth of July, everyone