8aylorian 1006

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor The Daylorlaa 1..898

'

The University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Belton, Texas

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor The Bay/orion

Cathy Riccaboni ...... Managing Editor

Vanissa Thunnan ...... Assistant Editor

Layna Lewis ...... Art Editor

Dr. Donna Walker-Nixon ...... Faculty Sponsor

Staff Members

Roni Hutcheson Matthew Neese Tara Reid Fred Elder Ellen Houghton

Special appreciation to Mrs. Jane Haywood, Dr. Elizabeth Huston, and Dr. Nora Stafford for their advice in making this publication possible.

Special thanks to George F. Nixon, Jr., Ph. D., for the use (and sometimes abuse) of his computer equipment.

Cover Art Work: Layna Lewis

Copyright 19%. English Department of the University of Mary Hardin-Baylor. Published once a year in the Spring Semester.

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor 2 Uterary Award Wlnnen

Evelyn McFatridge Braahean Awards

All Literature ...... Kim Pierce

Poetry Award ...... Matthew Neese

Vignette Award ...... Candice Button

Slpa Tau Delta Short Story Award ...... Suzanne Baird

Honorable Mention

Poetry ...... Jeff Clayton

Personal Essay, Poetry ...... Roni Hutcheson

Short Story ...... Hazel Roberts

Poetry ...... Stacee Winters

Personal Essay ...... Vicky Garland

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor 3 DEDICATION OF THE 1996 BAYLORIAN

The 1994-1995 school year began on a sad note, since we lost our friend and colleague, Dr. William Frederick Hutmacher. In order to commemorate the legacy of learning, and of humor, that he left behind, we dedicate this 1996 Bay/orian to him. In the pages that follow, we have collected memories of his students and of his fellow faculty members. As a final tribute, we are including the poetry that he contributed to the Baylorian.

The following article appeared in the Bells in the fall of 1994.

THE LEGACY OF DR. WILLIAM FREDERICK HUTMACHER

Every person is a allotted a specific number of years to live on Earth. Many people waste their years in frivolous pursuit of wealth or fame while others simply seek to enjoy their lives in ways that better the world around them. These people leave behind the legacies of full lives that never fade in the memory of the living. Very recently, one such person left his legacy to the students, faculty, and staff of the University of Mary Hardin­ Baylor ... Dr. William Frederick Hutmacher. On August 30, 1994, Dr. Hutmacher died in a Temple hospital after twenty-two years of service at UMHB. Since he worked with so many other professors and taught countless students, the memory of Dr. Hutmacher stirs vividly in the mind while a deep sense of loss weighs heavily on the heart. Many colleagues harbor fond memories of a cheerful old friend while students reminisce about a caring listener who once taught their English classes. One of his closest friends, Dr. Charles Taylor, remembers coming to UMHB as a professor along with Dr. Hutmacher. "He was the finest scholar I ever knew on material in which I had a deep interest," said Dr. Taylor. He saw Dr. .Hutmacher interact

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,4 University of Mary Hardin-Baylor with many of his same students and noted that those who learned from Dr. Hutmacher were the ones who really listened to him. One of these students is Shawndra Clay, an English/History double major, who bad Dr. Hutmacher for a variety of classes. She believes his greatest contribution to the University was the gift of himself. "He had more Christian values and heart-felt understanding than most men. and it all showed vividly when be taught, but mostly when be listened.; sbe added. He showed her that it was "okay not to know, but not okay to not tcy to know," Shawndra was able to enjoy his classes. She conunented, "His favorite thing to say was, 'Virtue lies in the quest, not in the attainmenL '" Shawndra is not the only student to enjoy his classes. Dale Dcli"le remembers the sense of bwnor Dr. Hutmacher bad in c l ~ "The excatement and the love he had for teaching that be brought into the classroom is probably his greatest legacy, • Dale reflected. Mrs. Jane Haywood, a colleague of Dr. Hutmacher's for the past nine years, remembers him as someone who enjoyed literature and enjoyed his students. Mrs. Haywood pointed out that his great love of literatw-e led to the publishing of a book he wrote on the subject of Geoffrey Chaucer's Canterbwy Tales. Mrs. Haywood said lhat Dr. Hutmacher's theory on teaching was that students should not leave his class crammed with facts but having learned to enjoy literature. "His trademark was enjoying the literature," she explained. Dr. Michael Thomas, one of UMHB's modem foreign language professors, had a rather unique relationship with Dr. Hutmacher, who was fluent in Spanish, German. French and Modem Greek and who studied Japanese extensively. What made their relationship so unique was the language activities they exercised on each other. By mixing together the different languages they each knew, they fonned their own personal language. They often translated English idioms literally into Spanish. For example, "Que esta usted arriba a?" meant, "What are you up to?" Dr. Thomas attested to the fact that Dr. Hutmacher bad a great sense ofhwnor, but he also stressed how he gave his total self to students, and not just his words. "He was a Christian teacher in the best sense of the word, • Dr. Thomas affinned. Dr. Thomas also recalled a time four or five years ago when Dr. Hutmacher helped him make a crucial decision. He gave such wise and insightful counsel that Dr. Thomas believes God really spoke to him through Dr. Hutmacher. Dr. Thomas fondly remembers Dr. Hutmacher as •a gentleman scholar and

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Christian teacher with extraordinary knowledge in his field and about the Bible." Christy Stanley recalls the dedication with which Dr. Hutmacher served as a teacher. She remembers a time when he was so sick he was in the hospital and was not able to attend his classes to administer finals. Yet, after the finals had been taken, he graded them even while he remained in the hospital. Soon after his death, in Mrs. Haywood's Advanced Grammar class, the life and legacy of Dr. Hutmacher was displayed in a most meaningful and proper way. While discussing the origins of the English language and tracing its historical path, Mrs. Haywood handed out copies of "The Lord's Prayer" in Old English. While berating herself for having ruined a tape of Dr. Hutmacher reading in Old English, Mrs. Haywood recalled that Dr. Hutmacher had always made his students memori.ze this particular version of the prayer when studying English literature. She asked how many students were present that were still able to read the prayer in Old English. Nearly half the class raised their hands. So in a reverent tribute to the memoty of the late Dr. Hutmacher, those students softly, but steadily, read the Old English version of "The Lord's Prayer." The silence that filled the room when the reading was finished was testament enough to the truth of how Dr. Hutmacher had successfully left his wealth of knowledge to the students of UMHB. With a warm tone to her voice, Mrs. Haywood stated, "It's what we have taught our students that is the real legacy, not what we have written or produced ourselves." Ann Montgomery, former secretary in the Education Department, has very fond memories of Dr. Hutmacher walking into her office every morning to rest in a chair before continuing to his classes. At the end of the day, he would saunter back into her office to rest before walking home. In the summer of 1994, summer Ann took eight hours of Dr. Hutmacher's classes in order to complete her General Studies degree. After finishing one of her finals under a tree in his front yard, she stopped to talk to him about the upcoming surgery he was scheduled to have before school started. As the two talked, Ann noted that this surgery had a deeper feeling of seriousness and held more than the usual amount of worries. Seeing her troubled expression, Dr. Hutmacher said in a matter-of-fact voice, "I've had a good life here. I'm ready to spend more time down here or a long time up there." Ann realized that he was prepared spiritually, physically and emotionally for the surgery and that he believed that whatever happened was God's will.

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor 6 Something did happen. God called him home. We should be glad that he has entered into the presence of our sweet Savior and left behind all pain forever. But we are sad because he has left us behind, and we still miss him. No more bow ties and funny jokes. No more English gentleman to raise a bushy eyebrow at us and give a low chuckJe. In reality, be is still here. He is quite alive in the memories of his friends and loved ones, and he can be spotted in the faces of students who knew him and learned more than Old English from him He showed us the JOY of hving, and he chose to express it by teaching others the joy of literature. Life is not facts and figures~ it is experiences and people. And it was the experiences he had with people that make his legacy so ncb and wonderful and so necessary to carry on. Dr. Taylor ideally described Dr. Hutmacher when he borrowed the words of Shakespeare and stated, "His life was gentle and the elements so mixed in him that nature might stand up and say to all the world, 'This was a man.'"

K.alaya Lee Minatra Tire &lls, September 1994

In thinking back on college years, many students carry with them vivid picture memories of the professors who hod the most profound effects on them. Once, a seasoned professor remarked that the greatest compliment he had ever received came from a student who said, "I holed thot class. He mode me think." In like manner, Dr. Hutmacher challenged his students to think for themselves. This fact IS best evidenced in the following excerpt from a longer piece by Suzanne Baird.

Two Purposes

In that first course with him I thought he was simply deranged He absent-mindedly ambled into the classroom and dropped the thick literature book on the front table. lie glared dramatically at each of us with his dark eyes from beneath thick shaggy brows which moved up and down. He looked like a Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor 7 crusty old drill sergeant in a. bow tie, and we were his new recruits. Suddenly his eyes fell on the stand sitting on the table. "Who left this here!" he shouted, picking it up and throwing it to the floor with a tremendous bang. Then be silently walked around the table, reached for the chalk, and set a small piece of it in the upper right-hand comer of the table. He looked me right in the eyes as if I were supposed to see some significance in his action. I glanced around to the other students. They looked as confused as I was. With this, be opened his text book and began to read. A few of us flipped through our books trying to find where be was. Giving up, I opened my notebook and uncapped my pen. The soliloquy lasted a full fifteen minutes. He never looked down at the text. He never turned the page. Before that class was over be had spoken Latin, German, Spanish, and Old English. 1 was thoroughly entertained, but I had no idea what be was talking about. My class participation reflected my confusion. One day he asked me, "Do you understand what literature is about?" I shrugged my shoulders. "It's stories, sort of, • I lamely answered. Then it started. As if delivering a scene from Shakespeare, be said, "Stories!" His voice was loud and rumbling in indignation. "Stories! You have much to learn about literature." On exam after exam, my grades did not meet with my expectations. "What do you want?" I questioned him. He sat with his dark shoed feet propped up on his large desk. Books and papers littered the room. "What do you think?" be answered. "What do I think?" I wanted to shout back at him, but instead I shook my head at yet another cryptic question to my question. "How am I supposed to know what to think? I'm the student. You're the teacher, so tell me," I said. "No, I will not tell you what to think." And that was the end of the consultation. I took the heavy Masterpieces of English Literature textbook and threw it down the first flight of stairs leading down from his office "I hate this class, and I will never understand what be wants! • My inward anger quieted as I looked down at the limp book. I breathed a defeated sigh as I picked up the book, sat on the stairs, and opened it. The back of my hand wiped away the one stubborn angry tear. There in the margin I bad written his words, "Literature has two purposes, to entertain or to instruct."

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University8 of Mary Hardin-Baylor I flipped through the introductory material again. I did not remember the "entertain and instruct" section. It was not there. I went to th e library and tried to find it. It was not there either. But something else was. An Oxford Companion to Literature. I opened it and scanned the information on the author and story we were studying. My pen jotted down the notes. "I may not be able to speak to the topic in the margin, but at least I now have something to contribute to the class discussion,~ I thought as I read over the notes. Later in class, his eyes locked on me as he listened to every word I said. Silence hung in my ears as I looked up from my notes. His heavy lidded eyes closed and he leaned back in the chair. "Sooooo," his deep voice dropped to a dramatic pause. Then he began up the scale with the rest of his question. "What do you think?" He didn't move or open his eyes, as if something important teetered on that moment. So I ... I thought for a second. Then I said, "Well, according to this author, the character is acting out of inward wilt, but I don't think so .. . • When I finished my statement, he opened his eyes and a smile spread across his face. He breathed out, as ifsome how relieved, and said, "Gooooooood." Then he went on to the next student. "What?" I wondered. "Was I right? What had I done?" I didn't know, but whatever it was, I wanted to do it again. Each day, as be dismissed class, the distance between the classroom and the library disappeared. I lived in the stacks, searching anthology after anthology, literary criticisms, and diftcrent modem day English translations of the old English text we studied. Each day I researched some new idea that had sprung spontaneously from the literature, the writers, the times in which they lived, and the conclusions or inspirations that came from the reading. Each form of literature somehow connected to the last, weaving a canopy of human literary thought through all history.

Suzanne Baird

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor 9 Other students, such as Layna Lewis and Navarri Nolan, were also willing to share their memories of Dr. Hutmacher with us.

I remember Dr. Hutmacher's voice better than the subject matter he taught He walked into class, sat down, and began quoting whole passages in Old English. I bad no idea what he was saying, but it was beautiful, almost musical. At times, he would speak almost reverently in French or Gennan. What affected me most was the way he read. His deep voice rhythmically flowed over the words. I was carried into the literature. I was no longer a mere observer, but a participant Layoa Lurleene Lewis

I am writing to tell you of my admiration and love for Dr. William Hutmacher. I am a 1982 graduate of UMHB and took my advanced English courses from Dr. Hutmacher. He was an extraordinary teacher and developed a love for literature in me, a math major with an affection for numbers, not words. My dearest memories are of his naming me • Jeanette" and always calling me by that name. You see, he thought I l ooked like Jeanette MacDonald, and since I was also a singer, that clenched the title for me. I kept in touch with him for many years after my husband and I left Texas. My years at UMHB are remembered by my associations with Dr. Hutmacher, Lorena Conally, and Charles Taylor. They are all special persons, with special memories attached

Navari C. Nolan

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor 10 For years, Dr. Hutmacher, always the epitome of the crusty old curmudgeon, would amble into the Education office each morning, stop for coffee and a chat, before making his way upstairs to his office. The following poem appeared in the UMHB Communique during the Fall 1994 semester:

SOMETIDNG IS MISSING

Something is missing in Heard Hall this semester.

We no longer pass in the hall A crusty old English professor-­ Sauntering off to class With a tattered volume of Shakespeare Lovingly tucked beneath his arm.

We no longer hear the sound of medieval verse Flowing from the coffee room in the morning, Or enjoy fresh bread and fellowship With the resident bard.

We are no longer challenged To engage in scholarly bantering Regarding life and love and other Lofty topics of the day.

