Author: Sharron Burnett

In November of nineteen sixty seven I turned nineteen feeling as though I had grown by leaps and bounds since my graduation from high school. The world was in a state of upheaval, but I had become more focused in my personal life. I realized the fragility of life from my own experiences and from following the news. Somehow I felt compelled to take control of my tiny impact on the world. I began to realize that I was stronger than I had thought of myself as being. I more and more often entertained the idea of becoming an educator. I had found refuge in learning throughout my childhood and somehow it felt right to share the power of knowledge with others. Preparing for a future as a teacher suddenly felt as right for me as being with Mike. The former confusion of my life was replaced with a laser sharp determination to build my life around conveying the joy of learning that my father had given me. My pathway seemed clear.

In December Mike proposed to me under the lights of my family’s Christmas tree. It seemed fitting that I would promise myself to him in the season that had always seemed to bring me so much joy and comfort even in the direst of times. I felt confident that my personal journey was heading in the right direction with Mike by my side. The War in Vietnam and the losses incurred by that conflict made it clear to me how important people would always be to me. If I had one purpose that drove me, it was to find ways to better the lives of others. With Mike’s encouragement and respect I had finally developed a passion and a purpose that would drive my life. It was a grand partnership that we agreed to forge on that Christmas of nineteen sixty seven. 

Nineteen sixty eight would become known as a dramatic turning point for me and for the world. Nothing felt calm. The war continued to rage as well as the protests against it. I suppose that in times of crisis there is a human tendency of urgency. Somehow Mike and I knew that if we were to begin working together toward common goals our marriage and independence from our parents needed to happen sooner rather than later. We set our sights on a wedding in the fall and began to plan the event. 

It was time for me to get to know Mike’s parents better so we often spent our time together with them. I had to admit to myself that I felt a bit uncomfortable and awkward around them. Their lifestyle was so unlike what I had known up to that point. Even the contents of their snack filled refrigerator demonstrated the visible contrast to the bare bones inventory of the one in my home. Mike’s mother, Mary, was a lovely woman with beautiful hands that she used to make her very definite points of discussion seem even more important. She was a tiny woman with a commanding confidence that was admittedly intimidating to me. I admired her self assurance, but also felt quite unworthy in her presence in spite of her efforts to be welcoming to me. 

It had been so long since my father had died that I tended be unsure of myself around men other than my uncles. Mike’s father, Julio Gonzalez was no exception. He had met Mary at the University of Houston where he had enrolled after serving in the Korean War. Mary and Julio had encountered one another in the Cougar Den one day and felt an almost instant connection. Mary had been married before and Mike had been a child of that failed liaison. She was rebuilding her life when she met Julio who had been born and raised in Puerto Rico. She found him to be fascinating and it was not lon gafter meeting that they married when Mike was about five years old,. Julio, who would later officially adopt Mike, had become a father by default, a role that he took quite seriously. 

In retrospect I suspect that the vibe of  reticence that I felt from Mary and Julio had mostly to do with their worry about how young and naive Mike and I were at the time. They were anxious that we were rushing into an adult world that they feared we were quite far from being able to handle. It would only have been natural for them to feel cautious about giving us their blessing to move forward together with little more than a wing and a prayer. 

In the meantimes life was happening with or without us. I was washing dishes one day when my mother rushed in to announce that Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. had been assassinated. I remember dropping a plate onto the floor where it shattered. I sat among the shards of glass sobbing and wondering how hate could fester so much in the world. Finding and offering love felt so necessary in that moment. 

President Johnson had already announced that he would not seek reelection. I had grown closer to Mike’s parents when they accompanied Mike and I to a rally for Eugene McCarthy, an antiwar candidate who had garnered the attention of young people who felt that the Vietnam War was an unjust cause. We rallied around the Senator in Hermann Park hoping to send a message that we were tired of seeing young men returning home in caskets for a conflict that seemed to have no real purpose for the United States. McCarthy’s drive would later lose steam when Robert Kennedy entered the race, almost instantly becoming the front runner for the Democratic nomination. 

In June Kennedy seemed to have secured enough delegates to become the man who would run against Richard Nixon in November. When he was assassinated on the night that his delegate count was secured, I began to wonder if the world was going to collapse before I even reached my planned wedding date of October 4, 1968. Everything seemed dark and uncertain, but I knew that I had learned how to weather any situation just from watching my mother in the days and years after our father’s death. I had every faith that Mike and I would be fine, but I was no so sure about the state of our nation. We were living through a year when the world seemed to be on fire.

