April 28: "A present from Ju''

Wednesday afternoon I was walking down the hall after my last final, a group presentation in my Mass Media Law class. If a 51-year-old guy can have a bounce to his step, I had one. We had just scored a perfect 200 on the presentation, nailing down an A for the class and completing what I am confident will be a perfect 4.0 gpa.

Not bad, considering in what my first semester after an almost 30-year break in my education.

I was turning a corner to leave the building when I heard a little voice and little steps running in my direction.

“Mr. Slim!’’ she called out.

It was Ju.

You may remember Ju from one of my first posts. She was a tiny little Korean exchange student I wrote about. I met her on my first day of class. She had lingered after the end of our Journalism Ethics class to talk to our professor. She was worried that she wouldn’t be able to pass the class. It was easy to understand her fears. The Professor would say something and she would look down on her little hand-held computer, which turned out to be a Korean/English dictionary.

After she had finished talking to the professor, I told her that I have overheard her conversation and, since I had been a working journalist for almost 30 years, I would be happy to help her in the class.

Her face brightened. She smiled and nodded – bowed, really, as is the custom of her homeland.

It turns out, I also had Ju in my Mass Media Law class.

I can’t say that I really offered her that much help, aside from asking her how she was doing and telling her how impressed I was with her work.

So when she hailed me as I was leaving, I was a little surprised.

“I have something for you,’’ she said, a little breathless from running to catch up with me.

It was a little Korean ornament of some sort. Rather than describe it, you can find a picture on the right side of this page.

“I just wanted to thank you so much!’’ she said.

I’m not sure exactly what Ju believed that I had done that warranted her thanks. Truth is, I was far more inspired by her than she could ever be by me. I remember her first days in class as she struggled with her little Korean/English dictionary. By the end of the semester, I never saw her use it at all.

Hey, college is hard enough for a young person, with all the distractions. But try it while being thousands of miles from home, studying and taking tests and notes in a language you hardly know. I’d last about a week, I figure.

So when I measured my success against Ju's, I realized that maybe I should be too self-satisifed.


Ju will be leaving for Korea early next week. She’ll finish school there and plans to stay in Korea and pursue a job in TV. I have no doubt she will succeed. She is obviously smart and profoundly disciplined.

Ju got me to thinking about some of the students I have met her in my first semester.

Specifically, I thought of which of the students I had met I would hire if I were to start my own company.

I’ll start with a guy named “Philly.’’ I met him on my first day of Geography class. He was sitting in the desk next to me.

Ten minutes into that first lecture, I looked over and noticed that Philly had no notebook, no pen and seemed to have little or no interest in what was going on.

Philly is a tall, broad-shouldered black kid from Philadelphia, Miss. That, along with the fact that I never saw him when he wasn’t wearing A Philadelphia Phillies baseball cap, is why he is known as Philly.

I figured Philly wouldn’t be around long. Surely, he would drop the class.

But he didn’t. In fact, Philly was there every day. Turns out, he was a pretty good student. Near the end of the semester, he said he would likely make a B in the class. Not bad.

I think I would hire him, not for his academic excellence, but because Philly has that “it’’ factor. In fact, it seemed as though everybody on campus knew and liked Philly. He has that sort of charm that draws all sorts of people to him.

And I could use a guy like that in my mythical company.

On the opposite end of the spectrum there is April, a 30-year-old married mom who drove to Starkville from her home in Fulton to take classes two days a week. She’s carrying a full load, also taking some online courses.

April was one of three people from my Public Speaking Class I think I would hire.

Of all the people in that class, she was the one who seemed most prepared. Her speeches were not dynamic or provocative in any way. In fact, they were pretty bland. But no one in her class was better prepared. She seemed to have every speech committed to memory and delivered them in a sure, steady voice. So while there was nothing inspiring in her work, it was obvious that she was both conscientious and well-prepared.

She would be known as a “low-maintenance’’ employee, someone who is entirely dependable. She gets the job done in a workmanlike fashion. I’d hire her.

I would hire Raj, too.