We are no longer reminded Of how we tend to take our work too seriously, And the joys of being alive-- Much too lightly.

Yes, something is missing in Heard Hall this semester. And it is a spirit that will not soon be forgotten.

thank God upon every remembrance of you.-­ Philippians 1:3

Dr. Candy Carlile

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor II Other former students came forward to share the following memories of this endearing, inspiring man.

Three professors at UMHB had a profound and lasting effect on my life. Two of them--Or. Charles G. Taylor and Dr. Guy Wilson--are still gracing UMHB with their presence. The third was Dr. William Hutmacher. Sitting at their table in the "sub" was an honor. What a great opportunity to possibly grasp--and make my own--bits of wit and intellect that flew across the table, rapid-fire! Dr. Hutmacher, as a teacher, was tolerant and patient to a fault. As an informational resource, be was unparalleled. He could have upgraded and embellished any campus with his presence, but he chose to stay at UMHB. It was a richer place with him in it. His loss depletes the luster. I thought he would live forever, like the authors he loved so dearly--the famous and infamous giants of the written word He knew more about Chaucer, Shakespeare, Spenser, and Pepys than virtually all of his students have collectively forgotten. Losing him is like razing a vast, but familiar and cozy library. It might be possible to duplicate the concrete information; the hard facts and brass tacks of knowledge, but there is a rare and priceless breath of life in a First Edition. Dr. Hutmacher was one of these. I (and many others) in this life will miss him, be thankful for the chance we had to know him, and kick ourselves for not making better use of the opportunity. But I'll wager Geoffrey, William, Edmund, and Samuel are glad to have him along. Oh, wouldn't I love to sit at that table. ·

MeUssa Groves

This is my story of Dr. Hutmacher. It's mostly an account of some memorable experiences that I had with him and will never forget. I came to MHB in Fall 1988, and graduated in Spring 1993. I had Dr. Hutmacher for first and second semester Sophomore Literature. I had the class with John Hanks. We had many study groups together preparing for Dr. Hutmacher's all essay tests. His tests consisted of about five to seven questions, and we chose a

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor 12 certain number to complete. Our class was in WelJs, the big classroom that was on the frrst floor and all the way to the back. My first memory was watching him walk, so slowly to class and up to the stage. He would look for a desk to pick up and put on the platform to sit in, and this happened every day. Eventually some of the guys would get his desk before he would even get to the room. I sat in the front and no one had gotten his desk yet. I got up to get it and be was coming in as I was putting it up there and he was smiling and teasing me about being strong enough to lift the desk up oo the stage. I laughed back and flexed my muscle for him to feel it and he mushed it, laughed, and said, "Why that's just a pimple.• The whole class laughed, including me. lle also had a knack with the international students. He must have been able to speak every language. He would spot them in his class and just start speaking in their language, and you could teU that he knew more than just "hi" and "bow are you." He and the students enjoyed this and I enjoyed watching their faces light up. I think he did too. He used to always tell us that he liked apples, oranges, any kind of juice, fruit or donut. And sure enough, people would start bringing him breakfast. and it would be sitting on his desk before class. Someone even baked him cookies. He was truly in his element when be would quote Old English. It was beautiful when he would quote it. I could have sat and listened to it forever. It made sense when he spoke it, and when I tried to read 1t, I hated it. Beowulf was my favorite. He is also published in Old English. UMHB was going to have a party for him and cany his books, but it never worked out. He gave me the address where I could get one, somewhere in the Netherlands, I think He was a complete joy to be 8J'OlUld. I loved his class and him. I was so sad when 1 heard he died. But it's not "Good bye, Dr. Hutmacher," but .. See you later." I'll sit with him again; only it will be at the feet of our Father in Heaven.

Tina Take Pinhola, Clau ofl993

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor 13 Dr. Alan Jones enrolled at UMHB to pursue an advanced degree in English. After taking several ofDr. Hutmacher's classes, Dr. Jones was inspired to share with us his memories.

Dr. Hutmacher -- in Memoriam

Unknown to me, he seemed a bit zany. It was critically important to him that we understood that this was "Masterpieces of the Western World," not the Whole world. OK. What difference does it make, really? Early in that semester, we ran across a Spanish poem in the text which we read in English; for the life of me I don't remember the piece, just that it was quite beautiful. I was surprised to hear from a young woman who bad Dr. H. for a previous class, "Dr. Hutmacher," she queried, "What does it sound like in Spanish?" So he recited it. In Spanish. No notes, no book, no apparent preparation. WOW! Then he said, "It's also quite pretty in German." And he recited it.

DAZZLE CITY!!

This is the Big Leagues and this guy is Babe Ruth. I immediately lined up in the leagues of light hitters who i<,lolized Dr. Hutmacher. I had lots of company. He was fun and funny. Warm and warmer. Diplomatic, yet demanding. He was a hero to me, as he was to so many others. Mr. Taylor's eulogy at Dr. H's funeral was an apt expression of the affection and awe in which so many future teachers held him. We will go on to teach future generations with a knowledge and a love of literature, canying the torch ignited in his classes. For it was also from Dr. Hutmacher's lips I first heard the words of Yeats: "Education is not the filling of a vessel, but the lighting of a fire."

Alan C. Jones, M. D.

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor As the sponsor of the Baylorian and a colleague of Bill Hutmacher, I feel compelled to share memories of this Shakespearean scholar, grand old curmudgeon, and connoisseur of country cooking. Every so often, I would make a trip to Bernie's Brown Bag for a sandwich bag. Once, I had half an egg salad sandwich left, and I offered to share it with Bill. As the weeks passed, it seemed that every time he saw me walking down the hall, he would stop me and say, "Kid, when are you going to get us our egg salad sandwich?" Then he would give me a dollar or two as his share of the cost. Many of my memories of Bill are scattered, but one thing we could count on in the English Department was that he would lighten up almost any situation with his humor. Once, in discussing politics, he related to me these words of wisdom that his father shared with him: "Son, you're smart, but you 'II never be rich enough to vote Republican." Soon after Clinton was nominated for president, I asked Bill (Hutmacher) what he thought. He smiled and with a twinkle in his eyes said, "You know I lived in Arkansas for a time, and there's nothing but hillbillies in that state." I know these small verbal pictures seem scattered, and to the reader, they probably don't make a lot of sense. But these diverse images are the substance of memories. And one thing you could say about Bill Hutmacher--with his panama hat, red bow ties that his daughter brought back to him from England, and his white suits--he created the very picture of Walter Mathau in the Caribbean. That visual picture, coupled with his humor, is to me Bill Hutmacher.

Donna Walker-Nixon

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor IS "Love, these three; but the greatest of these is love."

I Corinthians 13

Bill was the pivot of our family. All things revolved around him. He was the "glue" which held us together as a complete whole. With a few wocds of kindness, wisdom, and possibly redirection, all things could be corrected or made to seem belter.

This same love and caring were extended to all who knew him.

His last words to me were, "Goodbye. I love you." l refused to tell him goodbye; maybe I can do so now.

Hazel Hutmacher

As a testimony of the great esteem in which students held Dr. Hutmacher, be was voted "Favorite Teacher" in Sigma Tau Delta's 1994 contest.

Della seca Chapter Sigma · Tau 'De{ta Unlveralcy <4 MAuy Hardin-Baylor Favorite Teacher 199+

I ~- ~- t~ lltJM Tau Delta Prtlldent

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University16 of Mary Hardin-Baylor Dr. Hutmacher supported the Baylorian. On several occasions, he allowed the editors to print his poetry. What follows now is some of his most recent contributions to the Baylorian.

About Missy

(She lived a wrule at Jeanni 's house.)

"AJ·e not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground without your Father's will." Matthew 10:29

Ensconced berund her eyelid, She possessed all she could see; A tiny twinkle on the eye of God, The smile of divinity. From a place before place, and a time before time, She came in a moment to be; She lasted a moment and faded back To the mists of eternity.

William F. Hutmacher

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor LIMITATION

Can a traveler lead the western sun Again from whence be came? Can he roll the clouds of yesterday Again o'er today's plain? Can he chart the course tomorrow Where the hopes of men shall ride? Can a martyr then eliminate The cause for which he's died?

Light-footed is sufficiency And wealth shalJ come to nought~ The wretched rich man burns Within the oven he has bought. Tears are shed at noon time For the tragedies of dawn, And the traveler rests his head at night Upon frustration's lawn.

Then be wakes at early mom And rumblings in his breast Conform the visions of the night And make him wary lest He soon forget the awful truth: Yesterday's weary fray Mid the burdens of tomorrow Cannot be borne today.

Dr. William F. Hutmaclaer

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor 18 In final tribute to Dr. Hutmacher, Dr. Charles G. Taylor wrote and recited the following poem at the memorial service for Dr. Hutmacher.

He was our finest scholar; sans a doubt. "Friend" sprang to mind when his name rang bell-clear.

We think of him in no wise from "without"; Therefore, Almighty God, he remains here.

The longest span of measurable time To grace our campus with his ambience! The supplication, made with halting rhyme, Bereft of poet's genius to ensconce

Within a magic verse of sonnet's birth, Can add no admiration to his score More valuable than his own great worth-­ No machination capable of more.

In tears, unable ever to forget, We live our Jives forever in his debt.

Dr. Charles Taylor

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University20 of Mary Hardin-Baylor The 1996 Bay/orion Student Writing llu ough the pane there beyond the wooded and shadowed acre 111 11 source of light I 11ce two, maybe three, specks ul ats reflection hom the wet pavement ulthe top right comer uf'my view. J"he mist looks like snow. There between the tree's shadows 111 a touch of green under the thin blanket of white frost. I feel the cold out there os it creeps in from under the door. The lighting captures and reminds me of a midnight serenade. When the winds blow the shadows quietly dance. They coax me to think of a time long ago. A time when someone's thoughts were stopped and mingled by this same scene, as mine have been, through the old cracked paint of this pane. I hear a hint of their secrets. Donna Aguilar

Unspoken whispers bring promises of the future ... fears flood the soul. Joni Andrew•

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,21 University of Mary Hardin-Baylor A DAY TO REMEMBER

The cold, snow-coverect mountains of Colorado greeted me as I climbed off the plane. The crisp, clean air filled my lungs like a helium balloon. I immediately felt uplifted, and I knew this would be a great vacation I My girlfriends circled around a gigantic, white stone fireplace with a red-orange, blazing fire warming their bodies. I quickly said hello, and trekked on to find my room. Room number 13. Could this be my lucky number, to finally find the man of my dreams? I opened my door to a beautifully decorated place, full of big, white bear rugs, and handfuls of colorful flowers. The king size bed looked heavenly, but a touch of loneliness lingered. As I unpacked, I was filled with anticipation, recalling the legends of the fox. When I was a child, the Medicine Woman, Maia, shared the secrets of the fox. Would my experiences be the same as hers? I found a hiking trail full of snow and low-lying trees. The heavy ,roma of pine was inviting. Still, the path appeared a bit frightening in lllc evening sky set ablaze by the lowering sun. Yet, I decided to move forward. I heard a rustling in the fallen leaves, and from the thicket emerged a red fox. Golden highlights from the summer sun remained in his shiny coat. My apprehension fell away like a cloak, and my thoughts centered. Oneness with this creature, these mountains, and an unfolding adventure renewed my curiosity. Nature was so beautiful!! Up ahead, I saw a male figure. I slowed my walk, so as not to disturb him, and decided to admire this creation of nature. Tall and blond, his skin glistening from the hard labors of splitting wood, I felt my knees get weak. As his anns ascended to the starting position, I could see his lean, tan muscles ripple. Could this be the one? As a cool crispness filled the air, he turned to retrieve his shirt and jacket, and saw me standing on the path. Our eyes met. ?nee again, I remembered the words ofMaia.

Kimberly Armstrong

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,22 University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep floor. My easel was the last of it. Boxes cluttered the activity room as I tried to "This place has a long way to go," I thought to myself . There visualize the environment I wanted to provide for the residents through the was no sound as Mrs. Trigg's feet pulled her wheelchair rhythmical door. She looked like a wind-up doll, feet in constant steady movement, never more of a step, never less, just a constant traced with patting motion with the fronts of her feet. Her thin legs were er in her lap. purple veins, and the long bony fingers folded neatly togeth over chair. The restraint jacket kept her safely secured in the rolling-r "Good morning, Clara," I called as she wove through the clutter. lipped smile The high musical, "Hmmmmmm," came from her closed- floor. I began as she bumped and thumped through the boxes in the could trip up a moving the boxes behind the divider, realizing that they Her steps were resident. As Clara padded out, Mrs. Martha walked in. you still have uneven from the stroke, and her words a bit slurred. "Do the paperback shelf?" she asked. not be there "Yes ma'am." I pointed to the relocated shelf "It may things where tomorrow, though. I'm moving and removing trying to get I want them." hand was She smiled and began fumbling through the books. One it knocked a drawn up to her chest. The other hand shook so hard that legs to keep few books into the floor. I had to lock the muscles in my bent down, from jumping up and pickin~ them up for her. She slowly good hand teetering a bit with nothing to hold on with. Her quaking breath as she fumbled to get a grip on the flat book. She drew in a loud replaced the righted herself, then let the air out in a long sigh, and fmally . But I knew book in the shelf. The process was excruciating to watch here in this she must maintain as much self-sufficiency as possible, even nursing home. . Every Being the new Activities Director was exciting and exhausting "To-Do" list-­ few minutes, I went to my desk and added to the and Resident's Assessments, Social Histories, the new hall display, the door. Council at 3:00. Suddenly a welcomed distraction .came in woman. "Mrs. Harper! How good to see you," I spoke to the elderly she said "Katherine Daniels, how are you? I've come to visit Cora," up hours as the smile left her face, "But Ben was supposed to pick me ago." . divider shut "Oh, well, let me see what I can do," I said. I pulled the up in the behind me to keep any "browsing" resident from getting caught mess of boxes and decorations.

