How does a person start his memoirs when so many stories and memories are fighting to get out of my mind and onto the printed page. There is so much I want to say, and maybe little time to say it!

So let me begin with one key observation that burned itself into my earliest thoughts: I was born with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. I wanted to learn something about everything! I wanted to be able to walk into a room and have something cogent and interesting to say to anyone that might be there!

I wanted to be a true Renaissance Man, but of course I didn’t know that term at five years of age. I did understand that I would have to devote much of my life studying. I also realized that I would have to find enjoyment in the process of learning-for-learning’s sake.

Finding enjoyment in the process of learning was not hard for me. My biggest problem was ordering my efforts so that I wouldn’t take on too much at one time!

Oh, by the way . . . . I never learned this lesson. I always found myself taking on too much at one time. This often came back to bite me on the nose!

I remember how active I was as an undergraduate student at Tulane University (’61-65’). I thrived on campus politics, student union functions, music, Art History, and Science! By the time I ended my junior year, I had been elected Senior Body President, President of the Dorm Council, President of the Tulane A Cappella Choir, and President of the Student Union Committees. Then, I got my Economics Class grade . . . . a stunning “C”!

I couldn’t connect with this teacher who did little to bring life to the Economics classroom. Her monotonous high heel trudge from one side of the room, crossing over an elevated wooden podium, and emerging on the other side of the room was enough to drive any student crazy. I can remember her “crossing” record was 21 times in a forty minute class. I don’t remember what she said during that class, but I remember how many times she antagonized our ears and our minds.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have the good sense to drop the class and retake it with a more inspiring instructor, but as young people often do . . . . I thought I could barrel my way through the course. I was so busy being a student body “big guy” that I didn’t take the time to get proper advice.

The grade of “C” invalidated all my presidencies and left me to face a senior year in college with few affiliations, and fewer accolades.

The lesson I should have learned from this humbling experience was to not take on so many activities, but I found myself repeating this mistake over and over in the years ahead.

I did learn that better organization of my time would help me get through these “overwhelming” crises. As a matter of fact, I would soon discover that I was really good at dealing with crises.

The loss of these presidencies did give me a splendid opportunity to focus on academics and every side event that tied itself to that study. I had the time to look within myself and discover that I really didn’t want to become a doctor. Thank you to my senior year roommate for giving me the opportunity to explore Tulane Medical School and Charity Hospital. I will always be indebted to you, Bruce Weinberg.

I was able to keep singing with the Roberta Capers’ Madrigal Singing Group. I entered this group in my junior year when Roberta Capers, Head of the Tulane – Newcomb Art Department, visited the Tulane A Cappella Choir and asked for a baritone to volunteer to sing in her group. I loved madrigals and thought this would be a marvelous opportunity, particularly since I was taking Dr. Capers’ Art History class.

Interestingly, I continued taking her courses and continued singing in her madrigal group until I finally graduated with a minor in Art History.

I loved learning how History, Art, and Politics intertwined in the creation of classic pieces of art and architecture. Again, my love of knowing something about everything rose up and engulfed me in a passion to understand art history, anthropology, and archaeology. Roberta kindled new flames of interest that greatly influenced my own teaching efforts in later years.

Oren Roberts Elementary School

One of my earliest memories takes me back to my first day of school at Oren Roberts Elementary School in Houston. My parents thought it would be great if I walked to school with our neighbor’s son, Ricky. We were both starting 1st Grade at the same time, but Ricky was a full head taller and almost a year older.

Walking to school was never a problem; walking home from school was a disaster! Ricky told me on that first day that he was going to beat me up every day after school. He was true to his word! I would come home beaten and bruised every day. My parents were outraged and demanded that the neighbors control their son, but they were unconcerned and felt this was just “kids play.”

My Dad was deeply concerned that this daily “thumping” would hurt the way I looked at the world, so he gave me boxing lessons . . . . which did absolutely no good! Dad would hide sticks and baseball bats in the bushes along the way home so I could use them to defend myself. Ricky would take the sticks away from me and beat me with my own stick. More bruises and a minor concussion!

A friend thought that taking Judo might help me fend off the bully. I guts-up to going to Judo classes for six weeks, but noticed that I was the only judo student having to run a half mile before and after class. All the other students would be practicing Judo moves while I would be running.

I asked the Instructor why I had to run and the other kids were allowed to jump into practicing their moves. He replied: “Kid, you are so bad, you are going to need to know how to run!” That was my last lesson at the Judo Academy.

The beatings went on for over two months until we had a special day at school: “Show-And-Tell Day.” Every student brought something special to share with the other members of the class. I brought a little policeman’s outfit that included a badge, plastic gun & holster, policeman’s cap, policeman’s badge, simple hand cuffs, a policeman’s baton, and a police whistle.

Of course, on the way home, Ricky told me he was going to beat me up again. I begged him not to do it this day! I promised to give him my complete policeman’s outfit! He hesitatingly agreed. I pinned the badge on him, helped him on with the policeman’s cap and holster. I asked him if he knew how the hand cuffs worked. He said he had no idea, so I invited him to stick out his hands so I could show him.

I placed the hand cuffs on Ricky’s wrists and gave him two black eyes and a minor concussion with the policeman’s baton! His family was furious. I loved it! My Dad was historically proud of me.

The following day on our walk to school, Ricky apologized for beating me up all those days. We swore lifelong friendship. That friendship remained strong until Ricky took off for California after high school. I cried when I learned he overdosed on drugs at twenty-one years of age.

Ricky lost the guidance of his Mother in Second Grade. His Mom dropped dead at a convention in Galveston. His home life was never the same with little care and comfort from his father or relatives.

What did these daily beatings teach me? I learned I might not be able to physically overwhelm a bully, but I could anticipate his actions and out-think him. If I couldn’t out think them, I learned to do something unexpected to throw the bully off guard.

I learned to stand up for myself.

My Ninth Grade Bully

I was faced with this same bullying dilemma in ninth grade when I was in Hazel McCarty’s English class. The freshman class bully was seated behind me and started pestering me by poking me in the back and threatening to write on my jacket slung over the back of the chair. Every student had their own wooden desk with ample room to place their books below the seat and hang their jacket on the back of the chair.

My 9th Grade bully kept taunting me for several days. Ms. McCarty never recognized what was happening although some of the other students pointed out I was getting the brunt of the bully’s attentions. I gathered Ms. McCarty just didn’t want to bother with the issue.

We reached the day when the bully actually started writing on my jacket. I asked him to stop; he flipped me off and continued writing. Moving very slowly but with care, I stood up from my chair as if I was going to sharpen my pencil. I grabbed the chair, lifted it over the head of the bully, and brought it down on top of him as hard as I could.

Ms. McCarty jumped up and screamed! The other students pulled away in shock. The bully lay on the floor. Yes, I had awarded another bully with a black eye and mild concussion.

I received a 3-day suspension for my handy work, but I stood up for myself. More importantly, I received the nick name “Mad-Dog Marks” which stuck with me throughout high school and protected me from bullies and thoughtless people. Nobody knew what Mad-Dog was going to do, or when he was going to do it! I earned “cred” in the eyes of my classmates, and found I had lots of new friends.

My Dad was very proud of my standing up for myself. He took me on a train trip to New York during my 3-day suspension. He was not happy that I hurt somebody, but his belief in me reaffirmed the importance of not being a bully’s victim.

The lessons I learned as a kid helped mold my life. Maybe I should have been more cautious, but I learned at an early age that standing up in the face of harm or controversy was always the best way to proceed.

Beachcomber Marks

I was greatly influenced by Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe. The idea of a marooned person learning to live by their wits ricocheted through my 9-year old mind. I asked my Dad if he would let me camp out by myself on the beach at Kemah (Texas) with minimal supplies. I wanted to see if I could survive, and learn what it really meant to be alone.

My Dad laughed at me, but over the months, I began to wear down his opposition. He told me he would consider it after I was baptized into the church. My Mother thought postponing a decision for almost two years would end this mania.

Well . . . . it didn’t end my enthusiasm to find out what I was “made of.” I planned to stay three days on the beach. I organized a list of essential items I would need to survive, and began collecting them. The Sunday after I was baptized, I demanded my Robinson Crusoe-style trip to Kemah . . . . and amazingly Dad agreed. I remember my Mom fussed and complained for days, but Dad would not be swayed.

Dad dropped me off at an isolated stretch of beach not far from Kemah. I waved goodbye and set about collecting drift wood to make a “lean-to” shed. I could barely contain my enthusiasm for this adventure I planned for two years. I brought water, matches, string, and several fish hooks. That was it! Dad told me he would return on the third day.

I never saw anyone during my three days on that beach, but I had the good company of crabs, birds, fish, and a fox or two. My lean-to, constructed from accessible drift wood and seaweed, kept me secure at night, but I have to admit I enjoyed waking up each morning to see the footprints of crabs that scampered around me during the night.

I was able to catch small fish in the shallows and cooked them over the fire. This filled me with an overwhelming sense of “rugged” individualism . . . . no food ever tasted better because I caught it, cleaned the fish, cooked it, and ate it.

There was a brief storm on the second night, but my lean-to provided sufficient refuge from the wind-driven rain. My only real problem was that I lost one of my sandals in the surf on the first evening. I developed burns on the bottom of that foot walking over the hot sand, but I was not to be deterred. It was a small price to pay for the adventure.

My Dad arrived on the third day, surveyed my lean-to, but said few words. I was bubbling-over with experiences, but he didn’t respond. He just listened to my enthusiastic explanations and tales of accomplishment.

Little did I know that Dad hired one of his employees to camp a half-mile away from me and keep me in his sight all three days. I would never have learned about this but for a deep sea fishing trip Dad hosted for employees years later. I was 17 years old and on my first deep sea fishing trip. I was overcome with seasickness, and remember resting at the base of the toilet asking for “death.” One of Dad’s employees checked on me to see that I was surviving. He let it slip he had watched over me seven years earlier on my Robinson Crusoe-style beach experience.

I never told my Dad I knew about this surveillance. It was obvious that he wanted to give me enough “rope to hang myself,” but also wanted to be a good father. The only thing he ever really said about my beach adventure happened later on that summer during a family vacation in San Francisco.

Summer vacations were real opportunities for me to plan, research, and set up travel schedules. Part of this plan included a trip to China Town in San Francisco. When we ordered our meal, I asked Dad for a glass of rice wine. Research told me that it was more “fun” to drink than sake. I argued this would help me better understand Chinese cuisine and culture.

My Mother was outraged! I can remember her saying: “Max, you just can’t let Lehman have rice wine. He is too young!” And here it came . . . . . the only real comment my Dad ever said about my beach experience: “Goldie, let the boy have a glass of rice wine. He earned it living on the beach this summer.” This sentence echoed in my head. My Dad was actually congratulating me!

The restaurant server brought each of us a small glass of rice wine. I looked at Mom and Dad, and downed the small glass of wine in a single gulp. Pride seemed to glow from my face as I demonstrated I knew what I was doing!

I remember my shoulders started burning a few minutes after the rice wine gulp! This pain seemed to move up my back freezing the muscles in my neck; my head was whirling. The next thing I remember was waking up with my face in the middle of my food.

Everyone within a radius of 10 feet was chuckling at the kid that passed out. I totally embarrassed myself. The conquering Robinson Crusoe-style hero had been conquered by a glass of rice wine. Mother was furious, but Dad reassured her that this would be a valuable lesson for me.

The best part of all of this was that I learned that Mom and Dad would rarely scold me for my actions. They didn’t need to! They knew I was my own worst critic, and that I would do a good job beating up myself for thoughtless actions.

The Lawn Mower Experience

Dad’s “quiet” policy expressed it several more times during my high school years. The first involved a lawn mower; the second focused on a chemistry explosion in my “home chemistry lab” that blew a hole in the roof!

The only time my Dad lied to me was when he bought me a lawnmower and told me I was going to enjoy mowing the lawn. Houston’s lawn-growing season was horrible. Between the heat, humidity, and mosquitos, mowing the lawn was hell!

Dad bought the best lawnmower ever made: a 1958 Briggs & Stratton beauty. I am unashamed to say that I did my best to destroy that machine. I ran it off embankments and into trees; I provided horrible maintenance; I rarely cleaned it. To its credit and my sadness, that lawnmower never failed!

My interest in “go-carts” spiked when Dad took me to a small engine repair shop in the Village, a shopping area near our home in West University. Dad was checking out new lawnmower models, but I was drawn to a group of high school kids trying to put together a small “go cart” from leftover lawnmower parts.

There is was! A bright fire engine red “go cart” complete with 8” diameter chrome wheels. It looked like it was traveling 10 mph when it was just standing still! I loved it.

I couldn’t take my eyes off it. I wanted to build one!

I asked the boys how they made this beautiful object! One scruffy kid scowled his “old man” helped him make it, but then admitted that it was all the work of an engineer at the repair shop. The “go-cart” had a bent wooden frame forming the base of the car, complete with cross supports topped by a plastic driver’s seat. A very basic foot steering mechanism would guide this eight foot long go-cart dream!

The go-cart was so mesmerizing that I couldn’t take my eyes off its gentle lines. I touched every part of the wooden frame, examined the lawnmower-style accelerator, and checked out the simple gear-to-drive-shaft mechanism.

I asked Dad if we could build a “go-cart,” but he was just too busy with work expansion and other business needs. This didn’t stop me. I dreamed about this type of vehicle night after night making mental notes and scribbling down vaporous thoughts when I awoke each morning. Slowly, my concept of a “go-cart” took form, but I had no money to buy parts . . . . . let alone find a motor.

Dad had limited tools, but I was able to find, borrow, or “get-on-loan” parts I needed for the frame. I never sawed a wooden board in my life, but I learned how from a next door neighbor. Working in an alley behind my house, I constructed a simple frame with a foot-operated steering axle. My less glamorous wheels came from a trash heap lawn mower, but they worked. My drive axle came from a large baby carriage; gears arrived via a discarded racing bicycle complete with chain.

After several weeks of hard work, a sawed-up hand, and a black eye from a gear flying off an old bicycle, I had a non-propelled “go cart.” I painted it red copying the fancy “go cart,” but that was the only similarity between my vehicle and the chrome-wheeled beauty. Even so, I was so very proud of my first ever construction!

But it was not complete! I needed to find a motor, but I couldn’t find anything in my community. It felt like I put hundreds of miles on my bicycle trying to find a solution. Actually, I only drove 20 or 30 miles, but in those hours scouring trash heaps and alleys, I could only find one solution: I needed to find a discarded lawnmower engine.

I hesitated destroying Dad’s lawnmower, but it seemed the only logical solution! The success of my “go-cart” hinged on using Dad’s lawn mower engine.

So when Dad left on a business trip, I went to work tearing apart the lawnmower. It was hugely exhilarating dissecting this two-year old mechanical friend. I disassembled it with a sense of reverence and revenge, but it was a great feeling! Now, with a motor, I had to figure out how to mount and align it on the “go-cart.”

Again, my next door neighbor helped me align the motor shaft with the drive shaft gear. I locked everything down with a new mechanism called a locking washer. Amazing these mechanical techniques!

The chain was a nightmare. I never anticipated it would be so difficult getting the drive system to turn smoothly. There just didn’t seem to be an easy fix for a loose chain. I started the motor only to find the chain wanted to fly off the gear. With trial and error as my best friends, I learned how to tighten the chain by adjusting the motor mount. This eliminated the lose chain problem and gave me a smooth turning motion.

Now, I had to test it! I pulled the starting rope, the motor roared to life, and the “go-cart” leaped forward! I wasn’t in the vehicle so it went crashing into Dad’s Buick parked in the garage. I just created a significant dent in the car’s rear panel. Thank goodness it was located on the lower portion the car and didn’t break the paint.

Dad returned from his business trip and asked why the grass was so tall! I tried to ignore my Dad’s eyes as he was trying to read my reaction. I finally said: “Dad, you need to see something.” I took him outside and positioned him along the side of our house. I ran to the garage, started the “go-cart” motor and proudly drove the small vehicle to the sidewalk in front of my Dad.

My Dad’s face was expressionless. His eyes were narrow slits taking in all of the details of the “go-cart.” He asked two questions: “Who built this?” I told him I built it, with a little advice from our next door neighbor. He then asked where I got the money to buy parts. I told him the truth: some parts were scavenged, other parts were “borrowed.”

I awaited my Dad’s wrath as he noticed the Briggs & Stratton motor . . . . our lawnmower motor . . . . now a part of the “go cart” drive system. He looked at me with the same “slit eyes” and said: “I guess we are going to have to hire somebody to mow the lawn now.”

My Dad never said any judgmental statements about that “go cart.” This may well be because I showed him how fast it would go, followed by crashing the “go cart” into a tree and breaking my leg. I refused to show pain because it would diminish the glory of the moment, but the pain sure took the zest out of driving that foot-steered vehicle.

As a footnote, I paid for most of the lawn care with my summer job in my Dad’s store. I worked for him every summer and holiday season from 1955 to 1964. First sweeping the stock room, then selling sportswear, and finally selling cameras during my college years.

My Chemistry Home Lab

I love Science, particularly Chemistry. I convinced my family to allow me to turn my room into a Chemistry Lab complete with a lab bench, Bunsen burner, dozens of pieces of Pyrex glass lab equipment, chemicals, and reagents. This was at the end of my sophomore year at Lamar High School. I planned to dedicate the summer of 1960 to learning Chemistry in summer school. I devoured every class, and repeated every lab experiment when I got home in my own lab.

Like any young “know-it-all” high schooler, I felt I could launch into my own chemistry experiments. I found a particularly good experiment involving several organic chemistry compounds. A particular interesting experiment called for me to “cook” a compound for several minutes before moving to the next step.

During the hiatus, I went downstairs to get a snack. I had just opened the refrigerator when the house was filled with a deafening explosion followed by a strange sucking sound. Every window rattled like an earthquake had stuck the house. I raced back upstairs to find my room was black! There were signs of a fast-burning fire, but it had been extinguished by the explosion itself.

The room was strangely illuminated from above, but there was no light fixture. Looking up, I saw I had blown a 4 foot wide hole in the ceiling and on through to the roof! Sunlight poured into my bed room. I couldn’t keep my mouth closed! I was totally stunned by the damage . . . . but interested in how it happened. Why had the fire blown itself out?

Our wonderful maid came running upstairs just behind me. Standing at the door, she looked up and exclaimed: “Master Marks, your Dad is going to skin you alive!” My heart stuck in my throat.

It would be hours before Dad came home. My mind raced through alternatives! I had to tell the truth . . . . the evidence was too obvious to craft a mitigating explanation, but should I alert Dad before he got home? I decided to wait until Dad walked in the door. Maybe if he was tired, he wouldn’t get so angry. Luckily Mom was visiting family in Louisiana.

These were some of the longest hours of my life. I could see my high school Science career ending, and being shipped off to military school in Harlingen. The hours passed!

I heard Dad’s car pull into the garage and heard him enter the back door. I meet him in the kitchen and told him I needed to show him something.

We slowly walked upstairs. Dad asked about the burnt smell in the air, but I ignored the question. I figured it would all become abundantly clear in 30 seconds. We rounded the corner from the stairs giving Dad the first view of my bed room. The charred walls screamed out with pain. We slowly walked into the room. Both of us had eyes fixed on the hole in the roof.

Dad looked at me, then looked again at the hole in the roof . . . . . and walked out of the room. Without a word to me, unannounced workers appeared by dusk to cover the roof. The ceiling, the roof, and the room had been repaired in a week’s time, including the installation of a new chemistry lab. Dad only said to me: “Try not to destroy this one (lab), and laughed.” Mom, on the other hand, had a few well-chosen words for me.

As a footnote, I ended up paying for the roof with my continuing summer job working for my Dad. I calculated I could pay this off by the time I started shaving.

High School Science Fair Project Nightmare

I did have one more high school Science flop! I wanted to enter the high school Science Fair, but I wanted to find a project that would be totally unique and exciting. We were just learning about particle accelerators in Physics, so I decided I would build a small “working” model of a particle accelerator.

I researched the topic for months followed by constructing a small model of a “working” particle accelerator. The unit was mounted on a wooden platform to provide stability and more pizazz! I secured several grams of low-grade radioactive material during a family vacation to White Sands Proving Grounds, and used it to simulate a real particle accelerator. The accelerator would never work, but it would serve as a “demonstration-of-principle.” The few grams of radioactive material created extra excitement because it could be detected with a Geiger Counter.

The Science Fair Project looked like a real winner! Everyone was interested in the metal construction I put into the accelerator, and fascinated by the “radioactive” symbols emblazoned on all parts of the project.

Mid-afternoon I found myself being hurriedly summoned to the Principal’s Office. Smoke filled the first floor hallway . . . . the fire alarm was sounding . . . . everyone was exiting the building. My science fair project was on fire!

I would learn later that some of the electrical parts had shorted-out causing the wooden supporting structure to catch fire. Of course, everyone was horrified because the project had radioactive signage all over it!

The Houston Fire Department quickly put out the fire, but that wing of the high school was closed for two days so that specialists could check for any residual radioactive contamination. I was not punished but totally embarrassed by the electrical failure.

I was now known as “Mad Dog Marks – the nerdy Science Kid”.

Interestingly, I was to repeat this Chemistry Lab catastrophe in college. I was working in the Tulane Chemistry Lab under a hood conducting an experiment with a fuming cyanide compound. My hand slipped causing me to strike the bottle of cyanide. It rolled out from under the hood. It fell to the floor breaking into a dozen pieces and releasing its fuming contents into the room. I immediately screamed for everyone to vacate the lab leading ultimately to the evacuation of the Chemistry Building.

The Tulane Chemistry Building was shut down for two days while the New Orleans Fire Department and Hazardous Materials Personnel decontaminated the Chemistry Lab.

This was a bit embarrassing since I was a Chemistry Major. My Inorganic Chemistry Professor came up to me at graduation and said that I graduated with a Degree in both Chemistry and Lab Evacuation! We had a good laugh!

Inheritance from my Dad

My Dad taught me many things over the years I had the privilege to work for him. Of course, as a teenager, I moaned and groaned about the work. I wanted to be out with my friends, but Dad never listened to my complaints. (Good for him!)

Dad did not leave me a million dollar inheritance, but he taught me something that was worth so much more. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize this gift for many years!

Every day we went to work, I watched my Dad meet with customers and observed how he listened to their interests and concerns. I was always amazed how he could handle the wildly screaming complainers who stormed into the store shouting insults about an item or some element of service. All complaints were funneled to Dad.

I watched countless times when Dad would start off by shaking the hand of the complaining party. Many people refused to shake hands, but the offer of this heartfelt gesture telegraphed his good intentions and established a less confrontational battle field.

Dad would listen to their problems, inquire about the nature of the complaint, and offer to hear the complaining party’s solution. After that person was worn out cussing and discussing the issue, Dad would start talking in a calm, orderly manner advising the complainant about his options and reassuring them they were right to come back with their problem. He made everyone feel special and appreciated, no matter how they acted! That was a feat to behold!

It was amazing to watch all the fire and fury go out of the complainant’s speech and become normal conversation. At that point, Dad had them! He was now in control of the conversation. He would find a solution to the problem making everyone feel satisfied. More interestingly, he was almost always able to sell extra items to the complainant before they left the store. Many of these “fuming people” would become my Dad’s life-long friends.

My inheritance from my Dad: I learned how to take screaming, sometimes vicious problems, find a solution, calm the person or problem down, and use the experience for my own benefit. What a priceless inheritance. I didn’t see the importance of this knowledge for many years, but it has served me well through the years.

I never got to thank him for teaching me about people, what motivates them, and how to deal with their concerns. I only hope that Dad is looking down on me and saying: “I taught that kid how to do that.”

Introvert Marks meets Billy Bammel

With all this focus on the love of learning, I became a “dedicated introvert.” My mother always felt it was important for me to learn how to entertain myself. This lesson I certainly mastered. Between 8mm film-making, chemistry experiments, rock collecting, music appreciation, piano lessons, zoology collections, stamp collections, and postcard collections, I was a totally happy person.

Then one day, my dog Butch decided to take a bite out of the butt of a kid walking next to my house. Butch got away from me, chased the kid up a tree, and provided a little “nip” on the butt to add insult to injury! I corralled my dog and invited the young man to come inside for a Coke. I was starting my junior year in High School.

The young man’s name was Bill Bammel, Jr. . . . . . and he was to become my best high school friend! It appears that I became a project for Billy. It didn’t take him long to realize I was inwardly focused, so he made it his goal to break me out of my shell and introduce me to his world of friends. Actually, this was pretty frightening for a 15-year old boy who was totally content with his books, engineering projects, film-making, and collections.

Billy demanded I join his “little group” for simple outings . . . . like eating French Fries with the “gang” after school. His friends would meet at a great Pharmacy/Lunch Counter located across the street from Lamar High School. A dozen regular friends would share plate after plate of steaming hot French fries with mountains of ketchup. I reluctantly went with him to these painful sessions. I was the “awkward duck.”

It was hugely difficult for this “socially retarded soul” to learn the pleasantries of high school fun. Yes, I had been subjected to the perils of Cotillion and learned how to ballroom dance, but the simple process of sharing small talk baffled me. I had always been focused on big thoughts and great issues. Now I was forced to talk about the amount of salt on the French fries. It was hard for me to rewire my brain to adjust to the trivial.

Billy would not let me run. He made sure I became part of his “gang,” and by my senior year, I was able to carry my own weight. His friends were now my friends, all fourteen of them! Our common bond was High School ROTC. We were the seniors in the ROTC program, and I loved it!

ROTC was to become my home in high school since I was not the best in sports.

I never seemed capable of catching a ball even though I played football through the eighth grade. I could tackle any kid my size, but by the end of eighth grade, all the kids got taller. My football career ended when I seriously injured my left arm during a football practice.

I had just tackled a kid, but ended up being thrown to the ground. A bigger kid fell on top of me breaking my forearm in three places. Coach Rumberger found a wooden shingle that had blown off a roof and scooped up my arm with a make-shift sling. I trudged through the halls of the school to the Nurse’s Office oblivious to the freakish looks from bystanders seeing a broken arm with bits of bone protruding from the skin.

Later, I remember doctors telling me that I must have been in shock because the pain should have immobilized me. It didn’t! The school nurse told me I inhaled almost a full bottle of ammonia trying to stay conscious until my parents arrived to take me to the hospital, Houston’s Methodist Hospital. This would be a venue that would play a big part in my military life some ten years later.

It was not until I was a high school senior that I learned I needed glasses! Somewhere along the line, my parents never tested me for glasses. The doctor told me I had a depth perception problem which explained why I couldn’t catch a ball.

As I think about it now, I am amazed my Father never realized this! We would play catch in the backyard which usually ended up with me being hit in the face by the baseball. My Dad was convinced I just needed more practice, but it always ended up with me being exhausted from running after the ball, or getting a black eye. After these numerous sessions, I never fully appreciated playing baseball.

By the time my vision was corrected, I was too old to be interested in sports. I later would find in college a true love for physical fitness and track . . . . all activities that didn’t involve me catching a ball! I ended up spending 28 years of my life being a body builder, and loved it.

Senior High School Year ROTC

My senior year in High School was filled with excitement! I was the top ROTC student and the winner of every award available to a cadet. I was in line to be the Battle Group Commander, a position I had dreamed about for years! To stand in front of several hundred cadets seemed glorious.

Then, the day arrived and I was called into Colonel Burke’s Office, the ROTC Commandant. I nervously waited to be announced by Sergeant Yates, then walked smartly to the Colonel’s desk and offered up an impeccable hand salute! He returned my salute and said: “You will not be Battle Group Commander . . . you are too short.”

I was dismissed with no further explanation.

My heart sank to a depth I have rarely reached in my life. I knew, everyone knew, that I was entitled to be Battle Group Commander, but now everyone also knew that I just wasn’t tall enough to do the job . . . . .as Colonel Burke saw it! This would mean I would be subordinate to this “other guy” for all of my senior year!

There was one glimmer of hope: the person named Battle Group Commander was a good friend. Brian went out of his way to make sure I was able to weather this pain, and did his best to share recognition with me. His 6’1” frame made him a great commander. I learned a great deal from the way Brian treated me. We remained good friends.

Sadie Hawkins Date

Billy, also a ROTC cadet, helped me through this senior year by making sure I was included in all the social functions associated with a 1960s high schooler. We even double dated for a Sadie Hawkins Day Dance. He was to take Jan Jamison, later to become his wife. I was to take Kay Martin. Everyone was in our “gang.”

Kay drove us all to the dance. She picked me up and presented me with a vegetable corsage, an accoutrement that seems appropriate for a Sadie Hawkins Dance. Bill and Jan were already in the car. Driving down Kirby Street, I mentioned to Kay that there was a parked car about 100 yards ahead on the right; she strongly said she saw it. I mentioned the car again; she yelled she saw it! We hit the car!

Our arrival at the Dance was a bit delayed by the exasperation associated with Kay having to give the details of the wreck to the police and the car owner. Kay was a gentle soul. Dealing with the indignity of wrecking the car was hard for her, but she was determined that “the guys” were not to be involved!

I dated Kay several more times in High School, but never saw her again after graduation. I learned she had joined the Peace Corps and was lost in the Far East. Her friends and family were never able to find out the details about what happened. No body was recovered. She was the first of our gang to be lost to the perils of adulthood, but there was no closure without a funeral. This left us with a hollow feeling because the family didn’t want to have a celebration of her life.

Billy and I Go to College

Billy and I stayed close friends even through college. He went to Texas A&M; I went to Tulane University. Our schools weren’t rivals, but we shared the normal fun that comes with college rivalry. Having said this, we decided that each of us would share the other’s school rituals. I was to come to College Station and pretend to be in the Corps; Billy was to come to New Orleans and share Mardi Gras.

I remember to this day the fun of arriving in College Station to see Bill. He showed me his dorm room and shoved me out the door telling me the entire time I was going to enjoy a tree-cutting experience! I was profoundly puzzled! What he was saying was I would be enjoying the fun of helping Aggies cut down trees for the famous bonfire that lit the night sky before the big University of Texas vs. Texas A&M football game.

Bill taught me how to “whip out” . . . . which meant aggressively sticking out your hand to vigorously shake someone’s hand while at the same time saying “howdy.” I was told to do this to every person I saw at A&M. We cut down 8”-10” thick pine trees, removed the limbs, and carried the logs to the bonfire site. I learned how to make trash can coffee . . . . a delicacy prepared by pouring a pound of coffee into a trash can, add water, and heating it over a small wood fire! It was remarkably good, but that could have just been due to the cold weather.

He also taught me about how Babo-Bombs could destroy a dorm room! The Corps Seniors would always harass and humiliate freshmen. Payback came with a Babo Bomb.

Take a can of gritty Babo Kitchen Cleanser, put a cherry bomb fire cracker in it, light it, and roll it into an upper classman’s dorm room. Close the door as quickly as possible!

Run like goodness!

With the explosion came a thin cloud of grit that settled over everything. Of course, everything had to be spotless in a Corp Member’s dorm room. We had just created hours of extra cleanup duty. This was payback for a senior’s cruelty to freshmen.

Such fun!

Billy got to share the fun of Mardi Gras with me! He arrived howling that he wanted to “hit” Bourbon Street. We did! Pat O’Brian’s was the crowd-drawing watering hole for all college students. You had to experience the two foot tall red drink housed in a horn-like plastic container! These “hurricane” drinks were legendary.

Billy got lost in the crowd after he downed his third hurricane. I was petrified knowing that New Orleans was not ready to handle this drunk Texas Aggie! After several hours search, I headed back to my car. There he was! He was standing on top of my car, and using his long plastic hurricane container to harass New Orleans Police Officers trying to drag him off my car!

Intervening in the crisis, I begged the officers to give him a break. I told these obviously agitated officers they were dealing with a poor Texas Aggie with no drinking experience (not true), and that he really didn’t know what he was doing. I knew if they hauled him to the station, he would have to spend the night in jail!

I promised the officers I would take care of him, and take him back to the Tulane dormitory. A couple of gun shots could be heard in the distance. The officers let Billy go and ran after the shooter as fast as their tired legs could take them. We dodged our own “bullet.”

It was almost 6:00 AM when we returned to Tulane. I helped Billy get to a rented cot in my dorm room, and just settled down to get a few hours rest. Then . . . . BAM, BAM, BAM! Someone was pounding on my dorm room door. I opened the door to find a small man dispatched to pick-up the rented cot. At this point, Billy would have nothing to do with anyone interrupting his much-needed sleep. He decided to sit up on the cot and yell: “It is going to take a bigger guy than you to get me out of this cot.” The small man said he was sorry to bother us and closed the door.

Ten minutes later the door rattled with another BAM, BAM, BAM. This time, the door just flew open revealing a 6’6” man-mountain who said: “I am here to get the cot.” Billy jumped out the bed, folded the bedding, and helped the man get the cot out of the room. I never saw Billy move that fast in his life.

Billy and I shared these college experiences many times during our lives. They seemed to form a bond between us.

High School Fraternity

I can’t leave high school memories without recounting a few thoughts from my high school fraternity experience. Yes! Lamar High School actually had fraternities! Billy was already inducted into the Ramal Fraternity during his junior year, so he goaded me into applying at the beginning of my senior year! I was pledged to join Ramal (Lamar spelled backwards) late September, 1960.

High School fraternity life came with pledging, hazing, harassment, and hassle. Senior fraternity members were always cornering pledges in the school hall ways and asking them to recite ridiculous memory tasks, but this didn’t compare to the after school fun. The dreaded “grab your ankles” followed by loud “pops” from a wooden paddle graced many an afternoon.

Yes, I know this was all about building camaraderie, but it taught me that uppity kids would take advantage of a little power to display latent cruelty. The worst memory: having to wear underwear filled with syrup and crushed crackers all day at school. The best memory: being required to act like a seal for hours at the Houston Zoo.

These ridiculous experiences left a lasting impression! I declined a college fraternity bid. Pledging a college fraternity was not going to be my focus. Besides . . . . who needed to be in a fraternity to “party” when you went to college in New Orleans!

No Car in High School

My parents thought I was too young to have a car during high school. I was younger than my friends. Mom wanted to make sure that no one would take advantage of the youngest member of the “gang” for their own purposes. Although I complained mightily, the lack of a car relieved me of having to pick-up friends. I was the one who was getting picked-up!

I still was a “car crazy” guy! I remember when Jim Kamrath got a Volkswagen “Beetle.” This just about sent me over the edge because this little car was so much fun to drive! Jim and I would dart around town cutting in and out of traffic without any problem . . . . . often resulting in angry looks and hand gestures from other drivers.