Early in the semester, I would never have considered him. A native of India, Raj always arrived late to class, his dark, thick hair a total mess and his shirt-tail hanging out. He seemed disorganized and confused.

And then he spoke.

He spoke with such a burning passion and enthusiasm that you scarcely noticed his appearance. He has the one thing that every company needs more of: Fire.

By contrast, Toshi, from Tokyo, was the model of precision. Even though he struggled with English, his speeches – like those of April – were well-prepared. He was thorough, well-prepared and surprisingly funny and self-effacing. It was clear after the first speech that Toshi is both intelligent and engaging. He’s hired.

Ju, Philly, April, Raj and Toshi: That’s a pretty good group of folks to start a company with, I think.I would hire them.

But I’m beginning to wonder if anyone will hire me.

I applied for two internships this semester and was turned down for both of them, even though the interviews themselves went about as well as an interview can go. It was obvious that the recruiters for those two positions absolutely loved me as a candidate.

But my record shot me down in both cases and the internship went to people whose credentials and experience pall in comparison to mine.

The ONLY thing that seems to matter is the person I was at my worst moment. Nothing I have achieved outside of it seems to carry any weight at all.

Unfair? It is not for me to say, of course.

I wonder if I am deluding myself in thinking that I can aspire to something beyond menial jobs. In the five years since that life-changing night that I got my last DUI, I’ve had no trouble finding menial jobs – car wash attendant, clerk, janitor.

I had imagined that when I had paid my “debt to society,’’ I might be able to go as far as my talent, drive, skills and experiences would take me.

But now I am beginning to wonder.

People believe in “second chances’’ - as long as they don’t have to provide them.
And, so, I’m back to where I was the day I walked out of prison four years ago:
Now what?

I’m going to keep on trying, I’ll stick it out in school and believe that I can aspire to something better. Maybe it’s a foolish idea, a silly notion that there is something “better’’ out there for me.

But I have to believe it anyway.

The alternative is despair.

April 25: "Tired''

I don’t think I’ve ever been as sleepy tired as I was Monday morning between my Geography final and my Journalism Ethics final.

I had about 2 ½ hours to kill between the time I finished my first final and the time for the second. My original plan was to devote that time to study. I would have a late breakfast (I finished the 9 a.m. test a little after 9:30) and review all the material for the Ethics test at noon.

But I was stumbling, bleary-eyed tired. I ate breakfast and stared blankly at my Ethics notes for about a half-hour. Then I went over to the Starbucks in the Student Union, grabbed a cup of coffee and sank into a chair and stared blankly at my Ethics notes for another half-hour. I walked around the Drill Field and notice how few students were out and about, a sure sign that it’s Finals Week.

Finally, I staggered over the McComas Hall, slipped into my seat and stared at my Ethics notes until the professor showed up and the test commenced.
This was not how I planned to “go out’’ this semester – with a whimper rather than a bang.

I had already had A’s pretty well locked up in both classes, which I am sure affected my study plan. Up until now, I had been pretty diligent in my test preparations. But I needed to score only a 60 in Geography to secure my A and probably a 70 or so to nail down an A in my Ethics class.

So call it a lack of incentive. I studied my Georgraphy notes for about an hour Sunday evening before bedtime. I was going to get to be and get a good night’s rest. But instead, I stumbled across “The Passion of the Christ’’ on TV as I was flipping channels and was mesmerized. I hadn’t seen “Passion” in a couple of years, so I forgot that it was a pretty long film. By the time it was over, it’s 12:30 and I’m not even in bed.

Even so, six hours of sleep is enough, I figured.

But I am not sure how much sleep I got, to be honest. Given my condition Monday morning, I’m guessing it was far fewer that six hours.

In what I can only describe as a semi-conscious state, my conscience would give me no peace over the small amount of time I had devoted to my studies.

All night long, I kept going over the material I would be tested on. I thought maybe I was dreaming that I was studying for the test. But I was so tired Monday morning, I am pretty sure that I was awake, just awake enough to be troubled by the prospects of not knowing the growth rate of the Northwest Africa/West Asia Realm.