I have never actually believed in love at first sight save for how I have felt when my daughters and my grandchildren were born. Dating Mike was nonetheless a love story from the beginning. At first it was exciting to be with a kindred spirit who seemed to understand me so well. As time went by I became more and more convinced that I really had met the very special person with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life. 

I was only eighteen years old and fully aware of the fact that my life experiences were so limited that I should not let my heart run away with my head. When Mike first told me that he loved me I was thrilled, but wondered if both of us were getting carried away too quickly. My response to him was a no doubt humiliating, “Thank you!” For someone with a general facility with words I might have been more encouraging, but I simply chose not to commit to any emotion while I tried to discern what I was actually feeling. The truth was that I thought I loved him as well, but as I had so often realized, I was an old soul with a cautious spirit. Somehow the fact that I had been bowled over by Mike in a very short time confused me. I had imagined first earning a college degree, working for a time at a job, and only then finding the love of my life, but there I was becoming more and more certain that somehow Mike and I were meant to be together. 

I was still attempting to reconcile myself with a college major that made me excited. While I continued with my studies Mike and I spent more and more time together. He had transferred to the University of Houston where he was majoring in Sociology and already impressing his professors. Now and again he would take me to “invitation only” discussions with class members and professors. They were always incredibly interesting and I felt so proud to be part of such intellectual soirees. 

We often had fun double dating with my cousin Ingrid and her new found beau, John. We also spent more and more time with Alan and Susan who had married. I loved witnessing married life with them where we played cards and enjoyed Susan’s cooking. It was like peeking at a future with Mike even though he had not yet suggested that our relationship was heading for total commitment. 

Meanwhile Mama was spending more and more time with the man that she had once insisted she disliked. Somehow he wormed his way into her life by appealing constantly to her good nature. She seemed to be struggling to free herself of him, but he always managed to find a reason that kept her willing to see him one more time. His manipulation of her feelings irked me so much that I made every possible effort to avoid him. I did not want to hear his ugly political rants or see my mother losing the confidence that had always seemed to define her.

My brother Michael had transferred from Mt. Carmel High School to Jones High School after convincing our mother that the science and mathematics programs were better there. He immediately enjoyed the new challenges and the expertise of his teachers. At one point he created a contraption out of balsa wood that resembled a Rube Goldberg machine. It consisted of shoots through which marbles would rush to calculate the answer to a mathematics problem. He called it a computer. At the Houston Science Fair he won first prize in the mathematics division and then went all the way to top honors overall. It was apparent to all of us that he was really going to fulfill his childhood dream of becoming a mathematician and maybe even getting a human to the moon. 

Pat was now in junior high at Our Lady of Mt. Carmel. He played baseball and ran like a gazelle. He was artistic and gifted at telling a good story and had a knack for writing down his tales. He had a kind of charisma that made people joyful. Friends were drawn to him and many of their fathers filled in as role models and coaches for him. He seemed to be perennially happy, someone who fully embraced life and it’s best moments. 

One day Pat was playing football in a neighbor’s front yard. The weather was warm and nobody was wearing shoes. The grass in the yard was a bit high and in need of mowing, but that did not stop the boys from having a good time. Suddenly Pat was down on the ground writhing even though nobody had tackled him. Unbeknownst to anyone a broken beer bottle that someone had thrown from a car lay hidden and waiting for someone to make a misstep. The jagged glass had cut Pat’s Achilles tendon and he was bleeding profusely. His friends ran to our house shouting that Pat needed help quickly. When they described what had happened Mama instructed me to grab towels meet her at the car. We both jumped in quickly and she headed for the scene where Pat lay in the now bloodstained grass.

She jumped from the car and wrapped a towel around the wound applying enough pressure to stop the flow of blood. With a bit of help she carried Pat to the car and instructed me sit next to him on the front seat so that I might continue to keep pressure on his wound while she drove. She raced to our family doctor’s office where I ran inside to get help. Dr. Jorns and his nurse immediately followed me to the car. Within minutes he was stitching the tendon together and then closing the wound. He remarked with awe that Mama had done everything properly in getting him Pat the office. He was certain that Pat might have bled out had Mama not understood what she needed to do. 

That was my mother. Her level head and her knowledge of how to do things was uncanny. She had saved Pat and once again I was in total awe of her. Pat himself became a kind of folk hero in the neighborhood and his friends came around to keep him entertained while he was still unable to walk. I realized how relieved I was that my little brother was going to be okay. Somehow I would never be able to imagine a world without him. It frightened me to even think about Dr. Jorns’ words that Pat might not have made it without Mama’s quick thinking. The enormity of the event also helped me realize how much I had come to love Mike. I could not imagine life without him either. Moving forward he would be family in my mind as well.