We did have two problems with the “Beetle.” First, it was light and floated in water!

I remember a horrible experience driving down Westheimer Street during a famous Houston flashflood. The water rose so quickly that the small car started floating! We had no control over the car’s forward motion because it was floating sideways down the road. Jim and I leaned out our windows and paddled as if our lives depended on it. We were finally able to get the Beetle onto a side street where the wheels could get some traction!

The second problem revolved around the Beetle being convenient to sit on! This used to drive Kamrath crazy! He hated for people to sit on the small hood of the car because it dented the panels. Luckily, “Mr. Fix-In” (Me) was able to remedy this problem by installing a small electric generating device to the skin of the Volkswagen. With a flip of a switch inside the car, Jim could send 100,000 volts through the skin of the Beetle. It would not affect anyone inside the car so long as you kept your feet off the ground.

I loved seeing people wander over to Jim’s Beetle and perch themselves on his hood. Jim would get in the car and throw the switch. Everyone would laugh when the offender would go flying off the car. This also worked when Jim would drive slowly up to another car slightly touching that car. He would honk his horn angering the driver. When that angry kid exited the car putting their feet on the ground, they would get the same kind of shock. This “shocking device” would keep Jim from getting picked on my bullies!

Summers with Grandma Rosie

As I grew up, I had the privilege of spending numerous summers with my Grandma Rosie, my Mom’s Mother. She lived in the remnants of an old antebellum home east of Kentwood, Louisiana.

I loved arriving at Grandma’s home. Two rows of great oaks formed a causeway for the person arriving at the 150-year old home. The structure was not well-maintained, but the eight columns that lined the front porch still gave the appearance of a warm, welcoming home.

My grandmother was born during the last year of the Civil War. Her mother, my great grandmother, was reputed to have positioned herself on the front steps of this home with a rifle, and threatened to kill any Damn Yankees that tried to cross her threshold. None ever did! (so the story goes)

Rosie was already old when I first met her. My Mom was the youngest daughter in a family of 11 siblings. Many of the older brothers and sisters had grown-up and left home by the time she came around. Even so, Grandma Rosie was spry and brilliant. She loved to write poetry. The reader’s heart would soar reading her verse. I wish I knew what happened to her poems. Someone should have kept them.

When my grandmother was born, it was the custom to invite a young girl her age to join the family and be her companion throughout her life. I met Sally when I was four or five years of age. Her words would pour over me like honey and always brought great wisdom to my life. You just knew Sally cared about you.

One of my best memories of Sallie was her taking me to an old country church. Of course, there was no air conditioning in those days, so everyone in the congregation had a fan. Sally asked me to observe how fast people would fan themselves. She told me this would tell me a great deal about that person.

For instance, if the Pastor was talking about “Love the Lord” themes, everyone would be fanning at a routine pace. If the Pastor would go off on a more troubling theme like “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife,” you could observe several men in the audience fanning a bit faster than anyone else. This gave the Pastor the opportunity to learn who most needed his attention. Who would think that the speed at which you fanned would be such a “give-away.”

Grandma Rosie taught me many things, such as the importance of Nature, the value of the crops in the field, the beauty of the flowers in the yard, and the importance of running faster than the bull in the lower 40! She also taught me how to blow bubble gum bubbles! We both had some bubble disasters with gum getting in our eyebrows and hair, but it was sharing the experience that burned this memory into my mind.

With such a large family, Grandma Rosie always had “tons” of people around her. With 11 children and over 40 grandchildren, I felt very privileged to be allowed to spend so much one-on-one time with her in the summers.

My other grandparents passed away before I was born or when I was very young. Only Grandma Rosie was to have an impact on my life. Her life’s gift to me: take time to appreciate the beauty in the world; don’t dote on the meanness generated by man.

Summers at the Friday Mountain Boy’s Camp

My first experience at summer camp took place at the Friday Mountain Boy’s Camp located outside Austin. I suffered little homesickness by learning that being in the “wild” was wonderful. I particularly liked horseback riding.

On the first day of camp, my counselor took us to the stable so that we could pick out our own horse. My choice was a beautiful brown bay named “Flicka.” I would return to Friday Mountain Boys Camp year after year always choosing her. I felt she knew me because of the way she responded to my touch.

Flicka had one drawback . . . . . she loved to rollover in any water! This was particularly tedious when you are running and unexpectedly come to a stream. Flicka would slow down, enter the water, and just roll over and enjoy the coolness. She always rolled to the right side, so I learned to quickly raise my right leg as she was going down. I couldn’t change her behavior, but I could always anticipate it and compensate. I know she liked me letting her have her way with water play!

I like to say I never met a horse I didn’t like, but this should probably be qualified by the horse I encountered in New Orleans’ Audubon Park. During my first year at college, I was grasping for things to do that reminded me of home. I soon discovered Audubon Park had a riding academy.

Arriving late at the park gave me the opportunity to ride with fewer people on site. They brought out my horse complete with an English riding saddle, not a western saddle with a “horn.” I was not to be deterred, so I hopped on the horse and had a wonderfully spirited ride through the park. Then, about 5:00 PM, I turned back towards the stable, and completely lost control of the horse! I would later learn this was feeding time.

My Audubon horse took off like a bat-out-of-hell! I was leaping over picnic tables and weaving through people seated on the grassy lawns. I lost the reins and my footing in the stirrups. Yes, I was flying out behind the horse holding on to the tiny English saddle.

We arrived at the stable in just a few minutes. I probably should have fallen off the horse earlier, but I felt a sense of responsibility for the animal. Bottom line: the horse stopped; I didn’t! I went flying over the horse before coming to rest on my nose, my now bloody broken nose. I never road an English saddle again, but I should have been smarter than to ride an unfamiliar horse so close to feeding time. My fault! My pain!

CHAPTER 2 – The Transformation of College

Posted on January 12, 2021January 31, 2021 by Lehman Marks

I graduated high school being slightly overweight, short, untanned, and terribly shy. Seeing everyone in my “gang” getting ready to go off to college, I decided I was going to radically change my life . . . and appearance.

I started the raisin bran diet when I kicked-off working with Dad during the summer between high school and college. By the end of the summer, I lost 35 pounds and learned that push-ups and sit-ups could produce a real difference. I was a lean kid when my parents tearfully dropped me off at my Tulane Dormitory mid-August, 1961.

But I was not tearful, I was ecstatic about being my own man.

I dearly loved my parents, but an overly protective Southern Baptist family never gave me a chance to figure out who I was! My first semester at college was to give me just that opportunity! I found that I wanted to devour every new adventure, every new school subject, and every new cultural experience.

My first freshman roommate was a young man from New Orleans. He and I really hit it off because we both liked having those great “late-night” college debates trying to figure out the nature of the universe, or seeking to define the boundaries of time. We reached no conclusions, but the fun was in the light banter that bounced around the room at 2:00 AM. You can always think better at 2:00 AM when it is dead quiet and pitch dark.

I soon learned that my roommate had a very interesting view of the world colored by the fact that his family was New Orleans mafia! He taught me three things: never go anywhere by yourself, never be the first person to go through a door, and always sit with your back next to the wall. I tried to teach him that promoting prostitution and drugs was not necessarily the best thing to do in life.

In the third month of our rooming together, I returned to the dorm room to find a man sitting on my bed, and two other strong-looking men on the dormitory balcony. The man told me that he was there to pick up his son. He was moving him home! I was stunned because I thought we were really getting along great!

I asked the father why he was moving his son home. His answer rocked me back on my heels leaving me speechless. He said that I was too good of an influence on him. He added that when his son came home on weekends, he started questioning his dad about the family business. The father let me know in no uncertain terms that he could not let this persist. The son was coming home. He wasn’t angry . . . just concerned. He seemed to appreciate that his son had found a good friend, and told me that he would be there for me if I ever needed anything.

My roommate was gone in ten minutes of swift packing by the strong men accompanying the father. Nothing was sorted. All the clothes, books, and bedding were thrown in two large trunks and carted to a waiting car. I never saw my first college roommate again.

I have often searched my mind whether or not I was too zealous with my arguments. I only hope he never suffered from our late-night discussions. I do not mention his name because a family friend told me years later that he stayed in the family business.

The Great Scab Event

My new roommate was a motorcycle enthusiast! I loved his stories characterizing the glory associated with bike-riding, and all his dare-devil experiences. He invited me to ride with him on the motorcycle for a great dinner at Arnaud’s, a famous restaurant in the French Quarter. We turned a few heads arriving on a motorcycle, but that was all a part of the motorcycle schtick! We had a great meal, but when we exited the restaurant, we discovered that we were we facing an ice storm.

My roommate was undaunted by the icing, but I was a little bit more concerned. I remember racing down St. Charles Avenue at an unsafe speed dodging patches of ice that were already beginning to form on the roadway. I asked my roommate to let me off! I felt it was safer to park the motorcycle and just walk home. He wasn’t buying my arguments, so I began my walking while seeing him riding off in the distance.

As cold set into my bones, I begin to think about how foolish I was to walk back to the dormitory! It felt like my eyebrows and lashes were freezing! I had visions of trudging across a mythical Siberia! Had I made a major mistake?

I had only walked two blocks before I found my roommate splayed-out on the road. He apparently hit a patch of ice, flipped the motorcycle, and it carried him along the street stripping off the upper layer of skin on his back! He was in real pain!

I got the motorcycle off the road, called a cab, and got him to the Tulane Infirmary. There was not much of a jacket left to peel off his back. What was left was a huge flesh wound that ran from the back of his neck almost all the way to his waist. The doctors put on an antibiotic ointment and directed him to leave the wound uncovered until a scab formed.

So I had a job! Put on the ointment in the morning and the afternoon. My roommate went to class wearing a cape-like drape that allowed his wound to heal, but gave him some sense of dignity. In less than two weeks, we had scab . . . . . a huge scab that ran down most of his back!

We used to joke that we rode the motorcycle to Arnaud’s Restaurant; the motorcycle road my roommate back to the dorm! We also loved inviting dorm friends to come to our room to “pick-on” my roommate . . . . . literally pick-on the scab! I know this sounds a bit gross, but as college freshmen, we thought this was a “real hoot.”

Reaching the End of My First Semester

My first college semester was a real learning experience. I came from a very conservative family, but I discovered that if I could put my money on the bar, this very young seventeen year old kid could get a drink! I went off to Tulane when I was sixteen; I turned seventeen two months later.

One of my best high school friends and I mastered the skill of drinking during our senior year of high school. We learned how to drink scotch . . . . Chivas Regal to be exact! So I planned to continue drinking Scotch in college. David Vinson and I would sneak over to Dave’s home to share his parents scotch while reading J.R.R. Tolkein’s The Hobbit. Somehow, Scotch and Tolkein went well together.

My friendship with David grew throughout college and graduate school. He would be my Best Man in my 1967 wedding; I would be his Best Man in his wedding. We would go on to build a revolutionary computer service company in 1971, and remained best friends until his early death from cancer. He was probably the smartest guy I ever knew. Chain smoking and 20-hour work days gave him an early ulcer, but he had the most incredible work ethic. A week rarely goes by without my thinking about him.

I didn’t just drink . . . . I DRANK! I learned how much I could drink without throwing up;

I learned I didn’t get “drinking-mean” or turn moody. Unfortunately, I learned drinking drastically affected my hands! My fingers seemed to dry up producing horrible cracks.

College taught me many lessons. When I returned home for my first Thanksgiving Holiday the first thing I said was: “Mom, where’s the beer?” I thought she was going to skin me alive! Then she saw my hands and rushed me to the doctor where I underwent weeks of treatment to reverse the damage done to the skin on my hands. This treatment required sleeping while wearing gloves filled with a medicated location.

On returning to New Orleans after Thanksgiving, I realized my first semester grades were not going to be promising. Weekend drinking experiments in dozens of New Orleans’ finest establishments, and too many late night discussions put me in real jeopardy! I remember a statement made during Freshman Orientation: “If you look to your right and to your left, one of your friends will be gone by second semester!” It dawned on me I might be this “one.”

I busted my tail trying to get caught up in my classes before facing my first college final exams. Rarely sleeping, no partying, and a rigorous study calendar gave me a fighting chance, but the dread of my first college exams produced hysterical nausea. I was admitted to the school infirmary suffering from exhaustion and nausea dehydration.

A well-meaning nurse tried to make me comfortable, but somehow felt a cup of hot tea would cure my nausea. I told her I wasn’t interested preferring something “bubbly.” She demanded I drink the tea or she would check me out of the infirmary. I thought this was a little bit “over-the-top,” but I went ahead and drank the tea to satisfy her. I immediately, unintentionally threw-up on her.

Survived Freshman Year

I survived my first year living on the fourth floor of Tulane’s Phelps Dormitory! Six flights of stairs did a great job keeping me in shape. My grades were great and I loved college life, but lived for the weekends. Come Saturday mornings, I was up early to board the “Ferret Jet” (bus) or the St. Charles Street Car, and headed downtown to the French Quarter. No partying here, but rather an effort to develop an appreciation for Old New Orleans. Mom’s family arrived in Louisiana in the late 1600’s; Dad’s family arrived in the 1800’s.

Growing up in Houston, all I ever experienced was new construction, new experiences, and homogenous white communities. Dad told me that he would help pay my college education if I would return to Louisiana, and try to develop an appreciation for the people and the culture. I strongly resisted this idea, but Dad made a compelling argument based on the costs of college.

I was born in Baton Rouge, but as I used to say, my family “got good sense” and moved to Houston when I was three years old. I loved the newness of Houston and the advances at the newly constructed Johnson Space Center. I got Dad to drive me down to the JSC every weekend so that we could watch them build the facility. I remember many a wonderful hour spent hanging on their fences watching every new building go up, and wondering what kind of “neat” Science would take place inside that structure.

I found that Dad and I were great “sidewalk superintendents.” Rarely did a major building go up in Houston without our watching, commenting, and critiquing. Many a day would find me making drawings of what I observed being built, along with my annotations and never-observed suggestions.

Dad was a successful retailer, but he always wanted a doctor in the family. He said he would continue helping finance my education as long as I worked towards becoming a doctor. Yes, I worked every summer and holiday for him, but this would not completely fund college expenses. I deeply appreciated Dad’s support and belief in me.

I have not yet mentioned my Mother. She was a dominating force in the family. I think she developed this “fight-for-everything” skill based on her growing up being one of eleven children in a rural Louisiana environment. If I achieved any success in life, it is because she shoved and pushed me to be my “best.”

Sophomore Year at Tulane

I returned to Phelps Dormitory my sophomore year. I thought it was going to be the same environment as my freshman year, but the school decided to make Phelps the “jock” dorm and never said anything about it to me! Was I shocked to find my suite mates included two football players, three swimmers, and two baseball players. There were times when I felt I was the only one with good sense in our suite, but I learned to appreciate these guys and learned the value of camaraderie. They taught me some very interesting gambling games!

The “twist” dance craze hit campus at the beginning of my sophomore year. I loved this crazy dance, but didn’t realize that you should move your feet when your twisted your body. I planted my feet and just twisted my knees! After a wild weekend of dancing, I realized that I couldn’t bend my knees. I could walk on flat surfaces, but I couldn’t walk upstairs. I was doomed! I had six sets of stairs to overcome just to get to my dorm room!

I remember finding my solution on the Monday following my crazy “dancing” weekend. I sat on my butt and lifted myself step by step until I reached the fourth floor. During one of these step-by-step ordeals, one of my suite mates, Buddy Lindsey, saw me and told me he would carry me up! As Captain of the Tulane Football team, he grabbed me with one arm and easily carried me to the fourth floor. I felt like a rag doll, but I was so totally grateful.

Buddy and I were going to become great friends. I was told that he was a great football player, but his academic skills were lacking. I would spend many evenings helping him with his studies in return for the many favors he did for me. Yes, he carried me to the fourth floor for a week, but he also watched over me. I was 5’4;” he was 6’3”. He was always there when I needed him.

For example, I was running for Dormitory President, but a kid down the hall decided I wasn’t going to run. He went so far as to hit me over the head with an umbrella and threatened to do more if I didn’t withdraw. Arriving back at my dorm room with a bulging black eye, Buddy grabbed me, shook me, and demanded I tell him what happened. I sometimes felt he thought of me as a little brother. I was a sophomore, he was a freshman, but we were both the same age.

I told him what happened. He immediately stormed out of the dorm room, rallied his roommate, and ran down the hallway toward the kid’s room. A few minutes went by followed by Buddy and Charlie casually walking back to their room. I never knew what happened, but the threatening kid moved out of the dormitory the next day. Buddy and I never talked about that incident, but he was there on election night to make sure people came out to vote!

Buddy invited me to come home with him over an Easter Holiday. It was an eye-popping experience. I had never witnessed such racial prejudice. Although I always loved spending summers with my maternal grandmother in rural Louisiana, I had never experienced the “Mississippi culture.” This was the early 1960’s . . . . . a time when the freedom riders were carving their way through the South. Racial tensions were running high.

I never experienced racial prejudice growing up in West University next to the fabulously wealthy River Oaks families. But I would see this prejudice firsthand when I went off to school in New Orleans. When I was a freshman, I was struck dumb when some friends and I went to a sandwich shop near Tulane. One of my friends was a wonderful black student from New York. We bounded into the sandwich shop full of fun and excitement only to be met by the owner swinging a broom and yelling obscenities. He would not have a black person invade his shop, let alone buy a sandwich.

I could not believe the racism and bigotry. I discovered that I had been insulated from this prejudice growing up in my area of Houston. My ignorance astounded me! I was mad at myself for not knowing and comprehending the situation. I was shocked to learn Freedom Riders would be killed such a short distance from New Orleans.

My friends were roommates, class mates, or members of the Tulane A Cappella Choir. These were all accomplished young people. Seeing the meanness and bigotry that swirled just outside the Tulane Campus almost overwhelmed me.

My racial education would be expanded when Hodding Carter Jr. and his wife became advisors and chaperones to the choir. The choir traveled to Mexico on an exchange program arranged through the U.S. State Department. It was during this trip that I learned the real history of the racial South.

Hodding Carter Jr. was a Pulitzer Prize winning publisher who was forced to leave Mississippi as a result of his out-spoken editorials against racial segregation. Tulane gave him refuge as a writer-in-residence. Listening to his stories, I realized the value of standing up to ignorance. This would have a profound long-term impact on my life.

Almost Killed in Mexico

I was almost killed on our sophomore choir trip to Mexico! When we arrived in each community, our hosts would parcel us out to local homes for overnight lodging. One of these visits took us to the beautiful town of Morelia, approximately 300 Km west of Mexico City. We were warned that there was communist unrest in the community, and that the U.S. Library had been burned just the week before we arrived.

My choir roommate and I were housed outside Morelia in a monastery run by Franciscan Monks. Their home monastic order was in the United States, so it seemed appropriate to house us there. I was touched by the warmth and friendliness of these wonderful monks. They prepared a modest hamburger for our dinner, and housed us in a small, remote building with a thatched roof. Our host monk advised us not to leave the monastery at night.

So what are two young college students going to do when night fell? We of course crawled over the monastery wall and wandered our way down the hill into the town. Arriving in a small plaza, I remember someone yelling: “Gringos!”

A number of rabble-rousers gathered and started yelling at us. My roommate and I turned and ran as fast as we could back to the monastery. We flung ourselves over the monastery wall taking refuge in our small cottage.

They say you become more religious when your sense danger . . . . this definitely applied to us. We only hoped the mob would respect the sanctity of the monastery. They didn’t! The yells and shouts became louder and louder as they approached the cottage. We cowered in the corner of that tiny hut.

The crowd rammed the barricaded door before throwing torches on the thatched roof. Smoke filled the one room structure. Portions of the roof were falling in. My roommate and I guessed we had only minutes before we suffocated, or burned to death. Part of the roof collapsed with flames now engulfing the wooden beds. We were trapped.

Then we head whistles and a loud commotion outside. I remember hearing thumps from what we later learned were officers using “billy clubs” to break up the protesters. Yells and screams filled the smoky night air. Two Federal troopers broke down the door, located us with their flash lights, and dragged us outside. We gulped for fresh air choking from the soot and debris in our lungs. We were saved.

The looks from the monks were less than sympathetic. We had been the instrumental force that burned down their small cottage. This was nothing like the rebukes we were to receive from our chaperones. The trip wasn’t canceled, but we found ourselves with restricted privileges. Everyone was mad at us, but also relieved that no one was killed.

None of the people involved in the trip wanted to leak details about what happened, so much of this event was smoothed over. I remember the Carters looking at me and saying: “What the hell were you thinking?” I had no answer.

Interestingly, we were to become the “Heroes of Morelia” from our fellow choir members. We didn’t sing any better, but we did have a sense of pride that we survived to talk about the experience.

Junior Year of College

Junior year was full of campus politics. I was elected President of the Student Union Music Committee which had a say about what musical events came to campus. I was president of my dormitory, and campaigned to be president of the choir. I found that I had totally lost my old shy self, and had developed an outgoing personality. It was a metamorphosis.

Never in high school would I have dreamed that I could easily make new friends. I think this was the year that I learned to truly enjoy other people. Again, if it hadn’t been for Billy, I would never have developed this gregarious personality.

I did not opt to spend my Junior Year studying abroad because I found myself falling in love with New Orleans. The trepidation I felt during my first two years of college was now dead because I learned to appreciate the value of old things. This led to my exploring everything “old” in New Orleans, including the old river road that followed the Mississippi River up to Baton Rouge.

Exploration for me focused on traveling this road investigating the antebellum homes lining the river. I loved the giant trees that formed arches over the paths leading up to these homes. They reminded me of the huge oak trees in front of my grandmother’s home in northern Louisiana.

I was not bashful. I would confidently go up to a front door of these old homes, knock on that door, and ask the person who greeted me if I could see their home. I explained my interest and that my family had been in Louisiana for 300 years. With my childish face and good humor, almost everyone invited me inside to see their home.

One Saturday found me standing in front of a monument to the Old South and the grandeur that was once New Orleans. This was the San Francisco Plantation located on the East side of the Mississippi about forty miles west of New Orleans. Although much of the house seemed in fair repair, it was obvious the current residents, Mr. & Mrs. Clark Thompson, were going to need to undertake considerable restoration. Mrs. Thompson showed me through the house as if we were first-time explorers.

Mrs. Thompson and I became good friends over the next few months. Without sufficient funding, they could not undertake major restoration, so I proposed that they should host tours of the home for people attending conventions in New Orleans. This could bring in much needed income at very little expense to the Thompsons. Mrs. Thompson explained that she just didn’t have time to give the tours . . . . so I volunteered!

With a little encouragement, Mrs. Thompson agreed to let me provide tour information to several well-known hotels in New Orleans. I “greased” the palm of the concierge at the Roosevelt Hotel and within two weeks, we had guests knocking on the door of the plantation home.

I loved giving these tours! It always amazed me how people visiting New Orleans wanted to throw themselves into the culture of the Old South. The insides of San Francisco gave them this opportunity. Guests loved learning that the artist who painted the ceiling of the New Orleans St. Louis Cathedral had also painted some of the ceilings and artwork in this grand old home.

Visitors loved the little trivia tidbits. I would ask one of the tour guests to open a door, which produced a surprise. The door knobs were six inches lower than today’s normal door knobs. My explanation: people who lived here in the 1850’s were smaller. Guests would always ask why there were no closets in the bed rooms. The reason: homes in that time were taxed based on the number of rooms in that home. Closets were considered rooms, therefore few homes had closets. They used ornate armoires.

The Ghost

By the time I graduated Tulane, the San Francisco Tours were well established and proved to be a great money-maker for the Thompsons. These tours also offered me an unusual experience: I saw a ghost.

During one of these big Saturday Tours complete with sandwiches and other refreshments, Mrs. Thompson asked me to get some additional glasses from the kitchen located on the group floor. The thick brick floor that supported the house included areas for buried pots that would keep perishables cool during the hot New Orleans summers. It always amazed me pots buried in the ground were such a good substitute for a refrigerator.

I went to the kitchen, washed a few glasses, and while drying them I noticed an elderly Negro Lady kneeling at one of these pots. I glanced her way and she acknowledged my stare with a warm, sweet smile that made my heart glow. She was dressed in a full skirt which seemed hot for this summer weather, but I didn’t pay much attention other than to say hello. She nodded.

Returning to the tour area, I asked Mrs. Thompson about the old lady. I thought I was the only “help” that day. She looked at me with a vacant expression, and then said we were the only ones there helping with the tour. I was confused. This old lady had a weathered, tired look on her face, but it was filled with character that comes with age.

When the guests left, I asked Mrs. Thompson if there were any photos showing the people who lived in San Francisco. She hurried to a bed room and produced a collection of old photos from a half-made scrapbook. Faded black and white family photos of long dead residents cascaded to the floor.

These grand early photos had so many stories to tell. The death of the original owner, the loss of life from yellow fever, and Civil War pestilence were all displayed for us to see. One of these old family photos showed some of the people that worked for the family. In that 1880’s photo, I spotted the same old lady I saw kneeling on the floor in the kitchen. How could this be?

I pointed out this sweet old Negro Lady to Mrs. Thompson who laughed at me! She smiled and quipped that this was their resident ghost. She told me that she inquired about her years before, but only could discover that she had died from yellow fever shortly after the photo was taken.

I had seen a ghost . . . a charming ghost! No scariness! Just a lost soul that seemed to love being in a place that gave her comfort. I never saw the old lady again.

Grand Canyon Adventure

One of my zoology teachers posted a notice inviting students to join him during a five day trip to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. It was to be an exploration of geology and the life forms that occupied each of the geological layers in the canyon. I immediately signed up!

The trip organized with just the professor and three students, including me! I was ecstatic about the adventure. I had traveled by burro to the bottom of the Grand Canyon when I was twelve years old, but that was a fairly tame experience except for the 117 degree temperature at the Phantom Ranch located at the bottom of the canyon.

Summer arrived and our little expedition headed for Arizona. We stopped several days in Flagstaff gathering all the gear needed for the trip. This included a small inflatable rubber boat, tents, food, and other supplies. We then headed for the South Rim of the Canyon.

Our first stop was at the Park Ranger Station. We outlined our trip plans for the Rangers complete with our expected time of arrival at Lake Mead. Now, we were off on a three-mile trudge down into the canyon carrying too much stuff. We were all exhausted by the time we got to the bottom of the canyon.

We set up a “quick camp,” ate sandwiches prepared the night before, and headed for our sleeping bags. The heavy heat was oppressive. It was a brisk 68 degrees on the South Rim, but spiked to 115 at the bottom of the canyon. We all sweated through everything we were wearing.

Morning met us with a touch of coolness, but this could have resulted from launching the inflatable boat and getting ourselves wet maneuvering it into the Colorado River. The boat rode low in the water, but this seemed to help us handle the small rapids encountered the first day. We traveled several miles down the canyon that first day making numerous stops to examine rock formations and exploring the fossil record. I was impressed with our teacher’s knowledge of the canyon’s geological record. I became fascinated with the field of paleozoology.

The Colorado River was kind to us. Water levels were low due to a drought that summer, but this worked to our advantage. There were more areas to camp, and more rocks and fossils to explore. We found a great location for our first camp site on the river, set up tents, and started dinner. We were at-home on the river!

Dinner was a success. We made a type of skillet cobbler that gave us some of the sugar we needed after such an active day. Tuna fish sandwiches plus cobbler was a great way to end an incredible day of discovery. It was not hard to go to sleep.

The next morning, our second day on the river, came very early. Our professor got us up at dawn to take down camp and get on the river. Then I heard it . . . . .a low grumbling sound. It was like a locomotive coming in our direction. I looked up stream and saw a wall of water crashing down the river ricocheting off the walls and picking up debris along the way. I estimated that the water was about 200 yards away!

The professor told us to run to the wall of the canyon. This was only 20 feet away, but seemed a horrible solution to our problem. It was a sheer cliff that rose fifty feet above us! We had seconds to respond. The professor pushed me up first onto a small ledge located about six feet above the canyon floor. I pulled the other two students up to the ledge and was in the process of hauling up the professor when all hell broke loose. The water hit us! I clung to the wall of the canyon on this 15 inch-deep ledge with thousands of gallons of water washing around us.

We were not able to get the professor up to the ledge before the water hit us. A small log hit the professor’s hip knocking him unconscious. We were finally able to get him onto the ledge, but it was hugely difficult holding him there with the water rushing feverishly around us! The water was knee-level on the ledge, which meant that it was about 10’ high on the floor of the canyon.

We remained on that cliff for hours! My student friends suggested that we launch ourselves into the river, grab one of the logs, and float down the river. I quashed this less than thoughtful idea reminding everyone that the professor was still unconscious and would not be able to take care of himself. More hours went by. The water started subsiding.

Then, as out of nowhere, ropes were being flung over the ledge above us. A park ranger was scampering down the rope and tied supportive straps onto the professor. Other rangers hauled him up to the top of the cliff. More ropes came down for the rest of us. None of us could crawl up the rope because of exhaustion. The rangers ended up pulling us all to the top. We then scaled more ledges to arrive at a small road at the top of this section of the North Rim. The professor and two students were loaded onto a jeep with the rangers. I was to be temporarily left there since there was no more room on the jeep, and I was the least injured. They said they would be back for me in 45 minutes.

After two hour of pacing, I figured it wouldn’t hurt if I started walking in the direction the jeep had traveled. The heat and soggy clothes made walking uncomfortable, but I soon dried out. It didn’t help that I lost one of my shoes during this ordeal.

I finally came to a substantial two-lane road and began walking towards the main part of the canyon. I only walked a few minutes when an old blue pickup truck pulled off the road ahead of me and an older Indian woman motioned for me to get into the truck. She told me this was no place to be walking!

It turned out this lovely 80-year old lady was a member of the Hopi tribe and was on a trip to gather blue sand. She was the ritual “sand painter” of her pueblo community and was trying to figure out how to get this blue sand. She explained that Hopi were not allowed to travel onto the Navajo reservation, but the blue sand was only located on Navajo land.

Her weary face had signs of living a hard life, but there was an intrinsic kindness in the way she spoke. She looked at me with eyes squinting in the sun and asked if I would take her truck and drive just a few miles up the road and dig some sand for her!

This was such an amazing adventure. I leaped at the opportunity. The old lady pulled over to the side of the road crawling energetically out of the truck. She repeated the directions over and over again. Travel east four or five miles and turn north when I see a certain rock out-cropping. The blue sand would be over the ridge about 100 feet off the road. I did my best to reassure her, and promised to return as soon as possible.

I was dazed by the day’s experiences. I was now driving down this road in an old blue truck after a morning of almost being killed on the river, scaling the side of the canyon, being left on the side of the road by Park Rangers, and now headed off to Navajo country on a mission for this wonderful old lady. She identified herself as Elizabeth. I found the sand without incident and returned to the spot where I left the old lady. She grinned with a smile that I would rarely see in life. She told me over and over how much she appreciated what I did for her.

I asked Elizabeth to explain the significance of the sand paintings. She pulled off to the side of the road again, took a couple of deep breaths, and set out to give me a halting explanation of sand painting. Each painting was a unique prayer to the Great Father. When complete, the painting would be left to the winds, and with every gust of air the prayer would be carried to their gods.

Elizabeth drove me to the ranger station where I learned the professor had been flown to a hospital in Phoenix. The other students received emergency first aid, and were already on the road to the airport. I was on my own to get home. All my worldly belongings had been washed downstream. Sensing my predicament, Elizabeth invited me to spend a few days on the Hopi reservation. Again, another great adventure!

Of course I went!

I was almost immediately struck by the poor living conditions on the reservation. Elizabeth, being a long time widow, had a semblance of a real home in a mud brick pueblo, but many other families lived with far fewer amenities. I observed that the men in the pueblo seemed distrustful of me. There were questions about why a “white eyes” was on the Hopi Reservation. Elizabeth gave several explanations in her native tongue. I don’t know what she said, but other members of the community seemed to respect her words and gave me “space” during the several days I spent with her.

We talked all the time. Everything that Elizabeth said was so terribly interesting to me because I never heard anyone express themselves the way she did. Not only that, her thoughts had such great wisdom that I wanted to hear everything she had to say. She seemed to enjoy my conversation, and wanted to hear about my school, my earlier life, and my family. She took particular interest in my study of Zoology because she too shared a real love for animals.

I spent hours telling Elizabeth about my Zoology focus areas: comparative vertebrate anatomy and entomology. She encouraged me to talk about my study of insects asking why I thought they were important. I shared story after story explaining how insects filled so many ecological niches, and that without them, the world would not work nearly as well! She shared her interest in insects and recounted how she used some of their images in her sand paintings.

She spent hours explaining the Hopi creation story, and how this involved ants. She explained that the ant people lived below ground, but finding a hole in the sky, they crawled up stalks of bamboo and emerged into this new world. These ant people were the Hopi’s great ancestors and were to be honored and respected. The location of the hole from their creation story was said to be somewhere near the Grand Canyon. This is one reason why the Hopi revered the canyon, and seemed to vest it with magical qualities.

I was fortunate to see Elizabeth start work on a sand painting before I left. Whereas I saw a shaky 80-year old at dinner, I saw steady hands carefully allowing a stream of sand pour through her fingers falling carefully onto a prepared sand surface. Bright colors of red, yellow, orange, green, brown . . . . and of course blue . . . . all supported her prayers.

I saw such patience and reverence! I will always remember the intensity in her eyes as she painted. Each handful of sand was meticulously placed within the slowly forming picture. Her squinting eyes paid great attention to detail . . . . careful that every grain of sand conveyed the proper meaning. Every line was straight; every curve was perfect!

The second night of my stay in the Hopi pueblo was a bit unusual. Elizabeth asked if I would like to join several of the pueblo elders and share a “sacred smoke.” I didn’t know exactly what this meant, but it seemed I was being accorded an honor by being allowed to sit with the men.

I agreed, and found myself seated along the wall of a small hut. Very little light entered this structure. I observed several men smoking small thimble-like pipes. I was not offered any, but the hut was chokingly filled with thick, odorous smoke. I remember resting my head against the wall and going off on a reverie that so relaxed me that I don’t remember moving for several hours.

I awoke to find myself alone in the hut, and returned to Elizabeth’s home. I learned years later that the men were probably smoking peyote, and it was this heavy smoke that induced my reverie. I’ve read stories that pueblo peoples often use peyote to find their “animal spirit.” If so, I never found my animal spirit, but I definitely found nausea.

Elizabeth loaned me some money to get a bus ticket back to Houston. After long hugs and the exchange of kind words, I boarded a bus and spent the next 15 hours reliving these amazing experiences. Of course when I got to Houston, my parents were alarmed by all these adventures, but seemed to calm down after observing that I seemed to have matured and grown within myself. Mom commented over and over again that this was not the same son she sent off to college.

