Category: Commentary

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. 

My time in high school seemed to fly by quickly. Suddenly I was a senior looking forward to graduating and attending college. From the age of eight I had grown up on Belmark Street with Mama and my two brothers. Our mother had created a loving environment in which the three of us thrived. Our aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, neighbors and friends had embraced and supported us. We felt safe, secure and loved. Now the adult world was calling me and I was ready to follow. 

My senior year was a whirlwind of activity. I was the news editor of our school newspaper, an assignment that initially disappointed me because I was hoping to be in charge of the literary page which became the domain of my friend, Claudia. I also longed to be the general editor so that I might write the opinion pieces but for whatever reason our sponsor saw me as someone more capable of reporting the news. In retrospect I suspect that she got it right. 

I also became the president of the Medical Careers Club even though I secretly began to question my interest in medicine. The truth was that I was totally confused about what kind of career I wanted to follow. I had no interest in business or engineering and I actually had little idea of what kind of careers were possible. Women were only beginning to actively consider jobs that had once been the domain of men, and they were often faced with pushback. In my heart I wanted to be a journalist, but my writing was still tentative. I was afraid to let the real me shine forth in my words. I was as confused about the next steps in life as anyone ever has been, so I simply enjoyed my final year of high school with gusto. 

I had been a member of the Student Council for three years and decided to throw my hat in the ring for Student Body Secretary. I pushed myself to be less shy and to approach everyone during the campaign. I worked for days on the speech that I had to deliver to the entire school. I had been enjoying being a fearless member of the debate team but I soon realized that speaking in front a a few judges was much easier than looking out on an audience of hundreds of people. My voice wavered and my right leg became limp as I held onto the podium. I was making sounds, but wondering the entire time if I was going to pass out before the end of my speech. Somehow I made it through the ordeal but my foray into politics ended up being unsuccessful which turned out to be exactly as it should have been. I was not yet ready or confident enough for such a job.

I had worked so hard to do well in my studies that my habits for getting things accomplished had become routine. I approached learning the way my father had taught me. I saw it as something quite enjoyable rather than an onerous task. I had stayed at the top of the class each year in a secret honor to my father who had always believed in me and my abilities. Being the valedictorian of the class was a personal goal, not one predicated on receiving scholarships or achieving glory. It was my way of letting my father know that I had learned from him. 

Each Friday evening I attended the school football games. I had become the official announcer for the Carmel Cadets drill team. It was a fun gig that allowed me to watch the games with my friends and then be the voice behind the Cadet performance. It was also so frivolously fun that I felt the most like a normal American teenager on those nights. I’d hitch a ride with my friends Susan or Eileen or Nancy and we would have a rollicking time.

I have to admit that I was so busy as a senior that I hardly interacted with my family. I missed lots of Friday nights at Grandma Ulrich’s house and on Saturdays I was either at the weekly dances held at the school or out and about with my friends. While I was busying myself with becoming more and more independent my mother joined a club for single parents called Parents Without Partners. She attended the meetings and socials with a neighbor, Kathleen, whose husband had quite suddenly and unexpectedly died. The two of them had fun together getting out of the house and meeting new people. They were both beautiful and outgoing women who attracted attention wherever they went. 

My brothers were doing their own things as well. Michael had a stable of friends who were bright and had interests similar to his. He was in the eighth grade and his teachers had finally realized what an amazing student he was. His mathematical abilities were over the moon and he was already focusing on a future career in engineering. His buddies gathered regularly at our house charming us all with their earnest outlooks on life. 

Pat had friends all over the neighborhood. He was fun and likable and had a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. If ever there was a real life character like Tom Sawyer, it was Pat. He had an unstoppable wit and a creative bent that reminded me so much of our father. He even began to resemble Daddy more and more as he grew older. He was the perfect balance for the seriousness of Mike and me.

With the end of my school year came recruitment and offers of scholarships from college that I did not even know existed. Back in 1966, most high school students had little knowledge of the process of admissions. I only knew that Claudia and I wanted to attend the University of Houston and so I had only applied there. My acceptance was automatic as was hers. In the meantime I was inundated with letters from Georgetown University, Universtiy of Notre Dame, Catholic University of America, the University of St. Thomas, the University of Dallas and Texas Tech. Each of them promised me a free ride if I would attend. While I was flattered by the attention I understood that my situation was more complex than most. There was no way that my family would be able to afford to send me back and forth to far away schools even if I had every other expense paid once I got there. I was also still only seventeen and had rarely travelled anywhere save for our long journey to California and back and our visits to see our grandparents in Arkansas. Staying in town was the most reasonable option given my circumstances and I was impressed by what I had seen of the University of Houston. Furthermore had yet to decide on my major, so UH gave me the flexibility to try different areas of study before making a solid commitment. 