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,23 University of Mary Hardin-Baylor can call?" I "Mrs. Harper's ride has not come. Is there someone we from her chart asked the nurse, sitting at the counter. She looked up recording and glanced at Mrs. Harper. be here for Looking only at me, she said, "Mrs. Harper's ride ·won't her wait there?" sometime. Why don't you take her down to 506 and let Mrs. Harper The knowing smile on her face expressed the situation. down the must have just moved in. She talked on and on as we walked hall to her new room. over visible I noticed how old she looked. Her skin was stretched her hair solid tendons and veins. Her old-fashioned dress was clean, and out at the white. She carried a huge black purse. Her thin legs ballooned heeled black ankles, and her feet spilled over the edges of her square leather shoes. "Poor circulation and fluid retention," I told myself. a moment, In her room I sat beside her on the bed and listened for waiting for an opp011unity to excuse myself. come visit "The Encampment is next week, and I just don't think I can Cora at least till week-after-next," she said. to travel back Her rambling speech faded away as my thoughts began n my mind. in time. Encampment. I played the word over and over i wore an old­ Suddenly I saw Mrs. Harper in my little girl eyes. She carried a large fashioned cotton dress, big square black shoes, and she covering of the black purse. She and I sat under the high hip-pitched tin . Cain stood arbor. My bare feet dangled from the wooden pew, and Mr at the front giving a message. had. Baptists All the children went to all the Bible schools everybody t, and everyone came to the Methodist church, we went to the Baptis licked my red went to the Church of Clu·ist at the encampment. 1 cookie still Koolaid-lined lips and tasted the left over vanilla sandwich down and back stuck in my back teeth. Lots of kids squirmed up and cedar posts and lorth in the double rows of old outside pews. Tall hairy the eastermnost held the old Church of Christ arbor together. Just past post was the lazy rambling Nolan Creek. me back "Are you Church of Christ?" Mrs. Harper's words drew under the arbor. "No, ma'am, • I answered, "I'm Methodist." the hand. "Well, then you're going to hell, • she said, patting me on what I The words burst in my ears. Going to hell? I couldn't believe mater-of-fact had heard. My eyes flew to Mrs. Harper, and she had a smile. Just like look in her eyes and a patronizing tilt on her lipsticked going to hell." that? No emotion? Just as pretty as you please, "You're the pew and I felt like I bad been struck by lightening! I leapt up from me down the ran from under the arbor. My eight-year-old legs carried passed beneath road and across the busy highway. The rail road tracks

24 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor my flying feet until I was in Mama Clara's back yard. I turned first to the kitchen. The old wooden screen door slammed behind me. "Mama Clara! Mama Clara!" My panicked voice called. Mama Clara stepped around to the living room door. "What is it? What are you doing home from Vacation Bible School? How did you !WI across the highway?" But her voice lost its scolding tone when she I!RW me trembling and crying uncontrollably. "What has happened child?" She pulled me to her and hugged me light in her old bony arms. Moving to the upholstered rocker, she sat uown. I knelt at her knees and buried my face in her lap. "Oh, Mama Clara, I don't want to go to hell!" "Where on earth did you get the idea that you were going to hell?" I told her the whole story, and she consoled me for a long time and 1cad from the big black Bible on the coffee table until my hysterics passed. The rest of the nursing home day evaporated through a fog of to-dos und the Resident's council meeting. The president, Mrs. Holdum, gave the meeting the feeling of a ladies social club. The room was full of chattering residents, planning the annuai spring flower van tour. But my mind was preoccupied by Mrs. Harper's Bible school prophecy and the terror it caused. As night pulled a curtain of black outside the wall of windows that surrounded the Activities Room, my pen scratched the final resident assessment. Mrs. Harper sat in the lobby, waiting for her ride, as I walked out to my car. "They are not coming, Mrs: Harper," I wanted to say. "You can remember so much. Why can't you remember ten minutes ago when you were told that no one is coming?" I realized my frustration was misplaced. I fumbled in my briefcase for my keys. I smiled to myself, remembering another summer. It was a wonderful feeling after I surrendered my life to Christ to go to sleep and not worry about "dying before I wake, and praying the Lord my soul to take." My smile faded as I thought about my earlier fears, trying to imagine how awful hell must be. I looked down at the tormented old woman sitting in the tall wing backed chair. "Goodnight, Mrs. Harper," I said as the door closed behind me.

As I unlocked my office, I saw the daily parade of aid after aid carrying trash bags filled with stolen linens. Mrs. Harper packed for the trip back to Nolanville every night. Often she did not stop with linens. Sometimes she packed other resident's things. This got particularly interesting when an equally disoriented resident sympathized with her plight and helped her get ready. They stashed charts, cups, flowers from the lobby, and anything that wasn't tied down. It was actually bitter-

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,25 University of Mary Hardin-Baylor from sweet to watch them. Two deranged old women acting out a scene day their imaginations, like two little girls at play. I fully anticipated a when Mrs. Harper and her confederates would be found hitchhiking down the expressway to Nolanville loaded down with trash bags. I I became accustomed to Mrs. Harper's constant talk of home. And me began to anticipate her dozen-a-day visitations to my office to tell she about some imaginary occurrence that was going on in the house kept in her head. But one day was different. She walked in slowly, quietly. The faraway gaze of confusion was replaced with a careful scanning examination of the room. "Am I in a nursing home?'' she said in a clear, lucid voice. "Mrs. Harper?" I said She looked around and put one hand on the edge of my desk and lowered herself slowly to the chair. "Katherine, how long have I been here?'' she said. "Docs Ben know I'm here?" I felt tears stinging the back of my eyes, but I knew better than upset ment her at a moment like this. It happens every now and then. One mo they are making no sense, then suddenly as if from nowhere, a window down of rational thoughts appears. It's heart-wrenching and sometimes that right spooky. For a few moments or a few hours, they will realize for some for every practical ?~ they have been out of their minds s time. And for every practical purpose, they will be out of their mind again in a few minutes or hours. I sat with Mrs. Harper in my office, going over all the procedural techniques of reality therapy. Through what seemed like everyday , our conversation, I wove in the facts of the day, year, month, season town, the name of the facility and her room nwnber. "I want to go home," she stated in as sane a voice as anyone would. "I I walked around to her. Kneeling down, I hugged her and said, know, Mrs.Harper."

I shifted, still not fully awake at the daily staff meeting. Cate, the t day Director of Nw·sing sat at the head of the table. "Today is the las start to sign up for the Christmas program. Last night residents' reports later with Mrs. Harper. She took a down tum, the family should be here . fall, today. Mr. Lang was taken to KDH and returned from a two a.m g off and Mrs. Williams . .. " The director of nursing continued readin the daily staff notes. No one looked up when she mentioned Mrs. Harper. I slowly wrote sad her name on my one-on-one visitation list for the day. It was a feeling, but I wasn't really surprised. Often the window on reality comes 's old just before a sudden decline. The weeks rocked on. Mrs. Harper

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University26 of Mary Hardin-Baylor a scene from sweet to watch them. Two deranged old women acting out a day their imaginations, like two little girls at play. I fully anticipated hitchhiking when Mrs. Harper and her confederates would be found bags. down the expressway to Nolanville loaded down 'vith trash . And I I became accustomed to Mrs. Harper's constant talk of home to tell me began to anticipate her dozen-a-day visitations to my office the house she about some imaginary occurrence that was going on in kept in her head. . The But one day was different. She walked in slowly, quietly scanning faraway gaze of confusion was replaced \vith a careful examination of the room. •Am I in a nursing home?" she said in a clear, lucid voice. "Mrs. Harper?" I said my desk and She looked around and put one hand on the edge of lowered herself slowly to the chair. Ben know "Katherine, how long have I been here?" she said. "Does I'm here?" than upset I felt tears stinging the back of my eyes, but I knew better One moment her at a moment like this. It happens every now and then. a window they are making no sense, then suddenly as if from nowhere, down of rational thoughts appears. It's heart-wrenching and sometimes realize that right spooky. For a few moments or a few hours, they will for some for every practical ?UTpOse they have been out of their minds of their minds time. And for every practical purpose, they will be out again in a few minutes or hours. procedural I sat with Mrs. Harper in my office, going over all the like everyday techniques of reality therapy. Through what seemed , season, our conversation, I wove in the facts of the day, year, month town, the name of the facility and her room number. would. "I want to go borne," she stated in as sane a voice as anyone and said, "I I walked around to her. Kneeling down, I hugged her know, Mrs.Harper .~ . Cate, the I shifted, still not fully awake at the daily staff meeting is the last day Director of Nursing sat at the head of the table. "Today ' reports start to sign up for the Christmas program. Last night residents be here later with Mrs. Harper. She took a down turn, the family should a two a. m . fall, today. Mr. Lang was taken to KDH and returned from ued reading off and Mrs. Williams ... • The director of nursing contin the daily staff notes. slowly wrote No one looked up when she mentioned Mrs. Harper. I . It was a sad her name on my one-on-one visitation list for the day reality comes feeling, but I wasn't really surprised. Often the window on . Harper's old just before a sudden decline. The weeks rocked on. Mrs

26 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Middle Child

Always in the middle Never first never last Insecure ambivalent Sometimes demanding Never neglected God knew Love and strength needed Ascending descending Above below Meeting in the middle To pull (me) through Life's massive challenges

Elaine Brinkmann

Reminisce watched in horror as I was born before the bombing of Pearl Harbor. I because the Salk several of my classmates were stricken with Polio the maiden voyage Polio Vaccine had not yet been perfected. I observed of Elvis of the Russian Sputnik. I listened to the very first performance widespread uses for Presley on the Louisiana Hayride. One of the first States during the a computer was to calculate the census of the United the work force the Eisenhower Administration. The year I entered minimum wage was one dollar per hour.

WhoAml? To one little I am old enough to be fired, but not old enough to retire. I wear with honor, red-haired kid I am known as "Granny". A name pride, dignity and gratefulness. God had no grandchildren!

Elaine Brinkmann

28 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor CHNGER THE GERBIL

.. , told by Katie ....

We hod gone to my Grandmother's house for the weekend. I put Ginger 1111 o shelf in my bedroom closet, closed the closet door, then closed my hnlroom door.

When we got home I found Ginger on the kitchen floor with her eyes lipped out. My cat had killed her. I guessed that she had gotten out of her cage and crawled under the doors.

'!'he whole family was sad and we buried her in the yard under the pecan II ce. I guess that now she is grass. It probably took three years for her to decompose because we had put her in a plastic bag when we buried her. I saw a fox decompose in three weeks on television. He turned into nutrients for plant life. Humans do this too, but it is more disgusting. We've been studying about the circle of life at school. I know one thing, I'll never put a blade of grass or weed in my mouth again.

I miss Ginger. Candice Button

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor

')Q Nicky's Last Home

up I head for Temple on a Thursday evening. I'm going to pick at the Nicky and take him to dinner. Nicky is eighty-two and lives Meridian Nursing Home. I take him to dinner every week. of I walk into the lobby and find several ladies sifting there. One . them is holding a doll and rocking it back and forth in her wheelchair I feel someone tugging at my sleeve. It's Mrs. Bishop. "Excuse me," she says, "have you seen Colonel Bishop?" "No ma'am," I reply, "but I'll bet he'll be along later: Her Colonel Bishop visits his life long companion every day. she whole existence seems to depend on his visits. She asks everyone at home sees if they have seen him. Her health won't permit her to live her with him. I'm sony for her. Wouldn't it be nice for her to spend last days with this man whom she loves so much? with The ladies are so friendly and hunger for someone to visit him them but I need to get going. I arrive at Nicky's room and find sitting in his wheelchair ready to go. "Why are you so late?" he growls. and I count to ten in my bead. I bate for him to talk ugly to me he has wonder why I put up with his verbal abuse. I'm not late, but probably been ready for hours. He is so bitter. Texas I think about the first time I saw him. He had just moved to daughter to be near his son and daughter. That was four years ago. His legal had brought him into the law office where I work to request some in a suit papers. He was such a cute little fellow. He was all dressed up with and looked very professional. You could tell by his conversation a strong the attorney that he knew what be was doing. He spoke with was a New York Italian accent and joked about having one cousin who months priest and another in the Mafia. He was easy to like. A few diagnosed later his son died. Less than a year later his daughter was with cancer and died. keep He called me a few months later and asked if I would help him up with his financial affairs. I agreed. In the beginning, my visits to the nursing home were to drop off take him papers or to get something signed. Then one day I offered to and he to lunch. Pretty soon, it was a weekly affair. I grew to love him grew to love and depend on me. many He was once a gifted architect in New York City and designed On skyscrapers there. His favorite plans are on the wall of his room. of the good days, with a magnifying glass, he can go over eve1y detail e almost plans. He still draws and builds in his mind, but his eyes ar York blind and his body is sick with cancer. I know he longs for New on the and misses his fnends. He was one of the top bowlers

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor 30 the nurses neighborhood league. Last year he managed to talk one of . ao pulling an extra table in his room to display all his bowling trophies the He even has a bowling ball and a couple of pins nestled among He enjoys trophies.. He loves for someone to ask him about them. back reminiscing and sharing stories. Sometimes he talks about moving but he to New York or maybe someone just taking him there for a visit, is not well enough to make the trip. and I ask him if he is hungry and start to roll him down the hall and wish through the lobby. The ladies ask him if he is going out again long to go lum to have a good time, but their eyes reveal how much they all. Mrs. with us. Sometimes I wish that I had a bus. I would take them at her, Bishop asks Nicky if be has seen the Colonel. He growls back and we then tells me that she is a pain in the rear. I load him in the car over at leave for the Olive Garden. As we are driving away, I glance him and see a smile on his face. "What are you so happy about?" I ask. "I'm thinking about that linguine with clam sauce,'' he replies. Candice Button

The Cathedral of Dreams

A darkly lit room Crunch of popcorn under foot Perfect seats, Holding hands Images flicker across a screen A drama unfolds before my eyes like charters in a cheap novel Would she mind if I ... Sweaty hands, Indecision A fantasy? Shirley Chipman

Empty classrooms Dark, dusty, soundless Foot steps echo

Shirley Chipman

31 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Missing Grandma's Cookies