I was no longer that uninitiated wide-eyed high school kid. I had now experienced the fear of death twice within a period of two years. Nearly burning alive in Mexico and almost drowning in Arizona, I sensed a bit more confidence in myself along with a unquenchable thirst for knowledge and adventure.

Interestingly, I learned months later that the flash flood that struck us in the Grand Canyon was caused by torrential rains miles up the river, and that a group of boy scouts had been killed several years earlier by a similar flash flood. The park rangers told me that the only thing that saved us was that we had the good sense to file a trip plan with the Ranger Station. They shared they had been looking for us after the first signs of the flash flood.

I never heard from the professor who led the trip. It was his planning that saved our lives. He never returned to Tulane. Some suggested this might have resulted from the injuries sustained on the trip. As for the other two students, I never had any interest in seeing them again.

Sadly, I never had any other conversation with Elizabeth although I tried to reach her by letters and by phone. My letters were returned. Later, I learned that this wonderful old lady had passed several months after my visit to her pueblo.

Other Tulane Adventures

When I returned to Tulane in the Fall, I joined the skydiving club. On our first outing, I had thirty minutes of training before we leaped into a small airplane and headed out over green fields and extensive marshy areas. My trainer drilled into me that I was to count to ten and then pull the rip cord! Count ten! Pull cord!

I remember the bravado that filled the students in that small plane as we cruised to the proper altitude. That all faded away when the door flew open and several of us were gently pushed out of the airplane. Falling towards Earth filled me with terror. I forgot my 30 minutes of training and just pulled the rip cord. The parachute popped out yanking me swiftly back towards the sky, slowing my sudden fall, and making the experience far more enjoyable.

Now, the words of my student trainer again gushed through my head. He coached: when approaching the ground, I was supposed to gently drop and roll. His last words were: “You don’t want to come down with stiff legs unless you don’t want to walk for eight weeks!”

I hoped I was going to survive the landing. The ground was coming up extremely fast flushing my mind with panicky thoughts because the ground was not green, but brown, wet marsh land. I pulled the rip cord too soon and was coming down in the wetlands adjoining the landing area.

Hitting the soggy marsh at seven or eight miles per hour drove my feet and legs into the mud. I was stuck up to my knees, but no bones were broken. It didn’t seem like I was going anywhere fast. I worried that I wouldn’t be able to free myself with the parachute tugging me one way and the ground holding my legs fast!

There were times in my life when luck intervened. This was one of those times. My trainer, seeing me coming down short of the landing field, had hopped into his truck and followed me down. He saw me land in the muck. Driving as close as he could to my landing spot, he jumped out of the truck, cut the parachute lines, and laughed at me! He mumbled: “Kid, I saw how you land. I think the only thing that saved your life was landing in the marsh!” He was right.

It took a few minutes to free my legs from the muck, but we finally trudged back to the truck and escaped an “afternoon of fun.” I never returned to the Sky Diving Club.

Rather than skydiving, I took up sail boats and joined the Tulane Sailing Club. Again, I received a few hours of training and was issued a Sunfish sail boat and told to take her out on Lake Pontchartrain. I placed the boat in the water, pushed off from shore, raised the sail and headed out into the lake. It was joyous. The wind was moving me rapidly over the water. I remembered to put down the dagger board as instructed.

Everything seemed like it was going wonderfully well! I was learning how to tact with the wind, and was making good progress. I soon became aware that the wind speed was rising and tried to steer the boat back towards the dock area. I have to admit that I was a bit clumsy handling the sail, but this was my first experience!

The waves were now bigger. The large swells raised my boat only to carry me into the troughs between waves. Larger waves produced deeper troughs. Then tragedy struck. As the Sunfish went down into one of these deep troughs, the dagger board stuck firm in the shallow lake bed! It was like the hand of God grabbed my boat and was not going to let me loose! The next wave swamped the boat leaving it attached to the bottom, and me swimming for shore. The Sunfish was lost.

One of my Dad’s first extra expenses at Tulane was paying for a new Sunfish. But this was not to be my Dad’s only extra expense. I got the bright idea that it would be fun to brick-up our large suite shower room and construct a small swimming pool! This was during my sophomore year when I roomed with the “jocks.” They loved the idea!

We “borrowed” bricks from a nearby construction site, made a little cement, and bricked up a small portion of the entrance to the tiled shower room. We only closed off about three feet of the doorway, but this gave us a luxurious pool to carry out our foolish fun. We built the pool over a weekend, and planned to tear it out by Monday. It was to be a weekend “lark.”

I loved my sophomore year rooming with these great guys. They were always up for a challenge. Our swimming pool was just one of these challenges, but I forgot to consider one thing: the weight of the water!

On Sunday morning, the guys in the third floor rooms directly below us started banging on our door. Their ceiling was leaking! The weight of the water was too much for the ceiling and it was slowly giving way! Around mid-morning we heard the sound of a loud whoosh as a portion of the floor gave way dumping what was left of the water, along with ceiling tiles and concrete, onto the third floor! The Dean was not impressed.

Again, it was another raid on Dad’s pocket book, but he didn’t scold me. He just said that I needed to be smarter and plan ahead! Dad and I had many good laughs about my construction and disassembly of “things.” I think he realized that I was never going to stop tinkering. He often reminded me about the times I took things apart only to have parts left over after reassembly. I would always remind him that the “thing” always worked! For instance, I took apart my portable typewriter. After reassembly, I had two springs and multiple screws left over. The typewriter worked great, and lasted me five years.

Senior Year at Tulane

With the start of my senior year at Tulane, I thought I had the “world by the tail!” I had survived a flash flood in the Grand Canyon. I was elected to be president of the senior class, the Student Union Committees, the Dormitory Council, and the A Cappella Choir. I was to be the big man on campus.

Then, I received a note from the Dean of Arts & Sciences that I needed to come to his office. I thought this was going to be a congratulatory meeting, but it turned out to be one of the biggest disappointments in my life.

Interestingly, a gypsy fortune teller told me years before that I was going to live an unusual life. The woman looked perplexed searching my hand over and over again. She wiped my palm multiple times as if each new wiping would produce a new outcome. Grasping my hand firmly and staring deeply into my eyes, she told me that I was going to have a four-year life cycle. I would have three successful years followed by one “bad year.” The high school friends who were with me told me to ignore this crazy woman, but her prediction would be accurate.

Applying this template, I consider my not achieving Battle Group Commander in 1960 was the first year of this cycle. If the gypsy’s prediction was true, I would be due for another problem year in 1964. My visit to the Dean of Arts & Science confirmed this was sadly going to be that bad year.

The Dean invited me to sit down and share a cup of coffee. So far so good! Then he brought out his copy of the student handbook. He pointed to a section that said that if a student received a grade of a “C” in a course, that student would not be eligible to hold an elected office the following year.

Despite my best efforts, my Economics teacher didn’t think I deserved a “B.” I hated the course . . . . not because of the subject matter . . . . but because the teacher drove the class into the ground with her banal utterings. I should have dropped the class, but all my efforts were focused on campus politics. Now I would face the consequences.

The Dean told me that I would have to give up being president in all four student organizations. My face was frozen. My heart was in my mouth, but I had nothing to say. I think it was shock.

I remember walking back to the dormitory. My new senior year roommate thought I had become ill. Bruce sat me down on the bed and demanded to know what happened.

One of the best things in my college life was finding Bruce as a senior year roommate. Bruce had already graduated and was entering his first year as a medical student at Tulane Medical School. I thought rooming with Bruce would help me decide whether or not I really wanted to be a doctor. Remember, all my life I had told Dad that I wanted to be a doctor. This would fulfill Dad’s ambition to have a doctor in the family.

I was pretty well committed to this line of study. I took the Medical School Aptitude Test and was accepted into Tulane Medical School, but I didn’t know if I wanted to become a doctor. I thought rooming with Bruce would help me find these answers!

So when Bruce sat me down on the bed and asked me what was wrong, I felt like I owed him an explanation! I gave him a short explanation. He seemed shocked! He knew about all my efforts to become Senior Body President.

My sophomore buddies had not returned to Tulane. Grades took a heavy toll on them. My junior year roommate had been killed in an earthquake in Nicaragua, so Bruce was fast becoming one of my closest friends.

I realized that I had to find a new focus this senior year, so I threw myself into my studies, my singing with Roberta Caper’s Madrigal Group, the A Cappella Choir, and my job with the Dean of Student Life’s Office.

My Love of Insects

I devoured my senior classes. As in preceding years, all my mornings were filled with classes; labs filled four afternoons. I particularly liked my study of insects! In a class of five students, each person helped the teacher drive the course. It was hugely demanding with a required 250-count insect collection due at the end of the semester!

Saturday mornings often found me flitting around Audubon Park Golf Course with a butterfly net trying to catch a great new specimen. On one such Saturday, the New Orleans Police called me over and asked what I was doing. Some golfer had filed a complaint about a crazy kid running after butterflies! The officers didn’t believe my story and put me in the squad car.

As the police car pulled out of Audubon Park, I saw my Entomology Professor emerging from the Science Building across the street. Luckily, Audubon Park was located directly across the street from Tulane. I begged the officers to drive over to the school and ask my professor, now standing outside the main administrative building, about my school project.

Begging and groveling worked. The officers drove over to Tulane. I distinctly remember the officer rolling down his window, sticking his head out the window, and asking the professor if he knew me! The professor took one look at me and said he had never seen me before! I uttered an audible groan! The professor laughed, explained the project, and the officers let me out of the squad car!

On another day, the Entomology class took a field trip to the Bonne Carre Spillway located North of New Orleans. The spillway had been built to protect the city from Mississippi River flooding, and provided many great grass lands ripe with insects. This was an insect collectors dream.

Each student headed out in different directions from an elevated roadway. The sunken land surrounding the roadway was filled with tall grass that stood taller than most students. I remember wandering through the grasses until I came to an open area about 20 meters in diameter.

Then I heard it! The teacher was screaming at me, followed by cries from the other students. Everyone was urging me to “run like hell” for the road! I didn’t realize they could see from their elevated location that a bull was entering the far side of the open area. The bull took one look at me, pawed the ground several times, and charged me with a gusto that took me back to the days when I dodged bulls at my grandmother’s home.

I turned and charged through the grass like a mad man. I could hear the bull running behind me; I could feel the ground shaking! I think the only thing that saved me was that the bull was having a harder time getting through the thick grass! I could hear my student friends yelling to me! Leaping over a fence, I jumped into the waiting arms of the class. Sweat poured off me, but I was safe.

Senior Class President

These senior class experiences helped me get through some sad days. My heart always hurt when I saw the new senior class president performing his official duties. This should have been me, except for my overlooking Economics, but I didn’t resent my successor. We often talked discussing student strategies.

The toughest event occurred with the traditional Senior Class Graduation Ceremony. This was not the formal graduation exercises, but an opportunity for graduating seniors, teachers, and families to get together in a less formal setting. The afternoon was filled with dull speeches followed by the singing of the School Alma Matter. The President of the Senior Class would lead the singing of the anthem.

Everyone stood up and watched the President of the Senior Class mount the stage.

He paused at the rostrum, looked at the crowd, paused again, and called my name. I was being asked to come to the stage. I walked up to the rostrum a bit dumbfounded. This fine young man said quietly to me: “This should have been you standing here. It would make me happy if you lead the Alma Mater.”

With tears in my eyes and my voice trembling, we both led the singing of the anthem followed by a roar of applause from the students. I was humbled by the generosity of this young man. I regret that I never knew what happened to him.

Assistant to the Director of the Tulane Office of Cultural Activities

My greatest fun my senior year was working as Agatha’s Assistant in the Tulane Office of Cultural Activities. This was a part of the Dean of Students Office. Agatha’s duties included contracting all cultural events brought to the campus. I got to share the fun of visiting with all of these luminaries and welcoming them to the campus. This included the likes of Bob Hope, Marian Anderson, Itzhak Perlman, The Kingston Trio, Andres Segovia, Werner Torkanowsky, Carlos Montoya, and many more wonderful entertainers of the day.

My job was to help the guests get to their special rooms on campus, and to see that they had dinner or any other needs met. This often resulted in me taking the guests out to dinner or escorting them to a reception at the University President’s Home. It was a humbling experience listening to their life stories, but they always reciprocated showing interest in me and other students at Tulane.

I was also privileged to announce all of these guests at their performances. I specifically remember announcing the great African-American Metropolitan Opera contralto Marian Anderson. You could not have gotten one more person into McAlister Auditorium. The stage was adorned with only a grand piano and a small music stand. I walked on stage, announced her, and applauded as she and her piano accompanist walked on stage. She began to sing her first song.

Then, I could see something was going wrong. The music sitting on the music stand in front of Ms. Anderson was fluttering in a breeze coming from the wings of the stage. The breeze became a draft, followed by one sheet of music flying off the stand. I rushed on stage, grabbed the music, replaced it on the music stand, and spent the remainder of the performance holding the music and turning the pages. The show must go on!

Ms. Anderson gave me hug on stage during one of the curtain calls, but I was tremendously glad that it was all over. I brought a small dinner to her room on campus. She shared hour after hour of experiences, particularly telling me stories about when things went wrong during concerts. She also loved telling the story about her performance in front of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington on Easter Sunday, 1939.

I loved introducing a real hero of mine, Bob Hope, when we brought him to the Tulane Field House. We talked together for about thirty minutes before his performance. I found this unusual since most of the performer seemed to prefer silence so they could focus on their upcoming concert. Not Bob Hope. He wanted to know all about me, while at the same time sharing stories about his USO efforts to support the troops.

Then, his theme song Thanks for the Memories started playing, and Bob pushed me out onto the stage for the introduction. I made a few gracious comments thanking him for coming to Tulane, and introduced him on stage. Hope came out, but gently grabbed my arm as I was walking off stage. He whispered to me that he needed me to stay on-stage with him for a few minutes. I was dumbfounded!

As Bob Hope opened his wonderfully humorous performance, I realized my purpose . . . . . . . . I was to be his “strait” man. I was to be the brunt of some jokes that would help personalize the performance to the Tulane audience. He joked about my height, but then noted that he only towered over me by two inches! He announced to the audience that I was one of Tulane’s famous insect hunters saying that I would be available for any emergency.

Hope was referring to the story I told him about being called by the Tulane Phone Operator to help a couple facing a large spider lodged in their living room ceiling. Large South American spiders often hitched a ride on banana boats docked along the Mississippi River. When the cargo was off loaded, the spiders would wander into the neighborhoods scaring the residents. That’s when the Tulane Operator received worried late-night phone calls seeking help . . . . and who did they call? Me!

Hope told this story to the 4,000 people seated in the field house to a roar of laughter. This was followed by other tales, but it was almost fun to be a part of the first few minutes of his performance, even though I was being the one getting poked!

My most memorable announcing experience occurred during the performance of a The Kingston Trio, a popular boys singing group similar to today’s Back Street Boys. Of course, they were crooning 60’s hits, but they were hugely popular with lots of screaming, adoring girls trying to reach them!

I had problems with my contact lenses all afternoon prior to their concert, so I decided not to wear them for the show, but use my glasses. Just as I was about to walk out on stage, Agatha (my boss) asked me why I was wearing glasses. She didn’t think the glasses looked good on me. Off came my glasses! I proceeded to walk onto the stage.

It was always my stage procedure to walk close to the edge of the stage. This helped me connect with the audience. On this night, without my glasses, I walked towards the edge of the stage and actually fell off! There was a huge gasp from the audience. The Kingston Trio immediately came on stage and started their concert.

I found myself in a pitch black orchestra pit. The performance had begun, so my task was to discretely find a way out. The regular door the allowed egress from the orchestra pit was locked! I was seven feet below the stage and locked into the pit.

After too long a period of time, The Kingston Trio finally took a mid-performance break. I did my best to leap onto the stage. I tried throwing my leg over the top of the stage and pulling myself up, but the wax on the stage floor denied me a decent grip. I kept falling back into the orchestra pit. Each time I failed, the crowd would send up a roar of laughter. They weren’t heartless! They also cheered for me every time I leaped for the stage!

I never got out of the orchestra pit until the concert was over. I was humiliated! Everyone on campus heard about my dilemma and wanted to express sympathy (and laughs) for my experience. I kept thinking to myself: if everyone was so concerned, why didn’t someone try to help me?

Then, the next morning, everything took a new perspective. Agatha gave me a copy of the Times Picayune, the daily New Orleans newspaper. The Entertainment Critic attended the concert and wrote two full columns about the Kingston Trio’s performance. Agatha had highlighted the last three paragraphs. It said: The Kingston Trio’s performance was predictable and mundane. The only thing good about the concert was watching the crowd cheer for the young announcer who fell into the orchestra pit, and spent most of the event trying to get out!

CHAPTER 2 – The Transformation of College

CHAPTER 3 – Law School, not Medical School

Posted on January 19, 2021January 31, 2021 by Lehman Marks

My senior year at Tulane arrived with lots of disappointments, but I was faced with a huge inner struggle. I can’t remember a day in my life when I didn’t assure Dad that I was going to be a doctor, but as I got closer to entering Medical School, I found doubts filling my mind.

I had the opportunity to choose my senior year roommate. Bruce already graduated from Tulane Arts & Sciences, and was entering the first year of Tulane Medical School. I planned to find out from Bruce whether Medicine was really for me. I was lucky that our friendship encouraged him to rely on me, and share his experiences.

Our first shared experience was in the choice of his microscope. First year Tulane Medical Students needed to provide their own equipment, so we both explored every vendor that sold medical school-style microscopes. Bruce was so thorough with everything; it made it difficult for him to make quick decisions. That’s where I came in! I’ve always been able to survey the issue and reach a reasonable decision quickly.

We spent two weeks trying out dozens of microscopes and settled on the one I recommended on the first day of our search!

It wasn’t all “study” with Bruce and I. He had a blue Triumph TR3 that could go from 0 to 60 mph in just seconds! Bruce would say: “This car can really snap your neck!” I remember we traveled south of New Orleans to Thibodaux, Louisiana on a mission for our wonderful dorm mother, Addie Albritton. She told us the best crab cakes could only be found in this small community. I asked the name of the seller; Addie said just ask for Mrs. Thibodaux the crab-patty-maker!

Bruce and I thought this name identification to be a bit strange, but when we arrived in this small community, we found almost everyone’s name to be Thibodaux. One man told me they identified themselves based on what they did for a living. I therefore told him we were looking for Mrs. Thibodaux known for her crab cakes. He immediately pointed me in the right direction!

On the way back to New Orleans, Bruce got the TR3 up to 75 mph on a narrow, bumpy county road. Unfortunately, we hit a slick on the road and flipped the car into a ditch. Back in those days, we didn’t have seat belts. Lucky for us, the car rolled in such a way to suspend us out over the ditch rather than depositing us head down on the roadway.

We were un-phased, and simply got some help to turn the car back over. Our new adventure was to be our topic of conversation for weeks.

Bruce started his medical classes; I started my senior year of undergraduate study.

I quickly observed the dorm room light would rarely go off before 2:00 AM. We were both buried in our studies! Bruce pondered every word of Gray’s Anatomy; I was planning my senior Zoology Project.

My entomologically-focused senior project concentrated on cockroaches. I decided to develop a better understanding of the enzyme that causes cockroach bodies to harden and turn brown as they transitioned from the egg to the nymph stage. This project required me to raise several hundred cockroaches, so my portion of the dorm room was filled with cage after cage of these “little fellows.”

Interestingly, we didn’t mind staying up late at night because cockroaches were less active when the dorm room light was on! It was a bit hard sleeping when I turned the light off due to the scampering around of 1200 little legs in cages. Thank goodness the empirical phase of the insect project only lasted three weeks. Bruce threatened to move out if the experiment carried over into a fourth week!

Weekends were more active for Bruce. He would put on his white medical coat and travel to New Orleans’ Charity Hospital. First year medical students were required to put in volunteer hours in the Emergency Room. Bruce would say they always needed hands to empty waste, or scrub down a floor.

This gave me a bright idea! I decided I could better determine if I wanted to be a doctor by actually putting in hours in Charity Hospital’s Emergency Room. I bought my own white doctor’s coat! Now, when Bruce traveled to the hospital, I joined him! We were a team!

Pretending to be a Medical Student

I was amazed! If I walked into the ER wearing my white doctor’s coat, holding a clipboard, and looking official, no one would ever ask a question. I reported to the coordinating nurse, signed in, and began work. Emptying bed pans was my first specialty, but I did have the occasional opportunity to take part in some interesting procedures.

With all of the shenanigans taking place on Bourbon Street, the ER was always frantic over the weekends. Every doctor and nurse needed an extra set of hands . . . volunteer hands. On two evenings, I helped deliver babies. During one of these deliveries, the doctor was called away due to a life-or-death struggle in another part of the ER. As he ran out of the room, he yelled to me: “Doctor, please finish up here.” I did!

I found the more hours I volunteered, the more the regular staff trusted me. Simple suturing became my second specialty. This was easy for me based on all my zoology experience focusing on comparative vertebrate anatomy. I had the good fortune to participate in many of Audubon Park Zoo autopsies when animals died.

One memory stands out from all those many volunteered Saturday evenings. A young man had been hatched in a fight in the French Quarter. The extensive gash ran almost 15” on his left arm. The doctor assigned this case had just started suturing the young man when he was called away for a “Code Blue.” Again, the doctor told me to finish up! I did. I put 72 beautiful, well-formed stitches into this young man’s arm, and if I have to say so myself, I did a great job!

After completing the suturing job, the doctor returned, surveyed my work, and commended me for a really “neat job.” All of these hours and experiences were recorded on 1^st Year Medical Students Log Sheets and signed-off each night by the supervising ER doctor.

My life pretending to be a medical student grew bolder! I started accompanying Bruce to his Saturday morning classes. The large teaching theaters held over one hundred students. It was easy to just put on my white coat and blend in with the assembly.

During one of these regular assemblies, students were routinely called on to give a preliminary diagnosis for a patient hauled into the teaching theater. Charity Hospital was filled with hundreds of candidates suitable for study. On one of these mornings mid-way through the first semester, I got called on!

I was in shock. Bruce shook me and uttered some words that I would have to go down to the floor of the classroom and make a diagnosis . . . . . . . . or he would be cooked! I glanced at the clock and realized there were less than five minutes left in the class. I felt in my belly that I could “wing it” for five minutes, and then I would get lost in the crowd as they left the classroom.

Walking slowly to the front of the room, I said “hello” to the teacher, and introduced myself to the patient. This middle aged woman immediately volunteered that she was suffering from pain in her upper chest and raised her dressing gown revealing a large lump under her left arm. Holding her arm up, I carefully examined the lump, then covered the lump with her gown and placed her arm beside her body. I turned to the class and said in a quiet, confident voice: “Doctor, this lady has a cyst.” The doctor confirmed my diagnosis, but thought my statement was less than complete.

The bell rang followed by a hundred students leaping to their feet and shoving their way towards the exits. I thought to myself, if I can just throw myself into this group and leave quickly, I’ll be safe . . . . Bruce will be safe!

I found myself squeezing and elbowing towards the door, but then there was this hand on my shoulder. The teaching doctor arrested my forward motion, turned me around, and said: “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before!”

One of my built-in problems was my huge sense of honesty. Without thinking, I said: “Doctor, I am not a student.” The shocked look on the teacher’s face was only matched by the pallor that fell over Bruce’s face. I knew that I was in deep trouble.

The teacher, holding my arm, walked me to the Dean of the Tulane Medical School’s Office. He left me with the Dean’s Secretary, knocked on the Dean’s Office door, opened the door, and vanished into the chasm.

It seemed like hours passed before the Dean’s Office door re-opened. The teacher requested I come in and have a seat. This was followed by the teacher rendering a full explanation of what happened. Every word he said seemed like a nail driven into my academic coffin.

The teacher then left the room, quietly closing the door behind him. The Dean stared intensely at me through his small oval glasses that bounced on the end of his nose. Then, he started roaring at me!

“What the hell do you think you were doing?” roared the Medical School Dean. “We just can’t have people coming in off the street and man-handling our patients.”

I interrupted the Dean explaining the purpose for my volunteering hundreds of hours in Charity Hospital’s ER. Trying to speak calmly, I told the Dean I was just trying to find out if I really was “cut out” to be a doctor. The Dean’s demeanor grew more explosive as I shared some details of my service. I told him how much I appreciated helping when help was needed; I told him of the bed pans; I explained the times I was called upon to finishing suturing; I even mentioned my assistance in the two birthing procedures.

Then, the room was filled with a deafening silence. We sat there for what seemed like hours . . . . looking at each other. Then he lowered his head and said: “I have to make an example out of you, and your roommate.” We just can’t afford to have this happen without punishing the guilty parties.

I remember begging the Dean not to interfere with my roommate’s medical school experience. I said: “You can do anything you want with me, but please don’t hurt Bruce. He was only trying to help me.” But the Dean would have none of it! Bruce was to be expelled from Medical School, and he would ask the Dean of Arts & Science to discipline me, his academic words for being expelled.

I remained quiet for a few moments, then, grasping my clipboard with all my signed-off volunteer hours, I abruptly started making a few quiet “points” to the Dean. I asked him what the people of New Orleans would think if they knew the Medical School allowed a 20 year-old undergraduate student to suture-up patients, take part in birthing babies, and provide care for injuries. I went further telling the Dean: “If you throw Bruce out of Medical School, I will call a press conference the next day and let the City of New Orleans know what you let me do!”

By this time, I was waving my clipboard with signed-off volunteer hours (and tasks) sheets. I added loudly: “Dean, this is my proof. What is the media going to say?”

Again, there was another of those horrible silences. The Dean took off his glasses, cleaned them, and looking squinty-eyed at me said: “What do you want?”

In a quiet voice that came from somewhere deep within me, I said: “Dean, all I want is that you do not harm my roommate’s medical career. After all of these experiences, I really don’t want to be a doctor. If you let Bruce go, and don’t inform my Dean, you will never hear from me again.”

I made the snap decision that Medical School was not for me even though I had been accepted in the next freshman medical school class. This really was not a “snap” decision. I was anguishing over this dilemma for months. I just needed a “push” to make up my mind.

The Dean’s response was quick. He said in a low, muffled tone: “Just get out of here.”

I jumped up and walked quickly towards the door. Before I reached to turn the door knob, the Dean interjected: “Hell son, you should never have been a doctor, you should be a lawyer.” I turned around with a bit of a grin on my face and replied: “You’re right!”

Now I did it! I made my decision. Now, I would have to tell Dad and live with the consequences. Bruce’s medical career was never impacted by my volunteering in the ER. He went on to become a successful doctor in Amarillo, Texas.

A Car in College

I didn’t get a car until my junior year of college. My wonderfully protective family wanted to make sure I would appreciate a car. I always had access to the family Buick, but I usually just grabbed a ride with Billy, Jim, (“Volkswagen Man”), or Kay. In college, I didn’t need a car because the Ferret Jet” (New Orleans bus) was always available, or a New Orleans street car. But every person needs a car! It is a sacred rite associated with “coming-of-age.”

I found my dream car during a weekend trip to Houston. It was a used, baby blue 1962 Thunderbird! It was beautiful! It had the lines of a piece of art, and had less than 5,000 miles on her! Dad helped me buy it matching my money dollar-for-dollar. I can’t fully share the great pride that filled me as I drove my first car off the Used Car Lot.

Mom and Dad were a little concerned since I would be driving the T-Bird back and forth to New Orleans. I gently reminded them about all of the overnight train rides that filled my first three years of college, and the great adventures that filled each one of these trips. Surely, these experiences qualified me for cross-country travel!

Although many of my classmates flew home, I found myself spending many holidays sleeping on the floor at Moisant Airport (Louis B. Armstrong Airport). It seems that the great god of weather found it interesting to fog-in the airport during holidays, thereby canceling flight after flight. I just found it more reliable to buy a ticket on the overnight train leaving New Orleans at 10:00 PM and arriving in downtown Houston around 6:00 AM! I remember my Dad always meeting me with a huge grin on his face.

Dad had taken me on several business trips earlier in my life. We always traveled by train. I learned to appreciate the nuances of train travel, including the importance of becoming friends with the conductor and porters, and how to handle sleeping arrangements. Pullman cars that made-up into beds at night always fascinated me.

I remember one great Tulane Choir trip to Mexico. We were traveling from Monterrey to Mexico City by train. This proved to be a high speed swerving and jarring experience. The fun really began when the Mexican Porter transformed our seating car into sleeping berths. I remember climbing into the bed with my focus on the countryside leaping past my train window.

Then, I focused my gaze at the foot of my berth. There was some kind of latch I never noticed before. After looking at it for several minutes, I decided any “good latch” needed to be pulled! Without anticipating the consequences, I went ahead and released the latch, and immediately found myself folded up into the wall! I was to learn this latch held the bed in place! Now, my nose was resting against my legs and I was trapped. After considerable wiggling, I was finally able to slip my hand and arm out of the bed and began waving it in the train aisle.

Of course, this catastrophe occurred around 2:00 AM, so I had to wait several hours to be rescued. The running joke was that I had given “berth” to a new form of train travel.

Medical School Decision Takes Me to Austin

I withheld my discussion with Dad until after graduation. I didn’t want to upset their fun at my Graduation Ceremony. So all through my senior year, I was telling my parents that I was going to be “that doctor.”

When I arrived back in Houston after Graduation, Dad helped me unpack my car and carry my “stuff” up to my room. I remember Dad saying: “Why didn’t you leave some of this stuff in New Orleans since you will be going back in the fall?” A flare of honesty crossed over me and I blurted-out: “Dad, I am not going to be a doctor . . . . I have decided to go to Law School in Austin.”

Dad didn’t say anything to me. He didn’t talk to me for several days. I would catch him staring at me from time to time, but no words. The silence was horrible. Then he said: “Mom and I think it would be best if you go ahead and move up to Austin. This will give you time to find a job.”

I re-packed my car the next day and headed to Austin. I had no job, no place to stay, and was not yet accepted to Law School. Luckily, I had taken the Law School Aptitude Test while in New Orleans, passed it, and applied to the University of Texas School of Law. UT Law was reputed to be one of the twelve best law schools in the country, but I had no idea how they would react to my late application. Dad gave me a few dollars, but let me know I was on my own for this law career.

Arriving in Austin mid-day, I set out to find an apartment close to school. I had tucked away some of my previous summers’ job earnings giving me enough money for two months . . . . if I scrimped! My main priority now was finding a job.

I stalked the halls of the Law School checking out bulletin boards that might give me a clue about potential jobs! The bulletin boards had unfortunately been cleared for the summer, but I ran across a wonderful secretary in the Law School Dean’s Office. She told me the Texas Legislature was going to be meeting in Special Session that summer, and they would be looking for aspiring law students for staff! This was music to my ears!

It was quickly apparent I was not going to get any job unless I had the support and sponsorship of a state legislator. Then I saw it! My high school Government Teacher was now a member of the State Legislature! It took me about 20 minutes driving like a mad man to get to the State Capitol. I located Hank Grover’s Office, and sat myself down in the outer office until he returned from a committee meeting.

The look on Hank Grover’s face was amazing! It was like he was looking at a long lost relative. He came over, shook my hand, and hugged me! I have to admit I really needed this because I had no friends in Austin. His hug was reaffirming!

Grover sat me down in his office and asked what he could do. I explained my job dilemma, and that I only had two months of resources. He told me not to worry, and to head over to the Texas Railroad Commission. He said he had some influence there and he would help me find a job!

Hank had called ahead “greasing the wheels” at the Texas Railroad Commission.

I later learned this legendary state agency had little to do with trains, but was charged with the responsibility of regulating oil wells in Texas! The staff member interviewing job candidates asked me if I knew anything about zip codes. I responded that I knew the U.S. Post Office would soon require all mail addresses include a zip code, but that was about it! That was enough. She told me I was hired!

I found out later I had the job as soon as I opened the door to the building. This was to be my first involvement with “legislative influence.” I was totally grateful! Unfortunately, it was only a part-time job . . . . I had to find something else to help supplement my income.

State Capitol Building Tour Guide

The halls of the State Capitol were wondrous, filled with inspiring pictures depicting the history of Texas and its great citizens. At the time of its completion in 1888, it was one of the largest buildings in the world. It was taller than the U.S. Capitol Building. I felt inspired to discover every bit of history about this larger than life building.

I seemed more drawn to the Senate side of the State Capitol Building. Maybe this resulted from the beauty of H.A. McArdle’s historic pictures hanging in the Senate Chamber. I found myself sharing facts about these paintings with visitors, and came up with the great idea to approach the Secretary of the Senate for a job being a tour guide. There was no State Capitol Tour Guide Service in 1965.

To my surprise, Secretary of the Senate Charles Schnabel offered me a part-time job giving tours. I was to set up a folding chair at the base of the stairwell on the Senate side of the Capitol, have an identification badge, and offer tours to visitors. I soon became known as “super cricket” because of the way I would leap from my chair to offer tours. The Senate even made me a badge that said “Super Cricket”.

I loved this job. It gave me such an appreciation for Texas History and this grand old building. I was researching Texas History day and night! To my surprise, the Senate took down the McArdle paintings for restoration and cleaning. This revealed intricate historic details penned on the back of the paintings by the painter himself. I would use these bits of trivia to enrich my tours and bring a bit of humor to the tour groups.

I remember standing in front of McArdle’s “Dawn at the Alamo,” a 13’ x 8’ painting of the last morning of the siege at the Alamo. A wonderful group of elderly, blue-haired ladies were on my tour of the Capitol. One of these ladies noticed that McArdle painted a dog at the bottom of the picture. She asked me: “Young man, can you please tell me the name of that dog in the painting?” Since the title of the painting was “Dawn at the Alamo,” I quipped: “Lady, the dog’s name is Dawn.”

One of the other questions I always received was how in the 1880’s did they place the Goddess of Liberty Statue on top of the Capitol Building. The answer they liked best was my expanded explanation which relied on the ancient Egyptian Principle of the inclined plane. I told them the builders constructed a huge ramp from Town Lake up to the top of the Capitol Building, and pushed the statue up the ramp to the top of the dome. Everyone seemed satisfied they had just heard the best explanation about this great 16’ two thousand pound statue. In reality, records show the statue was hoisted to the top of the capitol by a crane, but visitors always liked my slanted view of history!

A New Texas Senate Job

I soon finished my zip code job at the Railroad Commission. It took me three months to add zip codes to the addresses of every oil well in Texas, but all good things have to come to an end. Again, I was searching for a job, but this time it would have to be one that wouldn’t interfere with Law School. Yes, I was accepted into the 1965 Law School Class.