It turned out OK, though. I made a 96 on the Geography test, which secured for me the most points in the entire class for the semester. (All tests scores and cumulative points are posted online).

I don’t know what I made on the Ethics test, but none of the questions caught me off-guard. Truth is, I could probably take those tests without attending class, relying on almost 30 years of practical experience as a journalist.

By 12:30, I was walking out of the class.
All that stands between me and a 4.0, I figure, is my final group presentation in Mass Media Law. I like my chances in that class, too.

The other big development of the day is that I may have a date to graduation on Saturday.

Do you remember Joy, my three-hour-a-week Georgraphy buddy? She sent me a Face Book message. She’s graduating on Saturday and wanted to know if I was dating.

“Kinda weird, I know,’’ she wrote. “But my mom is coming up for graduation and I was thinking you might want to get together.’’

So I figured, “why not?’’ I haven’t had a date for graduation since 1977, after all.
Besides, it’s good to have somebody to take the pictures, right?

By Wednesday at this time, I’ll be finished with school for the semester

Then there will be a month-long break before summer school. Here’s the kicker: I don’t even know if I can get financial aid for summer school; the financial aid department has been disturbingly vague on this.

So who knows? I may be out of school until the fall. And that means I’d better be thinking about getting a job. I started a part-time job at a convenience store last week, but 20 hour a week at $7.25 per hour isn’t going to keep a roof over my head.

So I could be in a pretty tight spot and pretty soon.

But I’m not going to worry about that now.

I’m too tired.

April 17: "Atlas in Overalls''

You will pardon my absence from the blog when you consider that it has been the “home stretch’’ for me in my classes.

One week of classes remain, followed by finals.

All that remains in the interim is a current events paper for my Ethics class, a group presentation and case law paper for my Media Law class and a final speech for my Public Speaking class. That speech, which is assigned as a “commemorative speech,’’ follows:

ATLAS IN OVERALLS

The writer Anne Lamotte once wrote about a friend’s response to her complaints about the behavior of a mutual acquaintance. After patiently listening to her rant, the friend smiled and said, “All new people, Anne. In a hundred years, it will be all new people.’’

And so it is. There will come a day when, aside from the exceptional few, our names will pass human lips for the last time and we will be washed from human memory like a name written on the sands of a beach, swept away by the indifferent tide of human experience.

There is one name that will someday remain on my lips alone – a man who, when I am gone, will remembered no more. His name is Webb Thornton. He was my maternal grandfather.

He was born in Tippah County, Miss., and is buried there in a little graveyard called Pleasant Ridge Cemetery. On his fading headstone, his life is summed up succinctly - April, 17, 1890 – April 24, 1955.

A beginning date and an ending date, with only a dash in between to encompass a life. It is all he has, all any of us will likely have - just a dash.

I would like to tell you about Webb Thornton’s dash, for he was a hero of the noblest sort.

In March of 1930, Webb Thornton was 39 years old, raising cotton on a few acres of rented land when his 37-year-old wife dropped dead of a heart attack, leaving him with six daughters, ages 3-16.

Six months in the worst economic depression in U.S. History and without a single broad-shouldered son to help him, he faced the prospects of keeping his six daughters fed, housed and clothed at a time when the cotton he slaved to pick in the fall hardly fetched the cost of the seed he would plant the following spring.

You know that heroes are often born in a moment and an instant’s courage is all that is required to ensure that their feats are extolled to the heavens and their glory is sealed forever.

My grandfather never aspired to nor attained this form of heroism. And yet he achieved a nobler form of heroism, a type largely unnoticed and easily forgotten, the kind that requires not the courage of the hour, but the bravery needed to return to those cotton fields each dawn and toil there under a merciless Mississippi summer sky until dusk - day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year.

And so it was with Webb Thornton, who emptied himself to fill the tummies of six little girls.

He did this with no wife to sustain his spirits, to share his day, to comfort him in his weariness.