The silence in the room was interrupted by the ringing phone. Innocently, I answered the phone, Wlaware of what was to come. Thressa, my sister, was the monotone and reluctant voice on the other end. A long-distance, mid-afternoon call from my sister was normal. I was not alarmed. My sister asked if I had talked to our mom, and I said I did the night before. An Wleasy silence came next. Speaking slowly, Thressa told me that our grandmother bad died. Rapidly my herut pounded, my eyes swelled, and emotions took control of me. 1 felt like a piece of glass, broken in a thousand pieces. My feelings were not sparked by hear death, but her life. I was overwhelmed with confusion. My childhood summers and holidays were spent with my mother's family in South Carolina. My sister and I looked forward to our trips to South Carolina, but for different reasons. I enjoyed being with my family, playing in the red dirt, being in the country, and spending time with my granddaddy. My sister loved everything, especially my grandma. I remember my sister receiving a gift one summer. I sat with wide eyes, watching my sister open her gift, a gift without occasion. I eagerly sat on the floor anticipating my gift. My sister received a beauliful black baby doll, and I received nothing. My grandmother did not have a gift for me. I sat empty-handed, stunned with rejection, and eyes filled with tears. My sister was always my grandmother's favorite. My grandmother had nearly twenty children and seventy grandchildren. She has given Thressa precious treasw·es such as heirlooms ru1d jewelry. Thressa looks and acts just like my grandmother. Thrcssa was always told by my grandmother how much she loved her. My grandmother never told me she loved me. You imagine your grandmother as being warm, loving, and gentle. My grandmother was atypical. I would envy my friends when they told their stories of baking cookies with their grandmother or just spending loving moments together. I have never spent a loving moment with my grandmother. My grandmother did not like my father. When she looked at me, she saw him. She was very abusive to me. I have vivid memories of my grandmother looking at me silently, with a look of disgrace. I would sit tensely on the sofa as she walked past me, bracing myself for another verbal attack. My grandmother reeked of hatred for me. I could not understand why she was hating my father through me. The time was fast approaching when my mother was coming to pick us up. The closer it came to us leaving, the more disruptive Thressa began acting. I knew I would be pWlished because Thressa did not want

32 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor to leave. Finally, the anticipated came. Thressa climbed the largest tree 111 the yard. She was going to stay there. "lam not coming down," she said. My grandmother stormed into the house. She found me sitting tensely on the couch with bulging, tear­ ltlled eyes. She immediately began yelling at me. "Your mamma can toke you back, but my Thressa is staying." The tears were released from my eyes and I began sobbing uncontrollably. "Shut your moth," she screamed as s he smacked me. Her repeated hits caused me to continue crying, and her anger was intensified. After what seemed to be hours, she finally stopped. I sat there with a tear­ l!lained face and a sore body as I watched her leave the room to check on Thressa. I hurriedly went outside to get away. She would be back. I went to find my granddaddy. God blessed me with a loving granddaddy. He was a small, lightly tanned, handsome man. He was my protector during my visits. One t summer, my cousin and I got into an awful fight. My grandmother bea me repeatedly, until granddaddy intervened. My grandmother was agitated by his intervention. My granddaddy grabbed my hand, and we went for a walk. My granddaddy had saved me again. Time continued, and my grandmother began to get senile, but even through her senility, she was vicious and hurtful. She never saw her grandchild when she looked at me, but a version of what she deeply hated. When I looked at my grandmother, I saw a woman who had hurt me in ways that I will never mend from and will never forget. Unfortunately, I have not been able to forgive her. My grandmother is now gone and I am numb. I feel no personal loss in my grandmother's death; however, I feel guilty because of my neutral feelings. I have cried many tears, but they were tears of confusion. I do not wtderstand why loving me was so hard for her. I often think about my grandmother, and how she was not the ideal grandmother. The reality of my grandmother's hatred towards me makes my soul ache. It My grandmother never told me she loved me--that is painful for me. is time to move on. I pray that God will give me the strength and I guidance to one day forgive her for all the pain she has caused me. to have battle scars that are invisible to the naked eye, but very apparent me. Angela VaneU Bunch

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor 33 Obscure

The living asterisk, signifying all is not well, that unfulfilled potential resides here, is mired in the text of "nonnaJity," pointing to a footnote that simply reads, "You lose.•

Jeff Clayton

Sloping Digression

A wreath, perched atop many a monarch's or victor's head as a symbolic symbol of monarchy or of victory won with dizzying results or at obscene costs, in green, yellow, brown, whatever your fancy is or happens to be or could be at some far off distant point in this wretchedly long abstract ruler called time which enslaves us to its incessant tick-tick-tick and constant tock-tock-tock, to nauseating results which no one could possibly or even remotely be pleased with, seeing as timeJiness is much more virtuous or courteous or some other "nice" word which I could never conceive of saying or even of thinking if I could only think or could gain some semblance of thought, which I can't because this wreath is too stinking tight, OK?

Jeff dayton

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University34 of Mary Hardin-Baylor Ulirst-- blundering, blinded thirst. delusions of gratification bring on authority over ourselves. Is the urge quenched, the animal needs fulfilled?

Expecting answers here? Grovel to your wants-- they've led to utOpia before: perhaps fantasy strikes twice.

Jetr Clayton

PACING BACK AND FORTH THOUGHTS OF TlMES SO LONG AGO ... SEVEN TILES BY FOUR.

VIdor T. Deal

LIFE

Life to me is a special thing, given by God with wisdom and compassion. Live it with Jove. Live it with understanding. Experience all life has to offer. Those who do will COOle to see, a much better life will be given to you. Remember, life is a gift with flavor to be tasted, not to be squandered and needlessly wasted.

KeDy Coones

JS Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor THESE THINGS

... THE FADED SKY JADED FROM MAN'S ABUSE SHADED LAND OF HIDDEN WARMTH SPADED NOT OF TRUTH .

. . . THE LAND DEFILED SAND OF LITTLE LIFE BAND OF ROTTEN GROWTH AND IMMORAL STRIFE .

. . . THE SCORN THAT MAN INFLICTS TORN FROM COMMANDMENT NINE BORN NOT OF RIGHT BUT WRONG WORN AGAINST DIVINE!

.. . OUR WAY OF LIFE MAY MORNING CALM BREACH PRAY WITH THY MIGHT SAY STRENGTHENS WITHlN US EACH .

. . . OUR HEART FILLED TO THE BRlM PART BECAUSE HE SINGS START THE WORLD IN HARMONY CART BEFORE THESE TIDNGS.

Victor T. Deal

36 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor . 1-.ycs wolf grey llumls roughened by work S\.'IIITOO face Sllong back Muscled arms and legs I ned, old and withered rever

Gayle Draughn

BLACK MAJESTIC'S FROLIC

THEBLACKLABRADORRE~VER BOUNCED INTO THE POND LITTLE BIRDS FLEW AWAY TWO BOYS BOUNCED THE BALL PUSHING AND SHOVING CLEAN RAIN WATER ALL AROUND RUNNING PASSING CARS CLEAR BLUE SKY Mona-Usa Dunn

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,37 University of Mary Hardin-Baylor APPLESAUCE

I crawled into the rickety chair. As I felt the warm sun beam through the pale yellow curtains. I anxiously watched as my mother stood by the stove stirring the boiling apples. Slowly the steam escaped through the scorched silver stone kettle pot. The aroma ofnutmeg and cinnamon filled the air. I could almost taste the sweet apples from across the room. The smell of the fresh cut apples lingered in the air.

Thirty years later and the smell of freshly baked apples, always takes me back to my mother's kitchen. My mother died within that year, and we never had another chance to make applesauce. However, I have relived that memory of applesauce making over and over. Apples bold a special part of my heart and soul. I have to say I truly love Applesauce.

Mona-Lisa Dunn

Body moves in cadence to the beating of the heart. Arms pumping like pistons, feet running from the start. Running after nothing, or just to run away? Running after prolonged youth, or holding age at bay?

Teresa Frechette

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University38 of Mary Hardin-Baylor Crystalline threads of silk Symmetrically spun A spider's priceless construction

Celeste Glaser

WANDERLUST

An endless yearning, Constant and never ceasing, Always hastening, Forever searching, Longing for fulfillment, But not receiving, The hopeless dream continues ... Perhaps someday, My passage will be completed. Until that moment, l continue my eternal journey, A part oflife's aimless wandering.

Celeste J. Glaser

Cross Country

With a sigh at the view of the ocean I will tear my eyes away and depart Scores of horses await As I depart my pacific perch the sun leaps above the sea I turn to face the mountains Out of the urban city I fly Up over the mountains and high above the valleys below If it is winter I might see snow Descending from the mountains The sea of sand appears Behind me the mountains tower My eyes trained forward ... I see eternity

Jesse Gonzalez

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,39 University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Hillbillies

I've seen Hillbillies. They use bad grammar, wear brogans with calico dresses, sleep with lazy old hound dogs, and eat foods like fatback and hog jowls. My husband Warren described the North Carolina branch of his family as Hillbillies. We were going to spend the first week of the summer at his boyhood home. I knew what Hillbillies were, and the idea of spending an entire week with them filled me with dread. For months, Warren had told me stories of his extended family in North Carolina, a family who didn't get indoor plumbing until the late sixties and who, on occasion, would make, sell, or drink moonshine. Warren's ninety-four-year-old grandfather Pa was a retired fundamentalist Baptist preacher. His wife Ma never cut her hair because it went against scripture. Together they had a daughter Jackie and four sons: Eben, Joe, Harless, and Eugene, Warren's father. They owned several hundred acres outside Bakersville, North Carolina, twenty miles from the Tennessee state line, high up through beautiful monumental mountains, so Warren had said. · When Warren and I met, he was still trying to come to terms with the suicide of his father twenty-five years before, or "his untimely death," as the family called it No one ever mentioned suicide or even acknowledged it which led to obvious neuroses in all of Eugene's children. Warren, the youngest, had been overly sensitive and driven, trying to do too much and please too many people, which led to a rather wild youth, an ulcer, and eventually psoriasis. Chub, Warren's older brother, named for Pa, or Arthur, was a driven perfectionist who asked visitors to his home to remove their shoes before entering. Chub mirrored his father's image of a driven, goal-oriented fanatic building his lovely native stone home and Warren jokingly told him that one of the walls had the stones facing the wrong way. Chub had the workers tear down the wall and reverse the rocks. Gayle, the only girl, was about to complete her doctorate in psychiatry. Eugene, or Peanut, the oldest, was a driven psoriasis-ridden roofing contractor with a saint of a wife. At the age of t\velve, he witnessed his father putting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger. Peanut's wife had always told me that the North Carolina branch of the family were the sweetest people in the world, but their ways could be ... unusual. I kept thinking this trip was going to be nightmare. We tried to offset the dread of what was to come with Hillbilly humor regarding inbreeding, small gene pools and low intelligence as we warned my

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,40 University of Mary Hardin-Baylor 11DDDg son to keep checking his fingers and toes to see if be had groou ~ one while driving through Louisiana and Arkansas. While speeding past rows of tar paper shanties in a depressmg ..uaned Arkansas tO\\'ll, Warren related the story of Crazy Aunt Myrtle me and my wide-eyed son. "She was nuts! " began Warren. •After Jllln;\'ing two husbands and a lover, she took to aimlessly wandering «solate mountain roads wearing her underwear on the outside of her dolhesl" Then with a wicked grin, ~e looked back at Travis, seeming _, 5JDall in the backseat, and srud, "You see, insanity runs in the family .hahahaha . . . !" Travis's look of shock slowly turned to a relieved grin as he cheerful retorted "Yep, you are crazy!" We all laughed and soon forgot family tragedies. When we crossed the North Carolina state line, it was breathtaking .Jus1 as Warren had said. Nearing dusk, the Smoky Mountains were beginning to billow smoke, or mist rather. As shadows gathered, my superstitions and imagination had the opportunity to run amok. We bad stopped and stretched our legs on the Blue Ridge Parkway llrbere I bought a cassette of an elderly toothless mountrun man. Warren made fun of the mumbly-mouthed banjo picking Hillbilly all the way up the park-way especially during a song we thought was "Froggy went-a­ courtin'." When we reached the city limits, Warren began to share boyhood memories and brief biographies of people who lived in the town. "There old Doc Marion delivered me while my Dad was in Nam. Old Fuzzy Eyebrows owns that diner--they make killer hamburgers. That old road leads to a ghost town with a tapped out gold mine." Upon crossing the old stone bridge, I could see Ma and Pa's house ust past a tobacco barn and a bend in the road. It had a great ex'Pansive \1:f'anda across the front of the while clapboard house, complete with smoke curling up from the chimney. "They will have dinner ready for us," Warren said. "Good! I'm starving!" shrieked Travis. I was thinking "Oh great! Grits and hog jowls, I'll bet!" We pulled in the driveway lined with tlowerbeds, and out of the bouse poured family. These people actually wore modem clothing, were well-groomed, and were &IOOous to welcome us. There wasn't a hound dog in sight. Each person presented a smile and had a hug and an •rm so glad to see you I" When we entered the house, there were all the creature comforts of the twentieth century·· TV NCR and a cordless telephone (We don't even have a cordless phone). All the cousins sat around, and we had a good visit. Aside from Ma referring to us as "you'uns," there was no language barrier. I was unex-pectedly overcome with warmth and love. Pa was

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,41 University of Mary Hardin-Baylor was virtually deaf and situated in a hospital bed in the parlor. He . attended by a nurse. He told great stories of mountain life in the 1920's lle and Warren compared skin creams and hairlines. All too soon, the week was over and consequently the trip. After the tearful goodbyes, we spent a silent journey winding back down the mountains to the state line. The silence was only punctuated by occasional deep sigh or a reassuring pal We all felt the emotional upheaval. Occasionally, we write or phone. Pa's gone now and a couple of cousins too. Time is so fleetmg, but the journey home to North Carolina taught me a profound eternal lesson of the meaning of family. Vkky Garland

BLUE

He was talking about life I was listening-not really. As I sat there, I noticed his eyes, they were so blue, kind of mystical. They were like whirl pools or even like the ocean. I drifted to a day on the beach: the nice breeze, the sand. the sky. I ran my feet along the ground. the sand was cool and white. It felt velvety against my skin. This "place", it is almost magical. I took a walk along the shore line, collecting the sea shells and Watching the waves, full of grace cresting and rolling. over and over. I was happy and alone. No worries, no problems. •An'j\vay, what is your view?" he asked. Oh, he was still talking.