Relying on my Senate friends, I discovered the Senate Post Office needed someone to post newspapers/mail from 4:00 A.M. to 7:00 AM. This job would be perfect since it would allow me to attend morning classes. I snapped up the job and launched my career with the Texas Senate.

It always amazed me the number of newspapers that arrived at the Senate each day. Every hometown publication was of key importance to a State Senator’s career, so he had to have a copy of the hometown newspaper. Notice I said “he.” There were no women yet in the State Senate.

Every morning I made coffee in a giant coffee pot. It would be ready for the Sergeant-at-Arm’s Staff when they arrived around 7:00 AM. Every morning an older man would wander through the mail room, get his letters and Lubbock newspapers, and walk on through to his office. Living outside Texas for four years, I was unfamiliar with the body politic. It took me several weeks to learn this older man walking through my mail room was Lt. Governor Preston Smith!

I started having this old man’s coffee ready for him when he arrived. He was absolutely the most punctual man I ever knew, a trait he imparted to me! He started bringing a few doughnuts and we would spend about 10 minutes enjoying the quiet of the morning, and discussing world events. He was sharp . . . . . always looking for the relevance of today’s events, and comparing them to other politically historic happenings.

On one of these mornings, Preston Smith told me a bit of gossip! It related to the “goings on” between rival staff members. We discussed the conflicts between the two parties, and then agreed not to mention it again. Two weeks later, the Lt. Governor arrived a bit early for our usual coffee session. He looked more business-like. This was highly unusual because our mornings had always been filled with light, frivolous chatter.

Preston Smith looked me in the eye and said: “You never revealed our conversation about my rival staff members.” I had a sudden loss for words because I didn’t know where the conversation was going. He added that he had fed me a “line-of-bologna” to see if I could keep my mouth closed! After two weeks, he heard nothing from anyone about this “bologna” story, and suggested I was a trustworthy person. He then leaned over and said seven words that would change my immediate life: “I want you to work for me.” My heart was pounding just thinking the Lt. Governor of Texas wanted me to work for him.

I learned a most valuable political lesson. The MOST important characteristic politicians look for in their employees was “tight lips,” and “extreme loyalty.” This was true then and still bears great weight today!

I was still in Law School at UT, but this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I found myself coming to the Capitol early, leaving for morning classes, then returning to the Senate Chamber to help in that day’s assignments. I was working as an Assistant assigned to Jeff Davis, Sergeant-at-Arms.

My respect for Jeff Davis was boundless. He taught me about the Art of Senate Politics, and that lofty Senators were just like everyone else. Jeff introduced me to his good friend, Senator Jim Bates.

Edinburg Senator Jim Bates told me: “Son, you put on your pants the same way I do: one leg at a time!” He taught me not to be intimidated by anyone; I was just as “big” as they were! I learned so much from this outstanding senator who on more than one occasion would go to “bat” for me! He showed me the importance of a strong sense of loyalty.

Jeff Davis pointed out that a few Senators were hugely respected for their knowledge of Senate Rules, and how to they wielded those rules to get what they wanted. Senator Dorsey Hardeman from San Angelo was the Master of the Rules. If he got up to oppose your motion or amendment, you knew your legislation was going to bog down.

Another great Rules Man, Babe Schwartz from Galveston, taught me the importance of senatorial integrity and standing up for what you believe. He taught me how to give a speech, and how to point your finger without making anyone think you were pointing at them!

Other State Senators also played a big role in my life. Ralph Hall from Rockwall always helped me accomplish whatever task needed to be done. He showed me the importance of fairness in dealing with people that didn’t agree with you. He went on to become one of the longest-serving United States Congressman from Texas, and often showed up at educational events I would host later in Dallas.

I was also fond of tall, lanky Charlie Wilson from East Texas. His easy-go-lucky attitude made him a loveable member of the Senate who got-along with everyone. Then, there was the “Bull of the Brazos,” Senator Bill More from Bryan/College Station. He had earned his “Bull” reputation based on his stern demeanor and unwavering control of the Senate State Affairs Committee.

As would happen during a “testy” legislative session, work would continue deep into the night. Senators would wander away from the Senate floor until someone requested a Quorum Call. If there were too few senators, the Senate would have to adjourn. Of course, the Lt. Governor wanted to finish that day’s business, so he would put a “Call” on the Senate” which meant the Senate Sergeant-at-Arms would have to find and bring back absent senate members.

I never had a problem finding the “Gray Fox,” Senator Grady Hazelwood. The senator told me if the Senate needed his vote, I could always find him at the private Citadel Club in the historic Driskill Hotel. If he was inebriated, I was to bring him back, sit him in his senate chair, and vote him “Aye” by holding up one of his fingers. Mission accomplished on more than one evening.

Bringing in Bill Moore was a bigger issue. He lived across the street from the Capitol in the Westgate building. I planned ahead and brought two Department of Public Safety Officers as “back-up.” They proved to be useless because they feared their career would be damaged by hassling such a powerful member of the Senate. I noticed they stayed near the elevator as I walked about 100 feet to the Senator’s apartment.

There was no answer to my first two knocks on the door. I started to knock a third time when the door banged open revealing a man with his shirt tail out, holding a bottle of bourbon in one hand, and sloshing liquid out of a glass with his other hand. I proceeded to tell the Senator the Lt. Governor had put a “Call” on the Senate, and I was there to escort him back to the Senate Chamber.

The roar that came out of this man was chilling! I wasn’t sure if it was anger or laughter. He told me in no uncertain words that I was not going to take him over to the Senate. He looked at my 5’4” height and laughingly said, “Son, do you really think you’re going to be able to make me do anything?” I remember saying: “Senator, I just don’t know, but I am going to start biting you on the knee and continue to bite until you come back to the Senate.”

Senator Moore apparently thought this was the funniest thing he had ever heard! Here was a short kid willing to bite him on his knee! I could see him picturing this event in his mind. I glared at him with every ounce of intensity in my body. It worked! The Senator grabbed his coat and we headed to the elevator. Riding down on the elevator, the senator looked at the DPS officers and said: “You guys need a bulldog like this one on your force.” Everyone laughed.

Playing Golf With Lt. Governor Preston Smith

As Senate friendships developed, I found Preston would take me to play golf with him. I always asked Preston why he wanted to play golf with such an inexperienced golfer like myself. He responded: “Son, every politician needs someone to make him look good!” I knew then I was there to help make him look good!

I used to “kid” Preston about taking advantage of my poor golfing skills, and suggested he should at least buy me some golf lessons. He laughingly agreed, gave me some money, and set up some golf lessons with the “Pro” at the Austin Municipal Golf Course.

I arrived at the first lesson with my set of clubs and lots of jitters. I knew how bad I was! The Pro asked me for the $50 fee, and directed me to show him my golf swing. If I remember right, I almost missed the ball. My throat choked up as I looked at the exasperated expression on the Pro’s face.

The Professional Golfer was trying to find the right words to express his thoughts. He finally said: “Marks, here is your $50 dollars back. I can’t do anything to help you.” He stomped off before I could say anything.

I returned to my car and cruised around Austin contemplating what I was going to tell the boss. Two hours later, I heard a news flash on the radio that said: “Famed Golf Professional has died of a heart attack at the Austin Municipal Golf Course.”

They were talking about the Golf Pro I just talked to several hours earlier! I was horrified! Was my golf swing so bad that it gave the Pro a heart attack? I guess I will never know, but I do feel some sense of responsibility for his passing.

Working in the Senate at Night

Working for Lt. Governor Preston Smith often meant spending 16-18 hours a day in the Senate. I was always amazed about the people I would see working in the Senate late at night.

I remember the time I saw a light in the Lt. Governor’s Office after 8:00 PM and decided to investigate. Maybe Keith or one of my other Senate friends had returned to work on a project so I wanted to say “hello.” I opened the door to the inner office. I didn’t find Keith, but a Texas House Member named Bob Bullock.

Bob was stunned I caught him in Preston’s office! He was caught red-handed copying the information inscribed on key donor index cards. Interestingly, Bob Bullock and I became good friends after that! Whenever our paths would cross in the years ahead, he always went out of his way to show me respect and courtesy. I never revealed I found him in Preston’s Office . . . . until now!

Bob Bullock would go on to become one of the State’s outstanding Lt. Governors. I remember visiting the Senate Chamber Gallery years later during a lobbying visit to the Capitol. Bob was presiding over the Senate. He saw me in the gallery and beckoned me to come down to the floor. He met me at the Senate door, stunning the Doorman, and walked me up to his presiding platform. We visited for ten minutes before he had to resume his duties. Bob was always such a gentleman. I was delighted to see the new Texas State History Museum would be named after Bob Bullock!

The key to any political campaign can be measured by the contact lists and files maintained on that politician’s constituents. Preston Smith had thousands and thousands of political contacts set out on individual index cards that were organized by community. These cards had the name of the contact, family information, donations, and past working alliances. This information was worth political gold. It meant if Preston were to visit Amarillo, he could go through his cards indexed “Amarillo” and see the names of everyone in that area who supported him . . . . including their wife’s and children’s names.

On more than one occasion, I saw Preston disembark from an airplane to find a large group of admirers waiting for him. He would go through his index cards before exiting the plane, and meet the public with full knowledge about the people he was greeting along with something personal to say about their family. Everyone he greeted seemed to appreciate they were “special” to him.

I remember this same quality in President Lyndon Johnson. I had the opportunity to work for his 1964 Presidential Campaign during my college days. On one of LBJ’s campaign trips to New Orleans, I had a chance to visit with him before he was going out to “work the crowd.” I asked him: “Doesn’t shaking hands make you extremely tired?”

LBJ looked me squarely in the face and confirmed it wore him out, but he took the time to explain the “basics” of handshaking. He showed me how you have to take control of the handshake by placing your thumb behind the thumb of the person you’re greeting. This keeps them from “milking” your hand or gouging their rings into your hand. “Any way,” he said, “I love meeting these people.”

I accompanied President Johnson and his entourage of Secret Service to the reception where I observed him shaking hands with hundreds of grateful people. He always made everyone feel special because he seemed to know something about everyone. Maybe this is a Texas trait, but it seems to work everywhere.

My Next Visit with LBJ

I would not see LBJ again until after I did my military service and setup my office in Austin’s Westgate Building. I had a great patio office on the first floor located next to the Texas Trial Lawyers Association and Jake Jacobsen’s Office, LBJ’s trusted Legislative Assistant. My office location was ideal for my legislative and consulting activities.

Lyndon Johnson had now completed his Presidency and returned to Texas residing at his 1500 acre working ranch along the Pedernales River. I always kidded Jake that the next time LBJ came to Austin, he should bring him over to my office for a visit. Jake would laugh and we would go our separate ways.

Then, one day, without any advanced notice, my front office door opened. I could hear my secretary talking to some people I would soon learn to be LBJ’s Secret Service Detail. They wanted to know who was in the office. She explained it was only me. This was quickly followed by the loud footsteps of men walking fast down my outer hallway. I opened my office door to see President Johnson and Jake Jacobsen heading in my direction, after stopping briefly to see rural bluebonnet paintings I had “on-loan” from the Country Store Gallery.

The first thing Johnson said to me was: “Boy, where did you get this rug?” My offices were carpeted with bright orange shag carpet. The carpet pile was so deep that walking barefoot was almost like walking on a floor of hay.

The President looked around my office spotting a picture of John F. Kennedy on my wall. He strode over to that picture, ripped it off the wall, and flung it swirling across my mahogany desk. He did it with such force that the photo flew completely across the desk and fell crashing to the floor breaking the cover glass. The sound startled the Secret Service Detail who arrived with guns drawn. LBJ quieted them down and sent them out of the room.

I will never forget what LBJ said to me after the picture broke. He said: “I thought we got rid of them.” There are just too many meanings to speculate on what the President was thinking at that time.

My inner office had a large gold chair that I used. This was flanked by a three-seater greenish velvet couch flanked by end tables and gold harvest lamps. Lyndon situated himself on the large couch, and his 6’4” frame just seemed to expand across the whole piece of furniture. Jake had to sit in an adjoining chair. LBJ said: “Let’s talk.”

Again, this personal interest displayed by a veteran politician was admirable. Before entering my office, he had stopped to shake hands with my secretary, a lovely young lady who was married to a descendant of the Indian Chief Quanah Parker. She told him about her husband. He wanted to know more about Quanah Parker, but Jake moved him on to my office.

In my office, on my couch, he turned his full attention to me. We had a heart-felt dialogue about what I was trying to do to improve Texas State Legislative Research, and to track legislation as it flowed through the process. He got up and strolled around the room examining photos of my wife and daughters, diplomas, and awards. He wished me all the best with my endeavors, and strolled nonchalantly out the door of my office. I was never to see LBJ again.

My Wonderful Joy (Virginia Joyce Williams)

The summer before I started Law School was filled with a special person, Virginia Joyce Williams. I met Joy when my family decided to vacation in Eureka Springs, Arkansas during the summer of 1965. I really didn’t want to go to Arkansas. Mom and I always tried to steer Dad to take vacations in Colorado, but for some reason, Dad was hooked on stories praising the beauty of Eureka Springs.

We arrived at this quaint “tourist court” called Mount Air. It had few amenities, but it was chocked full of families and kids, including the Guy Williams Family. I soon became resigned to the idea that it was going to be a dull summer trip. Yes, Eureka Springs had mountains, but it was warm and humid with little to keep me occupied.

As it turned out, I was the oldest “young man” at the motel; Joy Williams was the oldest “young lady” at the motel. It seemed we just got stuck with the young kids when parents wanted to go shopping, or sightseeing. It didn’t take me long to realize this girl was special. We both had strong personalities that just “clicked.” I knew she was going to be a success in life, and she seemed to believe in me. I fell in love with this cute, blond headed sweetheart!

Joy and I corresponded over the next few months. She was teaching elementary school in Memphis; I was entering my first year of law school in Austin. Our letters became more intense which spurred an invitation to visit the Williams home during the Christmas Holidays.

I arrived in the middle of a snow/ice storm. I stayed at Memphis’ famous Peabody Hotel known for its ducks swimming in a small pool located in the lobby. Unfortunately, the hotel was located downtown so it turned into an ice storm adventure just getting a taxi to take me to the Williams home in the suburbs. Ice was inches deep on the roads topped off with inches of snow. I distinctly remember the taxi driver demanding a tip for this hazardous adventure.

I finally arrived at the Williams home located on a 10’ rise above the ground. I barely could stride up the icy side walk, but finally made it. Rang the bell! Joy’s Mom, Louise, answered the door. She swung open the screen door which inadvertently knocked me off the front porch. I went backwards sliding down the sidewalk to the street level. This probably did not give the Williams the best impression of this ambitious young Texan.

I remember Joy and I decided to leave the house for dinner at a Trader Vic’s Hawaiian Restaurant located a block from their house. We trudged through the ice and snow arriving at this little “harbor of happiness.” With such bleak weather, this restaurant was perfect for two lovers.

I knew I wanted to marry Joy the first time I met her, but I barely knew her! We had just spent 10 days together in Eureka Springs, followed by dozens of letter exchanges, but I was certain she was the perfect girl for me.

During that cold, unusual visit to Memphis, I asked Joy to marry me! I remember her eyes being big as saucers, but she didn’t say “No.” She said we needed to take a little more time to think about this. I therefore invited her to come to Houston to visit my family over Easter Vacation.

Joy and I had our Houston rendezvous all planned. We had lots of fun things on our schedule, but I had just one secret plan: I was going to ask her to marry me again!

I sprung the question! She said: “Yes.” I was bursting with happiness. We decided to tell my family at lunch on Sunday. Mom had planned a special outing at Houston’s famous “Sunny Looks Steakhouse.”

We arrived at the steak house, made a little small talk, and placed our order. Then, as my Dad was biting into an olive from the salad, I announced Joy and I were going to get married! There was a moment of absolute quiet, followed by my Dad exclaiming that he had just broken off his front tooth biting into the olive. They were shocked, but extremely happy for us. We had their blessing.

I don’t think the Williams ever liked the idea their little girl would be moving to Texas. It seemed Louise just didn’t like me. She introduced me several times as “What’s his face.” But I look back at this now, with the benefit of having my own family, and better understand that it must have been hard to see Joy leave Memphis.

Joy discovered she needed to take Texas Government before she could teach school in Texas, so we arranged for her to come to Austin during that summer and take a course at the University of Texas. I would take summer courses at the Law School and she would take her Government class at UT. And we, together, would set out the course for our life.

These were wonderful, romantic days. We filled our free time exploring Lake Travis, and enjoying John Sanders’ famous peach daiquiris. John lived on the floor directly below my small one-room apartment in Austin. We became great friends when my toilet exploded sending all kinds of mess into John’s bathroom.

John had already received his naval commission and was doing graduate study at UT. All John wanted to do was water ski using his 15’ motor boat. He tried to teach me to ski, but it didn’t work. He admitted later he was having fun with me by pretending to teach me to ski when the water temperature was 45 degrees.

I remember being positioned in the water and anticipating the boat jerking me up to a standing position, but the boat didn’t move. I kept yelling to John urging him to start the boat, but the boat didn’t move. He said he was having difficulty starting the boat, but this was just an excuse to stall. He knew my legs would get stiffer and stiffer in the cold water!

When the boat finally started and bolted forward, I found my legs were frozen. I couldn’t fully extend them to rise up out of the water on the skis. I ended up drinking gallons of water as I was being pulled face-first through the lake. He laughed his “nose” off; I was frozen, but shared the humor of the experience. Not to worry, we developed into a great duo: I would drive the boat and he would ski. I “accidentally-on-purpose” ran John into a partially submerged fence as payback for the frozen ski lesson episode. Good Memories.

Joy loved going boating with John. She was quite a sailor having taught sailing and waterfront activities through the Girl Scouts.

I wanted to impress Joy, so I asked John to secretly teach me how to sail his SunFish sailboat. Although I had been a two-week member of the Tulane Sailing Club, I never developed any real sailing skills. (Remember, I sunk my Tulane boat).

John would get me started and I would be fine for about 50 feet, then I would flip the boat. This went on hour after hour as I tried to learn basic skills. I just admitted to myself I was not cut out to be a sailor, and limited myself to driving John’s boat!

The Whitman Tower Episode

During that summer of ’66, everything was wonderful. Joy was staying at a supervised living community for young ladies, so on more than one occasion, I had to help her over the exterior wall so she could bypass the locked front door.

But one thing happened that almost ruined our summer: a crazed shooter mounted the University of Texas Tower Building arriving on the 28^th floor, and began firing on the crowd below during a busy lunch time. Charles Whitman was to kill more than a dozen people, and wound thirty-one others.

I was in a Law School Class when the shooting alarm reached my classroom. We were encouraged to take shelter. Of course, what did all the students do? We trampled each other trying to get out the front door to look at the tower! We could hear “pops” and see bullet flares rising from the observation deck of the tower. Then, the bullets started peppering the ground in front of us!

I ran back inside to find a phone realizing Joy would have been crossing the main campus courtyard headed to her Government Class. Panic filled my heart! Was Joy one of the injured or killed? I jumped in my car and tried to approach the base of the tower, but Police would not allow me anywhere near the building. I pulled off the road and jumped out of the car. Shots were continuing to rain down from the Tower.

I was stunned to see crazy people with rifles shooting at the Tower. These were not Police, but Texas gun enthusiasts. I knew they wouldn’t be able to “take out” Whitman, but their careless shooting could create dangers for the people huddling behind planters and stone structures in the plaza. One of these bullets could hit Joy.

The minutes that followed were some of the longest in my life. It was more than two hours before I would learn Joy was safe, and had taken refuge behind a stone structure in the courtyard. I remember embracing her with all my might when I found her after the shooting. This horrendous event would crystallize how much Joy meant to me . . . . . and would mean to me throughout our 53 years of marriage. (As of 2020)

Joy returned to Memphis and spent the year teaching. I would spend my time in my second year of legal study, with emphasis on being a young politician with a great job in the Texas Senate.

The Wedding and Honeymoon

A full year later, August 19, 1967, Joy and I would marry in Memphis Tennessee. It was a beautiful wedding at Bellevue Baptist Church, but I have to admit I remember little from the ceremony, except for the mind-flashes from the wedding photos. You might say I was in shock as I contemplated all the consequences ahead of me.

The wedding reception was held at the church, and again I have almost no memory except for how excited my Dad was to throw rice on us as we left the reception area. My Aunt Katherine, the grand dame of my mother’s family, graced us with her presence at the wedding, along with my dear Uncle Joe and Auntie Carol Ann.

I do remember the Bachelor Party coordinated by Bill Bammel and attended by the groomsmen. Knowing Billy, I knew this was not going to be completely fun! He arranged the party in a small ballroom at the Memphis Holiday Inn, the event hotel. Yes, there was the usual drinking and good stories, but then the command was given to grab me. They ripped off my clothes and shaved my “private areas” in front of everyone! I am naturally a physically shy person, so this mortified me.

I still don’t know who all saw me in “the natural,” but I am sure it was payback for the prank we played on Billy at his bachelor party in 1966. We put a combination padlock on his genitals and gave the combination to the hotel front desk clerk.

Joy and I stayed overnight in Memphis at a motel closer to the airport. This got us away from the wedding frenzy, and made it easier for us to get to the airport the next morning. I remember going out to the car only to find it was surrounded by dozens of cats. Billy confessed he placed frozen shrimp in the car’s hub caps before we left the wedding reception. The shrimp thawed overnight and attracted quite a bit of excitement at the motel.

I was so glad to board the early morning flight to Acapulco, Mexico. I found a wonderful honeymoon package at Las Brisas that offered a private bungalow and pool draped in red hibiscus and bougainvillea. We also had a private “Pink Jeep” that could take us around the city, or into the mountains.

I was concerned about the Jeep because it had a 5-speed on-the-floor transmission. My experiences in the Air Force told me shift vehicles were my bane! I remember being tasked with driving my Air Force General up Congress Avenue during a Veterans Day Parade. The Air Force sedan had a shift transmission.

The parade was about a mile long with marching bands and soldiers, but for some reason beyond understanding, they made the parade stop at every light! This was totally crazy . . . . . not only for the marching units, but also for one inexperienced air force driver, ME! Every stop was characterized by jerky starts and stops resulting from my lack of experience using a clutch.

When we arrived at the State Capitol Building, the General leaped from the sedan, stuck his head back into the passenger-side window, and said: “Son, I survived World War II and the Korean War, but I just about didn’t survive the drive to the State Capitol Building.” I was never assigned to drive the General again.

This history of “fear-of-the-shift” would plague me when I learned the Las Brisas jeeps had a 5 speed gear-on-the-floor shift. I reached out to David Vinson, my Best Man, to help me with this problem. He had access to a Jeep, so I figured he could give me some real driving instruction.

Dave was a brilliant instructor! His calm demonstration of 5-speed shifting made sense and I quickly picked-up the technique. Now, the interplay between shifting and the clutch made sense. I was driving like a “pro” in one afternoon. This experience would be pivotal during our honeymoon in Acapulco.

Joy and I decided to take a Jeep side-trip into the mountains South of Acapulco. We asked the young couple in the bungalow adjacent to our room to join us on this trip. They were delighted because their wedding package didn’t come with a Pink Jeep!

The four of us set out with great anticipation . . . . . again . . . . . another adventure.

We drove the Jeep several miles off road seeing some of the small villages, rural people, and pigs. Then, about five miles into our off-road experience, we were stopped by a dozen well-armed military pointing their guns at us, and telling us in Spanish we needed to return to the main road. It didn’t take much encouragement for me to turn the Jeep around and get back on the main road. We later learned rebels in the area had been causing problems, and these Policia Federal were undertaking a clean-up operation. We almost wandered into a shout-out.

We all decided it would be best to return to the hotel. Spirits were high after getting ourselves out of this conflict. Then, without warning, I discovered the brakes were failing. I pumped the brakes like a madman, but had little response. We were headed down a hilly, winding road with an ocean drop off to the left of the road. A steep soil embankment went up from the right side of the road.

Our speed was increasing! I had only seconds to respond before we would encounter downhill curves, so I veered sharply to the right. This drove the front of the Jeep into the soil embankment bringing us to an abrupt stop, but we were safe. No one was thrown out of the jeep; there was minimal damage to the vehicle.

The accident occurred within sight of Las Brisas. We walked back to the hotel and had them pick up their Jeep. The hotel was hugely apologetic and “comped” a dinner in their Open Air Master Dining Facility. This was to be a marvelous dining experience.

The Las Brisas stay was chocked full of fun experiences, like the time I injured myself in a physically “private area.” I remember telling Joy I needed to find a doctor. This would prove to be a challenge . . . . a language challenge. How do you talk to a wonderful Mexican Doctor about a “private-type” injury? The doctor did his best job to explain my injury would take care of itself. This was not encouraging when Joy wanted to go swimming in the ocean. I remember our hotel friends laughing at me saying they never saw anyone get out of salt water so quickly.

We returned to Austin ready to start a new career.

Post Script on my Law School Experience

I loved my law school experience and the demanding nature of every class, and the charisma of every law professor. Keith Markley and I started law school together by standing in the same hall in a line that stretched for 100 feet. The line was arranged alphabetically so Marks and Markley were standing next to each other. We immediately bonded with his Refugio country humor and my New Orleans jokes. We would remain best friends throughout Keith’s life.

My first year was traumatic. I had spent the preceding four years developing a highly sophisticated scientific background. There was so much to read in undergraduate school that I had to take a speed-reading course in New Orleans. It amazed me how a person could speed-read a book in just a few minutes and come away with 80-85% retention. Then Law School hit. Emphasis was placed on every single word, so that reading speed took a nose dive.

I also found that although I had taken the required English Courses, I was woefully unprepared to write law school documents. My first year was spent with my basic law subjects along with an intense effort learning how to write. This became even more evident when I got back my first semester exam from Professor James Treece. The low mark was a new experience for me.

I remember bolting to his office, knocking on the door with tears running down my face, and pleading: “Professor Treece, what did I do wrong?” He took pity on me and sat me down on the floor of his office. I was sitting next to a stack of exams over two feet tall. He said: “Read them.” I did, I read every word comparing my paper with these other papers. I was to learn the importance of knowing what a professor wanted from his students, and how best to feed it back to him. I would go on to take every class Professor Treece taught. This amounted to 24 class hours earning me an “A” in each of these classes.

Two other professors stick out in my mind. The most stinging experience I had in Law School would be in Charles Allen Wright’s Federal Courts class. September arrived and law students were headed to their first classes. I realized my Federal Courts class would be something special because it was being taught by the famous Charles Allen Wright. Friends told me he always felt jilted when President Eisenhower failed to appoint him to the U.S. Supreme Court. He therefore took out this grudge on his students.

It was the first day of class. The 150-seat amphitheater-style classroom was filled with energetic second year students. Renowned for his use of the Socratic teaching method, Wright’s eyes scanned the classroom and finally fell upon me. He said: “Mr. Marks, would you please tell us the facts of the first case?” I quietly replied that I was not prepared, and apologized.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have my textbook. I had just deposited my summer check in my Austin bank account, and hesitated to go to the campus bookstore before it cleared the bank. I arrived at this first class without my textbook and with no advance preparation. This, I would learn, was an unforgivable sin to Professor Wright.

Professor Wright’s eyes squinted as if to take in every inch of me. I thought sitting on the front row would demonstrate enthusiasm for the course and the teacher. Instead, it made me more vulnerable. His gaze finally went on to another student who recited the facts and the law in that first case.

Now, it was time for the class to consider the second case. Mr. Wright looked at me and said: “Mr. Marks, will you please tell us the facts of the second case?” I again begged his pardon explaining I didn’t have the money to buy the books yet, but I would be doubly prepared for the next class. The professor scowled at me again making every fiber of my body die a little bit. Another student was called on and provided the requested information.

Now, it was time for the third case. You could have cut the silence in the room with a knife! It was deafening. Professor Wright walked over in front of me and said in a powerful burst: “Mr. Marks, will you please tell us the facts of this case?”

At this point, tears were streaming down my face. The humiliation was horrible. He had made every effort to press his point that you better be ready for his class. I stood up quietly and started walking up the amphitheater steps leading out of the classroom. I could feel the sympathetic eyes of my classmates watching me stagger up the steps.

Then, without any warning, Professor Wright bellowed: “Marks, if you leave this classroom, you will never be allowed to return.” Inspired by an inner voice yelling in my ear I turned and said: “Professor Wright, I am sorry I did not have my textbook, but you should be ashamed for the way you’ve treated me. I will not come back into your classroom, BUT I will take your final exam and make an “A.” I stomped out of the classroom to the roaring applause of 149 other students.

As you can imagine, I only studied one thing that semester: Federal Courts. Most of the students eagerly shared their class notes with me. Since final exams were anonymous, I planned to submit my paper and get my grade. I earned an “A.” That was one of the hardest grades I’ve ever earned.

My favorite Law School Professor was visiting professor Dean Robert Drinan from Boston College of Law. He taught Family Law. He was intensely interesting, filling every class with hugely meaningful issues and questions. I think his teaching style may have come from his Jesuit Teaching Method which evolved from St. Ignatius of Loyola’s holistic view of the world. He was dynamic and mesmerizing. We never wanted his class to end.

I ended up working for him one semester as a student assistant. His influence stressing the importance of facts and being a “searcher for truth” still resonates in my mind today. He was my first “Commander Spock.” Dean Drinan would go on to be a U.S. Congressman from Boston until Pope John Paul II ruled that a priest could not hold political office. The country would miss his good efforts and wisdom.

I graduated from Law School, but never attended the famous Sunflower Graduation Ceremony. If my memory serves me, I was involved in a political campaign that needed immediate attention. Now, I wish I had attended. The campaign would not be successful and leaves no memories; the Sunflower Ceremony would have been a good memory. Oh, the decisions of our youth.

I regret I did not dedicate myself more to my legal studies, but I found my work with the State Senate and political leaders so much more rewarding. I did go on to take numerous post-graduate hours easily scoring “A’s” and spent two years teaching Law School.

CHAPTER 3 – Law School, not Medical School

CHAPTER 4 – The Vietnam War

Posted on January 26, 2021January 31, 2021 by Lehman Marks

Keith Markley, my best friend from Law School, served as a Special Assistant to Lt. Governor Preston Smith. He achieved this position much sooner than I due to his hard work, stellar personality, and a smile that just wouldn’t stop! Keith was smart as a whip, and full of great ambition.

Keith wanted to become a State Legislator so he set out to campaign, but was overwhelmed by the expertise and financial backing of a seasoned political opponent.

I know Keith walked every block of his legislative district introducing himself to the Refugio community, but hard work and shoe leather were not enough. Keith lost the election, but he earned my undying respect.

I owe so much to Keith Markley. He helped me advance in the Senate, he always watched my back, and he genuinely cared about my wellbeing.

When Keith went to work at the new Regional Council of Government, an institution he helped create, we worked projects together. When I needed to find a home, he located one just half a block from his home. An Air Force Chaplain was being transferred and needed to sell this great two-story home in just two weeks. Keith knew the man, so we got the deal of a life time, which included appliances. There was one big drawback: the carpet was fuchsia red!

Most importantly, when I got drafted, Keith helped me get into the Air Force. The United States was deep into the Viet Nam War in 1969. My graduate school roommates and I had low draft lottery numbers; we were all drafted! Virgil went to the Army and became a Second Lieutenant in the Infantry. He was shot in the back by his own men, became a paraplegic, and returned home a bitter, broken man. He later committed suicide by driving his vehicle into the gasoline pumps at an Austin Texaco Gas Station and blowing himself up.

A second roommate was already a Navy Lieutenant. All he ever wanted was to “drive” his 15’ inboard/outboard boat on Lake Travis. We made a good team: I’d drive the boat and John would water ski! We always laughed that I only ran him into a partially submerged fence once!

John found himself piloting another 15’ boat on the Mekong River in Viet Nam. His boat hit a mine. They never found his body. My third roommate Frank became a Marine. They never found his body either.

This was the troubled time in which I lived! I was now married. What was going to happen to me? Would I end up being counted among the war dead? But then there was Keith. He had heard the Commander of the Texas Air National Guard wanted a promotion, and that the Lt. Governor could be instrumental in securing that promotion.

Keith prevailed on the Lieutenant Governor to call the National Guard Bureau to “hurry-up” the General’s promotion. In return, the soon-to-be General would award me a slot in his Headquarters Unit of the Texas Air National Guard. This was huge! Only two slots were available. Keith made it possible for me to get one.

The Texas Air National Guard Commander was now a General! He drove to the Capitol to pick me up for lunch and to share his enthusiasm for having another “trophy” in his Headquarters Unit. The Lieutenant Governor was happy that I was in a good place; the General was happy with his promotion; my new wife could breathe a bit easier.

Having said all this, I have suffered greatly over the years with “survivor guilt.” Why should I survive when these three bright, wonderful, talented young men would pay the ultimate price for their country. This has haunted me, but I made the decision that I would try to live the best life I could, and try to help as many people who crossed my path. This would be done in honor of Virgil, John, and Frank. I’ve tried to hold true to this, but every Memorial Day haunts me. So many tears shed every year.

Of course, Keith’s and my friendship worked both ways. I was able to find a reasonably priced home for Keith and his wife Jackie. When his family needed additional resources, I gave Jackie a job in my newly formed Executive Services Inc., a legislative research service. But more importantly, Keith and I were great friends until he passed away from cancer. He died at a very early age before he could complete his dreams.

Both Keith Markley and David Vinson (Best Man) left this world too early in their thirties. Now, they have been gone for over forty years. It’s hard making new “best friends” because fear of losing them has made me stand-offish. Having said this, I have discovered a few new wonderful friendships with William, Chris, and Fred.

Headed to Basic Training

Joy put me on a bus in Austin as I rode off to Lackland Air Force Base for Basic Training and active duty. I was so grieved to leave her, but Uncle Sam said I needed another adventure. I arrived in San Antonio and was quickly ushered to my assigned Air Force Flight under the command of Sergeant Toefury. This was a barrel-chested guy about 5’8” who seemed set on killing the 40 men in his unit! He told us he was going to break us down, and rebuild us into men!

He asked if anyone had any military experience. My hand shot up followed by my announcing I had taken Air Force ROTC in college, followed by groans from the other members of my unit. Toefury named me “guidon bearer,” the person who carries the unit’s flag and leads the unit in marching.

I soon discovered the other 39 members of my unit were from upstate New York and Polish! It didn’t take me long to realize that my “Aggie jokes” were too easily translated into “Polish jokes,” so I kept my mouth shut. Every one of these young, enthusiastic kids was great! Most of them just turned eighteen years of age; I was twenty-five. I soon found myself the de facto leader of this group because I had better stories to tell. This probably happened because I had better “sense.”