My mother finally began dating when I entered college. I suppose that she suddenly felt a bit more free to enjoy herself so a parade of men came calling but she inevitably pushed each of them away for one reason or another. She would always compare them to our father and they always came up short in her mind. Eventually she encountered a man that she had known in her youth. He and his brothers had lived across the street from her childhood home. She admitted that she had harbored a teenage crush on the man’s brother, but now here was someone that she had known in her life before Daddy and he seemed to check many of the boxes that she was hoping to find in a relationship. He was nice looking and a widower with two children, a boy and girl. She agree to go out with him, but told me it was strictly a trial run. 

When she came back home form their brief evening out she insisted that she was going to have to come up with an excuse for not seeing him again. According to her assessment the date had been a disaster. She found out that he was quite uneducated and extremely prejudiced. Somehow he did not turn out to be as nice as she had hoped. She exclaimed that the end of the date had not come quickly enough. 

I thought that was that, but he kept calling and I suppose that she was feeling lonely and enjoyed his attention. Furthermore he appealed to her compassionate nature by telling her how much his children were suffering since their mother had died and how uncertain he felt in helping them with their grief. Before long she had accepted another date and then another until he became a regular visitor to our home, sometimes with his little girl who really was a sad little child. 

Mama vacillated between enjoying his company and thinking out loud about how she might gently push him away. He was overly possessive and seemed to actually frighten her because of things that he revealed about himself. He was politically stationed on the far right and he hinted that he knew people who would kill someone if he so desired. I would have thought that my mother was imagining his comments, if I had not heard many of them myself. In fact in one incident I was reading a biography of Abraham Lincoln that my grandfather had shared with me when the man shocked me by saying that our great President Lincoln had deserved to be assassinated as did President Kennedy. I remember being polite like my mother had taught me to be, but I quickly excused myself and rushed from the room. I was more than ready to encourage Mama to get rid of this man by any means, but I saw that she had grown to fear him. It would take time to convince her that he was all bluff and that she could do far better than hanging with someone like him. 

In the meantime I had met Mike and we embarked on our first date. I suppose that I have always been a romantic much like my father. He had read fairytales to me from the first moments that I remember. I dreamed of meeting the man of my dreams who would treat me with loving respect. Suddenly I found myself sitting next to such a person on our very first date. 

Mike arrived looking so incredibly stylish. It was apparent that he had taken a great deal time to groom himself and he looked quite handsome. We had decided to go see a movie at a theater near Gulfgate Mall. I agreed that The Flight of the Phoenix sounded good. I was all in for anything featuring Jimmy Stewart. 

On the way to the theater we had a chance to talk and listen to the music he had taped for the occasion. I liked all of his choices and we spent most of our time talking about the groups that we both seemed to enjoy. As we emerged from the car he took my hand and I felt a little tingle because his grip was just right. In fact, he held my hand through most of the film. When the lights came up I saw a couple of guys with whom I had gone to high school. We exchanged greetings while they scanned Mike with curiosity. 

The night was still young so Mike asked if a knew of a place nearby where we might grab something to eat. I suggested a pizza parlor near my home and we headed there. When we arrived the place was filled with families and rather loud children. I could tell that this was not the kind of environment Mike had hoped to find. He almost immediately suggested that we drive to downtown Houston to an area called Old Market Square where he knew of a great venue called The Cellar. 

I had heard of The Cellar at the university. It featured live bands and it was much wilder than anything I had ever done. The waitresses wore only panties and bras and there was likely to be a bit of pot here and there, but I really wanted to move out of the comfort zone in which I had always lived. I was quite excited by the prospect of what we might find and I was not disappointed. Seating was on mattresses thrown on the floor and there were definitely couples making out but I saw nothing that was any worse than I had already witnessed at a couple of wild frat parties that I had attended. I was mostly impressed by the quality of the band. The music was incredible. 

We did not stay that long before I admitted that I probably needed to go home. When we got to my front door Mike kissed me and it felt like I was Cinderella. I invited him to come inside for a bit if he was so inclined. The house was dark because my mother and brothers had gone to bed. We sat talking on the sofa for hours. He was smart and interesting and we seemed to be of one mind almost immediately. 

At about three in the morning Mama wandered in looking astounded that Mike was still there. She suggested that it was time for Mike to leave and then she went back to her bedroom. He gave me one more incredible kiss and then he left. I closed the door and felt my heart fluttering. I would later tell my friends that I thought that I had met “the one,” the man that I would one day marry. 