Tonya Hall

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University42 of Mary Hardin-Baylor ~fy Novel

When I turned from him, I wanted him to leave. We had loved, but I fmished the chapter. I closed my book, the end. He brought me pain, was there joy? I can't remember. Could I find myself again, did l know who I was? D1d l have the courage? A long ride was ahead I knew it would be tough. Finding the next book was my desire.

Tonya Hall

As I lay my head upon the pillow my mind settles down like the arms on a willow My eyes are falling and feeling so heavy as I drift into a dream about a snake and a levy No fear from the water but the snake strikes deep where now do I hide from this fear that I keep? Awake now, I think, and try to retrieve some semblance of reality. Better yet just breathe! Mark J. Hallisey

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,43 University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Dreams

Long fingers that soothed my cw-ts As in his lap I lay Smiling blue eyes that eased me into sleep To dream this time away.

Shouts, then bushed quietness, tunes, and more Could not disturb my slumbered peace Then, on his shoulder off I would go To chicken, pie, and so much more.

Then sometimes near the darkness Off we would go once more Smiling blue eyes that eased me into sleep To dream my dreams once more.

Bobbie Hamlin

crunchy chocolate sweet while filling simple joys

spun cotton pastels floating overhead awakening

lightning flash echoes beside the tower glory of God

44 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Grips of God and Gold 'L' which either ··"The difference between God and gold is the Jetter stand for Jove or lust. •

Beside the shore walking with glee To understand my soul is free . ..

I'm not the one I used to be Walking through life with sad decree. The life, the nails were meant for me For chains of sin eternally Would lead me to a rugged tree.

The world, its hues in huge array I sought and found them with dismay. Glutton and greed in gold they stay And so it stains the soul to pay A price too grand to pass away.

I did the things those seldom do And rarely did I get them too. Because the self over the you Controlled the want, the will, the woo More sin, more weight, more chains were due.

The weight was more than I could take The tree upon the back to break. Torment and pain ... the goals to make Oh someone save my soul for sake And stop the stone and bone pain ache!

The comer of my eye caught thee The one who dies slowly by me. My sight, my words, they ask and plea The answer cleans my sin; I'm free! For I, not Him, He dies for mel

Donnis Hamilton

45 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Stand on the edge. Water- clear and blue. Do I take the plunge?

Traci Harren

The Dancing Game

I sit patiently, watching. They line up. Some are twitching their fingers nervously. Some, as ifon a pogo stick, spring up and down. Others are like high strung horses, prancing in place ready to bolt.

Across the way, their opponents. Waiting in line. Moving in much the same manner. Constantly on th alert. Some are more focused on the task ahc.;ad than others.

As I continue to watch from my vantage point, the feelings swirling around the room, begin to flow within me. I wait and watch. The seconds click down.

Buzzers or music. The game begins.

Tracl Harren

Angel of Mercy in White taking orders.

Camille Howard '

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University46 of Mary Hardin-Baylor FIFTY YEARS

Years ofbuilding a simple life made of two into one, Children, grandchildren, the holidays and happy days, ftfty anniversaries can acquire­ now seem like a distant memory.

My life, our life suddenly numb brought to stop by what doctors call nature's way. The irony is that you aren't gone­ in body and spirit you are not.

That which make me who I am, that which was you has left me alone with only memories of those happy days, those fifty years.

Camille Hol\·ard

Salty tears Phantom sympathy pains An aching heart Full of sadneSs and loneliness Cold, blank stare Shaking, trembling Possible last words Anticipation, endless waiting Wanting to express feelings Yet not say a word As scared as a child left all alone Smiles of others at all the wrong times

Kimber Huffman

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor 47 The damp air calls his name between the roaring and shushing of the break, beckoning him out to sea. The wave curls inward and reaches to lap at his feet on the shore. Bathing deeper and deeper, the water jumps up to tickle his sides. As he paddles out, he caresses the water becoming an extension of its power. His destination found, the ocean prince bobs with natural rhythm and looks not toward the land whi"ch yields safety but to an unpredictable abyss. Like early, naval explorers and their followers, he looks to the wild wishes to tame it or hopes at least to experience its raw freedom . His prey in sight the ocean prince unexpectedly turns his back on the accumulating swell. Building up enough speed to get caught up in the glory of its motion. Then he is up, walking on water, standing on glass.

Roni Hutcheson

A pint of a woman clad in psychedelic smiles she wields her red pen full of answers. Owlish glasses frame her peachy face while magnifying her shining eyes.

Roni Hutcheson

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,48 University of Mary Hardin-Baylor TbeWar

People have always told me that I look like him. Ever since I can remember, relatives and longtime family friends have said, "You must be Ron's daughter." But I guess most people never see their own resemblance in another person, especially from father to daughter. I do see his mannerisms in myself, and as I stand assertively with both hands on my hips, I can see myself outside my own body looking just like him. I think anyone would be proud to be his daughter, but I haven't always felt that way. There were times in my life that I didn't care about my father other than the fact that I knew I was supposed to. I hated him for being mean to my mom and humiliating me in public places. I was afraid of him, and I hated being afraid. Things at our house were always centered on what kind of mood Dad was in. Before he got home from work, my mom, my sister, and I would rush around picking up all the mess that had been made through the course of the day. Dad didn't like to come home to a mess. It put him in a bad mood. Once, we bad company over at the house, and I was disrespectful to my dad in front of everybody. I don't recall who was there or what I said, but I do remember him taking me outside on the back patio. He stood there bent in my face, his teeth clenched tight, bruising my chest with his pointer fmger. "Don't you ever talk to me that way again!" He accentuated every syllable with a jab. "What do you say? What do you say?" "Yes, sir." "Stop it up, or I'll give you something to cry about." As often as it was given, he never carried through with that threat., but it's funny how I always believed he would. The whole shameful scene was in full view of everyone through the open mini-blinds, and I'm sure they heard every word. In our private moments cleaning out the garage on a Saturday morning, my sister and I would tell tall tales and giggle about what we were going to do to pay Dad back for all the disgrace. "The day I graduate from college, I'm gonna walk right up to him and tell him what I think of him." We had our plan to get exactly what we wanted, and then, give him what we thought he deserved. That is how it always was--us against him. My mom was on our side because he was mean to her, too. He never hit her that I know of, but he made her feel dumb. He made her look stupid on purpose, and that's how their fights would start. My God, nothing was ever good enough to yield kindness from him. Usually at dinner, he would start picking on her. The tension would build, and after we would go to bed, I could hear them through the walls yelling at each other. The nexi day, Mom would cry and hug us a lot. Mom was on our side because we understood how it felt to be up

49 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor against someone so absolute, like a power you could never hope to overcome. My dad was always there for me when I needed him. When I was about six, I was playing on our gym set in the back yard and I fell . I sprained my ankle so badly that Dad heard it crack across the yard. He ran over, picked me up, and held me while I cried. "Dad burn it, Sugar." He always said that when one of us was hurt. I don't know where it came from or what it means, but in my head, I can still hear him saying it, like the time we went to the parade in Clovis. The parade was over so we were putting the lawn chairs and blankets in the trunk of our baby blue Volkswagen Bug. Dad didn't see my hand at the edge, and he shut the trunk. As he ran around the car to pop the trunk from the inside, he was fumbling with the keys to unlock the car door, and I could hear his sympathetic obscenities. I had heard all the words before, but I knew, even as a small child, that my dad's heart was in the right place this time. He would have never let anyone hurt me, and that is the side of my dad I couldn't help but love. The self-sacrificing side and the side that always provided for his family was the same side that gave him these high expectations that it seemed I could never reach. . In the summer of 1993, I loaded up all I held precious into my '86 Skyhawk and followed my parents' Ford Tawus to Belton, Texas. My internal clock told me that it was time to leave home, but I never knew it would hurt so much to follow my heart. Mom cried her reassuring tears when it was time to say goodbye, but with my dad, it was different. My dad is not a man to waste words or anything else for that matter. When he said goodbye, there was a sparkle in his eyes. Maybe it was only the tear, but I think I saw some pride and a hint of regret. A few months later, I received a letter from my dad, just from him. The actual words didn't say much. He thanked me for some letters I had written to the family and sent his regrets that he had not seen me the weekend before. He wrote the letter while he was at work, and it was only a page long. But I had never gotten a letter from my dad before. At most, he had signed my birthday cards, but this was different and special. Something changed between my dad and me when I left home. We found a common bond through my independence and success in college. Ironically, through my trials of growing up, I inherited some of my dad's strength. Many of the attributes that made most angry about him are the same characteristics that have helped me to survive and flourish. A couple of weeks ago, I went to my grandmother's seventieth surprise birthday party. There were about thirty people standing around talking and greeting one another while we waited for Granny to arrive. My cousins were running around chaotically, and flnal warnings were being passed out like candy. As I searched the room for a safe comer, I saw my

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, soUniversity of Mary Hardin-Baylor to dad seated in a folding chair sipping a cup of coffee. His eyes raised feel mine, and he smiled at me. It was the kind of smile that made you confident and comfortable about who you are. He pulled a chair closer my to him for me to sit in, and I accepted his invitation. My dad affirmed first confidence by attentively listening to every word I said. It wasn't the time he had done that for me, but it was the first time I took personal had notice of a change in my dad. My childlike admiration for him that changed to respect and grown stronger through the years. At I moment, my heart swelled with love, and then, doubled in size when in realized how much love I had for him that I had discovered so much common. It wasn't just the similarity of our retreat during the birthday get party, but it was our interest in family without knowing how to and involved, our love for relatives without the ability to always show it, fail. our desire to succeed with the constant fear that we are going to to Later on that afternoon, we were sharing what my grandmother meant even each of us. My dad took a timid step forward, and before he could The get a word out, he was swallo\ving the emotion of the moment the relatives and friends in that room, including myself, were awed by he words he spoke and the difficulty with which he said them. He said a was grateful to my grandmother for the family he had been made the member of when he married my mom. I couldn't convey to you it tender and genuine quality of his words or his feelings, but we all saw and will never forget it I am sure. This affinity with my father didn't explain everything that happened that while I was gro\ving up, but it helped me to understand a side of him life I'm not even sure I knew existed--the side of him that cared about my daughter enough to let me live it for myself. I am proud to be my father's the and for people to identify me with him. His constancy throughout years is something more valuable than I could have known. I could , always depend on my dad to be there for me. He is a success, and oddly I've I don't think be knows it We both know he made mistakes, but adult forgiven him for most of them. I hope he looks at me now, in my life, and sees my triumph as a result of his victory. Ronl Hutcheson

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,Sl University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Grandparents by Association began to stare While sitting in the newly reupholstered chairs, Natalie fresh paint. The at the plain white walls. The room still smelled of her stomach cushions were soft and comfortable, but nothing could make her bluish gray release the tight grip it had on the rest of her body. With about her. She hair, Natalie had that distinguished grandmother look a limp in her left moved well for a lady of her age, though she did have the left side of leg. She had suffered Polio as a child and it had affected like a child her body. But that did not stop her. She zoomed around playing with new toys. at the desk." "Mrs. Edwards," the nurse said. "You have a phone call as she rose her "Ob, thank you. I'll get it right away," Natalie remarked . limp body from the big blue chair where she was nestled station and Natalie made her way the twenty feet or so to the nurses' . picked up the phone. "Hello," she said with her usual grace " "Mama," the voice said with excitement "This is Laura. "Well, hi kiddo. How are you doing?" •rm fme, but is Papa doing well?" through with "He's doing pretty good. But you know him, he'll pull seemed to grasp flying colors," Natalie said. The knot in her stomach harder. to know what "I'm glad to hear that. We're coming to visit, and I need room he's in." to see you. "Okay dear. He's in room 401. I know he'll be very happy said. He asked me this morning if you were coming by," Natalie we're coming. "Well, we'll be there in a little while. But don't tell him I'll just surprise him," Laura replied. "See you soon. Bye." the receiver on "Okay dear. Bye," Natalie commented as she replaced As she its base. Slowly she made her way back to the comfortable seats. heart sat there, visions and memories ran through her mind and her since she Laura was her baby so to speak. Natalie had baby-sat for every day in the was two weeks old. For three years Laura bad spent Livingston which Edward's house. Then Laura's family bad moved to but it wasn't the was about forty-five minutes away. Laura visited often same as before they had moved. Laura to Natalie began to remember that first day Annie bad brought children in the her house. Her husband, Frank, had not wanted any , Natalie house. While Annie frantically searched for another baby-sitter said she would watch Laura. take Laura. After a week long search, Annie found a day care that could with the good As soon as work was over Annie went to Natalie's house news. with a smile. "I found a day care that can fit Laura in," Annie told her

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, 52University of Mary Hardin-Baylor "Okay, we've enjoyed having her here," Natalie commented. The door suddenly opened as Frank walked out to the porch with them. "Hi, Annie. What are ya'll discussing?" "Annie found a baby-sitter for Laura Today is the last day for us to keep her," Natalie answered. "What? I thought we were her baby-sitters. She can't leave." "But, Frank, I thought you said we didn't need a child in the house." "Well, Natalie, I kind of like having a child here. It will keep us young," Frank said with determination. "We can't change our minds now. Annie already has a new baby-sitter for her." "I can call the day care and cancel if ya'll really want her to stay," Annie said. "Okay, it's settled then. You've got yourself a baby-sitter; Frank commented. "Come on in and sit down while we have a glass of tea." "Laura is down for her nap, so we'll let her sleep a little longer; Natalie said. The three sat down at the kitchen table and enjoyed a glass of freshly brewed tea. Annie expressed her deep feeling of appreciation for Natalie and Frank, and told them how lucky she was to have found them. Obviously absorbed in her memory, Natalie's eyes bad a glaze of sparkling stars dancing around them. Looking around her, Natalie could see that all the nurses were busy with one thing or another. They all ran quickly through the rooms and halls gathering trays or answering their call buttons. No one else was in the waiting room. Since Natalie was alone, she decided to draw her mind back into a vivid memory of Laura's childhood. Every day that Laura was at the Edward's house she received special attention. Frank would call over to his chair as soon as she got there. "Come here Laura. I've got something for you." "What is it?" Laura would ask. "Just come on over here and you'll see." "Okay, • Laura would say as she ran to him. She would climb into his lap and let him talk to her for a few minutes. While he was talking, he could cleverly slip a quarter into a palm. Excited, Laura would want to tell everyone, but Frank would simply tell her to keep quiet about it. After the fiTSt few times to get a quarter, Laura would always make sure she wore shorts with pockets in order to have a place to put her quarter. Frank and Laura were real pals. They were always together if Frank was at the house. He taught her to play dominoes and solitaire. They were always sitting at the kitchen table with or without Natalie playing some form of cards or dominoes. If Laura wasn't going to win a game she would want to cry. In order to solve this problem, Frank taught her