After the usual end of year traditions like a senior trip to a dude ranch, Junior/Senior night, the Awards Ceremony, the Senior play, it was graduation day. I was filled with mixed emotions and hardly heard the speakers on that day. On the one hand I was ready to venture into the next phase of life, on the other hand I felt as though I was jumping blindfolded off of a cliff. Everything was changing and I was unsure of how I felt. I suppose that in that regard I was like everyone else in my class. It was like saying a final farewell to my childhood. The rest of my life stood before me and I had no idea where that would lead.

It took me awhile to move on from the death of my Grandma Minnie Bell, but I was a junior in high school and had come into my own with academics, clubs and friendships. I was soon enjoying my youth once again even though I would never really forget the impact that my grandmother had on me. Life was full for our family as our mother continued teaching her fifth grade students, enjoying every moment of he job. Michael inched toward high school proving himself in both his studies and his athleticism. In fact, he and Mama had a bit of a dust up when he announced his intention to try out for the football team. It was one of the only moments in which the two of them became involved in a major disagreement. Mama was adamant the football was a dangerous sport and she would stand firm in denying Michael her permission. The battle ended with my brother sulking away and mumbling like the teen he had become that she had ruined his life.

Patrick was the family entertainer. He kept us laughing with his ability to tell a good story or act out a funny joke. I would later realize that he was the latest in a family line of men who had the knack of delivering a punchline. It had no doubt begun with Grandpa Little, continued with my father and had now become one of Pat’s many talents. He was the delight in our family and in the neighborhood where he collected friends wherever he went. He ran like a gazelle, fielded balls like a pro and just generally enjoyed life with a kind of gusto that made us all smile. 

During that school year Claudia Dean became my closest friend and confidante. Her mother was also a teacher and Our Lady of Mt, Carmel school and so the two of us often sat together at the end of the day waiting to ride home with our moms. We’d share our dreams which of course included discussions of the boys in our class that we hoped might notice us. Sometimes we got together on weekends and listened to music from the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. We both enjoyed writing and worked on the school newspaper, but Claudia had a keen interest in science that I admired but was never able to develop for myself. We had both quietly decided that upon graduation from high school we would attend the University of Houston.

I was still uncertain about my future but I had joined the Medical Careers Club in the hopes of finding a niche in that arena. By my junior year I was an officer in the organization and I found myself leaning toward nursing without really having any idea of what that entailed. I had spent the previous summer as a substitute in our family doctor’s clinic. I worked at the receptionist’s desk and filled in as different clerks went on vacation. Somehow in the back of my mind I began to see that the life of doctors and nurses were not appealing to me, but I reserved judgement because I had only seen the day to day routines of a clinic rather than the excitement of a hospital. 

The Beatles came to Houston during my junior year but there was no way that I would have been able to secure a ticket to see them. I soothed myself when I learned that nobody was able to hear them sing during the concert because there was so much screaming. I was content just to listen to my records and imagine what it might be like to be John Lennon’s girlfriend. 

Lyndon Johnson, a fellow Texan, was duly elected to the presidency during that time as well. I had only begun to think about politics of late and I somehow deemed myself a democrat, mostly because of my former adoration of John Kennedy. I was still forming my political opinions but my most focused issue was on the civil right movement. I suppose that I had always believed that the segregation of black citizens in my country was wrong. Even as a young child I instinctively knew that we had been wrong to deny our them the same rights that the rest of us enjoyed simply because we were born Caucasian. I was sickened by the horrific day on the William Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama when Bull Connor unleashed dogs and tear gas on peaceful demonstrators. I had always questioned the prejudices that I witnessed, so when the Voting Rights Act was passed in Congress and signed by Lyndon Johnson I celebrated, hoping that our nation would one day see everyone as equal. 

Sadly the war in Vietnam was escalating. Claudia and I often spoke of how our country might extricate itself from that conflict. We worried about young men that we knew being drafted to take part in the fighting. We both wished that we were old enough to participate in protests, but for the moment we would simply be content to develop our beliefs together in the earnest conversations that we so often held with each other. 

At school I found that I really enjoyed my Chemistry class. It was perhaps the only time that I was enthusiastic about sitting through a science class other than the moments when Mrs. Colby talked about space exploration. I also began German class in addition to continuing with Latin. Nevertheless English class with Father Shane continued to be my favorite part of the day. By then I had read and reported on hundreds of books and written as many weekly themes as well. I was able to parse  and diagram sentences with ease. I felt like a master of the English language which reminded me of a story that my mother often repeated. 

