In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

31 College Years AFTER MY TWO years of junior college at Wentworth Military Academy, I transferred to my father’s alma mater, the University of Missouri in Columbia. Then, as now, it is a very special place of learning and tradition, producing national and international leaders. Arriving as a junior in the fall of 1951, I pledged Sigma Chi, just like my father . My goal was to be Phi Beta Kappa, and I studied hard and achieved that goal in my senior year. My father teased me that it only took him three years to make Phi Beta Kappa and it took me four. He was actually one of what they referred to as the “junior five,” the five students from the entire student body who were so gifted they made Phi Beta Kappa their junior year. I loved his teasing, as it also motivated me. Another of my life’s heroes—a true mentor—awaited me at the University of Missouri. He was Dr. Lewis Atherton, professor of history, a native of Carrollton, Missouri, who in his early career coincidentally taught at my hometown alma mater, Wentworth Military Academy. By the time I arrived on the Columbia campus, Dr. Atherton was nationally known as a historian of the American frontier , and he was a very popular professor because his lectures were so interesting. He was of average height and build, wore glasses, was balding—there was nothing really distinctive about Dr. Atherton’s appearance. He was pleasant but never flamboyant or even overly warm. But he taught our nation’s history with such deep and vivid scholarly knowledge that he brought you along on every adventure. I spent five hours each week on his course, the History of the South, and he knew the subject so well that his old notes were rather dog-eared when he turned to them. The final exam in that course called for essays on a couple of questions, the most memorable of which was, “What is the South?” I wrote, “The South is a state of mind.” That declaration and my elaboration helped me make a “B” in the course, which for the demanding Dr. Atherton was quite good. Another class I loved was an English poetry class taught by Dr. John G. Neihardt , who had written epic poems on the subject of our American West. The class was in fact named for his epics, entitled A Cycle of the West. Dr. Neihardt C o l l e g e Y e a r s 32 was a dramatic figure, scarcely five feet tall but with long gray hair when long hair wasn’t fashionable. He had lived with a Sioux medicine man during the 1930s, which inspired him to write the classic Black Elk Speaks, a book that is still in print and still on college reading lists. I was so lucky to have these teachers who recognized and cultivated my boyhood love of history. I also had an interesting seatmate in Dr. Atherton’s class. We were seated alphabetically, and next to me was someone with the last name of Scott, nicknamed “Scotty.” “Scotty” was a veteran, a bit older but a very pleasant guy. He was interested in actingandperformedsomeofthemaleleadsattheplayhouseatStephensCollege, the ladies’ academy across town. Years later I went to the movies to see Anatomy of a Murder, and there on the big screen was my friend Scotty—better known today as Academy Award–winning actor George C. Scott. This was one of several memorable college brushes with celebrity, or in “Scotty’s” case, a celebrity-to-be. The early 1950s were a very different era, and segregation was a fact of life in Lexington. Schools were segregated and most of the black adults worked in white people’s homes. We always had help. Katie Jackson helped us when I was quite young. Then in the summer of 1948 her daughter-in-law, Margariet Jackson, started working for us, first for my mother and then for Susie and me after we got married. She continued with us through my first year of Congress, when she retired and went home and became a leader in her church, the Second Baptist Church in Lexington. She and a few other selected senior ladies in that church were all designated as “Mothers,” so she was known as Mother Jackson. They normally wore white dresses to church. It’s interesting, though, that despite the segregation, I always felt welcome in any home in my hometown. But...

Share