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,SJ University of Mary Hardin-Baylor how to cheat at solitaire. He showed her that she could peek under the cards and pick out the one that she needed. Natalie told Frank that he should not be teaching a child how to cheat at a game, so he said he would not do it anymore. But then he just did it without Natalie noticing. "Mama," Laura said as she could see Natalie sitting in those big blue chairs at the end of the hall. "What?" Did someone call me?" Natalie asked snapping from her trance. "Hi, Mama," Laura said while waving to her from across the waiting room. Natalie jumped from the chair to hug her baby girl. Laura was now twelve years old, but Natalie still felt that she was her baby. "Can I go in and see Papa now?" Laura asked with excitement. "Sure, I'll take you to his room." As they walked towards Frank's room, Natalie felt the knot in her stomach tighten. Laura was not worried about Frank because she just knew that he would be all right. Natalie swung the door open and said to Frank, "Look who's here." "Hey, girl, what are you doing here?" "I came to visit you. You knew I would." "Yes, I knew you would come sooner or later." "How are you feeling?" Laura asked with a sense of uncertainty. Laura knew by looking at him that this was serious. Frank usually had the look of steel throughout his body. His arms were always thick trunks from all the work he did at the house. His eyes were normally sparking with joy, especially when Laura came to visit. Today was different though. Frank did not have that usual sense of peace and joy about him. His eyes were dull with dark circles under them, and his voice was rough in tone. His face and arms seemed to droop like flowers on a hot day. Laura can barely make herself look at him. "Do you have any change?" Frank asked Natalie. "No, I don't think so. What do you need change for?" "Never mind that. Do you have a dollar in your purse?" "Let me see," Natalie said as she began to fumble through the contents of her purse. "Here's one." "Okay, go to the nurses' station and get some quarters." Natalie hurried to the nurses' station to get the quarters because she now knew that Frank wanted to give them to Laura just like he had always done. The nurse at the desk gave Natalie four quarters. With a quick thank you, Natalie walked as quickly as possible back to Frank's room. She went in and handed the quarters to Frank. "Come here Laura," Frank mumbled The words seemed to be hard to form in his mouth. "I have something for you." "You don't have to give me anything today," Laura argued.

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,54 University of Mary Hardin-Baylor •y es, I do. This may be the last thing you get from me." "Papa, don't talk that way. You know you will be fine. • "Here." Frank held out his hand with the four quarters in it. Laura walked over and stood right beside the bed. She stuck out her hand while he placed the quarters in her palm like he had done so many times before. His hands were unusually cold and clammy. "Thank you," Laura srud. She leaned down and gave Frank the biggest hug she could. "Keep up with that because you might need it someday." Laura backed away from the bed because Frank started to complain of his side hurting. Suddenly a loud beeping noise starting going off. The nurses rushed in and asked that everyone else leave the room. Laura turned and practically ran into the waiting room. Natalie caught up with her by the big blue chairs because she knew Laura was hurting. "It will be okay, Laura," Natalie said as she held Laura in her arms. After about thirty minutes of silence, the doctor came from Frank's room. " I'm sorry," he srud. "There's was nothing more we could do. The cancer had already claimed too much of his body by the time we even knew he had it." "Oh, no." Natalie knew her insides were crumbled, but she had to present a strong front on the outside for Laura's sake. Hugging Laura tighter, Natalie tried to hold back the tears that were stinging the backs of her eye lids. Laura began to wiggle around in Natalie's arms. She wanted to have her Papa back. "No, he can't be dead!" Laura squealed. "He can't be!" "Laura, he's better off this way because he's with God, and he won't be in any more pain, • Natalie said trying to comfort Laura. As tears poured from Laura's eyes and ran down her cheeks, Laura said, "He can't be gone! I won't let him leave!" "We'll be okay Laura • "I know we'll be okay, but now who will help me cheat at solitaire?" Laura asked with a sniffle. Natalie began to laugh. She was worried that Laura was afraid of the death situation, but she did not actually understand death. Instead, she wanted to know how to cheat at solitaire without her Papa. This gave Natalie a sense of cheer. Laura and Frank had spent many days together playing games and having fun. At least Laura would remember the good times they had together. DoriJander

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor to Baudelaire-with Love dear one dear brother from across the ocean beneath these stars i hear you: the aches the tears the desperation all efforts falling into a nothing. iknow i, too, know this insatiable thirst for my heart neither feels the glow of the angels and my Soul neither knows the rapture, the wonder, the ecstasy of being the unattainable whole.

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, S6University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Grandma Now here you lie beneath the ground No word you'll utter--1'11 hear no sound. I stand above with much to say 0 how I wished you could have stayed. I was distant and far from home When he decided to take you as his own. The pain and hurt you must have felt I could have been a bigger help. I remember your smile and funny glance rd give anything to give you the chance. I always thought I'd see you smile When daddy walked me down the aisle. I always thought we'd have all the fun When my years in school were finally done. I always thought you'd be so bold When my first born was given to hold. I never thought you'd leave so quick Your heart gave out and here I sit. How could I have known I'd lose a friend I wish I could've been there in the very end. You'll always be known as my great granny And always be my one and only nanny.

Krbty Johnson

The Bevel

As the clearest morning light dances, twirling in ballerina arches, painting and splashing window sill with reflections of brightest col~rs found in rainbow's spectrum

in the bevels of finest cut glass,

so my heart finds and expresses itself as it discovers each facet of your shining love.

J.C.KeUy

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,. 57 University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Frequent Flyer

You asked me for wings so you could fly, You said, if I held you, our love would die. So I've bought a ticket to one place more, to give you the wings you asked me for.

We've traveled together through rocky and rough. Saw plenty of nothing and sometimes too much. Now the road takes a turning, one goes up, one goes down, but we're at the place we can't get around.

I gave you things for tomorrow, gave you things for today, when all you really wanted was to just fly away.

So I sold all my hopes, told my wishes goodbye and bought you a ticket so you could fly.

You asked me for wings that I gave you to leave. And the last thing you're taking are the wings to be free.

J.C.KeUy

S8 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Mach-I in the Canyon

Soaring within the canyon, the manufactured cylinder flies on electric wings. Wind tunnel creates turbulence. Pure excitement, adrenaline pounding. Wanting to scream. Scraping along the eastern waH, the mission is too risky. PuU out--too late Wooded embankment due north. · Collision inevitable. Uncontrollable screaming.

Matthew Kirkley

The Shoebox

I buried it here, .For I no longer have a need for it. It's deep. Tossed in a shoebox. (Best pair I ever did have) Tosserl in a shoebox. A plain, brown shoebox. No frills, No fancy names, No nothing. Just a plain, brown shoebox. It's quite deep.

No, I'll never dig it up. No need to. Broke. Beyond repair. Just tossed in a shoebox. And buried here.

Josh LeRoy

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,59 University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Natural U es

In lhe darkened hilltop, Tinted only by 1he pale moon light, She waits.

A rustle in 1he distance, Brings promise, Brings hope. But that is all it brings, For now ...

The twilight br~ sighs like lovers, Long, lost, and star-crossed. Lovers of a happier Time and place.

Still, The night brings nothing. For now ...

Rustling trees, creaking. Swishing leaves, breaking, crackling. The brush of blades of grass atop the hillside All speak to her. Begging, pleading for her To wait. "Please wait" (Snicker, giggle, snicker)

So she waits. For now, For ignorance, For loneliness,

Forever ...

Josh LeRoy

60 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Boundaries and walls defend. Camouflage conceals and protects. Concrete barriers and steel shells keep others away. Lock the soul away inside a box. Isolation: both a mend and an enemy.

Layna Lewis rats play overhead rain drips on rotten boards morning drifts in

Layna Lewis

On outstretched wings above the earth, the heaven's king, his right from birth

Like lightning steaks and strikes the ground. The hunter seeks, then downward bounds.

In his sight he sees his goal; with all his might he snags the soul.

He's on his way to his nest. He has his prey; it's time to rest.

Derek Jones

61 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Suffocation

Love once abound wrapped in one bottle pretty as picture found striking to a model. Once fell off the shelf to injure myself, wishing never the temptation only brought suffocation.

Jessica Malinak

Light from the sky blinds as the rain patters on the window. The ground shakes violently and trees sway back and forth. Debris is lifted into the air thrown down the street towards the impending darkness.

Stephen Navarre

Composition of a Poem

I spread the letters of the alphabet, and tried to mix them together. Uncertain, I tried to convey feelings, images, and messages.

This is not difficult, 1 thought. It is a challenging game. Put in the best, or the worst, and create images. ·

Best of all was the peace that this game gave me while my hand was shaking from excitement. AlmJlia T. Naslotls

62 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Can you bear After the rain Laughter oflollypop licking midgets Lapping ofwild dogs' tongues Me and mine Enjoying the puddles

Matthew Neese

The Basement

Their low voices rattle our house like a giant's footsteps They always begin around now BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM And then a short pause BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM Mother stands in the kitchen Her eyes seem plastic, like my doll's I speak to her She never looks at me Just sends me to my room My room isn't really my room I live in the basement Tucked in a corner with my toys My brother's armies lie scattered on the floor He doesn't play with them anymore "They're too real," he says As he watches our tiny windows vibrate I don't like it down here So dark and cold BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM My brother calls it our coffin BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM

Matthew Neese

63 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Tbe Rise and Set

Between two hills the sun rose, Her teeth clenched tight on her lip, Her eyes shaded to the world-- No bright, grinning cartoon face To whistle away the moon. Anguish possessed her features. No, not anguish, but pleasw-e. Her everything was focused On the noon point, the climax. The sun flushed red and shivered As the canyons scissored close On the southern horizon In a spasm of quakes. Then the universe stood still. A calm breath came from the west As the waves ceased their pounding And silence subdued the sea. Eyes open, the sun smiled And slid back into darkness.

Matthew Neeae

White Dreams

Can't you see? You are in the wrong dream. You were fourteen and now you are thirty. You started wrong. How long will it take you to realize that you are in the wrong dream? Wake up. White Dreams: White Death.

Aimllia T. Nasiotis

64 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor THE STROKE OF HIS PAINTBRUSH

The crackling frre hissed and popped. The young child paused briefly, mesmerized by the jwnping red-orange flames. Twning to face his grandpa, he exclaimed, "My eyebrows are on fuel" Grandpa chuckled and told him they weren't The child let out a sigh of relief. "Tell me again, Grandpa. Tell me how it was when you were little like me. Please, Grandpa," the child requested again, "please! • "Very well," Grandpa relented. "What do you want to know?" "Tell me about the colors. I want to know why people fought about the colors. Why colors were so important? Tell me!" Grandpa shifted in his recliner and made himself comfortable. Clearing his throat and taking a drink of water, Grandpa began. •When I was a little boy, people believed they should separate themselves by their color; by the color God painted their skin. We were caught up in all the ways we were different. We wouldn't or couldn't see the ways we were the same. We were not satisfied with what we had or who we were. We wanted special treatment because of what we weren't" The child intemtpted. "Wait, Grandpa. I don't get that part. Try to tell me another way." "Sure, my child. We never saw each other as equals. Some people thought they were better than others. They wanted to be treated special, or get special things. Do you understand now, my child?" "Yes, Grandpa, I do. Now tell ~e about the colors. Tell me what they meant Please tell me!" "Some people called others black. They made this person seem evil, dull, or even uncaring. What people couldn't see is that we are all partly black. We all have pupils darker than the coals used to bring Frosty to life. This is true black. We all have these black windows that lead to our souls. But this black is not evil or dull--it is expressive. When we laugh, our pupils dance and sparkle, or grow round and huge when we are tired or scared. Just as you are my child. • "I am not tired. Please tell me more. I think yellow is next." "What do you think of when I say yellow, my child?" "That is easy. I see smiley faces, Big Bird, the sun, and lemons. • "Yell ow resembles jaundice, dying, and cowardliness. No one was really any color, but we would say they were. We had no idea that yellow meant beauty and purity. That in their eyes they were kissed by the sun's beams and given a warm, loving glow. "White comes next. It is pure, clean, and innocent to some. To others it is cold and harsh. Many believed that white should be the strongest color, and most powerful.• "What does harsh mean, Grandpa?"