Being the guidon was not always a great job. I remember getting a bad case of shin-splints from running too many miles on concrete. The Drill Sergeant sent me to the base infirmary where the doctor prescribed Darvon. Unfortunately, I would learn that Darvon would make me drunk!

I can hear Sergeant Toefury yelling “Fall Out” (of the barracks). “We are headed for the drill field.” I took my position as guidon, but I was “drunk-as-a-skunk”. We marched about 50 yards punctuated with the Sergeant yelling: “Beetle-eyes, (that’s me with glasses) what are you doing?” In actuality, I was wandering all over the road. The poor airmen behind me were trying to follow my drunken movements. My buddies told me later that my attempting to march was hysterical, but the Sergeant was not amused.

Toefury raced up to me, grabbed me with both hands, and shook me until my glasses fell off. I laughed in his face. He asked what the heck was wrong with me. I don’t really remember what I said, but it must have been sufficient for him to send me back to the barracks.

On arrival at the barracks, I had to walk up two flights of stairs to get to my floor. This proved to be much harder than anyone might think. I would make it up a few steps, and fall backwards catching myself on the hand rail. After much effort, I finally made it to the top of the stairs, took my hand off the rail, and fell all the way back to the first floor and passed out. The barracks guard told me he never saw anyone bounce down the stairs just using their head!

I remember waking up with the Sergeant holding me by the collar, shaking me again, and yelling: “Don’t you dare die on me Beetle-eyes.”

After that day, I determined that I was going to get back at the Drill Sergeant by never doing the Obstacle Course. My Polish friends loved the idea! Trainees were required to successfully complete the obstacle course twice during basic training.

On my first attempt, I arranged with two buddies to help me fall into the river. The first obstacle was walking across a river using two ropes: one for your hands; one for your feet. I got the two tallest guys to go before and after me on the ropes. They were to raise the ropes midway across the river thereby causing me to fall into the river. It worked great!

Sergeant Toefury screamed that I was the dumbest SOB that ever walked the Earth and that no one had ever failed to cross the river. He sent me back to the barracks in disgust! My plan worked. The whole unit laughed about this for days!

On the second round of the obstacle course, the Training Commander decided our unit would first proceed through tear gas training and then move on to the regular obstacle course. The tear gas testing area was a small room on the edge of the course that would test our skills to properly put on and wear a gas mask. They would flood the room with tear gas and we would endure a few moments of discomfort when commanded to remove the masks. They wanted us to know what it felt like.

When it came time for me to remove my mask, Sergeant Toefury decided to “enhance” my experience! He grabbed my mask as if to rip it off my face. Dodging the Sergeant’s grabbing motion made me lose my balance! I reached out for his shoulder for stability. My hand missed his shoulder coming to rest on the side of his mask. When he ripped off my mask, I fell backwards still holding onto his mask.

I remember the snapping sound as his mask slammed back slightly off his face. He was engulfed with tear gas and gasping for air. What followed was a chain of expletives that would have made the Devil grimace. Between tear gas tears and sobs, Sergeant Toefuy screamed something about my heritage, and that I was to return to the barracks. He said he would discipline me later.

It ended up that I never ran the obstacle course nor received any disciplinary action.

A young Air Force Lieutenant was going through the gas chamber protocol with us, and observed the Sergeant’s inappropriate actions. I received no more harsh treatment from Sergeant Toefury. Did he make me into a better man? Yes, I think he did, because he taught me a great deal about patience.

I forget to mention that my first Drill Sergeant-Grunt experience happened my first night in the barracks. At precisely 1:00 AM, Toefury strolled into the barracks and discovered a shoe lace peaking-out of my boot. Apparently, he grabbed me by my underwear and hurled me across the room into the opposing wall. I awoke falling down from that wall. The whole Air Force flight had to go outside and march for an hour. This was not the way to start Basic Training, but it did teach us the nature of our Drill Sergeant!

Having a Baby

One bright spot during Basic Training was a phone call I received from my wife. She informed me we were going to have a baby! Here I was, maybe going off to war, and my beautiful wife was going to have to deal with all the issues associated with moving from Austin back to Memphis, and then having a baby.

I told Joy we were scheduled to have a half-day’s leave in a week, and would it be possible for her to visit me in San Antonio. She did, and this made such a huge difference!

When Joy arrived, my heart soared! It was like being a part of civilization again. We headed off to see the Ringling Brothers Barnum & Bailey Circus Parade! What fun, except that a llama (from the parade) stepped on my highly polished shoes leaving an unfixable cut mark all across the face of my shoe. I tried to explain the problem to the Drill Sergeant but he was heartless. He just kept saying demerits, demerits, demerits.

I had a degree in Chemistry, Zoology, and Law. Surely I could figure out how to fix a cut mark on my shoe. Yes, it was deep, but there must be something I could do. Buffing wouldn’t work; dying the mark seemed useless. Then one of my Polish friends said: “Why don’t you just melt down some shoe polish, fill the groove with the polish, and then add more polish on top!”

It worked! You couldn’t tell that I had any mark on the shoe until one hot San Antonio day when my shoe melted during a big inspection. The Inspecting Officer asked why I had a puddle of what appeared to be black wax next to my foot. He was so amazed at my lengthy but interesting story that he just saluted and walked away!

I successfully completed Basic Training and was now off to Keesler Air Force Base near Biloxi, Mississippi. All the members of my flight had their special assignments, but I was going to Administration School. I stayed in-touch with many of these guys for years!

Arriving at Keesler AFB, I found my room to be a disgusting World War II barracks. The rooms were so hot and the “john” so nasty that I would flee to the air conditioned base movie house to rest, cool off, and use their facilities! “Gone with the Wind” was playing. I saw the film more than forty times, but loved every minute sleeping on the back row in the “cool.”

My Keesler sergeant informed me I was to get a three-day pass! I decided I had just enough time to get to Houston to see Mom and Dad due to the length of the bus trip. I begged a ride off the base to the Biloxi bus station. Apparently, the stories were true: townsfolk did not like the military!

I heard stories about airmen getting hassled, but now it was my turn. I learned earlier in life that it was crucial to avoid fights since “smaller-than-tall” people generally didn’t win. Luckily, I was able to avoid any real confrontation by jumping behind the bus station’s ticket counter and offering to help unload baggage. The old gentleman selling tickets saw my problem and was more than willing to accept my help. The town bullies soon lost interest, and I departed Biloxi without a scratch.

Dad met me at the downtown bus station! I was so glad to see him! He told me Mom wanted us to go to a dinner theater that night and enjoy a big dose of happiness. I don’t remember the name of the play performed that night, but I was just grateful to be with family and have a decent meal.

I Was Dying

The next morning I awoke relatively early. My eyes opened, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. I was filled with fear! I couldn’t move my body. I was paralyzed. I could only slightly move my head. I started screaming for Dad! He would later reflect that he awoke to the most blood-curdling screams. I could hear my parents running to my room. I remember telling them they needed to notify the Red Cross, and that they would get in-touch with my Base Commander. I think I lost consciousness. I have no idea how they got me to the hospital.

The next thing I knew, I was in an intensive care isolation unit at Houston’s Methodist Hospital. Doctors and nurses were wearing full protective clothing and treating me like I was “typhoid Mary.”

The first thing I remember is waking up and seeing a distinguished looking gray-haired doctor. This was Dr. Cummings, a specialist in Internal Medicine and a teacher at the Baylor College of Medicine located nearby. He told me to call him “Hatch” and that I was very ill.

I asked Dr. Cummings what was wrong. He told me they didn’t know what the problem was, but that it was shutting down my systems. He added that I had an unusually large liver, and continued to probe it like it was a new toy!

It seems that my liver was to become a “cause celebre.” Before it was over, every medical student at Baylor Medical School was brought to my room to probe my liver! I didn’t particularly mind the company, but everyone came in wearing bio-hazard suits yet trying to remain light-hearted for my sake.

Movement slowly began to creep back into my body as the weeks passed. I thought I was “on-the-mend” until Dr. Cummings came in and quietly told me that my liver was failing, and that I would have only a few more days of life. He suggested I contact my wife and get her to Houston as quickly as possible!

I wasn’t particularly afraid of dying; I was horrified about the predicament that faced my wife! Should I tell her I might only have a few more days to live, or should I just let the doctors handle it? What do I tell my parents who looked at me every day through a 1” thick glass pane. Isolation gave me time to help find the words.

One Baylor Medical student came to see me almost every day. I told him about the events at Tulane Medical School that caused me to become a lawyer. We would both laugh at the Dean’s comments, but it meant a great deal to have someone willing to put on the protective clothing and just come in and talk.

Joy arrived, and although being very pregnant, she crawled into bed next to me. I thought the nurses were going to have a “fit” because they still didn’t know what was causing my medical condition. They were afraid she would catch the “bug.”

For a few blushing moments, it was almost like we were home in Austin. We had many laughs in our first apartment.

Our First Apartment in Austin

Shortly after we got back from the honeymoon, we moved into our first apartment located just two blocks east of the University of Texas Stadium. It was a great one bedroom at the Hillside Village Apartments. This was perfect for a senior law student and a teacher launching into her career at Govalle Elementary School in Austin.

Then, one Saturday morning, while Joy and I were both still asleep I, a mysterious power saw came cutting through the wall! We couldn’t believe our eyes. The air seemed saturated with sawdust. Grinding sounds emanated from the Apartment Manager’s Office next door.

It seems the Apartment Manager, Blanch Moberg, had decided to begin a project to enlarge her office that Saturday morning. We knew this was going to happen and planned to move upstairs, but there was no notice it would take place that Saturday morning. You can’t believe how fast two people can run as they try to protect their dignity from an invading carpenter!

The door was cut into our bedroom in less than 15 minutes. We barely had enough time to get out of the way. Having said this, the Mobergs, were wonderful people and always went out of their way to help us.

Never Told Joy

I never told Joy that I had only a few more days to live. She already seemed to have enough problems on her shoulders with the pregnancy and having to move back to Memphis for the summer. I always knew she had the strength to face any crisis.

As it turns out, I lived! I was so happy I had not put my wife through the anguish of anticipating my death! My liver seemed to endure whatever was wrong, and I started to improve.

I was walking now, and was moved out of isolation, but still restricted to the intensive care unit. Each morning and afternoon was filled with dozens of new medical students coming to probe my liver. There seemed to be an unending line of lab technicians drawing blood four times a day. I would show them where best to draw their blood; they were usually successful!

Everyone looked very professional, but no one ever gave me a definitive diagnosis. I don’t think anyone ever reached a conclusion about the cause of my infection, but after two months, I was discharged from the hospital!

I always wondered about what kind of “bug” I picked up during Basic Training. Maybe I picked it up sitting next to an old lady during the bus ride from Austin to San Antonio’s Lackland Air Force Base. I remember she kept coughing and spitting into the same old Kleenex.

The end result of this horrible illness would be that I would have reduced immunities throughout my life, followed by innumerable infections.

My Return to Keesler AFB

Now, I was on a flight back to Keesler AFB to rejoin my unit. My training in Administration had barely started when I took this fateful 3-day leave/weekend to Houston. Apparently, the Red Cross had not properly informed the Air Force of my whereabouts. There were all kinds of questions about what happened to me!

All of these questions were soon resolved when I pulled out the Medical Bill from Methodist Hospital. I had accrued almost a half a million dollars in medical expenses which seemed proof enough that I had a legitimate reason to be in Houston. All was made right, and I was quickly returned to the Administrative Training track.

Class re-started for me the next day. I finished the written work in record time and headed to the typing test. It seems I finished the assignment so quickly that I earned the Air Force Record for speed typing. Of course, that was typing on an old manual typewriter.

I left Kessler in a few days and returned to Austin where I would spend a few days in the Headquarters Unit, and then it was off to my active duty station at Ellington Air Force Base located southeast of Houston. I performed administrative duties for Brigadier General Walter Staudt, Base Commander. It was great to be located so close to my family.

After Active Duty

I always liked Air Guard Weekends at Ellington AFB because I got to see so many interesting people. One of our regular guests was the son of Congressman H.W. Bush. He, too, had a special “invitee” into the Air National Guard, but fulfilled his flight training and was a qualified pilot. I enjoyed talking to him because George Bush was a man’s man. He just liked to “chew-the-fat” with everyone. He was not really good with names, so he had a nickname for everyone!

After finishing active duty, I returned to Austin transferring into the Texas Air National Guard Headquarters Unit at Camp Mabry. I was assigned to work in General James Rose’s Office, Commander of the TANG.

During Guard Summer Duty, I enjoyed meeting the cream of Austin’s young politicians and lobbyists that inhabited the Headquarters Unit. I also had the wonderful opportunity to meet Harold Taft, the head of the Weather Unit for the Texas Air National Guard. I spent many hours with Harold learning about meteorology and forecasting. This was to have a major influence on my life in the 1980’s, and would lead to new friendships at KXAS-TV in Fort Worth, Harold’s home television station.

Joy returned to Austin. We moved into our new townhouse, followed shortly by the birth of our daughter, Deborah Elizabeth, on October 8, 1969. Deb was born with a massive amount of dark hair. She was beautiful!

Meteorologist at KDFW

Ten years later, I would have the opportunity to work with some friends at Dallas’ KDFW-TV, the CBS affiliate at that time. Even though I was teaching, I provided supplemental materials . . . . or as they would say today . . . added “color” to the weather forecasts. The News Director took a real liking to me and offered me a job being the weekend weather man! I snapped it up and practiced forecasting with mentors Mike Burger and Ron Jackson. These seasoned Channel 4 weather experts helped me understand DFW Weather. Mike and Ron were wonderful guys, and willing to help me learn “the weather business.”

Then, I had my big chance! I was given the opportunity to broadcast the weather for an entire weekend by myself. I went in to the station early that Saturday morning, pulled up the weather data from the 1980’s computer, and immediately crashed the program. I called everyone for help, but there was no one who could resolve the issues until Monday. I was left having to provide weather forecasts without a supporting computer system for data or graphics. This was the CBS weather forecast in the nation’s fifth largest media market!

My first broadcast was at the noon news hour. I rushed out and found maps of Texas and the Metroplex. I pinned these up on the studio wall, and with a black marker, I drew the weather and prepared weather data (Highs, Lows, Barometric Pressure, Humidity, etc.) on poster boards. It was makeshift but accurate.

Noon came and the floor director gave the count down for the live broadcast. I acted like nothing was wrong. At the end of the broadcast, I explained to the viewing audience that this was the way weather forecasts were rendered many years before. I pointed out how weather forecasts had advanced with sophisticated data gathering manipulated by the latest computers.

The News Director called me as soon as I got “Off Air.” He asked me what happened.

I told him that I screwed up and crashed the weather computer that morning, but that I was determined to put on a good weather broadcast. He laughed like a wild man on the other end of the phone. He just couldn’t believe I was that creative, and offered me a contract over the phone! He said this was exactly what he was looking for! He told me I reminded him of his high school science teacher. Of course, I was a high school science teacher!

Well, it seems I was not what FOX was looking for. KDFW, the CBS outlet, was soon to be purchased by FOX. All the contracts still pending, including mine, were discarded. FOX brought in lots of new people. Those that remained are pretty much still there today!

I felt bad about losing this weather forecasting opportunity, but looking back on that time, I realize this was a major crossroad in my life. If I had kept the weekend weatherman job, I would never have started building solar cars, nor organized the Solar Car Challenge!

Working for General Rose

I liked working for General James Rose. He was a wonderful friend and true gentleman. He always promised me that he would let me go to Officer Candidate School and become a pilot. This never happened. He was always too pleased with my work running his office. He knew I was a “facilitator.” If he needed something, I would arrange it.

The General loved to fly, but he just didn’t seem to be able to work this into his schedule. He called upon me to “facilitate” this, so I would ask pilots if they would let the General fly their mission. The pilots always got something great in return, and I kept the General happy. On one of the missions, we were flying into Randolph Air Force Base. The pilot was sitting in the back of the plane with me. I felt his hand creep on top of my arm and heard him say: “We’re coming in short of the runway.”

We landed bouncing around about 100 yards short of the runway. I looked down realizing I had just peed my pants, but we were safe and little damage was done. The cockpit door slammed open showing the General in all his glory. He walked up to me, put his arm around my shoulder and said: “Well, son, we cheated death again!”

This was not my first crash. The General arranged for me to learn how to fly through one of his friends doing special training at Keesler AFB. We were flying a T-38, and coming in for a landing when a pilot-trainee decided to fly low over the base. He was flying perpendicular to the runway! To avoid hitting this trainee’s plane, I rolled my wings to the right. Unfortunately out plane was too close to the ground. I cart-wheeled the length of the runway. When we finally came to a stop, the plane had no tail and the wings had been sheared off. We walked away with a few bruises and scratches, but we were alive.

Of course, there was the problem about the crashed T-38, but great effort was made to hush everything up to protect all the parties involved.

Townhouse on Manor Road

Joy and I set up housekeeping in a new Town House located on Manor Drive in Austin, Texas. These were the Walnut Creek Apartments. We had a great two story condo with two bedrooms and a private patio. The baby would arrive soon and we would be ready.

I was disappointed our little private patio had no plants! The town house needed some color . . . . some pizzazz! Of course, there was another new set of apartments going up across the street, and the nursery had just delivered a fresh order of plants. I decided Joy and I needed to “borrow” a few of these plants for our patio. She was not thrilled with the idea, but I convinced her we would take good care of them, and they would brighten our life. We, of course, couldn’t afford to buy plants!

The sight of a very pregnant woman crossing the road carrying plants must have been something to behold. We definitely stopped traffic. I am not so very proud that we did this, but the adventure was great! We now had beautiful purple-blooming sage bushes in our little patio.

Then, we received the surprise of a lifetime: Dave Vinson, my Best Man, sent us a pure bred cocker spaniel. We named him W.P. Buffington of Walnut Creek. The W.P was for wet penis which was an apt description for the dog; the “Walnut Creek” title was based on our living along Walnut Creek. That was to be his official registered name.

Buffy often took care of his business in our little enclosed patio, particularly at night. I remember letting him out about 1:00 AM and heard this horrible yelping. I stepped into the patio to find the dog cornered by a skunk. Yelling at the skunk did little to interrupt the scene until I got a broom and started pushing the skunk away, at which point it turned and sprayed me!

Leaving poor Buffy outside, I ducked into the town house and called the Police. They wouldn’t help! The fire department wouldn’t help! I finally was able to get in-touch with the apartment security officer who nonchalantly sent over two security guards. Neither of these guys had any interest in going out there to face the skunk.

I finally “encouraged” one of them to go outside. He threatened to shoot the skunk with his 45-calibre weapon. I stopped him because the apartment building’s air conditioning intake was located off our small patio. I knew a destroyed scent gland would send its foul smell into the building. The officer asked if I had another weapon. I brought out my 22-calibre rifle.

The security guard was trying to get close to the skunk, while at the same time trying to sight down the long barrel of the rifle. He wasn’t paying attention to the skunk which turned and gave him a “royal squirt” of skunk perfume! The security guard seemed to waver in the air, then crashed to the ground in a faint. I got the other security guard to drag the first officer into the apartment. I held off the skunk with my broom while getting squirted again.

The remaining officer was bubbling-over mad at the skunk. He threw open the sliding glass door, aimed his 45-calibre weapon, pulled the trigger, and made mincemeat out of the skunk. The gas bladder ruptured sending the smell into the air conditioning intake. You could see lights coming on throughout the building as the skunk stench reached each apartment!

It was almost dawn now, and my parents were going to be arriving later that morning. The house and everything in it . . . . the drapes . . . . the sofa . . . .the chairs . . . . just about everything was tainted with skunk odor.

The last thing the officers said as they left was that I needed to take the skunk’s body (or what was left of it) to the Austin Health Department and have it tested for rabies. I went out with a dust pan, scraped up what was left of the skunk, and put it in a box. I still remember the view of my wife standing in the front door of the town house with a baby. It was horribly pitiful.

The car just couldn’t go fast enough. I had to drop off the skunk remains and get home as fast as possible to help clean up this horrible situation. People at the Health Department suggested I take a bath in tomato juice.

Of course, while driving home like a mad man, I was pulled over by Austin’s finest. I rolled down my window when the police officer approached the car. I must have been reeking of skunk odor by this time. The officer lowered his head to talk, took one whiff, then turned around sort of gagging, and got back into his car. He immediately drove off.

I headed to the HEB grocery store to buy large cans of tomato juice. I rolled up to the cashier with a cart full of juice. There was a line of three or four people ahead of me. That line just drifted away as people took a whiff of me. I was now immediately opposite the cashier who just took the money and asked me to please leave.

That wonderful town house was not the same for months! We laughed about this many times, but the event has never been forgotten.

Move to Willamette Street

As mentioned earlier, Keith Markley made it possible for us to find a reasonably priced home complete with all the appliances. We moved from our townhouse to our two-story red-carpeted home at 6823 Willamette. It was a huge move up for us!

We were so delighted to have a huge backyard that gradually sloped-down to Walnut Creek. In the Spring, the air would be filled with lightning bugs and the smell of wild onions along the bank of the creek. A huge tree in the backyard provided shade for the kids!

Yes, we were to have another blessed event. Rebecca Leigh would come into this world November 3, 1972. She was a wonderful blessing with a completely different personality than Debbie.

You might say we learned Becca was going to be strong-minded when at the age of three she declared she was going to run away from home. She packed her small suitcase and made her way through the front door. I remember the door closed behind her. We waited for a few anxious minutes, but soon there was a knock at the door. Becca was now telling us she had decided not to leave home.

Wonderful Daughters

I am so proud of my two daughters. They are both strong women who have developed strong values.

As with any children, life was going to be filled with surprises. You sometimes don’t find out about these “surprises” until many years after the event occurred. For instance, I installed an electronic alarm system to both protect my home, and to keep track of my kids!

I now hear wild stories that both daughters were able to defeat the alarm system to go out at night! How could I miss that Becca was even using my car on some of these late night adventures? I guess Fathers always want to think the best of his daughters.

Debbie was a top-notch cheerleader excelling both at Plano Senior High as well as the University of Oklahoma. Her OU Cheer Team won their national cheerleading championship and represented the United States at a competition in Japan.

Debbie is a gifted, creative designer who can take any project and make it spectacular.

She is the Vice-President of Sales & Marketing at Graniti Vicentia. Debbie blossoms with creativity when she gets a chance to install a new Show Room!

Becca is an accomplished Human Resources Specialist who has developed the skills necessary to handle difficult situations at work. She is an HR Manager at Akumin, and is working towards an advanced certification.

Becca also serves as the HR Specialist for the Solar Car Challenge Foundation. She has provided invaluable efforts during team check-in and registration. I have learned to totally rely on her keen sense of responsibility.

Grandson

I have a wonderful grandson who loves video games, basketball, Star Wars, Super Hero movies, and film-making. He is now 17 and has developed into a sensible young man. Events early in his life gave him the opportunity to learn about acting and directing. He even earned the Audience Approval Prize for his leading role in a short film debuted at the NBCUniversal Film Festival.

Parker has enjoyed taking part in the Boy Scouts, and has earned his Eagle Award.

I am very proud of his perseverance to achieve this honor. His participation has helped him grow into a responsible, well-rounded your man.

Parker does have a tendency to break his wrist. His third break occurred at the end of the summer in 2020 resulting in the insertion of pins to stabilize the wrist. Maybe he takes after his Grandpa Daddy (Me) who has broken the following:

Left Foot – twice
Left Femur
Left Clavicle – twice
Right Clavicle
Left Arm (broken in three places)
Back – (four broken bone episodes)
Ribs (too many to count)
Concussions
Groin tear
MCL and ACL tears – right knee
Right Hand fingers
Left Hand small finger

CHAPTER 5 – Early Career and Legislative Research

Posted on February 2, 2021February 2, 2021 by Lehman Marks

Senate Sergeant-at-Arms Jeff Davis and State Senator Charles Herring secured me a job as an Assistant to the Texas Secretary of State assigned to the State Elections Division. I had the opportunity to work with Division Head Mary Kay Wall as she wrote the new 1970 Texas Election Code. This would prove to be a monumental task, but I soon learned she didn’t want anything to do with me. I had been foisted on her by well-meaning friends!

Secretary of State Martin Dies, Jr. realized my predicament. He reassigned my duties to include helping him travel the State discussing the importance of an Election Code. In other words, he got me out of Mary Kay Wall’s hair! I soon learned Texans were skeptical about a State Election Code fearing too much state influence. This was unfounded, but again . . . . this was Texas.

I remember traveling to Amarillo to speak to several civic clubs. The Lions and Kiwanis Clubs were always looking for speakers. As I approached the microphone for one of these early morning Kiwanis Club breakfast meetings, I noticed each of the tables had a large basket of ping pong balls in the center of the table. I thanked the club president for this opportunity to speak and turned to the audience. To my astonishment, everyone stood up and threw ping pong balls at me. This was their way of showing displeasure with the topic. I laughed at the barrage and made a few jokes about their poor aim! Before it was over, everyone was laughing and sharing jokes with me.

After eight months working for Secretary of State Martin Dies, Jr., I was called into his office and found I was again being reassigned. It seems Governor Preston Smith could not get along with Attorney General Crawford Martin. In Texas, all seven state executive officials are elected separately, and not always on a compatible political “ticket”. In this case, Crawford Martin was a close friend of former Governor John Connally. This meant Preston Smith and Crawford Martin were two different types of Democrats, and they just didn’t get along.

My reassignment to the Attorney General’s Office was an attempt by my old boss, Preston Smith, to establish a liaison with Crawford Martin. As Assistant Attorney General, I had limited opportunity to smooth over problems, but I found a few words said to the right person at the right time could have a huge influence. After four months, the foul air between Preston and Crawford dissipated.

Executive Director of the Board of Examiners in the Fitting & Dispensing of Hear Aids

I soon grew tired of my stint in the Attorney General’s Office. I decided to quit after being offered the job of Executive Director of the Texas State Board in the Fitting & Dispensing of Hearing Aids. This was a small state regulatory agency designed to make sure hearing aid dispensers were knowledgeable and honorable.

The Agency would hold licensing tests several times each year. To qualify for the test, applicants would have to serve a two-year apprenticeship with a licensed Hearing Aid Dispenser. I soon discovered some licensees would fire apprentices after eighteen months of service so they wouldn’t qualify for the test. This was intended to limit the number of people entering the profession.

Of course, this business practice was highly unprofessional. The Board Licensees didn’t like me pointing this out!

I also discovered the largest Texas Hearing Aid Dispenser had secured copies of the state licensing test. They used them to give an advantage to their apprentices, and to the disadvantage of everyone else. My Board of Directors was not thrilled I discovered this practice too.

My term of service for the Board came to a quick end. I suspect this was the path of least resistance for the Board Members. This satisfied the complaints from grumbling hear aid dispensers, and swept the problems under the carpet. To my knowledge, no one ever became aware of these professionalism issues.

Senator Jim Bates once told me that a young man needs to pick his battles carefully. I decided this was not going to be one of those battles, and set out to build my own Legislative Research and Reporting Service, Executive Services Inc.

Executive Services Inc.

With the help of General James Rose and Attorney Anthony “Curly” Ferris, I set up Executive Services Inc. and Executive Information Network. My Texas Senate experience, coupled with jobs with the Secretary of State, Attorney General, and State Regulatory Board, told me there was almost no research on the legislation coursing through the Legislative Process.

There also wasn’t any meaningful tracking of this legislation. Had the bill passed the House? Was it still in Senate Committee? Had the bill gone to the Governor for his signature? None of this information was readily available.

Executive Services was incorporated as a non-profit organization designed to help the People of Texas. With funding from Rose, Ferris, and my Dad, I hired sixty bright law students to help research and track legislation. The law students were in “hog heaven” having a chance to develop real skills with Texas Legislative Law. State legislative offices, state agency offices, and statewide newspapers now had a reliable source of information. All of these services could be purchased for only $25/month! We were an immediate “hit.”

This was an incredible opportunity for everyone, but dumb me didn’t realize there were people out there making big bucks by supplying “inside information.” Our $25/month service cut deeply into their under-the-table payoffs, so I found myself with a target on my back.

Our main floor office was fire bombed in an attempt to discourage our efforts. Luckily, this only affected my outer reception area and was easily refurbished.

I discovered these people would become more aggressive! I wandered outside my front door one morning to get the newspaper only to be confronted by a couple of thugs. Knocking me down, they warned me to stay out of “their business.” They didn’t say what business, but I got the message. There were also veiled threats against my family. I was fearful for my family’s safety, but plodded on with the research and legislative tracking.

I often had to work late at night to get out the latest information. We were publishing hundreds of thousands of report pages each week! I headed home about 11:00 PM one night driving East on Manor Road. I noticed a car following me, but thought this was just a trick of my imagination.

This wasn’t a trick. The car forced me off the road throwing my car over a curb. I heard gun shots and dove under the car for protection. During those days, I carried a 32-calibre pistol for protection. I saw two men emerge from the car. Hiding under my car, I couldn’t see their faces, but I could see their legs. I started shooting at the legs. The men jumped back into the car after one of my shots hit a tail light on their car.

These brazen attacks told me I needed to take some kind of defensive action. I hired one of my largest law students to be a body guard. He went everywhere with me, but I was never again physically attacked.

How did I stop these attacks? I discovered the power of the pen can be hugely effective. I started publishing daily reports about these threats. My ESI newsletter, distributed throughout legislative and state offices, gave me a huge media platform. This story was picked up by local media and created a stir in the Capitol.

We never had a newsletter left over! Everyone wanted to know the latest news about attacks or “pressures” on our office. It finally stopped. The harassment ended. Several Austin Bureau Media Division Chiefs told me they had never seen anything like this kind of blatant intimidation, particularly involving legislative reporting!

Then the second phase of the intimidation hit! Executive Information Services was told that we could no longer have access to the State Capitol, including sitting on the House and Senate floor as part of the Press. From our early days, we were freely awarded press credentials by both the Texas House and Senate, but these were being pulled back. We were no longer allowed to use the Capitol Press Room. This was too much.

With this new intimidation, we could either roll-over, or take the State of Texas to court! We did the latter. I sued the Speaker of the Texas House, the Texas House of Representatives, the Lt. Governor, and the Texas Senate for violation of due process and abridgement of the freedom of the press. We were being denied the same rights and privileges made available to every other press organization.

We filed suit in an Austin Federal Court with great fanfare in the news media. Legislative whiplash from all of our subscribers was intense. How could they keep this kid (me) from doing what he was entitled to do!

No one knew that I had met secretly with Texas House Speaker Billy Clayton who strongly encouraged me to sue him! He told me this was the only way to wipe out this petty-minded bickering. Billy had been a good friend; I had always helped his office by providing the best possible information.

The parties appeared before the Federal Court Judge. The attorneys representing the defendants (Texas Legislature) capitulated and offered a solution. Executive Services Inc. would be given equal standing with the other press services, we would be allowed to report from the floor of the House and Senate, and we would be provided space in the State Capitol Press Office. The whole court hearing lasted less than five minutes because of the bad publicity generated by their draconian actions.

The State Capitol Press Corp profusely congratulated me for having the “huevos” to stand up to the big guys . . . . and win! This was so well received by everyone who used Executive Services!

I would only find out years later that state legislative staff had been selling inside information to lobbyists, and earning up to $150,000 a year for this exclusive “heads-up” type of service. The lobbyists soon learned they didn’t need to pay extraordinary fees when they could get the same reliable information for $25/month.

I never realized I was cutting out a number of people from hefty underhanded fees by just sharing the People’s information. The ignorance of my youth never allowed me to recognize this potential conflict, nor anticipate public servants profiting from legislative information.

The result of my lawsuit, research, news stories, and legislative tracking added impetus to the Freedom of Information Movement (Open Meetings and Open Records Laws). I am proud ESI played a small role in helping with the passage of this important legislation.

A Revolutionary Legislative Computing Service

Executive Services provided state legislative offices, state agency offices, newspapers, and lobbyists with large binders showing research and legislative progress for each piece of legislation. This would grow to include 4,000 bills (in those days). This also meant the binders had to be updated with “update pages” each day . . . often a tedious, time-consuming activity. Executive Services was looking for an alternative.

David Vinson, my Best Man and best friend, suggested we should team up and develop a computer program to keep track of this legislation. Now you have to remember that the early 1970s were quite different from today. Computers were rare; there was no Internet. Interestingly, David had just developed software for Lockheed Martin designed to keep track of parts used in the construction of the Air Force C5 airplane being built in Georgia. David told me he could modify this program to keep up with the bills progressing through the Texas Legislative Process.

This was a fantastic idea! No one in the country had such a tool! We were on the brink of fame, wealth, and success. Dave’s program successfully passed proof-of-concept tests, but we needed to find a computer that had the “cranking power” to handle just such a workload.

There were only two computers in Texas that could handle this task: the University of Texas’ Main Frame computer in Austin, and a major computer company’s main frame computer in Houston.

I invited executives from the Houston Computer firm to Austin to see the new software. They arrived in Austin, witnessed the software, and were “foaming at the mouth” to get their hands on this new software. I proposed a joint venture where the Houston Computer Company would supply the computer, and run dedicated communication lines from Houston to Austin. This would facilitate direct input of information from Austin.

David and I liked the deal; the Houston Computer Company liked the idea; we now had a Joint Venture. Now, it was my job to sell the system. We offered full legislative research, legislative tracking, and other data, complete with a desktop computer, for only $250/month.

Subscriptions to the Executive Services Incorporated computerized system were selling like “hotcakes.” All the senate members subscribed; the Governor’s Office subscribed; most major state agencies subscribed; newspapers around the state subscribed; lobbyists subscribed. The financial break-even point rested with the Texas House of Representatives with its 150 members!

I had worked with Speaker Price Daniel Jr. and his Executive Assistant for years. We had a great working relationship. The Speaker promised the House would subscribe to the ESI Services, but the actual decision to make the jump to our system seemed to be delayed. Little did I know someone had “gotten to” Daniel’s Executive Assistant, realizing that if the House delayed the decision, we might be forced out of business.

Executive Services started up the computer reporting system on the first day of the legislative session and ran it for more than two months, but with the House failing to make a financial commitment, we were faced with a huge dilemma. Do we keep the system running in the hope the House would subscribe but losing over $30,000 per month, or should I pull down the computer system?

We lacked financial backing to weather this storm and pulled the plug mid-March. This was horrible for David and I. This was such an incredibly innovative system. It broke my heart to have to scrap the project, but I realized additional debt would jeopardize my home and might require me to fire all my staff.