The University of Houston was one of the first to actively recruit black athletes in the nineteen sixties. It was also one of the first campuses to elect a black homecoming queen. The students often joined with Texas Southern University in protests aimed at integrating all of Houston. I was willing to participate as long as everything remained peaceful. I knew that if I ended up in big trouble it would be difficult for my mother, so I tended to leave any demonstrations that appeared to be getting out of hand. I joined a number of organizations with Claudia that used student marches to make a point about issues that were becoming more and more important at universities across the nation. Sometimes it was simply a protest over cutting down trees to erect a new building. 

On one occasion Claudia and I learned that Muhammed Ali was coming to campus. He was already making waves by speaking out against the war in Vietnam. He had become a Muslim and had changed his name from Cassius Clay. While he was undoubtedly the best boxer in the world his stance on the war was not making friends with many who might otherwise have been his supporters. On college campuses he was much more warmly received because we actually appreciated his courage in voicing his beliefs no matter the cost. 

Ali would be speaking in what was then the Cougar Den. It was a rather small building back then where students gathered between classes to get some food, meet friends, play cards and just relax a bit. At any given moment Purple Haze was playing on the jukebox that was never silent. Because it was such a cramped space only students with connections would be able to get inside to hear Ali speak. Claudia, who had become quite popular on campus, flirted with some male members of the Young Republicans Club and they gladly relinquished their admission tickets to her because they were not at all interested in hearing what the boxer would have to say. Furthermore they gave her access to the balcony area where their offices were located which meant that we would have a great view. 

We excitedly stood along the balcony railing and waited for the Champ to arrive. As soon as he entered the crowd went wild. His charisma was palatable as he assumed his cocky attitude in the middle of the room. His speech was a clever mix of boasting and humility as he explained why he would never agree to fight in Vietnam. It was a credo worthy of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.. I thought that he was incredibly wonderful and brave. I have never forgotten how much he influenced my thinking about standing up for one’s beliefs.

I had begun to feel very much a part of the University of Houston. I managed to find a better professor for my second semester of German who was far more understanding that I was still mostly a novice German speaker. I learned how to prepare for long essay question history exams and began to feel confident again. I continued to really enjoy my English classes where I also encountered a girl whom I had known mostly from afar since my middle school days. One morning I arrived early for a class and sitting on the stairs was Linda, who had been dropped off at the campus by her sister. I was excited to see someone that I knew and for the rest of the semester Linda and I would meet up every Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning. She was someone in whom I had been in awe, but I soon found her to be quite lovely and down to earth. We slid into a very comfortable relationship rather quickly and when she heard that I was paying someone to get me to school she insisted that her sister would be more than happy to pick me up on their way to the university each morning. It was a dream come true on so many levels. 

My cousin, Ingrid, and I had continued attending parties and dances on weekends. We had met a couple of very nice young men at one of them and hoped to encounter them again at an upcoming function. As we plotted and planned we received an invitation for a surprise twenty first birthday party for our cousin, Alan, on the same night as the next fraternity event. We were torn about what to do when our mothers insisted that it would be quite rude to skip the special celebration for Alan to see people that we hardly knew. With great reluctance we agreed to celebrate our cousin’s milestone, hoping that our chances with the cute guys we had met would still be available at a later date. 

The first couple of hours of the party felt a bit lame. We had already met most of Alan’s friends and while they were nice enough, we had little interest in pursuing them. Both of us were attempting to come up with an excuse to leave early when another of Alan’s friends arrived stylishly late. He was quite good looking and fashionable with his chambray shirt, madras pants and loafers. He dressed like the frat boys at UH but he was actually interesting because he had just come back to Houston from Loyola University in New Orleans. He had a polish that nobody else in the room had and he appeared to be quite interested in Ingrid. 

We decided to stay at the party a bit longer because it seemed obvious that this guy named Mike was going to give Ingrid a call. That’s how we worked together only leaving as the party ended. On the way home we checked the dorms where our UH guys lived and when we saw their cars parked there we were reassured that they were still very much available. We chatted a bit about Mike and went home thinking that the party had not been so bad after all.

A few days later I was stunned when Mike called me. He told me that Alan had given him my number and he laughed when I asked him if he was sure that he had asked for the right cousin’s contact information. He described me down to everything that I wore, so I knew that he was not going to be disappointed when he saw whom he was asking for a date. We talked for a long time and I had to admit that I had never before felt so comfortable talking with anyone. I looked forward to getting to know this intriguing guy better. 