6.5 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor "Harsh means being bitter or heartless. Do you understand?" "Yes, I do. Kind of like Scrooge from A Christmas Carol. Tell me more." "I simply can't believe we saw ourselves as these colors. White could be the light of the moon and stars. We all have the same white in us, my child. Let me see your hands. Look, ten little pale moons on your fingers and ten more on your toes. Or what about the teeth we house in our mighty mouth?" "I like that part, Grandpa. That means we all have white in us--neat." "What color comes next child?" "Urn ... brown, yeah, brown. Tell me about brown." "Brown can be filth and decay. I do not know why we see brown that way. We are all brown, just different shades. But on the positive side, brown is the perfect shade. Not too dark and not too white." "Grandpa, why is it you are talking about brown like it is the best color?" "Well, my child, I think it is because my parents told me to be proud of what I was." "But mamma always tells me to be proud of who I am. Tell me more about brown.• "Okay, this color shows that you are not too proud to work. No one realized brown is modeled after the endless variety of tones that Mother Earth is composed of" "Okay, tell me about red now." "Red stood for anger and hate. And we did believe that people who were this color were temperamental. I don't think that we had the right idea about calling people colors. The only red th.ing about people is what is underneath the skin. Our veins pulse with red blood that gives us life. We all bleed the same color." "Grandpa, didn't anyone notice that you were all the same but just different shades?" "Probably, some people noticed, but no one was brave enough to stand up and say anything. Or maybe it was ignorance. That means that if you ignore the problem long enough, it becomes acceptable." The child rubbed his eyes and got comfortable in Grandpa's lap. "Grandpa, I will tell. I will tell everyone!" "Tell them what, my child?" "Easy, I will say that God painted everyone different colors with His paintbrush, but He made them the same. I will show them the moons we all have, the black eyes on the windows that lead to our souls, and the red blood we all bleed. I will tell them the outside does not matter because we are just different shades of the same color. I will tell them we are all the same."

66 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor The child drifted off to sleep. Poor child, Grandpa thought to himself as be snuggled in closer to the child and brushed the child's hair off his forehead. Ifonly everyone were as understanding as you, then the world would truly be united Color blindness is not a gift to many people in the world, but there is no better place to start than with a child.

Patti Martinez

UkeRocks

Leaves Break away from the tree And fall to the ground Like rocks. ThUd. My skates Catching a hole as I tum And fall to the ground Like a rock. Ouch.

Laura McRight

Monotony

Fence posts, whizzing by, Becoming a gray blur. Raindrops, spattering on the window, Forming an evercbanging pattern. Clouds, gathering on the ground, Enshrouding the road to Houston. Me, leaning against the window, Forehead trembling with the car's movement. Slowly /'li//Utg Asleep.

Laura McRight

67 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor AFint Date

As the house lights dimmed, the screen lights reflected upon her face her hair the color of the swt as it shimmers across the lake at Swtset. Her skin so fair was silky to the touch A touch I will never forget:

As she took my hand tingles trickled down my spine my heart pounded heavy with joy despite my fear I held on as if this would be the only hand I would ever hold.

As the house lights flickered to a return, I turned to her and smiled as she let go.

Celeste Pennington

bookends made of granite-­ friends

fingernails pulled across a chalkboard obscene language

eloquent language "Not of an age, but for all time" Dr. Musacchio

Kim Pierce

68 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Your touch sends a lingering quiver within That is as a light-shocked moth in flight Whose casual flapping is intenupted once again When darkness is violated by blinding light

Fluttering its wings in nervous reply, It spirals and crashes into the globe overhead And urgent-ly fleeing seeks its refuge in the sunless sky, Claiming the empty blackness as its stead.

KlmPierte

Eternal Yea

Think you mankind has completely lost his way? I give you one answer: The Eternal Yea. Say you mankind lost faith in His universal play? I believe the resPon.se must be The Eternal Yea. Trust you mankind will regain faith in Him one day? I pray the reply can be The Eternal Yea.

BilyPoweD

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,69 University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Thank God for Angels

Look at this mess, I thought. picking Joshua's dirty socks up off his bedroom floor. Patsy will be here soon, and I want the house to be spotless. Although I don't know why I worry so. Our house is a museum compared to that dumpy old trailer house in the Alabama backwoods where we spent much of our childhood. You know, I think to myself, I don't even remember the name of the town where we lived back then. But I can picture the place as vividly as if it were yesterday. Mama had bought a tiny, old, broken-down mobile home from the man who ran the diner where she worked as a night-waitress. I remember that she gave $700 for the trailer and Daddy got mad at her for paying too much money for it. 1be lot the trailer sat on was small and almost completely overgrown with oak trees. I remember, as a little girl, thinking that those trees were alive, like in The Wizard ofOz . I used to imagine them coming to life at night and trampling the tin roof of our trailer with their massive trunks. I would dream that somehow my mother, sister, and I would escape. In those visions, my father was always trapped inside the house, unable to be saved from the wrath of the wicked trees. Leaving Josh's room, I head toward the kitchen. The stark white counter-tops sparkle in the filtered light let in through the mini-blinds. I had gotten up early this morning and totally wiped down everything. The light scent of pine cleaner still lingers in the air. I laugh at my nex't thought: few things in life give me more satisfaction than a clean house. I walk into the living room. Looking around the room, I realize how much I cherish my home and all the memories I have here. I remember to count my blessings, and I say a little prayer. The pictures on the mantle need straightening. One has fallen face down. I stand it back up on the shelf. Two little girls in matching red gingham dresses stare back at me. The girls stand on a rickety porch in front of a beat-up trailer house. I glance over at another photograph framed in gleaming silver. Two young women stand hand-in-hand, one dressed in a wedding gown; the other in a lilac chiffon bridesmaid's dress. It doesn't seem possible that these could be the same people. Times have surely changed, I think. I pick up the silver framed picture and move it to a more prominent space toward the edge of the mantle. "Thank God for angels," I whisper. For a moment, I can see Patsy Jo's young face smiling at me. She was about seven then, with glistening gold ringlets and naturally rosy cheeks that rolled into soft balls when she grinned. I was nine, and, where looks were concerned, we were total opposites. My hair was almost black and hung in string-like strands around my pale, thin face.

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University70 of Mary Hardin-Baylor She was tan, healthy looking, and average in height; whereas I was quite thin, gawky, and too tall for my age. And we were Southern. Hillbillies to the core. I remember being embarrassed when the kids at school used to tease me about my extreme Southern drawl. But that's how we all talked at home. I take the small pictw"e from the shelf and sit down in the old walnut rocking chair situated in the darlc comer of the room. Rocking back and forth relaxes me, and I let my thoughts wander back in time. "Mary Beth!" Patsy Jo had shouted that hot, sticky morning. "I saw a heap of angels hanging over your bed! They was all looking at you, like they was praying or something! One of them turned around and saw me looking, and then they all disappeared like magic! I swear it's true!" I must have given Patsy Jo a look of doubt, because she continued to holler, "It's true, I swear! Cross my heart and hope to die; stick a needle in my eyel" I gulp hard, trying to swallow the hardness in my throat I stop rocking for a moment and look once more at the two scraggly children in the snapshot. Fighting back the urge to weep and holding the photo close to my chest, I resume my rocking. It always hurts to remember, but I have to do it every now and then just to remind myself of how far I have come. It helps me to keep the faith--something I didn't have much of when I was younger. Daddy didn't believe in God. He used to say that the stories of God were just fairy tales like Cinderella and Rumpelstiltskin. Mama believed, though, and, when Daddy wasn't home, she would read from the Bible and recite prayers to us. Daddy drank a lot. Most of the time he didn't have a job, and Mama worked two jobs to keep us in shoes. I hated when Mama was gone and Patsy Jo and I had to take care of Daddy. He got mad a lot and would beat up on us when he had too much to drink. If Mama tried to defend us, she'd get knocked around, too. · Lots o f times the police came to our trailer. Mama worked as a secretary for a nice man who didn't like it when she came to work with bruises on her face. Daddy never knew why the cops always showed up when there was trouble at home, but Mama told me later that her boss was the one who called the police. And the teachers at school knew about Daddy. Patsy Jo and I didn't go to school everyday. When we did go, they could tell that things weren't good at our house. They would ask why I was all banged up, and I used to make up stories. Like the time I walked home from school with Lizzie Saunders and Daddy got mad because he didn't want me hangipg around with coloreds. He'd hit me so hard across the mouth that I couldn't talk well for a week. I told my teacher Miss Cartwright that I fell in the creek chasing craw-dads. I was so afraid if I told people the

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,71 University of Mary Hardin-Baylor truth, Daddy would find out. And I knew that he'd hurt me some more, so I fibbed instead. The day Patsy Jo told me about the angels, I'd asked her in disbelief, "Are you sure those weren't mosquitos you seen over my bed?" Patsy Jo wrinkled up her face, upset that I didn't believe her. " Not I know what I seen! Remember what Mama always says? Angels take care of little children. God sent them angels to take care of you, Mary Beth!" The look on Patsy Jo's face told me that she truly believed what she saw. It wasn't long before she had me believing it, too. That same day, we made a pact that we would pray every day for the rest of our lives. And that night in our tiny bedroom, as we sat hand-in­ hand on Patsy Jo's bed, we said our first prayer. "Lord, I know we don't know you very well," I'd said, "but we know you sent them angels to take care of us. Please bless Mama, and please don't let Daddy drink and hit us any more. And, please, God, let us see them angels again. Amen." We prayed every night, and we praised God every chance we got, because Mama told us that He likes that. But Daddy didn't stop drinking; in fact, it seemed he drank more than ever. And he didn't stop beating up Mama or us girls either. One night Daddy got really drunk and cut Mama up with a broken Jack Daniels bottle. She was covered in blood from her forehead to her ankles. Daddy had come in while she was asleep and slashed her all over with the broken edge of the glass bottle. Patsy Jo and I could hear Mama crying in pain and screaming for mercy. We were so scared that we hid under Patsy Jo's bed and held each other close. "God, help Mama!" I cried. I remember both of us chanting, "Help us, Jesus! Send some angels. • The slamming of the screen door told us that Daddy had gone. Patsy Jo and I ran in and found Mama's bloody body lying on their bedroom floor. She was still alive, but she was limp and drained of energy. We didn't have a telephone, so I had to run across the pasture to a neighbor's house. The neighbors called the police and an ambulance to come get Mama. Mama was rushed to the hospital, and Patsy Jo and I spent the night in the emergency room lobby. Mama's sister, Aunt Kate, came and sat with us. We all prayed for Mama to pull through. Patsy Jo and I prayed for angels. Morning came, and the doctor told us that Mama would be all right. Aunt Kate led us in blessing, and we praised the Lord. When I looked up from my prayer position, I'd noticed one of the policemen who had helped Mama the night before. He walked past us in the lobby and asked a nurse if he could see Mama.

72 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor A few minutes later, the ofticer came out of Mama's room, his head hung low. Shortly thereafter, a nurse walked into the lobby and asked me and Patsy Jo to come with her. She led us into Mama's room. Mama was covered in bandages and lying in bed. Her lips, white and cracked, reminded me of the chipped and peeling paint on Grandma's house. Tears streamed from the comers of her pale blue, blood-shot eyes. "Your Daddy's dead," she'd sobbed. "They found him in the parking lot of Buddy's Bar. He had too much to drink, and they can't tell yet ifhe just stumbled over dnmk or what" Aunt Kate ushered us out of the room so that Marna could be alone in her sorrow. Patsy Jo and I held hands as we walked back into the lobby. "Let's say a prayer," Patsy Jo said. "Thank God for angels: Mama was released from the hospital about a week after Daddy's death. She missed Daddy's burial because she still wasn't able to get around well. Patsy Jo and I didn't go. Mama wanted us to, but Aunt Kate got us out of il We told Aunt Kate that we had "watermelon fever" or some ridiculous disease we concocted to get out of going. She went along with us and pretended to believe our silly story. I remember her sympathetic look as she felt our foreheads and nodded. •yes, you are quite warm, girls. Tbelieve you're going to need a day or two of bed rest, • Aunt Kate said. I don't know if she told Mama that we didn't go. When Mama came home from the hospital, things were strange. We didn't talk about Daddy. It was as if be had never existed. And, although Patsy Jo and I were willing to forget him, I knew he was on Marna's mind. Mama became increasingly distant She didn't seem to notice that Patsy Jo and I were there. And she always felt ill. Her skin, which once glowed with vitality, became ashen and pasty and her eyes sunk inward and were lined underneath with bluish shadows. That winter, Alabama bad a terrible freeze. It sleeted for days, and Patsy Jo and I would curl up underneath the mound of quilts on my bed. We worried about Mama, because she would sit on the living-room couch in a thread-bare slip. She'd stare out the window at the icicles hanging from the roof of the trailer and moan., "It's hot in here. Why don't you girls open a window for your Mama?" We opened the window when she asked us to, and she kept it open all the time. It was like living in a meat-locker. And Mama was the meal Aunt Kate visited weekly. When she realized that Mama's condition was progressively getting worse, Aunt Kate called the doctor to check on Mama. Mama refused to eat anything. All she did was lay around in our cold house and cry. Dr. Starkey told Aunt Kate that Marna had cancer. Aunt Kate didn't tell us about the cancer until we were older. At the time, she told us that Marna was sick and that we should pray for

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,73 University of Mary Hardin-Baylor her. We did. And we begged for angels to come down and make Mama feel better. Mama died that winter. Patsy Jo and I were at school when Aunt Kate found Mama lying on the sofa with her slip pushed down to her waist. All the windows in the front room were wide open. Aunt Kate said there was frost on Mama's eyelashes. I was glad that Mama wasn't hurting any more. The last time I saw her she was smiling. She was at peace. She was finally comfortable, resting in the billows of satin which lined her pine casket. She was going home, to her Father. Patsy Jo reached for my hand, and we both looked down upon our mother, our angel on earth. "Thank God for angels," said Patsy Jo as she placed the ivory rose in Mama's rigid fmgers. After Mama died, Patsy Jo went to live with Aunt Kate in Mobile, and I went to Opelika to live with Mama's younger sister, Aunt May. Aunt Kate didn't want to separate us, but neither she nor Aunt May could afford to take care of two extra children in addition to their own. Kate already had seven and May had five. Although we disliked our separation, we made the best of it. Patsy Jo and I saw and wrote each other often and spent every summer together. Josh's excited yelling brings me back to reality. " Mom! Moml Aunt Patsy is here!" He pushes the front door open, slamming it against the wall. "Josh, be careful! Calm down, • I say. "Go help your a\Ult with her bags. • Still holding the old photograph, I walk out onto the front porch, Patsy Jo's Jeep is parked alongside our front curb. I can see her rear-end poking out the door as she retrieves her luggage from the back seat of the car. She is wearing a tailored turquoise suit, and her slender legs peek out from under the walking slit in her skirt. She must have come straight from the children's clinic, I think. Patsy Jo's back is still turned, and I seize the opportunity to sneak up behind her. As she turns around unsuspectingly, I blurt, "Boo!" Patsy Jo places one hand over her heart. "You scared the life out of me, Mary Beth!" she says. We both laugh, and Patsy Jo pulls me to her for a hug. "fm sorry I'm a little late," she says, "but I got caught up in a discussion with a young girl in my child abuse group. • I put my arms around her and accidentally poke her in the back with the edge of the picture frame. "What is that?" Patsy Jo asks. She puts her arm behind her back and feels for the object in my hand. I release the frame, and Patsy Jo grasps it and brings it forward. "Oh, my word! • she exclaims. "I can't believe you still have this old thing. Look at those dresses." She runs a finger over the little girls' smocks. " Mama worked her fmgers to the bone getting us ready for the Easter pageant at church that year." For a

74 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor moment, Patsy Jo stares at the photograph in silence. When she speaks again, her tone changes. "I hated that house. Look--" she says, pointing to the comer of the porch in the snapshot. "Look at all those beer cans. And that was the day after he'd smacked you around for being late from school and walking with Lizzie. See the bruise on your left cheek and your puffy upper lip?" Tears well in her eyes. "Why did he do that to us?" "It's okay, Patsy Jo," I say. I place my arm around her shoulders and give her a gentle squeeze. "He can't hurt us any more." Patsy Jo dabs at the comers of her eyes and gives me a child-like smile. "You're right, Mary Beth. • She hugs me once again and rests her head upon my shoulder. "Thank God for angels," she whispers, her words falling warmly against the nape of my neck. "Yes, Patsy Jo. Thank God for angels. • I pick her suitcase up off the ground and we walk hand-in-hand along the sidewalk leading to the house.