The Houston Computer Company took back their computers, took down the dedicated lines, and by virtue of the joint venture, kept the computer software, David’s software. We found out later the Houston Computer Company sold that same software to the U.S House of Representatives to create their own voting and bill tracking system. They recouped their financial loses.

I went from having a net worth of $7.6 million dollars, to owing $300,000 in one day! Much of these debts were owed to the Houston Computer Company. They graciously forgave more than $250,000 of this debt when they made a “killing” selling the software to the U.S. House of Representatives. It took me three years to pay off the balance, but no one was fired, no one was furloughed. Jobs were saved.

As a footnote, the Texas Legislature saw the real value of our legislative research and computerized legislative tracking program. They created their own legislative research program. Two years later, they developed their own computerized legislative tracking system.

The non-profit goal for Executive Services Inc. was to provide better information for the People of Texas and the Texas State Legislature. Interestingly, our good efforts really showed the State of Texas what they needed. We reached our goal, and put ourselves out of the Legislative Research business.

Executive Services Survives

Executive Services Inc. continued through 1976 focusing on legislative consulting, Special Projects with the State of Texas, and periodicals. I had the opportunity to be a special consultant to the 1974 Texas Constitutional Convention. I witnessed days of lobbying and wrangling that served little purpose in the long term.

The Constitutional Convention could not reach agreements on several key issues, but feeling public pressure, they put out a watered-down constitutional revision. The good people of the State of Texas did the right thing and overwhelmingly defeated this proposal. Constitutional Revision in Texas was dead with this phrase resonating throughout Austin: “If the wheel ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

Maybe the best part of the Convention was watching the gala opening of the event set for a huge public display on the North side of the State Capitol Building. A large dais was set up with colorful patriotic bunting decorating the North façade of the Capitol.

Planning for the event included bringing together all the members of the Texas Executive Branch and other key legislative and judicial figures. The only problem: what to do with Texas State Treasurer Jessie James!

Jessie James served with great distinction as State Treasurer. He always enjoyed the great name identification associated with the famous bank & train robber. It was always a Texas Election highlight to think that you would be voting for a candidate whose name he shared with one of most infamous bank robbers.

The only problem with Jessie’s participation in the Opening Ceremonies of the Convention was his “language.” He was the master of including great old Texas cuss words in every sentence he uttered, punctuated with his spitting tobacco into a brass spittoon. Convention Planners agreed that Jessie would be tasked with delivering the Opening Prayer for the ceremony. After all, how could you use cuss words in a prayer!

The morning of the Ceremony arrived. A large crowd had gathered at the large dais awaiting the official opening of the Constitutional Convention. Jessie James stood up to offer the prayer. A lump was in the throats of event planners . . . . . . . and Jessie didn’t disappoint. Looking to the heavens, Jessie said: “God, please help these poor S.O.B.’s as they launch into this g** d**n convention.” The crowd was a bit stunned and dead silent. The master of ceremonies was wise to move quickly into the first speeches, but nothing gets better than an old Texas Politician holding true to his reputation!

Texas Parks & Wildlife Contract

Executive Services expanded its services into working with state agencies. This included a contract ESI won with the Texas Parks & Wildlife Department to oversee Texas State Park Boat Ramps! This was an unusual contract, but a former friend of General Rose and member of the Texas Air National Guard, was now a high-ranking executive in the agency. He wanted to do something to help ESI because of the General’s involvement with the company.

I found that watching over the State of Texas Boat Ramps was a fairly easy task. I visited with County Judges wherever a boat ramps were located and arranged to pay that county a fee for trash pick-up. Once set up, these arrangements would provide a steady flow of money to the county, and a steady flow of money to Executive Services Inc. All we would have to do was supervise these arrangements.

Then, the full nature of the state contract raised its ugly head! The Parks & Wildlife Administrator who helped us get the contract demanded that ESI give his wife a job as a secretary in our office. I was outraged at the unscrupulous nature of this demand. I had to be careful not to offend General Rose, but I discretely told several members of the Legislature about this malfeasance. An enterprising State House Member immediately “spilled the beans” to the “Austin American Statesman,” the local newspaper known for its skill investigating State issues.

Within hours, there was a reporter pounding on the front door of the Executive Director of the Texas Parks & Wildlife Department asking uncomfortable questions. The Parks and Wildlife Executive who demanded I hire his wife immediately reversed course!

I never heard from him again. The threat of investigation cast shade over General Rose’s friend, and seemed to disappoint Rose.

Threat to Me at Executive Services

Executive Services Inc. was founded by me. I was the Executive Director, but had a Board of Directors to satisfy legal requirements. The Board would meet periodically to hear reports about ESI activities and to receive a financial report. Members on the Board included representatives for General Rose and Curly Ferris, the ESI Deputy director (employee of ESI), and myself.

Work at ESI became more tedious with the loss of our legislative research branch. We still did consulting and publishing. Research and news reporting was now coordinated through our TV/Radio Media Outlet and our publications. We were now providing real news for 76 Texas newspapers, television stations, and radio outlets.

Belt-tightening caused several old business friends to grumble creating discontent. My secretary who struck-up such a great conversation with LBJ had to find a new job to help support her husband still in school. I just couldn’t find new money to give her a raise.

Worst of all, my Deputy Director started bad-mouthing the business and approached the other Board Members telling them he could do a better job running the company. I overheard some the conversations and realized I had to do something immediately to eliminate this problem.

The Board had a regularly scheduled meeting in a few days. I discovered their plan was to demote me and elevate my Deputy into the job of Executive Director.

The day for the Board Meeting arrived. I walked into my Deputy Director’s Office and fired him and demanded he immediately leave the office. I had my former body guard escort him from the Westgate Office Building.

I called the other Board Members and announced I was dissolving the Board and a new Board would be appointed. I suggested any effort to override my decision would require me to leak information about influence peddling in the acquisition of the Parks & Wildlife contract, and that others might be getting some kind of “kick back.” No one made any attempt to oppose me. This was one instance when my old friendships with so many state legislators and media outlets came to my rescue.

This was one very wild day at the office. I fired a good friend; I disassociated myself from two other friends . . . . . but as my wife once pointed out: “Were they really friends if they were getting ready to demote you?”

Executive Services New Board

Executive Services Inc. developed an outstanding new Board of Directors from leaders in the community including Dr. Michael DeBakey, famed Houston heart surgeon, State Senator Jim Bates (retired), representatives from higher education, and several up-and-coming Political Figures. They were there to help (and protect) the organization. We were all very proud of what we had accomplished bringing about free access to good legislative information.

I eventually closed ESI’s Westgate Building Offices in 1975, but maintained a weekly newsletter to subscribers throughout Texas. When I moved to Dallas in 1978, I had the opportunity to visit the SMU Law School Library. Since they subscribed to most of my publications over the years, I asked if they still had them available. I was directed to a special section of the library where my publications, retained over the years, occupied 27 feet of shelf space. I asked the Librarian why they kept all my seven years of publications. She said it was the finest legislative history spelling out what was going on in Texas during that period of time!

Life in Austin after Executive Services

Over my years in Austin, I had the opportunity to “throw-my-hat-in-the-ring” for some very special jobs. One of these job offers was Administrative Assistant to U.S. Senator John Tower. I liked John Tower because we were both the same size! I have always believed that “smaller-than-tall” people have an unwritten bond that automatically creates compatibility!

I arrived at Tower’s office for the job interview. I was invited into his inner office, shook hands with the Senator, and found his beady eyes sizing me up. He seemed favorably disposed to hiring me, but the answer to one question turned me off.

I asked the Senator what would be the nature of the job. He said I would be required to travel with him and make sure his speaking requirements would be met. This included my carrying a peach crate and placing it behind the podium. This made it possible for the audience to better see him. I would be the official peach-crate-carrier! I did not take the job!

Senator John Tower defeats Waggoner Carr

I remember how disappointed I was when John Tower defeated my old friend Waggoner Carr for the U.S. Senate seat in 1966. I had worked in Carr’s campaign and took the loss very personally.

Election Night at Carr’s Austin Campaign Offices was sad and dreary. Everything came to a disappointing end when Carr made his concession speech relatively early in the evening. I listened to the speech with tears seeping from my eyes, but only to hear someone standing behind me making less-than-kind remarks about Waggoner. I turned to give an “evil stare” only to find an old acquaintance, Dan Rather.

I first met young cub reporter Dan Rather when he was working at KHOU-TV in Houston. I remember getting him coffee after coffee after coffee . . . . and being so very grateful for the opportunity.

I stared at Dan and asked why he was making these disparaging comments. He told me Waggoner had run a poor campaign, and suggested we should wander over to the Tower Campaign Offices and see Tower’s speech. He added: “Republicans always serve better bourbon.”

Girl Scouting

One of the highlights of this time of my life was working with Girl Scouts. My wife and I couldn’t find any girl scouting group in our neighborhood, so we decided to start our own brownie troop. Twelve little girls would join my two daughters for the fun of scouting. We hosted weekly meetings at our home on Willamette and took wonderful field trips.

The most memorable overnight field trip was a camp out at Austin’s Zilker Park. We planned a camp fire with all the amenities, including ghost stories! I remember telling a few really good tales, and watching the impact on the faces of the girls. Their eyes grew larger with excitement, but each story drove the girls even closer to the camp fire and to the storyteller . . . me. Little did I know that I was building fear in the minds of these precious brownie scouts.

When story time was over, we set up our sleeping bags and settled down to get some rest, but I noticed their sleeping bags started to scooch closer to my sleeping bag. Every outdoor sound or bird screech drove the girls closer. I had inadvertently created a “fear monster.” It was a long night and hopefully I learned my lesson: don’t tell ghost stories to brownies.

Our experience with Girl Scouting was supported by my wife’s long experience with Scouting in Memphis. She had wonderful opportunities to take part in national Girl Scout Jamborees, and loved sharing her experiences meeting girl scouts from other parts of the country, and the marvelous train trips to get to these events! I also learned one of her favorite things was selling Christmas Trees with the proceeds going to her Girl Scout Troop. She loved talking to people about Scouting.

Joy’s family was “big” into Girl Scouting. Her Aunt Virginia would help run Girl Scout Summer Camps; Joy would be the waterfront instructor responsible for teaching boating skills.

Our Scouting efforts led to an invitation for me to be the Vice-President of the Lone Star Girl Scout Council, the regional scouting organization. This was great fun particularly since the President of the Council was the Austin Chief of Police. It was always a blessing to have friends at the Police Department!

CHAPTER 5 – Early Career and Legislative Research

CHAPTER 6 – Lobbyist

Posted on February 9, 2021February 9, 2021 by Lehman Marks

I learned at the outset how important “Who you Know” matters, compared to “What you Know.” Someone could have all the best information in the world, but if there was no ear to listen, you were wasting your time.

This lesson was burned into my soul when I learned that some of my Board Members were plotting to remove me from the legislative research service I founded. If it had not been for my wonderful friendships with dozens of Texas House and Senate members, I could have been swept away by “less-than-kind” individuals.

Although I was enjoying teaching and consulting, I decided to apply for an interesting job as Senior Regional Attorney at Mobil/Montgomery Wards. The job would have me traveling to 38 states and Washington, D.C. representing the interests of Montgomery Wards, Mobil, and the National Container Corporation. Unfortunately, I would have to office in Kansas City, MO and Chicago, IL even though I lived in Austin, TX.

To my delight, I got the job, but it proved to be a huge strain on my family. Officing in Kansas City meant I would have to fly out of Austin on Sunday evening and fly back home after work on Fridays. I lived in a hotel room for over six months, endured the harsh Mid-Western Winters, and was the victim of too much room service. Even so, I had an amazing job.

I was assigned to The Regional Office’s Law Department. Although many in the department were assigned to property issues, I devoted almost all my time to lobbying. This included traveling to 38 states, listening to business associations, monitoring legislation, and “schmoozing” with lawmakers. During most weeks, I spent every day on the road, but after a while, your body-clock just gets “unset.” I would have my Kansas City Secretary call me each morning to give me a business calendar update, but also to remind me where I was!

Meeting other lobbyists and legislators from across the country was an eye-opening experience. I was impressed by the “Lobby Code” which taught me you can never lie or intentionally mislead a legislator. If you misinform a legislator, and the legislator relies on that misinformation, and it goes bad for the legislator, your reputation in the State Houses and the Lobbying community is trashed. You are no good to your client or any client.

Legislators want to know the truth. Yes, they know you have a particular bias, but they want to know your position and the arguments that support it. That same legislator will then get together with lobbyists presenting other points of view and hear their arguments. In the end, the legislator knows all sides of an issue presented by very knowledgeable sources, and can make up their own mind. I learned over the years telling the truth made it possible to build great friendships and long term working relationships.

This doesn’t mean every legislator is truthful or honest! I was officing in Chicago when I learned a member of the Arkansas House of Representatives had introduced a bill that said: If you haven’t been selling eye glasses in Arkansas for five years, then you couldn’t sell eye glasses in Arkansas. This was designed to prevent major retailers coming into Arkansas and competing with local opticians. Montgomery Ward had major optical departments in all of its stores; this new law would have closed down Opticians in Arkansas’ Montgomery Wards, Sears, and J.C. Penney.

I hopped a flight to Little Rock, arrived at the State Capitol by mid-day, and found the committee considering this Optician Bill. I asked the committee clerk if I could testify; he agreed. After introducing myself to the committee, I asked the members to consider the “restraint-of-trade” issues associated with this bill. There was no recognizable response from the committee members. The chairman politely thanked me and I was invited to leave. I saw my brief testimony made no difference.

I picked up the phone and called an old running buddy, Mark White, now the Texas Attorney General. He suggested I contact the Arkansas Attorney General and see if he could intercede with the committee since the bill was obviously unconstitutional. I thanked Mark and agreed to join him for a “run” when I got back to Texas.

Wandering into the Arkansas Attorney General’s Office, I was impressed by the laid-back demeanor of the office staff. I wound my way to the Attorney General’s outer office and asked if I could have just a few minutes of his time. As an aside, I shared with the secretary that Texas Attorney General Mark White suggested I drop by for a visit. This seemed to turn on a switch bringing renewed activity to the office.

Within five minutes, I was face-to-face with Attorney General Bill Clinton, an impressive man that went out of his way to make me feel “at home.” He opened the conversation by asking about Mark and whether I could outdistance him. I laughed complaining that he had gotten the best of me at our last run at the University of Texas Stadium.

Bill Clinton asked me what was on my mind. I explained the Optician Bill pending in the House Committee. He grinned saying that sometimes Arkansans have a good heart but it gets expressed in unconstitutional ways. He invited me to have a run with him. It is always amazing what gets done during a pleasant jog!

Clinton and I rendezvoused at the committee room facing the glaring eyes of the committee chairman. The Attorney General asked if he could say a few words. It was easily agreed. Clinton pointed out it was his responsibility to inform the committee that this bill would be found unconstitutional by the courts. A motion was made to place the bill “on-the-table” killing the bill. I thanked Clinton and left for the airport. I phoned Mark White from the airport thanking him for his advice.

Two weeks later, I received another phone call from the Arkansas Retail Merchants Association alerting me a State Senator had re-introduced that nasty Optician Bill, so I agreed to catch a flight and revisit the issue. As I walked up the steps to the State Capitol Building, I was confronted by two “muscled gentlemen” who told me that I needed to go back to Chicago. They added if I didn’t leave Arkansas, they would break my knees. We had several minutes of dead quiet while I pondered my alternatives.

Just as if I were watching an ancient Greek Play, God intervened and got me out of a very difficult situation: deus ex machina! A group of about sixty middle school kids arrived at the foot of the Capitol steps waiting for permission to enter the building. I wedged my way into the group talking to the kids and explaining various aspects of the Capitol Building. No, this was not the Texas Capitol Building, but I was still an old tour guide at heart.

The students, teachers, and one lobbyist wandered our way up the steps into the State Capitol Building. I was quickly out of sight, and on my way to see the State Senator who was sponsoring this bill. I located him leaving the Senate floor and asked if I could have a few moments. I shared my history with this bill in the Arkansas House of Representatives including testimony rendered by the Attorney General. The senator was not affected by the fact that the House had pulled down the bill.

The senator pulled me over to the side of the hallway and whispered to me: “If you have $60,000, I’ll kill this bill.” I told the senator this was not the way my clients do business. The senator walked away.

I returned to Kansas City having left the Optician Bill unresolved. I talked to the Arkansas Attorney General who assured me he would do anything he could to help kill the bill. Later that week I learned this ugly bill had passed the legislature and was on its way to the Governor’s Office for his signature.

Interestingly, the Attorney General and the Governor were old friends. Clinton utilized this friendship to get the Governor to veto the bill. We had won, but I received word I would be a persona non grata in Arkansas. I have rarely visited the State since then.

Years later I learned why these people had pushed so hard to pass this bill. Apparently several local Optical Shops were laundering money for the mafia. The competition from Sears, Penneys, and Wards would have diluted their ability to laundry money through their businesses.

State Senator H.R. “Doc” Blanchard

Being a lobbyist is based on respect and friendships developed over the years with legislators. This includes taking people out to eat, or traveling with the families on their vacations. This also included helping them out during legislative emergencies.

I remember one of these “emergencies” when Lubbock State Senator Doc Blanchard brought his son to the State Capitol Building on a legislative day. Doc realized he needed to speak on the floor of the Senate, so he beckoned for my help. I was seated in the Senate Gallery.

I arrived at the Senate Door to hear Doc begging me to watch over his son while he took care of Senate business. I hastily agreed, and said hello to John Ben escorting him off the Senate floor. It dawned on me we could have a great experience by exploring the two domes over the Capitol Rotunda.

I got the keys from a DPS Officer and proceed to escort John Ben up the spiral staircase that took special guests in between the two domes. Interestingly, there are only just a few domes in the world that have both an inner and outer dome.

Once we reached the gondola above the dome, John Ben saw a ladder leading up to several round windows at the top of the structure. I turned my head for just a minute only to find John Ben had crawled out one of these windows and was sitting at the base of the Goddess of Liberty statue almost 300 feet above the ground.

I yelled: “John Ben, please come back in.” He didn’t respond. I realized he was petrified by the height. At this point, I could see newspaper headlines that read: Lobbyist Lets Senator’s Son Die. This wasn’t going to happen! I grabbed his pants leg and drug him back into the gondola. We both came down from the Capitol Dome a little bit wiser.

State Senator Oscar Mauzy

On another day, I did a huge favor for State Senator Oscar Mauzy, a great guy from Dallas. He had asked for a favor that was eventually going to make me vulnerable to criticism. Sensing that I was upset, Oscar called me into his office and gave me some well-remembered advice. He said there would be some time in the future when I would have the opportunity to get back at the criticizing party, but he warned it would be better for me if I just let the ill-feeling roll off my back. He said I would be a better person for this!

Another thing I remember about Oscar Mauzy was his legislative district. Even though he was from Dallas, he preferred more rural constituents. He was influential in getting the State Senate Redistricting Committee to redraw his legislative district so that it included rural areas stretching from South Dallas to College Station.

The resulting district was unusual for it shape: long and very narrow. The running joke was that if Oscar drove his car (with the doors open) through his district from Dallas to College Station, he would kill half of his constituents! It was that narrow!!

Time with Daughters

The long weeks away from home gave me an opportunity to have some special “alone time” with my daughters. I remember the trip when my two little girls flew by themselves to Kansas City. I met them at the gate and rattled away at all the fun we were going to have at the hotel: swimming pool, ice cream shop, room service, and more.

Becca and Debbie were enjoying themselves in the pool after a wonderful experience at the Ice Cream Shop. Becca had the extra-large chocolate sundae. The kids loved the hotel pool because half of the pool was outside the main building; the other half wound its way into the entry area.

I remember Becca asking me if I would hold her! Of course I did. Then I heard urp, urp, urp, blub-blub-blub. Becca had thrown-up the sundae on my shoulder and into the pool. Large chocolate blobs were now floating in the pool. The kids and I were horrified! We gathered our gear and sped off to the hotel room. We hoped no one would notice.

Debbie, Becca, and I caught the flight to Austin the next day. We had countless laughs about how we bombed that Kansas City Hotel pool! Even though I stayed at that same hotel for many more months, no one ever said anything about the “pool drama.”

Post-Mobil/Montgomery Wards – Managering Partnership

I then found myself in a downsizing Regional Office in Kansas City. The old expression “last-in-first-out” applied. My job was being eliminated. I have no regrets because of the wonderful experiences over my years as a national lobbyist. The financial rewards helped me buy our home in Plano including drapes and furniture. In any event, it was going to be great staying in one place. I will never forget watching Becca go off to Elementary School and regretting that I missed so many precious moments. Now, I would be there for her.

I opened my own Law Office in Plano only to find myself being invited to be the Managing Partner of a Law Firm from New Orleans. The firm had just received a major contract to handle the Banking Law for the largest bank in Dallas. Having New Orleans roots seemed to help me get the job!

Wow . . . . I was now the Managing Partner of a Dallas Law Firm with a staff of twenty people. I also realized I didn’t know anything about Banking Law, the firm’s specialty! I taught Constitutional Law and Family Law in Law School; I was an authority on Texas Legislative Law, but I never practiced Banking Law.

My first trial against a person who failed to repay a major bank loan turned out to be a nightmare. I spent two weeks preparing for this first case, but it all seemed so novel and unfamiliar. The Judge asked if I was ready to present the plantiff’s case. I asked if I could approach the bench. I told the judge I didn’t have enough time to complete “discovery,” and would he give me two more days. He agreed.

Sitting in front of me on the court table was a Law Practice Manual published by Attorney John Eikenberg from Houston. This manual was designed to help the uninitiated lawyer practice Banking Law. I hurried to a phone and called John explaining I was over my head with Banking Law and would he help me.

John seemed very sympathetic to my stress, and asked what my specialty was in the Law. I told him Legislative Law and Political Campaigns. He seemed particularly interested in my experience running campaigns. At that time, I had been involved in seventeen national, state, and local campaigns including meaningful jobs in the Ralph Hall and Waggoner Carr campaigns. My old company, Executive Services Inc., provided major research for campaign staff as well as conducted polling for campaigns throughout Texas.

John Eikenberg told me he had a brother living in Plano, Texas who wanted to run for the Texas House of Representatives. John offered me a deal: he would help me with Banking Law if I would help his brother win a state house election. We had a deal!

I went on to win that court case and many others, but realized I preferred lobbying and political campaigns to the court room. Lobbyists are like World War II bombers: they bomb from 20,000 feet and feel little from the impact of their actions. On the other hand, the practice of Banking Law is like fighting hand-to-hand combat in the trenches! You get to see more clearly the impact (and pain) of your actions.

After leaving the courtroom, I headed to Plano, Texas to meet Frank Eikenberg. I remember knocking on Frank’s door, entering his office, and announcing that I was sent by his brother to help him defeat his upstart Republican Opponent. Frank looked at me, grinned, and said: “I am that upstart Republican Candidate!

Up to that point, I had worked on political campaigns for Democratic candidates, but that was not to deter me. I held true to my word and got Frank elected, and later re-elected for a second term. He lost his seat however when his wife caught him dallying with a lovely young lady from his Austin legislative office.

I was soon to leave the law firm and return to my private practice and teaching. My work at Brookhaven College, one of the seven Dallas County Community Colleges, caught the attention of Chancellor Jan LeCroy. He offered me a job being the lobbyist for Texas Community Colleges . . . . . specifically the Dallas County Community College District. This was a school larger than the University of Texas at Austin, but with a huge variety of special issues spread out through seven campuses. It was a wonderful opportunity so I took it!

I moved to Austin for the 140 calendar days of the regular session of the Texas Legislature, and commuted back to Dallas mid-week and on weekends. Again, I would rent facilities in the Westgate Building across the street from the State Capitol so that I could live and breathe the life of the state legislature. I even had the opportunity to watch the roof of the Texas Senate burn in a freak fire that engulfed the East End of the State Capitol Building. My 18^th floor balcony gave me a perfect view of the heroic actions by the Austin Fire Department to save the Lt. Governor’s Apartment.

Working as the lobbyist for Dallas County Community Colleges was a great job because it gave me the opportunity to represent the needs of teachers, as well as administration. This lasted for about eighteen months before I left this lobbying job and returned to teaching at Brookhaven. I developed several differences of opinion regarding how the DCCCD Board was planning to address certain teacher issues. As they would put it, I lost their confidence.

The rule of thumb in lobbying is that if you and your client disagree, it is time to step aside and make room for a new lobbyist. I returned to Brookhaven to teach college, but I was looking for a new challenge. A fellow teacher at Brookhaven suggested I look at the Greenhill School. This was a well-established college prep school located near Brookhaven. She said they could use a person “like me.” This would lead to my full time teaching career.

Bull Riding

Back in my senior year in college, I made many great friends including a pair of twins from South Texas. These guys were on my same “glide path” leading to Medical School. We were suffering the same kind of anguish: should we go to medical school or do something else.

You already know my decision to go on to Law School. My twin friends also decided they didn’t want to go to Medical School, but wanted to become cowboys! Yes, cowboys!

They each were due to inherit millions form their South Texas ranching family, so it seemed logical for them to fulfill their cowboy dreams now. They found their new home in Wyoming.

I was often invited to visit and share the fun of their small town rodeo. Since I lobbied in the State of Wyoming, it was often possible for me to visit my cowboy friends who now had a ranch just outside Casper. They would dare me to try bull riding! They argued my short stature would make it easier for me to stay on the bull! Visit after visit I would graciously decline, but one day, I just lost good sense and agreed! The call of a new adventure raised its ugly head!

They got me registered with the small rodeo organization. The time came for me to meet my bull. He was a young bull that seemed smaller the others, but his snorts and leaps indicated he was full of “vinegar.” The twins helped me settle onto the bull in the holding pen, the holding gate opened, and I was off for the ride of my life.

The eight seconds of that ride seemed like an eternity. I didn’t fall off, but everything inside of me seemed broken. One of the twins pulled me off the bull from his horse and I made a less than graceful fall to the ground. I dusted myself off, found my hat that left me early in the ride, and tried to walk casually from the arena. Unfortunately, I got kicked in the gluteus maximus by a passing animal and didn’t walk straight for weeks.

I would continue to visit my friends when I returned to Wyoming, but never mounted another bull. I love horseback riding . . . . not bull riding. Interestingly, I never told my family about this. I knew my wife would worry! They did ask why I was having difficulty walking. I told them it was from a weight-lifting accident which I was prone to do anyway!

I lost track of the twins when they moved back to South Texas. They definitely gave me an eye-opening experience in a rodeo arena. I loved the adventure of it all!

CHAPTER 7 – Educator

Posted on February 16, 2021February 9, 2021 by Lehman Marks

I have been a teacher almost my entire life. My first job was helping my Legislative Law Professor teach his course at the University of Texas School of Law. This was a senior level course, and by this time, I had more than two years legislative law experience under my belt drafting legislation in the Texas Senate. The professor always enjoyed my fresh input.

After graduating Law School, I learned an old political friend, John Gronouski, was going to be the first Dean of the new LBJ School of Public Affairs. John had served as LBJ’s Postmaster. We had both worked on the LBJ election campaign.

I went over to talk with him and found myself invited to be a Guest Lecturer teaching Texas Legislative Law. This was a wonderful atmosphere for teaching. The students were bright and engaging; the faculty was “top notch.”

Then the draft took me off to the Air Force and basic training. I found myself teaching eighteen-year-old Polish airmen how to write love letters back home, and how to sew on a button or a stripe. What a great experience dealing with humanity in its most unpolished form. I loved it!

After returning from Air Force active duty, I taught a few courses at Austin Community College. I even taught typing at a Business College when money was short, but then I found a wonderful opportunity to teach Government at Southwest Texas State University in San Marcos, as well as set up a Graduate Law Program for paralegals.

This was all taking place as Executive Services Inc., my Austin legislative consulting firm, was “slowing down,” and needing the infusion of cash!

We finally had to “pull-the-plug” on ESI. As I mentioned earlier, we did such a great job that the State of Texas decided to take over the services we were providing. I became weary of the 50-mile commute from Austin to San Marcos, so my eyes were open to new job opportunities.

There is was! I had a great job offer from Mobil/Montgomery Ward to be their Regional Senior Attorney and lobbyist. This would provide nicely for my family, and give me a wonderful opportunity to see people in 38 states and Washington, D.C. The new job unseated my teaching, but only for a few months. I found that good friends at St. Edwards University would let me teach Friday nights and Saturdays!

St. Edwards University and Leonard Nimoy

I loved the St. Edwards University nuns and their willingness to support me. They always made it possible for me to teach a weekend Government Class. The students were great and campus life offered so many interesting experiences.

I remember one evening when my students encouraged me to attend a Campus Forum, followed by a visit to Denny’s. It was approximately 11:00 PM when we crowded the door at Denny’s feverishly chatting while trying to find a seat. All of a sudden, I spied my “Hero” sitting in a corner booth . . . . it was Leonard Nimoy, Star Trek’s intrepid Science Officer. He was the Guest Speaker at the St. Edwards Forum!

My students seated themselves, but I wandered over to the corner booth, stuck out my hand at Nimoy, and announced that he was my hero! He looked a bit shocked at my assertiveness, but that soon grew into a big smile, followed by an invitation to sit and talk.

I had the honor to share almost 45 minutes discussing the value of logic within the decision-making process, and what it was like to be a revered TV star. His forthright nature and unabashed good humor made him a wonderful discussion partner. I so appreciated his willingness to put up with hero-worship.

At the close of our conversation, I stood-up thanking him for his time and turned to rejoin my students. They had quietly vanished seeing me up-to-my-nose in stimulating conversation. Of course, my students drilled me for details the next day in class! I didn’t share everything.

One thing Nimoy said truly struck me. He observed how people can become caught-up in science fiction philosophy, hear the great ideas, but rarely have the stamina to inculcate those principles into their own lives. I think he liked our conversation because I was demonstrating how I took his “logic approach” and applied it to my everyday life. This seemed to mean something to him.

My work at St. Edward’s University ended when Mobil/Montgomery Wards requested I move my family to Dallas. Human Resources thought it would be easier on me to fly out of the DFW Airport rather than having to fly from Austin to DFW, and then fly on to my final destination. In actuality, my moving to Plano just added more time to the trips rather than shortening them! What a fine example of corporate progress!

Brookhaven College and Greenhill School

Once settled in Dallas, I associated myself as Adjunct Faculty at Brookhaven College and found my true home for teaching. This campus was one of seven in the Dallas Community College District, but always seemed “home.” Over the years, particularly when I was working full-time for Chancellor Jan LeCroy, I had the privilege to teach at all seven DCCCD colleges, but Brookhaven was always home base. I taught there on-and-off from 1979 to 2020.

When I left my job as DCCCD’s Legislative Liaison, I was faced with several alternatives, but a friend at Brookhaven suggested I give the Greenhill School a call. She introduced me to her husband, Skip, who was Head of the Greenhill Science Department. I taught a “practice” chemistry class, and was immediately hired. I loved this because it gave me a chance to use my Chemistry Degree and extensive science background.

I always emphasized Chemistry Lab. My philosophy was that you can’t learn chemistry until your “cook.” I always felt I cheated my students if we didn’t have at least two labs a week! Lab skills, strictly-maintained lab books, and lab safety were tantamount to good chemistry teaching.

But I remember one day when I was demonstrating the proper use of the Bunsen burner. I set up a separate burner for everyone in the lab, and we practiced lighting the burner, adjusting the flame, and safely extinguishing the burner. We, of course, used lighted splints and “sparkers” to ignite the burners.

After I demonstrated the proper lighting technique, I set the still-glowing splint next to a sink on the demonstration table. All of sudden, there was a huge blasting swoosh where a cool blue flame leaped out of that sink, as well as from every sink in the lab. Over the weekend, sewer gas had built up in the sink pipes and gave everyone a great morning jolt. Nothing was injured except my pride.

Then, a new opportunity opened for me. The Winston School lost their 9^th grade Science Teacher the day before school started and needed immediate help. Greenhill’s Head of School was a member of The Winston School’s Board of Directors, so he volunteered me. I would spend a half day at Greenhill and the other half day teaching at Winston.

I will always appreciate the support from Greenhill’s Head Master. I would later learn that several older Greenhill teachers had sought my dismissal based on jealousies. He definitely was not going to let me get hurt by campus politics. My after school science clubs and broad student support made others feel “less-appreciated.” I stepped on toes I never knew existed! I would later find that my enthusiasm for my students would bite me on the nose again at Winston too!

I ended up leaving Greenhill and joining the faculty at The Winston School. Their head master, Paul Erwin, welcomed me with open arms.

The Winston School

I am proud to say that I spent twenty-five years teaching at Winston. Yes, I taught community college in the evenings, but my full passion was for my Winston Students. These were kids that needed strong, innovative teaching; I was committed to giving it my very best.

Winston is a school for “learning different” students. They teach students diagnosed with dyslexia, dysgraphia, ADD, ADHD, and high performing autism. I soon realized there are lots of great science teachers out there teaching wonderful students, but there were not lots of teachers with the kind of patience required to teach LD kids. I learned the importance of this patience years before I started working at Winston.

One of my first LD experiences involved a very independent Winston student who was in my 11:00 AM Physical Science class. Timmy had dyslexia, dysgraphia, and ADHD. He would write letters on a vertical plane, and roam the classroom all period. He almost never remain seated.

I remember one day (early in my Winston teaching career) when I just grew weary of his incessant roaming. My classroom had large-topped tables . . . . 5’ x 6’. During one of Timmy’s rounding of a table, I did a flying swan dive on top of the table grabbing Timmy as he strolled by the end of that table. We sat there on the lab chair with me holding him and laughing.

The class was roaring with laughter. I remember saying to Timmy: “Did you know that you could actually sit down?” We must have laughed for five minutes. Timmy looked back at me and said sitting was not half bad! This was very high praise from this young man.

I learned from my fellow teachers that this lunging across the table was not the best teaching technique, but the time I invested in this one student seems to have made a huge difference. Timmy went from being a “roaming spirit” to being a seated, better functioning student. He told me this change occurred because I believed he could be more “normal.” No one had ever told him that. I don’t like the word “normal,” but when Timmy said it, I knew he was sharing his heart.

Timmy grew up to have an outstanding career in the movie business, and to have a beautiful family.

No, I would never use such rash techniques again, but I would always invest in my students’ successes, I would encourage good behavior, and I would only accept their best work. It seems to have worked!