When she was attending Austin High School she had an English teacher named Harlan Andrews who was the older brother of the movie star Dana Andrews. She often boasted that Mr. Andrews was as handsome as his brother the actor and one of the great teachers of her lifetime. She was most proud of a compliment that Mr. Andrews often gave her. He had told her time and again that she had a remarkable mastery of the English language. I think that compliment was especially important to her because her mother spoke little or no English and her father had a distinct accent that gave away his foreign birth. For the entirety of her life she would stress the importance of proper diction and grammar usage. Perhaps I had inherited her delight in analyzing our beautiful English language.

I spent the summer of 1965 working for our family doctor once again. The accountant encouraged me to study business in college. The nurses thought I should attend a nursing school. The doctors attempted to convince me to plan for medical school. The world was swirling around us and I would soon be faced with adult decisions that I did not feel ready to make.   

It seemed so sudden when my grandparents decided to move from their beloved farm in Arkansas back to Houston, Texas. I knew how happy they had been with their animals and their gardens, but I also remembered how much work maintaining their place had been. The two of them were in their late eighties and beginning to slow down. Perhaps being back near family in a house with a smaller yard would be best for both of them. Besides, having them close would mean that I would get to see them more often. 

We almost immediately began visiting my grandparents every Sunday after church. Grandma prepared her famous feasts for lunch, but somehow her cooking was not as incredible as it had once been. She was having difficulty with her eyes and we would often find foreign objects in the dishes that she served. Our mother instructed us to begin with small portions so that if we decided that a particular dish was not up to Grandma’s standards it would be less noticeable if we left that food on the plate. It was sad to realize that our once energetic grandmother was slowing down and had lost much of her culinary magic. 

On most visits we accompanied Grandma on a tour of her backyard garden which did not seem to have suffered the way her cooking had. Her thumb was as green as ever so it was delightful to view the flowers and vegetables that grew in profusion in beds along the perimeter of the property. She was always so delighted by nature’s bounty that it made all of us smile. 

For a time Grandpa went back to work. He told us that he needed to stay busy, so he had landed a job at NASA through his connections with the union to which he had belonged for years. He helped install the rings for lighting on the ceilings of new buildings that were constantly cropping up at the space center. He looked and behaved much younger than his octogenarian age, but one day an inspector saw him perched high on a ladder and felt that something was amiss. When the man quizzed Grandpa about his age and learned how old he was, he immediately insisted that my grandfather leave the job. 

What we did not know at the time is that Grandma had colon cancer that had advanced so much that it was incurable. This was a time before Medicare for seniors existed so Grandpa had been drawing on his savings to care for her. He needed that job both for the income and the health insurance that it had provided. It was devastatingly horrible to later learn that my grandmother’s treatments were stressing the finances of my grandparents. 

It was not long before Grandma’s illness became apparent. She stopped cooking her big meals for us and when we visited we mostly sat on the couch watching television with our grandparents. Grandma told us that her favorite show was The Beverly Hillbillies. She’d laugh and explain that she identified with the “Granny” character on the series. 

Eventually Grandma spent time in the hospital where she underwent surgery that resulted in a colonoscopy. She was frail and mostly bed bound by then. We would sit with her as she slipped in and out of consciousness. The whole situation horrified me but I watched my mother behaving like an angel of mercy. Mama had so much strength and goodness in her heart that I was in awe of her. I mostly sat quietly in the room wishing that the grandmother I had always known might somehow become well again, but that was not meant to be. 

One day in October of 1964, my beloved grandmother, Minnie Bell Smith Little, died in her home. I was devastated as was anyone who knew her. Grandpa had tried so hard to restore her health, but in the end there was little he was able to do. His “buddy” was gone, the love of his life and he would talk of her constantly and the joys that the two of them had shared. 

After Grandma’s funeral Grandpa revealed that he would have to vacate the house where Grandma had ended her days. His bank account was depleted from the cost of her medical care. He liquidated all that he owned and moved to a room in his daughter Marion’s home. When that did not work out as planned he found a rented room with a sweet woman named Maryann Barbeaux, a widow who needed the extra income to stay afloat. His world was shattered and so was ours. Grandma had been the glue of the family and without her we all felt adrift. 

I would return to my books and my studying for solace, a pattern that I would repeat over and over again during my life. I don’t recall much about that school year because I suppose I was shrouded in grief without really understanding the process of working through the phases of loss. When I turned sixteen shortly after my grandmother’s death I felt inspired to emulate her goodness and the joy for living that she had so exuded. I also wanted to be like my mother who had shown me how to so lovingly care for the sick and the dying. I knew that I had a great deal of growing up to do before I would even come close to being like the two remarkable women who were my exemplars. Little did I know how close I would eventually become with my grandfather and how he would be a source of comfort and wisdom for many more years to come. The passing of time had made me strong, and Grandpa would show me how to navigate the difficult surprises that always come our way.