Through those bitter years, my mother never remembers him shedding a tear or uttering a complaint. Yet sometimes at the end of another back-breaking day of labor, she would notice him gazing across the fields for a long moment, his eyes fixed beyond the horizon to a place visible only to the human heart.

Years later, she would understand: In that moment, he was grieving the loss of his mate and the hard and meager life that was all he could offer his young daughters.

Where do the tears go that are never shed? Where to the words go that are left unsaid?

He was Atlas in overalls, stoically holding up the sky, lest if fall and crush his little girls.

And somehow, he endured. The Depression ended, his daughters grew up and got married and while none of his children went to college, all of his grandchildren did, of which I am the last - the last to come, the last to go, to the last to remember Webb Thornton. And give him the honor he is due.

Thank you

April 2: "The Home Stretch''

It’s been a while since I’ve been here.

I’ve been busy. Unless, I miss my mark, this past week was the last super busy week of the semester. I had a pair of tests – one in Geography (I made a 97) and one in Journalism Ethics (these scores are posted online, so I won’t know how I fared on that test until next week).

I also gave my last “major’’ speech in my Public Speaking class and felt as though it was my best effort yet. We have one more test, on April 14th and a smaller speech the following week. No finals in that class.

I have two group presentations (one of which takes the place of the Final) and a paper to write for Mass Media Law. In Geography, it’s on more map quiz and the final. I have one more current event paper and the final in Journalism Ethics.

In addition to the class work, I also had an internship interview with Carlisle Corp. In fact, after the first interview, they asked me if I could go ahead and do the second interview. For a student, the internship is a good gig, at least financially. Carlisle Corp., which owns about a 100 Wendy’s Restaurants around the South, offers a 12-week internship where the intern learns the role of Assistant Manager. It pay $12 per hour, which isn’t bad.

I think there’s a fair chance they will offer me the internship. I think they were impressed by the fact that I’ve had 15 years of management experience. Heck, most of the other candidates haven’t had 15 years of experience in tying their own shoelaces, you know?

But as I listened during the interview, I wondered if this is something I really should be bothering with. They definitely expect the intern to move into a regular job upon graduation, beginning as an assistant store manager, otherwise known as the back-up fry cook and the guy who has to close the story on nights and weekends. I figure it starts out around $30,000 per year. Of course, if you are diligent, in a few years, you might move up to store manager, work 60 hours a week and make $45,000 a year.

I began to wonder, is this why I am in college? Still, I could use the $12 per hour. My finances are, quite frankly, frightening.

I also had an pre-registration appointment with my academic counselor, who also happens to be my Journalism Ethics professor. As she was looking over my records, she noted that I still need to take Advanced Newswriting and Feature Writing.

“Do you really want to sit in these classes?’’ she asked. “You’ll be bored out of your mind.’’

So she offered to file the paperwork to let me take these two courses under a “directed study program.’’ That means I can do the writing assignments without sitting through classes. Yippee!

We put together my class schedule for the two summer school sessions and the fall semester. This summer, I’ll be in class each day from roughly 10 a.m. until 3 p.m. I’m hoping to land some part-time work, maybe 20 hours a week, to help make ends meet.

Of course, working and going to school will cut into my social life, in the unlikely event that I should stumble over a social life, which is doubtful.

Oh, I have also lost about five pounds in the last few weeks, mainly by walking on the treadmill at the MSU gym. I am definitely on the “old person’s’’ fitness plan, but it’s working – slowly. I’d like to shed about 10 more pounds. I should be in “fighting trim’’ at that point.

Here lately, the fog seems to be settling in a bit. I still don’t know what I am going to do, where I’ll go, if I’ll have any meaningful relationships down the road.

But these are large, sweeping questions and all of my answers at the moment are little ones.

I have done well in school so far, but I wonder if it really matters all that much in the end. I tell myself it does, mainly because that’s really the only thing I can think of to tell myself.

But, dang, I want to aspire to something beyond being the guy in charge of the guy who asks, ‘Do you want fries with that?’’

I guess, really, the bottom line is I need to find something I can be passionate about.

But what?

That’s the stumper.