I also expected them to be able to speak. I would always devote ample time to each new group of students to teach them how to speak, how to present their ideas with confidence, and how to control their posture. Over the years, student after student has written thanking me for this kind of support and training. For example:

“Doc, I figured I should thank you again. Your public speaking training

has paid off. About a week ago, I prepared a brief for the President. I

ended up presenting that brief by myself. This has led to a promotion and substantial raise.

Thank you for all those years of help.”

Yes, I spent a great deal of time with my students. We built great projects like a Mayan pyramid at the front door of my Winston classroom. This would be twelve feet tall and require students to seek entrance to the classroom by traveling through part of this pyramid. We built a cantilevered deck over the creek behind my classroom, and did Science shows for parents.

After several successful years, all of my extra student efforts would come back to bite me on the nose again. I found some of my fellow teachers thought I was getting special pay or special privileges. They even stole my check out of the school mail box to find out how much I was being paid! I couldn’t let these feelings continue because I truly loved my Winston job. This was the only place that gave me the opportunity to totally innovate and explore new teaching techniques!

I ended up having an individual conference with most of the upper school faculty. I wanted to know what I did to offend them. It was easy to dispel the rumor that I was being paid more. My stolen check clearly showed I was getting the regular meager teacher wage. I also learned there was no real basis for their ill feelings and most of this mean gossip was based on jealousies. Talking face-to-face made it harder for them to gossip behind my back.

I brought this crisis to an end by letting each teacher individually know my good intentions, and that I would do anything possible to help support their own programs. This didn’t end overnight. There were some lingering jealousies, but no one could say I didn’t make a heart-felt effort to understand their needs and concerns. The teacher behind most of this controversy would leave Winston the following year.

With a small school, there never was enough money for an aggressive Science Department. We had basic materials, but we didn’t have all the “bells & whistles” that would help LD students learn.

I learned I could compensate for less funding through more hands-on learning.

That’s why we built the cantilevered deck over the creek; that’s why we made a 12’ model of a Mayan pyramid; that’s why we went through the full Egyptian Book of the Dead with a special project involving chicken king “Tu-Tut-Chick.” We spent 70 days embalming a chicken in natron; we built a tomb-to-scale along the creek; we finalized the project with a procession to bury the mummified chicken. The whole school joined the entombment procession. Great learning was had by all!

Thirty years after this learning experience, students still write me recounting how fun this was, and how they learned so much about Science, Chemistry, and Archaeology.

I learned hands-on project-based learning was the best way to teach . . . . . . this was long before these words would ever be promoted by the teaching community!

Winston Science

With limited funding, I devised a series of science competitions called Winston Science, but this was going to be more than just competitions. It was based on three “legs” of science: Competitions – Great Science Lectures – Science Museum Tours. We started small with just Winston and seven other schools taking part in these events, but the project grew into one of the major Science Events in the Country. At its height, we had 30,000 students, teachers, and families taking part in our annual events.

I devised fun competitions like the popsicle stick suspension bridge competition, the “magic marble” event, the Rube Goldberg contraptions, and the large catapult constructions. We even had a life-size catapult category. My students built a trebuchet with a telephone pole as the launching arm, 2000 pounds of weights, and 10-foot tall supporting “A” frames. Of course, my students let one of these huge A-frames fall on me breaking several ribs, but this was a small price to pay for Science!

The kids loved seeing the surprised looks on people’s faces as they drove this huge catapult on LBJ Freeway. We pulled up to the catapult throwing site at Richland College, soon followed by several other entries, but none of the other trebuchets was as “gigantic” as the Winston Team’s entry.

The Winston Catapult Team won the event, but only tossed the 50 pound projectile twenty-seven feet. If the catapult had just fallen, it would have gone more than 28 feet! Even so, this was the winning “throw.”

Of course, every Winston Science had several Art Events including photography, science fiction sculpture, science fiction short stories, science fiction art projects, science fictions films, and “food art.”

Winston Science included great lectures by some of the finest scientists from around the country. These included a Paleontology Lectures by Dr. Robert Bakker, the famous paleontologist who helped reshape our modern understanding of dinosaurs; Archaeology Lectures by outstanding SMU paleontologists or Crow Canyon Archaeology Center’s Dr. Mark Varien; Astronomy Lectures by Dr. Randii Wessen from NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory or Mark Wetzel from McDonnell Observatory. These lecture series helped inspire the hearts and minds of the students taking part in Winston Science.

We also included great tours for the students, often highlighted by presentations and hands-on labs at UT Southwestern Medical School. Students loved learning how to suture wounds, or take part in hands-on DNA analysis. The Science Place played a major role in helping stimulate these young minds by opening their doors for free access to Winston Science participants.

We also offered all the “mind” events like Quiz Bowls, Harry Potter Trivia Competitions, Star Wars & Star Trek Trivia Competitions, and Space Science Trivia Events. Maybe the most fun was the “Build a Life-size Dinosaur” in the State Fair Automobile Building. Student teams were provided 12’ x 12’ cardboard sheets, clippers, and duct tape. They had 10 hours to build a full scale dinosaur from a wooden skeletal model provided by Winston Science staff. They learned concepts of ratio and scale, as well as the perils of cardboard construction. There were always lots of tired hands from cutting the cardboard, but everyone had a great time! The dinosaurs were always outstanding!

Then, there was the most popular competition: “duct-tape-a-kid-to-the-wall” competition. Yes, a team of four students would see if they could duct tape a student to the wall of the State Fair Automobile Building. They had two minutes to do the “duct-taping,” followed by a period where the judge would measure the minutes (or seconds) the kid remained taped to the wall. The kid who stuck to the wall the longest period of time was declared the winner! More than 5,000 people would take part in this one event each year!

Along the same vein, we had the cardboard boat competition. Students used roll after roll of duct tape to hold together their cardboard boats, and then race them in the Fair Park Lagoon. The snapping turtles living in the lagoon added extra fun and excitement for each competition.

Putting together all these types of events each year produced a huge regional turnout from more than 700 schools from five states, but with this kind of turnout, we had to develop the necessary sponsorship to help fund these events. Sponsorships brought special benefits for Winston students. Our LD students would now have outstanding science opportunities that would not have been possible for our small school.

Winston became known as one of the leading Science Programs in Dallas! Equally as important, our students started taking pride in their Science accomplishments. They learned they were as good as any other student! A renewed sense of pride blossomed in every student.

What did all of this do for me? It gave me the opportunity to teach Archaeology, Astronomy, Astro-Physics, Paleontology, Geology, Oceanography, Engineering, Robotics, and Programing . . . . all on top of our regular Physics, Chemistry, and Biology. We brought Forensic Science to our Biology program giving relevance to our studies of DNA and problem solving. My students loved this!

The Forensic Program was also featured in Winston Science where we asked students to solve detailed crime scenarios complete with crime scenes, evidence, microscopic examinations, and forensic background data. Students of all ages wanted to take part in these great forensic mysteries with a maximum participation of 2500 students at one multi-day crime scene investigation. It didn’t hurt that the CSI TV Series was at the top of the TV viewing charts.

Winston Science also included a fun Human Powered Vehicle competition where students had to build a complete HPV without using purchased materials or regular bicycle parts. Yes, they could use wheels and brakes, but everything else was student-made. These HPV competitions were always a favorite.

Winston Science ended up with more than 45 competitions, lectures, and tours stretched over two weeks. The last big weekend was held at Dallas’ Fair Park Automobile Building. It brought hundreds of thousands of dollars to the school for our students. I am delighted to say this competition survives ten years after I retired from Winston.

No event would ever be successful without the support of a great staff. I soon learned the young Winston Solar Car Team could hugely benefit by being the backbone of Winston Science. The Winston Solar Car Team was always getting labeled as “rich students from a private school.” Potential sponsors would take our funding requests less seriously. This dramatically changed when the students would tell sponsors they put in hundreds of volunteer hours each year actually running Winston Science.

The Solar Team’s funding success was based on these unselfish efforts expended over these many weeks. This included organizing thousands of registrations, and manning both week day and weekend competitions. Students learned how to manage their time so their Winston Science efforts wouldn’t compromise their academic success. This also gave the team a huge sense of pride. Winston benefited by a boost in their community reputation, and by the dollars coming into the Science budget.

High School Solar Car

In 1990, I had a particularly enthusiastic group of students who heard that the University of North Texas had taken part in the 1990 SunRayce, and was building a new solar car for the 1993 race from Arlington, TX to Minneapolis, MN. The kids asked me to take them to UNT in Denton so we could see their new vehicle. The UNT Engineering Department put me in-touch with Dr. John Dobson, Engineering Professor and solar car team adviser. John asked us to come for a visit! We did!

The students were mesmerized by the solar car. Here, before their eyes, they could see college students building a vehicle powered by the sun, and driving that car cross-country! It was stunning to these high school students! This was 1990. Solar Cars were unheard of!

The van trip back to Dallas was filled with wild statements by the kids . . . . wild and enthusiastic! After an hour fighting Dallas traffic and enduring the energy emitted by seven students, we arrived at the school. One of the kids grabbed my shoulder. He asked: “Doc, can’t we build a solar car too?” I thought to myself: high schools haven’t done this before. Could high schoolers take on this challenge?

My wife has mentioned several times my decision on that 1990 day was the most significant one of my life. I looked at the kids and said: “Yes, let’s build a solar car.” I would not know solar car building would become my “mistress” with all my spare time devoted to this engineering project. My wife would always laugh and say she always knew where I was . . . . . “building or racing a solar car.”

You have to realize I knew very little about building things. Yes, I built a go-cart when I was in high school, but I had never taken a shop class. Having said this, I was a veteran “tinkerer.” I took apart everything I could get my hands on. I could get it back together, and it almost always worked! I have to say I was amazed by the engineering I would learn over the next 30 years!

Dr. John Dobson allowed us to bring the old University of North Texas solar car to the Winston School. I rented a 26’ bed Ryder Truck and traveled to Denton to pick up the car. We loaded it onto the truck and started to head home. I asked everyone’s indulgence while I stopped by my daughter’s UNT dormitory to say hello.

The Ryder Truck was parked on a large downhill slope in front of my daughter’s dormitory. When I emerged from the dormitory, I had the fright of my life! The Ryder Truck started rolling downhill! How was this possible? I had the keys to the truck in my pocket. No one was driving!

I could anticipate the truck crushing a car, striking a student, or causing a collision. I could envision having to pay for the truck, the old solar car, and numerous law suits!

My whole life as a teacher passed in front of my eyes.

I took off running after the truck. Miraculously, the truck came to a controlled stop. Unbeknownst to me, one of my students had the bright idea that he could trick me into thinking the truck was uncontrolled . . . . and this would be fun! I was so grateful we didn’t have a wreck that I just couldn’t say anything! That would change later when we got back to school!

We brought the solar car to Winston and showed it to the students, teachers, and administration. I asked if we could raise money and build our own car. This would cost Winston School nothing! Our wonderful Head of School, Dr. Rita Sherbenou, gave us permission because she believed in me, the kids, and this great hands-on project.

There were a million sketches from the kids, but we needed something more substantial to visualize our design. We needed a way to check spatial arrangements, and look at the aerodynamics. We decided to buy thin strips of wood to develop some kind of life-size model. Wood strips held together with duct tape were our materials of preference.

Unfortunately, we didn’t have enough space in my classroom to construct a model, so we had to move out into the hall, set up, work 30 minutes, and then take everything back into the classroom. We just didn’t have the space or enough time to plan.

That’s when we got the bright idea that we should take a three-day field trip to McDonnell Observatory and spend the trip planning the car and building a mock-up in my hotel room! We would have the time to focus our thoughts, try out our design, and check spatial arrangements. Most importantly, we wouldn’t have to shut down after 30 minutes!

We arrived at the Indian Lodge at Fort Davis State Park, secured our rooms, hauled in our wood strips and duct tape, and set about designing our first solar car. Of course, we forgot something. We didn’t bring any saw to cut the wood. That’s when some of the students pulled out knives and began to chop the wood strips. By the way, knives were prohibited on field trips!

Just as we were well into the project, the maid arrived and asked if she could vacuum the floor. We held up the wood strips allowing her clear access to the floor. To our horror, the carpet started coming up with every stroke of the vacuum cleaner! The students had cut the carpet when they were cutting the wood. It was just coming up like a cookie cutter!

The look on the Manager’s face was priceless. It was a look of horror coupled with amazement! He just couldn’t understand how we were this careless. He kept saying over and over: “What have you done?” I have to admit I didn’t anticipate the problem. I was just so happy watching the creativity and enthusiasm that filled the room. There is nothing better than seeing kids inspired to accomplish a project!

As it turns out, our first series of solar car fund raisers were to pay for the carpet in my hotel room at the Indian Lodge. It cost $600 to replace this one room of carpet. It seems funny now, but it was tragic at the time! That first team had many laughs about this experience. We got home and continued our planning, but some of the inspiration had gone out of our balloon.

I remember the team was working on their solar car plan using wood strips when the Football Coach came into the room, saw what we were doing, and said: “What a bunch of losers. You’re never going to build a car.”

The Football Coach would never know how his words set fire to the team. They instantly became hugely energized to build a solar car. We were going to make him “eat his words.” Thanks coach for being such a jerk and helping inspire these wonderful kids. The team was successful!

A Solar Shed

The seven members of the new solar car team realized our biggest problem was not having a place to work. I am not sure who came up with this idea, but we decided to build some kind of “shop” on the sidewalk just 50 feet from my classroom. I asked Dr. Sherbenou if we could “use” this side walk for our construction. I must admit I didn’t give all the details, but she agreed.

What she didn’t know was that we had secured concrete and building supplies from one of my student’s parents. We had a 50-hour plan that would be implemented on Friday after everyone left campus. We would take up the concrete sidewalk and pour a new, larger foundation on Saturday morning. We would finish the job on Sunday.

The kids worked their hearts out breaking up the sidewalk concrete. By 10:00 PM Friday, we had removed the old sidewalk and developed a plan for disposing of the debris. Saturday morning arrived early along with a concrete truck. We laid in rebar and supports for the concrete at 6:00 AM; we poured concrete at 8:00 AM followed by smoothing the surface. Installed in the concrete were four sets of bolts that would be used to attach the shop superstructure.

The new building foundation had been completed by 11:00 AM. Now, it was time for the students to start pre-fabricating the rest of the building so that we could install it after the new concrete hardened. Installation of the walls and roof would be our Sunday morning chore! By the time we left Sunday night, we had completed the Solar Shed! Yes, it was only 13’ x 26’, and had a gaping hole where a garage door would be installed, but we now had our own “place.”

The biggest value teaching in a small private school was that students could get away with this kind of construction project. We were going to “ask for forgiveness rather than permission.”

The students were so very proud of their new building. Man has built many great structures, but this little shop was built with 100% blood, sweat, and tears of seven dedicated students. I was so proud of them! We were worn out from the hard work, but we accomplished this hard task together! Major team-building!

The Head of School surveyed the building Monday morning and actually had great words to say in support of the kids. Since it was fairly out-of-sight, there was no argument that the student construction detracted from the school’s ambiance. We survived the inspection.

So over the next twenty months, the team was to learn how to build a solar car, along with the skills necessary to build it. It was a dynamic learning curve for everyone. We had so much confidence. We even contacted the U.S. Department of Energy asking permission to follow the 2003 SunRayce. We received tacit approval, but I am sure this was based on the premise that the Department of Energy didn’t believe high school students could build a roadworthy solar car.

We were to prove the Energy Department wrong! The kids brought in great teachers to give them major ideas for building their car. This included UNT’s Dr. John Dobson and the adviser to the University of Michigan’s famed solar car team. These professors shared their engineering ideas on Mondays and Wednesdays; I would translate their words into language understandable to high school students on Tuesdays and Thursdays. We were making progress.

And then there was the fundraising. We learned that no one would give us money unless we were prepared to talk about the project. We learned that corporations wanted us to give a thoughtful, polished presentation.

I will never forget our first attempt to get funding from Texas Instruments. The students organized a less-than-proper presentation. I suggested we needed to spend more time refining our speaking skills, but the enthusiasm of youth won out! We delivered the proposal to the Vice-President of TI.

Mid-way through that presentation, the VP stood up and announced he was leaving! He invited us to come back when we were ready to make a real presentation! This rocked everyone back on their heels, but it was a hugely valuable life-lesson.

The students went back to the school and decided they would spend the entire summer developing a great presentation. They even had the idea they would develop a video to show during that presentation.

The students approached organizing a better presentation with renewed energy. They had been humiliated during their first outing and didn’t want this to happen again.

A script was developed and printed on poster board so the presenter would have cue cards. The only problem was these wonderful dyslexic ADHD students couldn’t read the cue cards! Their halting readings created frustration and anxiety. We finally gave up the video idea in favor of a new tactic: Memorize the presentation!

LD students are extremely bright! Their ability to memorize was second-to-none, so each of the students was allocated a portion of the presentation to commit to memory. We were going to build a “speaking team.” Each student’s speech would lead to the next student’s speech. Put them all together (in the right order) and you have a well-prepared oral presentation! We would develop a remarkable story about student commitment, planning, fund raising, and construction plans.

The team went back to Texas Instruments in the Fall of 1991 and gave their new presentation. The TI executives gave the kids a standing ovation, and later presented them a check for $25,000 to help fund their program. We learned well-prepared oral presentations would be the foundation of the solar car project. I always told the students: “If you can’t talk about your project, you shouldn’t be doing that project!” This became our mantra!

Interestingly, we learned the hard way the value of developing common answers. This was dramatically pointed out by an engineer who visited with each team member during a big “display” at a National Science Convention. The engineer confessed he had planned to give the kids a donation, but when each kid gave him a different answer to the same question, he backed off!

It was startling to learn that team members didn’t know the number of volts in the battery pack, or what grade aluminum was used for the frame. What resulted was a series of over 100 questions and “common answers” that had to be memorized and refreshed periodically. Everyone would know we were using a 48-volt system.

This one principle would dramatically improve the team’s public image, and resulted in a greater flow of donations!

2003 Sunrayce

As the 2003 Sunrayce approached, I contacted the U.S. Department of Energy to refresh their memory that we planned to follow the race. Now, we had their undivided attention. I received letters and phone calls from the SunRayce Director asking what we hoped to gain from this adventure. We responded our only goal was to demonstrate high school students could build and drive a roadworthy solar car.

Weeks went by without a response from the Department of Energy. Then, on the same day, two letters arrived. Both had handwritten addresses. One of these letters was addressed to the Head of School asking for additional information. The other letter was addressed to the team and contained a threat that the students would not be welcome at the race. The tone of this second letter was menacing. It was unsigned.

The most interesting thing is that both letters had handwritten addresses, and that the handwriting was the same on both envelopes! One letter was reasonable; the other letter created fear in the minds of the team members. The Head of School brought her letter to us for review. It was at this moment we realized the same person who wrote the “reasonable” letter also wrote the “threatening,” unsigned letter. The author was the Race Director, an employee of the U.S. Department of Energy.

The Winston Solar Car Team had acquired some notoriety by this time. People throughout the Dallas/Fort Worth area had been introduced to the team through KDFW-TV’s ongoing video project which tracked the team’s progress each week. Dallas viewers had grown accustomed to seeing these students “tell their story” on TV.

During one of the KDFW visits to campus, the videographer picked up on the fear in the hearts and minds of the students . . . . . fear the U.S. Department of Energy might do something to their solar car project. We were even taking turns “watching” our solar car shop after school and weekends. We always felt it would have been simple to cut the high school kids out of the event by damaging their shop or solar car.

I later learned this same videographer asked our local Congressman why the U.S. Department of Energy was threatening these kids. As a member of the Congressional Oversight Committee that funds the Department of Energy, he had a valid reason to ask the Secretary of Energy about this threatening employee.

Within days, I learned the Secretary of Energy, Hazel O’Leary, had fired this Race Director! This was absolutely never intended! I was in shock! Now, we were getting emails from college teams asking why we got their Race Director fired! Now, we felt even less welcome at the Race.

The DFW community was outraged the Energy Department would threaten these kids. The facts of the threat had been clearly displayed during an investigative report on KDFW-TV.

Weeks went by before we heard any more from the U.S. Department of Energy. Then, we received word government representatives wanted to visit with us prior to Race Start at the Arlington Convention Center.

We were nervous about showing up for this meeting, but our media friends went with us as a kind of “protection.” A Department of Energy Official asked us what the team wanted. We explained we had no intention of harming the Race Director or the Race. All we wanted from the very beginning was to help promote the SunRayce, and to respectfully “follow” the Race in our high school solar car.

The government officials huddled for a few minutes and assured us we would be allowed to follow the race. Our guideline: we could begin driving the race two hours after the last official race entry left the Start Line each day.

It was three years before I was to learn from a World Solar Challenge Official that we could have asked for anything at that Arlington meeting. The Department of Energy would have granted any request. We could have even been the “pace car” for each day’s racing. I felt good we only asked for what we first intended: to respectfully follow the SunRayce.

Race Day arrived! The Winston Solar Car Team arrived at the Arlington Convention Center, the Race Start! All the college cars were launched on time. We waited a respectful two hours, and started our race with a roar of support from Winston parents and community onlookers.

The Winston solar car made it across the Interstate on the race route. I was following directly behind the solar car in my large Ryder Truck. This gave me a perfect line-of-sight to monitor the vehicle’s progress. Then, I saw something that brings horror to the heart of any solar car team! I realized the solar car motor was on fire!

I radioed the Winston Solar Car driver to pull off the road. He was unaware of the fire! Everyone in the chase vehicles charged up to the solar car to put out the fire, but the motor was burned beyond repair. Of course, we were too poor to have a spare motor!

We put the solar car into the truck and headed to the Race’s first overnight stop in Oklahoma. One of the wonderful team member’s parents agreed to buy us a new motor and travel to Tulsa to pick it up. We planned to change-out the motor in Ada. Now we were ready to rejoin the race overnighting in Tulsa.

We arrived at our motel in a 12-passenger van, the huge Ryder Truck, and the team parent’s large RV. The kids piled out of the van heading immediately to the rooms, but leaving me to find a parking place for the truck. I circled in the motel parking lot and realized I had come full circle to the front of the motel. Unfortunately, there was a low awning in front of the lobby entrance. I would not be able to drive this course without taking off the awning, so I decided to back up the truck!

If anyone has ever driven Ryder’s largest truck, you will understand that backing up can be problematic even under the best of conditions. I was young and brave, so I decided to back up the truck to a point where I could get out of the parking lot.

I was intensely watching the rear view mirror. To my surprise, a woman came out of a hair salon with her hair in “spoolies” and wearing a protective apron. I could see she was upset, but I couldn’t hear anything over the roar of the truck. I put the truck in Parking Gear and crawled down from the truck cab. Now I could hear the woman screaming. Apparently, I had backed the truck over this woman’s small car! The rear axle of the truck was sitting on the crushed roof of a small Ford Pinto.

The motel called the Police for assistance which brought the Tulsa Sheriff. I was trying to console the poor lady, but she wanted a pound of my flesh. Finally, the kids started wandering out into the parking lot to get their luggage from the truck. The look of horror and amazement on their faces was priceless. I don’t fully understand, but their reactions seemed to make me feel a bit better.

The Sheriff came up to me, secured my insurance information, and strongly suggested I not leave town until this incident was fully resolved. I collected this poor woman’s contact information and told her we would resolve this horrible event.

Thank you Ryder Trucks for believing in us! Knowing the circumstances of this trip, our good friends at Ryder had totally insured the truck for all incidents. They would replace this woman’s Ford Pinto with a new car. Our problem, however, was we had to get out of Tulsa and proceed with the Race.

I got the students up at 3:00 AM the next morning and our little convoy exited the City of Tulsa by 4:00 AM. We sat the solar car down on the road and began driving the race route. We passed our good friends and supporters, the University of Texas Solar Car Team. We were actually able to help them with a needed tool. Interestingly, our first high school solar car would do better than five college entries, although we probably held the record for break downs.

Our biggest break down occurred in southern Minnesota when our axle splintered. We didn’t know anything about heat-treating axles, so it just couldn’t handle the stress of the drive.

We found a parking lot and set up shop for an overnight “fix.” To our startling amazement, a police car came screeching up to us with the Police Officers jumping out to see what we were doing. I guess we did look suspicious being in a strip mall parking lot trying to weld an axle at 4:00 AM in the morning.

I explained to the officers the nature of our project, and introduced each student to the policemen. The officers huddled for a minute, then asked me to get in the car. I asked if there was a problem. They said no, but they had a solution to my problem.

These two fine officers drove me to a welder’s home and awoke him! They explained our situation. The welder got into his truck and followed the officers back to the parking lot. This wonderful man helped us weld our axle so we could get back on the road by 8:00 AM. We all learned a great lesson about community spirit from this welder!

The Winston Team finally arrived at the Minneapolis SunRayce Finish Line. We were directed to a peripheral parking lot so we wouldn’t share the fanfare associated with the main racing event. The team appreciated this decision because we didn’t know how the college teams would respond to us following the “firing” of their Race Director.

To our amazement, more than a hundred college kids came rushing over to the Winston Team hugging and congratulating them on their success. It was a “life affirming” moment.

I went on to teach at the Winston School for 25 years. Through my hands-on learning programs (Winston Science, Winston Solar Car Team), we made a huge impact on the Science Education Community. I ended up teaching Sciences for 30 years; Engineering for 30 years; and Government for 52 years.

Teaching was never work. It was my small effort to help others, and to show my dead Viet Nam buddies that I was doing everything possible to pay them back for the privilege of living.

Helping Students Discover

An old friend with the Dallas Science Place’s Paleontology Department alerted me that a swimmer in Lake Ray Hubbard had stumbled onto some bones in four feet of water about ten yards from shore. Several students and I set out on an “adventure” to see if there was any truth to this statement.

Arriving at the approximate location, we waded into the lake so cloudy that you couldn’t see you hand four inches in front of your face. We had to do our searching with our feet and toes! After about 90 minutes, I put my foot on something hard and irregular in shape. Was it just a rock or had we found something significant.

Diving below the water, I groped around on the bottom of the lake composed of decomposing plant matter and three inches of brown muck. I came up with a heavy bone that appeared to be a vertebra. The students raced to my location and discovered more bones.

Triumphant but filthy with stinky plant matter, we headed back to the Science Place to identify our finds. We were elated to learn we discovered the backbone of a Mosasaur, an aquatic reptile that lived from 82-66 million years ago. Our survey of the bones indicated our specimen was over twenty feet long!

The students couldn’t contain their enthusiasm. Everyone was talking about future exploration . . . . and how we were going to get our specimen out of the lake. Then the practicality set in! The Science Place already had a splendid specimen of this animal, so they were not interest in pursuing a “dig.”

We took our find to the Southern Methodist University’s Paleontology Department. They explained this kind of discovery was exciting for students, but would cost too much money to excavate. It didn’t help that every significant science program in the area had a Mosasaur!

The students and I agreed the experience was hugely rewarding, but we were a bit disappointed that no one wanted out glorious “find.”

National Science Conventions

National Science Conventions always provided wonderful opportunities for me to raise money for Winston Science or Winston Solar. I never returned from a convention without securing thousands of dollars of donations and science equipment.

I was attending one such convention in Los Angeles when a Federal Wildlife Officer came up to me and asked for my help. He told me he had confiscated four tree frogs from a group that didn’t have a license to collect or sell these animals. He said he wanted to find a science teacher who could lawfully use the animals for education purposes. Of course I said: “That’s me!”

The Federal Wildlife Officer handed me the four frogs housed in a plastic cup. I signed a document confirming receipt of the animals, and headed back to the hotel to pack for my return trip to Dallas. I was flying Southwest Airlines. I checked my luggage and carried my plastic cup with the frogs onto the plane.

One hour into the flight, the Flight Attendant asked me what was in my plastic cup. I explained I was the recipient of several tree frogs obtained during my visit at the National Science Teachers’ Convention.

A few minutes later, that Flight Attendant came back to my seat and asked for a favor. An elementary-age student was having a difficult time on the flight. She thought I might be able to ease his concerns if I showed him the frogs. I agreed.

I walked forward several rows to meet this nine year old passenger. His mother quietly introduced us. After explaining how the tree frogs came into my possession, I leaned over, lifted the lid of the plastic cup, and gave the young man a look at four very nervous small frogs. The young man grabbed the cup with excitement causing one of the frogs to jump out of the cup.

There was instant pandemonium! The young boy’s mother screamed; the Flight Attendance lost her composure screaming at me to please catch the frog. I was on my knees moving up and down the aisle trying to find this 3 cm frightened critter. Then I heard a scream from two rows away! I could see the cause of that scream: the green tree frog had attached itself to the back of a lady’s leg.

In a matter of seconds, the entire section of the plane became hysterical. No one knew what was happening. I grabbed the frog off the lady’s leg, stood up, and announced in a loud voice that the wayward animal had been captured, and there was no danger to anyone. The passengers’ composure calmed down almost immediately.

As I returned to my seat, a man grabbed my arm and scolded me for bringing dangerous animals on the airplane. I looked him squarely in the eye, opened the lid so he could see the contents of the plastic cup, and said: “Sir, are you really going to say a tiny tree frog is a dangerous animal?” We both laughed!

Teaching Engineering

I have thoroughly enjoyed teaching Engineering to thousands of students over these last 26 years. High School Solar Car and the Solar Car Challenge have given me the remarkable opportunity to expand my understanding of the “teaching world.” I found myself teaching both students and teachers as we encouraged support for this new hands-on project-based education. I will expand on this topic in the Chapter labeled “Solar Car Challenge.”

CHAPTER 8 – The Solar Car Challenge

Posted on February 23, 2021February 17, 2021 by Lehman Marks

Starting a high school solar car program in 1990, and enduring two major solar car races (the Phoenix 500 and the 1993 SunRayce), taught me that the Winston students couldn’t successfully race against college or corporate entries. How do 16-year old kids compete with college undergraduate and graduate students, and the huge funding opportunities for universities?

What we needed was a new high school solar car event that would challenge high school students to do something that no one expected: build a roadworthy solar car.

I knew the Winston Team would never reach its full potential unless they had other high schools to race with them! That’s why in 1993 I began the Solar Education Program designed to provide guidance to new teams, and help mentor their teachers.

Since its inception, the Solar Car Challenge has worked with more than 65,000 students and has 251 on-going high school solar car projects in 38 states, Canada, Mexico, Costa Rica, Puerto Rico, and the Bahamas. I am proud to say that 23% more of our students actually enter a Science or Engineering Profession when compared with similarly-situated students.

I loved the friendships developed through the Solar Car Challenge. Fellow teachers who had the guts to leap into this program found a common bond in the bumps and bruises along the way.

No single teacher would have all the skills to complete a project, so the name-of-the-game was networking with specialists in the community. These volunteers would help teach students (and teachers) those thorny specialties that were crucial to building a solar car: electronics, welding, amateur radio, aerodynamics, battery technology, coding & programing, mechanical and electrical engineering, CAD, and many more!

We also learned all those other “life skills” like dedication and commitment to a project. Students learned the value of developing a budget, setting out a marketing strategy, how to fundraise, and how to talk about their project. They learned the importance of a good handshake, standing up straight, and looking others directly in the eye when speaking to them! So many Challenge participants continue to tell me how much these life skills helped them.

I knew I wanted to develop a truly student oriented program where every student would be treated with respect. Every solar car would have to be designed and built by the students; every solar car would be respected for the hard work that went into it.

Our first Winston Solar Car Team had been treated fairly by the college solar racers at the end of the 1993 SunRayce. There was a mutual respect for the high school students’ hard work. The second Winston Team would not enjoy that kind of courtesy. The 1994 Winston Solar Team decided to take part in the Tour de Sol, an event held in the Northeast for both solar and electric vehicles.

The Winston Team arrived in New York City’s Battery Park to undergo scrutineering (qualifying). Race Judges came over to inspect the solar car, and started touching and “fiddling” with the solar array. One judge grabbed the front of the solar car and started pushing it up and down allegedly to evaluate the suspension. He broke some of the solar cells with this rough treatment.

It was all I could do to stop the Captain of the Winston Team from assaulting the Judge. The Race Official took a screw driver to the steering system, and started prying up parts of the car without saying anything to the team. The Team Captain jumped up and started running towards the judge mumbling: “How can you do that to our solar car?

Luckily, I was in a position to lunge at the kid bringing him down like a football tackle. Several of the other team members helped me restrain him. The issue was the Judge showed no respect for the students or the solar car. These inappropriate and disrespectful actions burned themselves into my memory. I was determined this would never happen to anyone taking part in our racing event.

They ruled us “unqualified” for the race because they didn’t approve of our secondary braking system.

The students were in a deep “funk” and must have looked like poor, pathetic kids. They were somewhat justified because we had traveled over 1500 miles to get to New York City, been chased by a Vietnamese Street Gang in downtown New York, and were not treated very nicely by the hotel. Even so, we felt our racing opportunity had evaporated.

But out of nowhere, two men came by our make-shift shop and asked why we looked so sad. The team captains stood up, introduced themselves, and explained we had been disqualified because we didn’t have an acceptable secondary braking system. We explained how we tried to find parts to build a new braking system, but we got lost trying to find the shops in New Jersey! If I remember right, we sounded a bit inexperienced!

The two men said: “Not a problem! I need you guys to load your solar car into your trailer and follow us back to Stamford, Connecticut!” They explained they had a repair shop and could help us engineer a second braking system. We greeted this great news with whoops and hollers! We weren’t out-of-the-running!

We trailered the solar car following these guys back to Connecticut. That’s when we learned these fine men were part of the Ferrari Racing Team’s Repair Crew.

We devised a brake plan, and got to work! It was now 9:00 PM. The local radio station sent a crew to check-out our progress and operated a “live” broadcast from the Ferrari shop all evening. This brought out dozens of curious citizens and supporters.

I remember one of the team members saying “on air” that we sure were hungry because we hadn’t had dinner. Within minutes, six large pizzas miraculously arrived and just evaporated in the mouths of these hungry students. We loved the hospitality of this wonderful community!

By 2:00 AM, we had a new secondary braking system and were on the road back to New York City. There wasn’t much sleep that night but there was no lack of enthusiasm when we again applied for qualifying the next morning.

The judges came out and again started poking around on the car, jabbed the side of the car with a screw driver, and started counting the solar cells by thumping each row of solar cells. I held my breath hoping none of the students would say something offensive. The students were irate that any judge would treat our car (or the team) with such disrespect. The judges again disqualified our solar car.

This whole process was disheartening to everyone, but there were a few good things that came out of this experience. First, we made a new friend in Lee Cabe, a Public School teacher from Newburgh, New York. After seeing our solar car, Lee wanted to jump into the project. We have been great friends ever since, and the Newburgh Solar Cars won many Solar Car Challenge racing events.