I begged, borrowed, and paid for rides to the University of Houston. I possessed neither a driver’s license nor a car to get to my classes. Luckily I had a number of friends living near me who were also studying there. Tuition for my first year was covered by a scholarship, so I often used the money I had saved from working for our family doctor to help pay for gasoline for those kind enough to cart me back and forth. My days on campus were often quite long but I was enjoying the opportunities to meet new people and see more of the bigger world around me. 

My first challenge came in registering for classes. In 1966, there were no online applications for doing so. Instead I went to one of the university gyms at the appointed time and raced from one area to another hoping that an opening might still be available for the classes that I wanted to take. It was a tedious and frustrating situation, but I found myself feeling more for the young men whose status for the military draft hinged on whether or not they were able to get a full load of classes. Now and again I would see tough looking guys on the verge of sobbing as they realized that their efforts were going to fall short because the classes they needed were closed. 

I ended up with a potpourri of courses that included English, mathematics, science, history, physical education, and German. Fortunately I received credit for freshman level English courses but unfortunately I was placed in second year German with no credit for the first year. I found myself with a small group of students all of whom had German last names who admitted that they spoke German at home with their parents. I felt like a fish out of water floundering on a hot beach as I attempted to keep up with peers who were incredibly fluent in the language. The rest of my classes were much like those I had taken in high school with the exception of physical education where my klutzy tendencies were on full view. 

I loved the pulse and the possibilities of a large public university that was so unlike my small private school. Everything about it was quite exciting. While Claudia and I had planned to be pals at the campus we soon learned that with different majors and classes our meetings were somewhat rare. We had to make appointments with each other just to stay in contact. In a sense we were now orbiting in two very different worlds but we did join a couple of organizations together and often took part in the numerous protests that cropped up on campus. This was a time of unrest in the country with civil rights still lagging for much of our population and distress over the war in Vietnam at an all time high. 

There were campus issues as well that became topics of the school newspaper, The Daily Cougar. I became a follower of the editor, Edith Bell, and found myself more and more often wanting to learn and write for her. She was doing a job that sounded more appealing to me than anything else I might imagine. She covered the problems in the School of Architecture in which the female students were being harassed by both students and professors who thought them unfit for the major. I was enchanted by her willingness to express her ideas without filters. I wondered if I would ever have the courage to speak my own mind. 

My cousin, Ingrid, was already in her second year at the university as was another cousin, Paul. I encountered them now and again as I rushed across campus to get from one class to another. I also met my cousin Alan’s fiancee, Susan. For a time Claudia and I went to every street dance and party we could find, but eventually she became quite busy with dates and other obligations, so Ingrid became my new buddy for extracurricular activities. Even though I have never seen a resemblance between the two of us, people thought that we were sisters wherever we went. It was an instant ice breaker and conversation starter that made our social forays more fun. Together we were meeting lots of new people and having a great time. 

In between attending my classes, studying for my courses, and attempting to enjoy the social aspects of the university I was spending less and less time at home. Michael had entered high school at Mt. Carmel with a scholarship just as I had. Pat was moving along behind him and becoming more and more independent himself. He was often away from home with friends, so the house was much quieter than it had been. Mama was the belle of the ball at her Parents Without Partners socials and she had met many new friends who often came to our house. She had begun to consider dating, but nobody seemed to meet the high standards that Daddy had set for her. 

Our family dynamic was changing. Mama was working and attending college classes in the afternoons at Dominican College. In the evenings we barely had time to speak to one another as we all sat doing homework at the dining table that our parents had purchased so many years before. Mama was burning her candle at both ends and the stress was beginning to show on her. Sometimes she seemed to overreact to situations and other times she appeared to have unfounded fears about her work or her classes at the college. She even admitted at one time that she was afraid of one of her professors, suggesting that he wanted to take her on a ride in his plane so that he might kill her by throwing her out. I was so full of my own world that I would usually just laugh when she said such things and accuse of her being overly dramatic. 

As 1966, ended our routines and the cozy feeling of safety that I had taken for granted seemed out of whack. I was still attempting to decide on a major with little success. I had struggled with both the German and history classes in a way that was foreign to me. Things were changing more quickly than I had imagined. The world itself seemed to be on fire. There was an feeling of unrest that sometimes kept me awake at night. I knew that the chaos was all part of entering the adult world which I definitely wanted to do, but I wondered if it would always feel so chaotic. I was learning as in the dark without any kind of plan. It was my welcome to the real world. I was preparing for a future that I could not yet see. Hopefully I would be ready for whatever came to be.