The second good thing was I realized how important it was to treat everyone with respect. I have tried to inculcate this principle into the Solar Car Challenge so win-or-lose, every student goes home feeling like they were treated fairly, equally, and with respect.

In 1996, the Winston Team traveled to Australia to race in the World Solar Challenge. During that visit, I had the opportunity to meet their amazing Race Director who shared a few laughs with me. The best “laugh” was Chris asking me about our taking part in the 1994 Tour de Sol. I asked him how he knew we attempted to join that race. He smiled, and said: “Everyone” knew Winston was hoping to take part in that race.

Then he said something that rocked me back on my heels. He said: “You know, they were never going to let you enter that 1994 race!”

I must have looked stunned because of my dropped mouth and bulging eyes. He went on to explain that some of the same people involved in the 1993 SunRayce were also helping judge the 1994 Tour de Sol. He heard they were never going to allow Winston to qualify for that race. I was shaken to think how vindictive these people were, and that I had absolutely no knowledge of this.

I realized early that a high school solar car team could not compete with college or corporate solar cars. I therefore set out to develop a Solar Car Education Program in 1993 which would be designed to help form new teams, help them plan and build their own solar cars, and to provide some kind of decent “racing” environment. An event that would treat every student and teacher fairly!

The Solar Car Challenge Education Program reached out to several schools across the country and was met with favorable responses from schools in Hacienda Heights, California and Carthage, Missouri. Now, with the Winston Team, we would have three high school racers ready for a 1995 Solar Car Challenge, our first racing event!

Over the years, we promoted the Solar Car Challenge by saying: “Everyone knows that college students can build solar cars, but did you know that high school students could too!” This proved very successful! Sponsors were excited to have an opportunity to do something so meaningful. Remember, this was long before the word “STEM” became popular in Education!

High School Students (and their teachers) were hugely excited about joining the Solar Car Challenge. I heard a million times from teachers and parents that they only wished they had this kind of opportunity when they were in school. The hook: Give students an opportunity to build a roadworthy solar car, and then offer them a safe opportunity to race that vehicle at a world class NASCAR racing facility.

In our case, NASCAR built a new racing facility in North Texas: the Texas Motor Speedway, a world class facility. I approached this new TMS organization and asked if we could be the “education outreach” for the speedway. They agreed and have generously worked with us ever since. I deeply appreciate all they have done over the years to both host and help promote the Solar Car Challenge.

The Solar Car Challenge has hosted 24 national high school solar car challenges, mentored more than 251 high school teams, and advanced this great high school solar program into being the top project-based STEM Initiative in the country.

Solar Car Challenge becomes a Foundation

The Solar Car Challenge was originally associated with the Winston School, but this proved to be a limiting factor. Corporations and Foundations were not enthusiastic about donating to a small private school.

When I retired from the Winston School in 2010, the Administration and I agreed that I would take the Solar Car Challenge with me, and turn it into a national non-profit education foundation. The Solar Car Challenge Foundation was incorporated in 2011 and continues to grow and enjoy the support of major corporations, foundations, and individuals from across the country.

Bumps and Bruises

There have been many bumps and bruises along the way, but we have continued to hold true to our basic principle of respecting the individual student and each solar car team. At the same time, we had to fight to maintain the integrity of the Foundation and keep it from being “hijacked” by others seeking to steal our efforts.

2018

I have been surprised by the number of times corporate public relations people, or others have sought to use our event for their own purposes. For the most part, I have no problem with teams being aggressively supported by sponsors, but I have a basic principle that they cannot do this to the disparagement of the other teams.

For example, I remember in one cross-country race when a major corporation set up plans to promote their sponsored team throughout the 10 days of the race, including each overnight stay and display. This was wonderful for that team, but it would have diminished the “luster” for all the other twenty teams racing cross-country.

I informed this corporate media person that it was not appropriate to use the Solar Car Challenge as a vehicle to promote their company, particularly since they did not provide any support for the overall event! The media person said he would have to talk to his superiors.

Thirty minute later I had a phone call from New York. This call was from the head of this national company’s public relations office. This “gentleman” aggressively spoke saying “how dare I interfere with their plans”. I reminded him I totally supported the solar car team in question, and greatly appreciated his company’s support for this team. I then pointed out it was not appropriate for his media people to hijack the race for their own purposes.

He asked what this meant! I explained his media people planned to overtly promote this single team at every stop and solar car display along the 10 days of the race, without promoting the other 20 teams taking part in the race. This selective promotion would diminish the other team’s participation, and give the perception that his corporation was a sponsor of the race. I reminded him his corporation was not a sponsor, but we would appreciate their support in the future.

The head of this corporate public relations office then said something that stunned me. He said: “I represent a $40 billion dollar corporation. Are you trying to intimidate me?”

I assured him this was not the case, but his media people would not be allowed to hijack this event for their own purposes. The phone call was disconnected.

I was careful to monitor the race activities over the next days. I am proud to say this major corporation never did anything to interfere with the race, or hijack it for their own purposes. They did a brilliant job helping sponsor their individual solar car team, but did this promotion outside the racing event. This turned out to be a fine example of corporate integrity.

2003 Race to Florida

In another memorable corporate power grab, an Austin-based Utility had secured the Title Sponsorship of that year’s Solar Car Challenge. They were wonderful people who truly believed in solar technology, and the students demonstrating their Engineering skills.

Solar Car Challenge Race Officials decided the event would function more easily if we started the cross-country race from Round Rock, Texas rather than from downtown Austin. Traffic considerations and police supervision created too many obstacles for a downtown launch.

Dell Computers, one of our other major sponsors, offered the use of their Corporate Headquarters in Round Rock for the Race Start. Everyone agreed this would improve safety for the students. Dell had only one requirement: no corporations or businesses would be allowed to promote their organizations at their Corporate Headquarters. This didn’t sit well with the Austin-based Utility.

Race Day arrived! There was lots of fanfare and crowds to see the teams’ Race Start. Then people started pointing to the sky! There, hovering above the Dell Headquarters was a hot air balloon promoting the Austin-based Utility. The Dell representatives were furious.

After the race concluded in Florida, Dell asked what it would take to become the title sponsor of the Solar Car Challenge. They made us a deal we just couldn’t resist!

2001 Race to Columbus

A wonderful Austin-based utility was the title sponsor for the 2001 cross-country race from DFW to Columbus, Indiana. We had an exciting race partially following the old SunRayce route from Arlington, TX to Minneapolis, MN.

Our first “overnight” was scheduled for Ada, Oklahoma. Teams were camped on the parking lot at the Ada High School. We were excited to discover ABC’s Good Morning America was sending a satellite truck to have a “live shoot” the following morning from the high school parking lot. ABC star Lara Spencer would be there to interview the students and look at the high school solar cars.

Everyone had to be on the parking lot at 5:00 AM so they could be in place for the “live shoot”. Lara did a wonderful job visiting with the teams with cameras rolling and lights glaring. Then, our wonderful Houston, MS solar car team invited Lara to drive their solar car. She immediately seized on this idea as “great television.”

The students helped her into the car, and showed her how to drive the vehicle. On live television, Lara Spencer can be seen driving the Mississippi solar car across the parking lot! Then, to everyone’s surprise, you can see Lara standing up in the car and yelling: “No one showed me how to stop the car!” At this point, twenty students took off at break-neck speed trying to catch the solar car. Luckily, the event ended safely! This made for great LIVE TV!

At the end of the race, our wonderful Public Relations People from the Austin-based Utility arranged for us to have an appearance on the NBC TODAY Show! There was one condition: we would have to make this appearance the next morning following the race! They also required us to have the winning solar car there in front of NBC’s New York Studios.

Our brilliant public relations people discovered you could send a solar car “overnight” to New York via FED EX! They also rented a small jet to fly me, several Winston School solar car team members, and representatives from the winning Houston, MS solar team to New York City. The flight would have to take place after the close of the Awards Banquet, and would be an extremely tight schedule.

The next morning, we were on the square in front of the NBC studios. It was rainy! The winning solar car had not arrived yet, but seemingly out of nowhere, a huge 18-wheeler truck pulled up to the square with the winning solar car. The Houston Team unloaded the car and readied themselves for the broadcast.

We were to be interviewed by NBC Weatherman Al Roker. The broadcast time arrived, everyone was ready, and then we faced a downpour! The NBC Producer said our “shoot” would take place during the next half-hour segment! With these few minutes to spare, the Mississippi Team headed inside to get out of the rain. My students and I stood by the solar cars to make sure everything was safe!

Then, the rain just turned off! The NBC Producer loudly announced we were going to do the solar car “shoot.” Al Roker was there to interview me and the winning team, but the Mississippi Team was not there! The camera counted down 3-2-1 and we were on live national TV.

Al Roker asked me about the race and then moved down the line of students asking for their input. Roker knew that Chris was the name of the winning Solar Team Captain. When he came to the kid with the label “Chris” on his lapel, he asked him: “How does it feel to win the national race?” The unfortunate thing was this Chris was a member of the Winston Team . . . . not the Chris from the Mississippi Team.

The Winston Team Chris didn’t miss a beat! He realized what happened, and just decided to pretend to be the “Mississippi Chris.” This would keep Al Roker from looking foolish, and make sure the Mississippi Team had someone there to represent them.

The “Winston Chris” did a great job. As the interview continued, the honest-to-goodness Houston, MS Team finally arrived and lined up behind their car.

For-all-the-world, everyone thought that Al Roker had interviewed the Captain of the Houston Mississippi Solar Car Team. The Producer commended Chris for speaking so nicely . . . . . and then the NBC people realized they had just interviewed the wrong kid. It was too late at that point.

The Houston Solar Car Team did not seem upset. They realized they had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Winston Chris thought he was doing the best thing to help protect the Race, while still giving the Houston Team recognition for their race-winning performance.

Of course, I could see what was happening at the time Al Roker misidentified Chris. Thoughts raced through my mind! Should I interrupt Al Roker and tell him he was talking to the wrong kid? Should I point out the winning team was not there? Or should I just let everything play out? I decided to just let everything proceed and hope for the best!

People around the country knew the Houston Solar Car Team won the race and received great publicity for their school district. This, however, would not sit well with the State of Mississippi or the Houston, MS parents!

On the two day car trip back from New York City, I had phone call after phone call from irate Mississippi parents wanting to know what I had done with their kids. They thought I had kidnapped them! This even reached the point that the Mississippi Attorney General was supposedly planning to file some kind of charges against me!

This was all happening because the Houston Team never contacted “home” for two days after the close of the race. They were enjoying sightseeing in New York City. When they arrived back in Houston, MS, everything was straightened out and apologies made, but for two days after the NBC Interview, I was a persona non grata in the State of Mississippi!

The wonderful people of Houston, MS were to make this up to the Solar Car Challenge in 2003 when they hosted the whole race to a splendid banquet during the race, and presented the Solar Car Challenge with the Key-to-the-City, a citywide parade, and wonderful hospitality!

Should I Leave the Solar Car Challenge

In 2001, the Solar Car Challenge was gearing up for their cross-country race from Fort Worth, Texas to Columbus, Indiana. My preparations were delayed by a phone call from Alice Wessen, NASA’s JPL Education Outreach Coordinator. Alice was the wife of my old friend Dr. Randii Wessen, a scientist at JPL. Alice was asking me to consider a job with the upcoming Cassini-Huygens Space Mission.

I was invited to travel to the JPL facilities in Pasadena, California to visit with the Cassini Mission Staff. I learned I would actually be an employee of the California Institute of Technology, but loaned to JPL. My wonderful hosts wined and dined me at Cal Tech arranging for me to sit in the chair previously occupied by Albert Einstein. This is the way to gently “twist your arm.”

My hosts then took me to JPL’s Mission Control Room and introduced me to Bob Mitchell, the Cassini Mission Manager. Bob was a legend in Planetary Exploration. It was indeed a privilege to visit with him about the nature of the job. Bob explained the job was to coordinate the Cassini Mission Education Outreach to students and teachers around the world. We struck up a friendship; I was offered the job.

Bob then took me over to the Voyager Control Console where I could see JPL still monitoring these historic spacecraft launched twenty-five years ago. He also showed me the new Mars Rover Console being prepared for the upcoming Mars Sojourner Mission. This included a rover control station that trained technicians to drive the rover on Mars.

It took command signals seven minutes to reach Mars. If you are driving a Mars Rover, you have to really plan ahead because your signal to “stop” forward motion might not get there in time!

Of course, I asked to have a chance to drive the test rover located in the desert East of JPL. It only took me two minutes to drive the rover off a small cliff. There were roars of laughter from my hosts, but all the humor was good-hearted and well received.

This would have been a wonderful personal opportunity, but I decided I could do more good by returning to the Solar Car Challenge and expanding its outreach. I have often thought whether I made the right decision turning down this opportunity, but I think I have accomplished more “good” by helping to build the Solar Car Challenge Education Program.

The 2020 Crisis

The threat of COVID-19 forced the Foundation to postpone the 2020 Solar Car Challenge closed-track race at the Texas Motor Speedway. This would be hugely disappointing to so many high school seniors who would graduate without racing their solar car.

With this in mind, we awarded all graduating seniors the opportunity to come back and rejoin their high school teams. At least they could see their solar cars race at the speedway.

The COVID-19 crisis also affected our good friends at the Texas Motor Speedway. They lost almost one full year of business due to race cancellations and delays. This made it difficult for TMS to fully sponsor our 2021 racing event.

Racing at the Texas Motor Speedway was crucial to our Education Model. This opportunity was part of the “hook” engaging high school students in the STEM Project. Students were challenged to build roadworthy solar cars and then race them at a prestigious NASCAR facility!

The Solar Car Challenge Foundation and Individual Solar Race Teams stepped up and helped the speedway with financial contributions. The Speedway has helped make the Solar Car Challenge Education Program possible for over 15 years; now was the time for the Solar Car Challenge to help the speedway.

The 2021 Solar Car Challenge

Plans are moving forward for a 2021 closed-track racing event at the Texas Motor Speedway, but the shadow of COVID-19 and its new mutations create an element of uncertainty. I am not 100% sure the event will take place as of this writing. Of course, the key to this is broad acceptance of vaccinations, and full compliance with COVID protocols.

My Final Thoughts about the Solar Car Challenge

I have devoted over 30 years of my life building an education program to help motivate high school students in Science, Engineering, and Alternative Energy. I have used so much of my life-force, so many of my own dollars, and too much of my blood, sweat, and tears to help get this program “off-the ground.” I find myself now asking myself: “Is it all worth it?”

Of course it has been worth it! We have done so much “good.” I have had the privilege of meeting so many wonderful people, and developed so many friendships. I only hope my efforts to help others have helped pay back my old friends who gave their lives in the Viet Nam War. The intervening fifty years have just flown by.

CHAPTER 9 – The Bad People

Posted on March 2, 2021March 1, 2021 by Lehman Marks

For the most part, my life has been blessed with wonderful friends, acquaintances, and business associates, but with the good has come some less-than “happy” folks.

I’ve already mentioned my first grade “run-ins” with Ricky! Remember, this was the boy that walked with me to school every morning, and beat me up every afternoon on the walk home. I really don’t place Ricky in this “bad person” category. He was adversely influenced by his nasty cousins who had continuous run-ins with my Mom. Ricky’s Mother provided him much needed guardrails, but after her untimely early death, there was no wholesome guidance in his life.

My first real “bad kid” lived several houses from us in Houston. This kid always wanted to throw a knife at me! My Mother would often tell me she couldn’t believe his parents wouldn’t provide better guidance. I found I could usually sidetrack his thoughts and direct his attention to the latest Sci-Fi movie.

This didn’t work one afternoon when he grabbed me and challenged me to a knife fight. I told him I wasn’t interested, but that wasn’t good enough! He unfolded a switch blade and threw it at my feet sticking it in the ground between my feet. I walked away trying to avoid a confrontation, but he wouldn’t have it! He picked up the knife again and threw it at me, but this time, it went all the way through my forearm.

I ran home to find Mom hosting a weekly canasta card game with seven other ladies from the neighborhood. This included the knife-throwing kid’s mom. I walked in holding my arm, walked up to the card table and proclaimed that I had been “stuck.”

I proceeded to pull the knife out in front of the other ladies. One lady fainted. I looked at the offending kid’s Mom and said: “I think you have a problem with your kid.” Horror crept across her face. She stepped away from the card table and ran out the front door sobbing uncontrollably.

Luckily, the knife blade missed major blood vessels, but there was still plenty of blood. It required stitches and lots of antibiotics, but I would escape with a really cool scar to “show-and-tell” at school.

This didn’t end the incident. If I learned anything from Ricky’s beatings, I knew I had to stand-down this kid. I confronted him later in the week. He was an unusually tall kid for a fifth grader, but a bit uncoordinated. I took advantage of this and knocked him down first. He was slow to get up which gave me the opportunity to land several more blows on his face and head. He decided not to get up . . . . he was shocked that I was giving him a “thumping.”

After just a few days, the knife-throwing kid’s parents sent their son to live with grandparents in Missouri. I never saw him again.

Yes, I had to confront my high school bully, but I have already talked about this guy early in my coming-of-age years. I still love the nickname that came from this incident: Mad Dog Marks!

Texas Senate Bad Guy

The next “bad buy” in my life was a legislative aide to a Lieutenant Governor (not Preston Smith). I lived through the horrible prejudices and injustices of the 1960’s Civil Rights Movement, but I didn’t realize anti-Semitism was so prevalent. I remember standing on the Senate floor and over-hearing this aide distinctly say: “So you want me to fire all the Jews?” The answer he received from the Lt. Governor was “Yes.”

These words drove a knife into my heart. Firing someone because of religious affiliation seemed so inappropriate, but I was ill-prepared to handle these sick people. I never told anyone about this incident, nor did anything to the people involved, but it still leaves a “burn mark” on my soul.

Executive Services Inc.

I have already discussed the bad people who threatened Executive Services Inc. because we were reporting on the Texas Legislature. Being beaten-up, shot-at, and office burned-out . . . definitely underlined the words “bad people” in my life. I was only able to stop the threats by publishing each day’s happenings in my daily Executive Information Network newsletter. This brought the “bad people’s” overt actions to an end, but underhanded actions continued.

I was able to determine who was behind these events by focusing on the money. I discovered who was losing money because of my non-profit reports, and who was paying money to the thugs to terrorize! There was to be no more childhood knife-fight challenges, but these bad people needed to know they didn’t win! I was determined to bring this to their attention by affecting their pocket books.

These bad people bribed a bank employee to get access to Executive Services’ bank records. With this information, they could see our clients, and used this data to strong-arm them to discontinue using our services. It didn’t work! The clients alerted me to the problem. I traced it back to a breach of security at my bank. We even discovered the employee who accepted the bribe.

We expanded the distribution of our legislative reporting, often distributing it at no charge. I wanted to make sure no one would be able to profit from this kind of public information. This dramatically cut into their underhanded payments. I later discovered one key recipient of these underhanded funds lost almost $150,000 a year.

I overcame the challenges of political opponents by suing the Lt. Governor/Senate and the Speaker/House of Representatives for “fair treatment.” The law suit filed in Federal Court was quickly resolved to avoid bad publicity. Executive Services got everything we wanted: access to the legislative floor for better reporting, and desk space in the Capitol News Room.

We survived, and did such a good job the State of Texas eventually took over all of the services we provided. This was right and proper. Our non-profit corporation had accomplished its goal by bringing better information to the People of Texas, and providing better research for the Texas Legislature.

Seeing the end of Executive Services was bitter sweet. Yes, it was great to see the State of Texas realize the importance of our legislative research and reporting, but we had endured several years of anxiety, pain, and bruises to help improve Open Meetings, Open Records, Legislative Research, and Bill-Tracking.

Secretary of State’s Office

I started my career working for a lovely lady who didn’t want anything to do with me. It was indeed a privilege to work with Mary Kay Wall in the Secretary of State’s Office, but she didn’t want anything to do with this young “upstart.” My appointment was politically earned through my service to the Texas Senate and Lt. Governor Preston Smith.

Mary Kay wasn’t a bad person. She just didn’t have time to bring me into her career project: the codification of Texas Election Laws into an Election Code. I found relief when Secretary of State Martin Dies Jr. took me “under his wing” and used me to help promote the Texas Election Code. I was later assigned to be a liaison between the Governor and a less-than supportive Attorney General. I could speak both of their languages!

The Winston School

I ended my career working for a less-than-supportive person. I flourished under some amazing, inspiring leaders at the Winston School including Paul Erwin, Beverly LaNoue, Walter Sorensen, Dr. Rita Sherbenou, Richard Hayse, and Dr. Pam Murfin, but I found the leader at the time of my retirement didn’t like me. She never once told me I did a good job, or that she was proud of my efforts to support Winston. Never!

This really hurt because all the previous Winston leaders had often complimented me for bringing wonderful science programs to the Winston School including Winston Science, the Winston Solar Car Team, and the Winston Solar Car Challenge.

For a small private school, we had developed a huge reputation in the Science Community which provided prestige for the school and put pride in the hearts of our students. I found out in my first years teaching at Winston that some students felt “less qualified” than students in other schools. This was absolutely not the case! These were bright, intelligent kids who just learned differently. I set about to give them reasons to take pride in themselves.

One of the biggest reasons I created Winston Science was to give Winston students the opportunity to compete with students from other schools. They did compete and WON! They learned they possessed the same qualities that made students everywhere a success! I always “busted” with happiness when I saw our Winston kids taking pride in themselves.

All of these events also put “bucks” in the Science Department Budget so we could afford some “bells & whistles” needed to teach good Science.

I think this discomfort at the Winston School arose in 2008 when I tripped on a sidewalk as I was walking towards the school building. I did a 270 degree flip landing on my back and breaking several vertebrae. I was in lots of pain, but was determined to get into the building and take some Excedrin. (Excedrin has always been my “go-to-remedy”)

I headed to a Plano Back Surgeon to discover I had severely injured myself and would require surgery. I remember sending a school email to my colleagues advising them I might be a little “slow” because I had slipped and broken my back. The leader was irate I used the words “broken my back.” She prohibited me from referring to my injury as a broken back even though my doctor and specialists said I had a broken back.

At this time, I was just months away from the next Solar Car Challenge. If I went through surgery now, I wouldn’t be there to run the event, so I postponed surgery until after the race. I was willing to endure the pain for months so thousands of students wouldn’t be disappointed; I was willing to endure the pain so I wouldn’t let down the Winston School.

The day after the 2008 Solar Car Challenge, I was on the operating table getting three titanium rods, a dozen screws, and bits of cadaver bone “installed” in my back. I would have a full six weeks to recover before school started, and should be able to perform all my regular duties when school resumed. I was up walking in three days and really pushing myself so that I could restart school in September.

One thing really provided me some comfort. I knew our school benefits package included Disability (Inability-to-Work) Insurance. If I were not able to work, I would still receive 60% of my salary for a certain period of time. I applied for and received this benefit.

The school was reticent to allow me to come back to school. They required a doctor’s letter saying I was qualified to return. I had that letter ready in early September, but they would not let me return until mid-October. I still had to do the work for my classes providing all the lesson plans.

I never could determine any reason why the school would not allow me to return to work since I had a Doctor’s Letter, and had already resumed my college teaching at Richland College.

I was so very glad to get back to school mid-October, and to see my students. Being a small school, Winston gave teachers a great opportunity to develop friendships with your students, particularly my Solar Car Team.

The next shock I had was receiving my first pay check after returning to school. My family had struggled to make “ends-meet” since we were living on 60% of my salary. This first check was for half of my salary! I remember running upstirs to the Business Office Manager and asking what was the problem.

I will never forget her answer: “You will have to pay back the money you received from your Disability Insurance Benefits. I pleaded: “How can this be? This insurance benefit is designed to help when you’re sick without a payback.” I was entitled to this benefit. Then I learned that the leader was requiring this payback.

The Business Office calculated it would take me almost a year to pay back this money. I would have to continue on this reduced salary almost all year. I realized I couldn’t live on what was left. I started a Saturday Science Academy to supplement my income, but this could not fill the financial void, and meant I would be working seven days a week. Sundays were devoted to working with the Solar Car.

I took this issue to two Dallas Law Firms. They both told me I had a good case to sue the school, but of course, this would have ended my teaching career at Winston, destroyed the Solar Team, and compromised the Solar Car Challenge.

I was a great believer in the Winston School. It had provided me countless opportunities to innovate and teach wonderful students. Previous administrations, teachers, and families had believed in me and supported me. I decided that suing Winston would not represent the love in my heart for this great school. It certainly wouldn’t show faith in all the trust and support I received from the parents.

It was at this point in the fall of 2008 that I realized I was in serious trouble at the Winston School. I designed a plan to help me survive to 2010. This would give me the time to accomplish three things: (1) graduate my current Solar Car Team; (2) transition the Solar Car Challenge into a non-profit foundation; and (3) allow me to reach 65 years of age for Social Security. The tough part was just getting through the next two years.

The year that followed proved to be personally challenging. I helped the solar car team survive by placing so many expenses on my personal credit cards. After 18 years of solar car expenses, I had over $65,000 in unsecured debt. I realized I could support my family only if I made minimum payments for a year, and then just walk away from the debt. I refused the idea of bankruptcy.

The school’s requirement that I pay back my Disability Insurance Benefit drove me to the brink of bankruptcy. I did my best to cover-up the financial pain from my students, but I just couldn’t believe I worked so hard for so many years to now find myself on the edge of a financial precipice.

I discussed this crisis with the leader. I remember stepping out of my classroom into the hallway to have this conversation. She told me that nothing was going to change. I asked if I could please plead my case to the Winston Board of Directors, many of whom were my old friends. She said “No,” and flatly told me they would not be receptive.

Over my almost 25 years at the Winston School, I received so much great support from wonderful Board Members. Much of the funding for early Winston Science and Solar Car Projects was personally sponsored by several Board Members. Unfortunately, many of these super-supportive Board Members had cycled off the Board. I later learned my support from the remaining Board Members had been undermined.

I tried to smooth-over these incidents when school started in 2009-2010. I put forth a special effort helping open In-Service Training by doing a half-day presentation showing how faculty could participate in Winston Science. Of course, no “thank you” or “good job.”

The 2009 Winston Science was a huge success with thousands of students taking part in the projects. I always used the guide that every Winston Science Registration represented 2.4 participants. This includes family and teachers that take part in making that student’s participation a success. I also used this “2.4 guide” for media releases, school administrators, and participating schools.

I remember being called to a meeting with the leader, Board Chairman, Board Attorney, and several other school personnel. They wanted to talk about Winston Science. They asked me if we really had 30,000 participants in that year’s event. Based on those attending this meeting, I could tell they thought something was wrong.

At that time, any student could pay $5 to participate in any or all of the forty-five Winston Science Competitions. The Business Office took in about $60,000, so the people in that room seemed to be questioning what happened to the rest of the money. If 30,000 participants paid $5 per competition, shouldn’t the registration fees total approximately $150,000?

I immediately stood up and reminded all those present that I had historically used “2.4” as a guide for how many people took part in Winston Science. Using this guide, it was totally legitimate to say that we had 30,000 participants. The funds received, which were collected by the Business Office (not me), was based on the $5 for about 12,000 registrations.

Although they never said anything, I am sure if I had not stood up and strongly clarified the 2.4 guide for participation, these “fine people” were going to accuse me of something. I got the clue when the discussion was being led by the Board Attorney.

After I clarified this situation, everyone in the room looked like they had “egg on their face.” It became obvious this meeting was a trumped-up crisis organized by the leader to again discredit me. I defeated this action with my abrupt standing up at the meeting and clarifying the 2.4-guide. Again, it was my doing the unexpected that saved me from being tromped-on by uninformed people with not the best of intentions.

I took the time to make eye contact with everyone in the room, followed by exiting the conference room with confidence in my stride. I never heard anything more about Winston Science or this crude attempt to crucify me.

Now, I was totally distressed. I couldn’t be rude or provide cause to be fired! I had to survive until the end of my 2010 contract year. Even so, I was so greatly distressed by my inability to do anything to remove myself from this toxic environment. But I did find that I could achieve some satisfaction by “misrepresenting” things. I was amazed how good this made me feel.

I was called in for a meeting with the leader who remarked that she had become aware of my misrepresentations. I put on my “duly appropriate down-trodden face,” while at the same time I was laughing my nose off inside! Of course I was misrepresenting things! This was my humble plan to resist tyranny, and to survive.

I ended the school year with a massive case of strep throat. This even kept me from attending Graduation. I was deeply saddened I didn’t get a chance to see some wonderful Solar Car kids graduate, but the long term effect of these financial problems and administrative tyranny had finally worn me down physically.

2010 Solar Car Challenge

With great luck and planning, I made it to the July, 2010 Solar Car Challenge, a cross-country solar car race from Fort Worth, Texas to Boulder, Colorado. As with previous races, I would pre-pay all possible expenses, including hotel bills, food costs, banquet deposits, etc. This meant I would need to take less cash on the trip, except for funds for staff food, gasoline, ice, etc. I had discussed this plan with the leader to make sure everything had her approval, and received a positive response.

The 2010 Race began with fanfare and excitement as solar cars left the Texas Motor Speedway and headed west. My procedure was to draw sufficient funds for each day, but you had to have a certain amount of cash to pay for seven Race Staff vehicles, and fifty race staff members.

The leader went with us on the trip. I thought this was a display of genuine interest in the Race, but I was soon to learn there were other intentions.

At the end of the first day, the leader met with me and said I would not receive any additional funds from the Solar Car Challenge Account until the Business Office back in Dallas received the receipts for that day’s race. We were 150 miles West of Dallas by the end of the first Race Day.

This new, unexpected procedure had never been mentioned prior to the race! Here we were out on the road and didn’t have money! Again, another engineered crisis!

I met with staff, and was able to put together enough money to fund the second day of the Race, but how were we going to deal with the remaining ten days? My solution was to take one of our Racing Staff and turn them into our Official Race Accountant.

This race staff member’s total responsibility was to keep track of minute-to-minute expenses and share this documentation in real time emails with the Winston School Business Office. These communications reached such a transmission peak the Business Office asked us to reduce the flow of information, accounting, and receipts.

Again, taking an unusual action was able to save the Race! We were able to find a way to continue the race even in the face of adversity. We fully complied with the leader’s request. The School Business Office was therefore required to provide the funding. This was funding from foundations and race sponsors, not Winston funds.

We survived the crisis; the Race was a success; I retired!

Clearing Out my Classroom

The school told me I would have until July 31^st to clear out my room when I got back after the Race. I gathered together some students and headed to my school room to begin the process of disassembling 25 years of teaching, and packing my gear to transport home.

I can never forget the expression on my face when I walked into my classroom and found 25 years of my work, my collections, my animals, my files, and priceless artifacts from the Solar Car Challenge and Winston Solar Car Team had been removed from my classroom or just trashed.

I found some items in a six foot high pile of debris in a garage area, but my turtles I raised for 20 years had been taken and later killed at a local hunting/fishing supply company. I worked hard at controlling my outward emotions. I didn’t want the students with me to see a personal melt down. I also didn’t want to give the leader the satisfaction of seeing my outrage.

I lost my entire science fiction film library (102 films) and over 1000 indexed science related films and videos. The entire 15-year history of the Winston Solar Car Team had been thrown out. Almost all of the items I had personally bought for my classroom were gone or destroyed. The maintenance staff who demolished my room couldn’t look me in the face. I lost thousands of dollars of equipment and priceless collections.

There was one good thing to follow. The Winston School provided a wonderful Retirement Party for me in September. It was hosted at the home of the Board Chairman. I so greatly appreciate the many courtesies extended to my family, and friends that September evening. Thank you Winston Board of Directors!

It took me many years to get over this abuse, but I reached the conclusion that things would be settled before God, therefore why should I dwell on these events. I would throw my energies into building the Solar Car Challenge Foundation.

In all fairness, I have to add the leader allowed me to take the small Solar Car Challenge trailer (that I paid for). Unfortunately, the wonderful solar car donated by the St. Thomas Academy Experimental Academy was intentionally destroyed. I had asked to take this car with me to use for teaching purposes.

I am happy to say the Winston School now seems to be in good hands, including having a new Solar Car Team Adviser who shows outstanding dedication to her students. Bravo Head-of-School Rebbie Evans for finding such a wonderful science teacher to support the solar car project!

1 – The Early Years

2 – The Transformation of College

3 – Law School, not Medical School

4 – The Vietnam War

5 – Early Career as a Legislative Support Agency

6 – Lobbyist

7 – Educator

8 – The Solar Car Challenge

9 – The “Bad People”

10 – The “Good People”

11 – Music

12 – Australia

13 – What I have learned

Oren Roberts Elementary School

My Ninth Grade Bully

Beachcomber Marks

The Lawn Mower Experience

My Chemistry Home Lab

High School Science Fair Project Nightmare

Inheritance from my Dad

Introvert Marks meets Billy Bammel

Senior High School Year ROTC

Sadie Hawkins Date

Billy and I Go to College

High School Fraternity

No Car in High School

Summers with Grandma Rosie

Summers at the Friday Mountain Boy’s Camp

The Great Scab Event

Reaching the End of My First Semester

Survived Freshman Year

Sophomore Year at Tulane

Almost Killed in Mexico

Junior Year of College

The Ghost

Grand Canyon Adventure

Other Tulane Adventures

Senior Year at Tulane

My Love of Insects

Senior Class President

Assistant to the Director of the Tulane Office of Cultural Activities

Pretending to be a Medical Student

A Car in College

Medical School Decision Takes Me to Austin

State Capitol Building Tour Guide

A New Texas Senate Job

Playing Golf With Lt. Governor Preston Smith

Working in the Senate at Night

My Next Visit with LBJ

My Wonderful Joy (Virginia Joyce Williams)

The Whitman Tower Episode

The Wedding and Honeymoon

Post Script on my Law School Experience

Headed to Basic Training

Having a Baby

I Was Dying

Our First Apartment in Austin

Never Told Joy

My Return to Keesler AFB

After Active Duty

Meteorologist at KDFW

Working for General Rose

Townhouse on Manor Road

Move to Willamette Street

Wonderful Daughters

Grandson

Executive Director of the Board of Examiners in the Fitting & Dispensing of Hear Aids

Executive Services Inc.

A Revolutionary Legislative Computing Service

Executive Services Survives

Texas Parks & Wildlife Contract

Threat to Me at Executive Services

Executive Services New Board

Life in Austin after Executive Services

Senator John Tower defeats Waggoner Carr

Girl Scouting

State Senator H.R. “Doc” Blanchard

State Senator Oscar Mauzy

Time with Daughters

Post-Mobil/Montgomery Wards – Managering Partnership