Kim Pierce

Bacon

Brown ball of fluff Scurrying around Nails, sharp little pins Tickle my leg. Up my shirt, onto my shoulder Nose tickling my ear, Then I watch the south end Of a north--bound hamster Run across my bed

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,1S University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Hush . . . step silently. He sleeps.

Don't wake him. His fire bums seven-

hundred smiles in a second. Regrets

like ashes are all that remain. He

slumbers in you. Wake him not

Anger

Donna Rabalais

RETIREMENT

Retirement coming fast, So many years spent outdoors, Many moves, one war endured. One Man- caring for so many, Some called you "Doc". Others called you Medic", So many years of being needed Now what to do? Retirement, so close at hand, Friends and family will be there. Years ahead things to be done, places to be seen.

Cindy Seale

76

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Fred and Marte

Two best friends, lovers never to be, that's Fred and Marie.

Fred, so manly, Marie so prim, Why can't the mind see what the heart has in?

They play, they ponder, but words never speak. the feelings that they have-­ they're too strong to peek.

Fred, eternal, a boy within. Marie, a mother, a shelter-a whim. Souls bonded from years before, A knot unbroken . . . a love unspoken.

One a tumbleweed, one an anchor, the two together, a union complete-­ yet man's ego and woman's pride, keep the love from ever cresting . .. the wondrous, fulfilling tide.

L.C. Ross

vapors dance on floors of asphalt rain sizzles

JiU Sims

77 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Desolation

In the heartland of rattlesnakes, armadillos, and longhorns Defunct vessels dot the landscape-- Igloos they were called by some-- Storehouses for destruction, death, and doom. Structures embanked by earth-- Time has passed them by- Bales of hay rest inside.. . . and the locust drone

JIU Sims

Haiku

Light came out of darkness Six days gone by He rests

he calls one day she is aglow first kiss

the day bas come friends say good-bye the hats fly

she walks with her father as people look on two circles become one

a woman screams broken water bleeds a child cries

a child grows learns right from wrong my job is done

Stephanie Spencer

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University78 of Mary Hardin-Baylor Optimistic

"My, my, my, how easily rest comes to my bones." Thank you, Lord, for blessing me and my kin.

Chop, chop, chop.

"The fire's ready. The grits is bubbling. Perfect. Chillun', get up now. Breakfast is on the table. Reecie, help the young chillun' wash up." Thank you, Lord, for blessing me and my kin.

"Hurry, Chillun', the bus will be here directly." My children are clean, dressed, and ready for school. They is some beautiful chillun'. I is proud. "Bye now. I'll be seeing you after school. Take the Lord with you."

Clean, clean, clean.

One day I'll be able to afford a fine house, like this one. "Yes, Ma'am. Right away, Ma'am." Yes one day, the with Lord's qelp. Thank you, Lord, for blessing me and my kin.

"Goodevening, Ma'am. Yes, Ma'am, it is a beautiful night."

Work, work, work.

"Hello, Chillun'. Reecie, did you start supper? Good girl." ...

"Homework done. Good. It's getting late, wash up and get in the bed. Say your prayers."

Thank you, Lord, for blessing me and my kin. "My, my, my. How easily rest comes to my bones." Rhonda Smith

79 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Refusal to Conform

l wanna be like Mike? Naw, I wannabe like me.

l have talents, a Jot of talents. Skills, yeah man, I got skills--

Right now I'm behind the eight ball But things are changing, The tide is twning.

Some day my talents are gonna set me free.

lf I strive to be the best, Accomplish all my goals, I'll have my own story, It'll be told on the streets.

Everyone will know how I beat the odds. And returned to help others in my 'hood. I will press on and refuse to be limited By those who said I was no good!

Be like Mike--Naw, man, I want to be like me.

Rhonda Smith

80 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor The Swift Proposal

The family had gathered for a Thanksgiving feast. The children galloped arowtd, occupying themselves until the meal was ready to be served. The men exchanged conversations about sports, as the women assembled and cackled like hens. Nell wiped her hands on her apron and brushed strands of hair offher brow. She wanted to impress the clan with her ftrst fancy meal. Sparkling place settings seemed as if they were meant to be looked at instead of eaten on. The burning flames of the candies added a touch of wannth at the table. As if on cue, Nell brought out each dish with care. She was proud of her accomplishment and hoped someone would appreciate the time and effort she put into the hours of preparations. She headed back into the kitchen for another dish when Uncle Denny started talking. "That Peach Toddler looks mighty fine, Nellie," he said. He almost disgusted her. She hated the way he slouched in the chair with a cigar in one hand and a glass in the other. His black-rimmed glasses sat crooked on his nose. It seemed he hadn't showered or shaved in days. The day before, Nell had gone to the Post-Natal Butcher Market to fmd the plumpest carcass she could. Many women were doing last minute shopping so she would have to wait until her number was called. She briefly scanned the light and dark meat. Each section was displayed creatively. Shoulders, tongues and rump roasts were quickly being purchased for the holiday. It was also important to pick up a few cans of Cranbaby Sauce. It was her grandfather's favorite. He had passed away five years earlier, and she missed him terribly. This way she would feel as if he were still here. He would often take her to the market with him. Nell was his favorite, and he had wanted to teach her to be a good cook like her grandmother. Nell's grandmother kept her recipes a secret, but every now and then, her grandfather would sneak a few to Nell. He loved Strogenoffspring, Nursery Gumbo, and Baby's Back Ribs. The kitchen took its toll on Nell. The pile of dishes didn't bother her as much as the unbearable heat. Her husband John came in to check on her and help bring out the main course. It was plump and juicy, and golden fancy little white socks that looked like tiny chers hats, covered the hands and feet of the carrion. " Have you told them yet?" he asked. "This is not the fight time, John. I'm gonna wait till later," she impatiently replied.

81 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor As the family glimpsed at the incoming dish, they eagerly took their seats. Nell scanned faces for approval and graciously accepted t)te sweet smile on John's face. "Uncle George, my teacher told us about something called ab . . . abertion .. . oh, I know, abortion! " Charlotte said. "We're learning history." The older bunch at the table knew about the olden days and briefly reminisced about their grandparents discussing the past. The younger family members zealously listened to Uncle George's answer. "Yep, my pa's pa told lotsa stories about them days. Folks said people were always hungry and some were living on the streets. They had places called orphanages, and all the kids that ain't got no folks of their own lived there. People in them days ate cows and pigs," he stated, "but now we got lotsa animals, even in them oceans." The children exchanged glances with "ooh's" and "aah's." Every now and then a "yuk" accompanied looks of disgust at the thought of eating animals. He continued, "There were so many people that women would go have abortions." "What's that mean?" a curious Billy asked. "It was when a woman with a baby in her tummy would have a doctor take it out," replied Uncle George. At this time, Nell started to feel a bit queasy. She laid her fork on her plate telling herself she could eat no more. John squeezed her hand to comfort her. Nell returned a look of impatience. She wanted desperately to get off that subject. "They had lotsa crime, too," Uncle George continued. "Huh?" asked Phil. "Crime is what a bad person does, and they would put these bad people in jail. Some greedy bad people would be put to death to get rid of'em. We ain't got nothing to worry about." "My teacher said we stiU have some bad people left,• Charlotte stated. "But it ain't nothing like it was; Aunt Alice said. "Older folks doing wrong end up fertilizing vegetable crops. Haven't'cha ever noticed how big and healthy them taters are?" "We ain't got no jails, no crime, and no abortion doctors," Uncle George said.. "A man named Jonathan Swift put an end to all that stuff when he told the government about his idea to fix this big mess. Nobody's hungry no more, and everybody's got a home. You kids are lucky you don't hafta live through bad times. You got good food on lh table, and you don't gotta worry about overcrowding and pollution. \ u got it easy." John and Nell whispered back and forth to each other when Aunt Alice asked them about what was so secretive.

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor 82 "Well, everybody, we have good news," John said. Nell grabbed his hand while forcing a smile back at everyone. "Spit it out, Johnnie," Aunt Alice spoke out. Looking in Nell's eyes for permission, John replied, "Nell's pregnant." A family cheer echoed in the dining room when Uncle Denny shouted, "Looks like we're gonna have a mighty fine Thanksgiving dinner next year!" Hazel Roberts

DAD

Genius He speaks a dozen languages including that of love

He stands OUT among the crowds coming and going in a monotonous way

Unique

He dances to the beat of a different drummer a beat no one else hears.

He is quick with advice generous with hugs and caring He has taught me protected me--

my DAD.

Elizabeth Thomas

83 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Winter Night at Cripple Creek

Far hills at evening cold and brown a fearsome stranger comes to town. Bold, remorseless, shouldering forth a cold eyed rider from the north.

Companion of the winds forlorn, straight from the realms of Capricorn. With his band of paltry thieves galloping with the whirling leaves.

And down the long deserted street, rode roughshod past the indiscreet. The hardiest soul would soon decide, to scuttle where his horse was tied.

Bootbeels scuffing cross the floor trespassing each unguarded door. The screechy music has begun looks like he's here to have his fun.

The young grew restless with the show and began to plot his overthrow. The old asked why all this alann? Leave him alone and he'll do no hann.

So pull the chinking from the door, perhaps we'll see his kind no more.

Grey hills at morning far away where sunrise shivers into day with bright arms delving to repay what winters night has stolen away.

Elizabeth Ward

84 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Mysterious Ways

"The Lor~ works in mrste~~us ways" is an expression I have always heru;d. that tnes to explam lifes unusual situations. Although some questions can never be clarified by this vague response, I have often wondered if the Lord is actua\\y responsible for the circumstances of others. I have examined many people to try to determine why some fortunate and horrible incidents happen to only certain individuals. Is it a coincidence? Does the Lord work in mysterious ways? I first tried to answer these questions while attending elementary school. My grandmother, Mary, worked on a fann for thirty years. She could do anything a man could do concerning the plowing, sowing, and other farming elements. My grandmother also possessed feminine qualities which included sewing, cooking, and taking care of her family. One day my grandmother fainted while she was attempting to open a gate. Blaming the fall on low blood pressure, Mary did not feel the incident was anything to be concerned about wttil the falls became more common. Suddenly my grandmother became ill. After many months of medical tests, the diagnosis was multiple sclerosis. This woman who participated in many outdoor activities became disabled She slowly dwindled from a healthy, vibrant woman to a person who could not walk. Why did this dreadful event happen? How could God seize a skill my grandmother treasured? Was God punishing her? During this time of my grandmother's illness, I also analyzed my great-grandmother's predicament. She is an eighty-seven year old widow who is in perfect health. She was also very active and organized many social activities in the community; however, since she came from a prominent family, she often displayed an arrogant attitude toward others. Now she refuses to leave her house. Tired of living, my great­ grandmother sits in darkness and prays for death. How can God prohibit a woman from walking and allow another the same ability which she chooses not to practice? I perceive there are some things in life we should not know or understand. I believe the Lord does work in mysterious ways because He bas a specific purpose to fulfill. For example, although my grandmother is handicapped, she is very optimistic and is positive there is a chance we may one day discover a cure for her disease. Also, she recently has become a member of the church. From my point of view, the crisis in her life made her aware that life is genuine, for she would have never joined the church if the disease bad not struck her. As for my great-grandmother, I think she serves as a lesson exemplifying to others that one should have the integrity to live to the best of one's

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,8S University of Mary Hardin-Baylor ability and not give up on life. God is allowing her to live longer until she realizes the purpose. Even today I wonder about the unusual events that suddenly occur and I have made this fmal conclusion: no one is guaranteed tomorrow, and one should never take life for granted because in a moment life can change drastically. I have gained wisdom from examining the lives of my grandmothers, and I now try to make use of all my talents. In a way I owe it to my grandmother because she enjoys watching me accomplish events that she used to achieve. Also, I have learned to value life. It is so wonderful to be healthy and to have the opportunity to live. Why would anyone waste an extraordinary gift? By treasuring my life today, I know if fate should suddenly take my abilities away, I would see the good I possessed before it is gone. Nevertheless, I must always remember that if discouraging events happen to me, it is His purpose of creating a better person. LauraTIDey

Gone With the Wind

An almost forgotten flag The rebel yell Memories of a time now gone

A people held captive A people that never should have been Heritage lost never to be found A scorned race with a bright future

Wealth and prosperity Stuffed pocketbooks Southern Belles Lost forever, spoiled by War

A great War The end of an era Not forgotten

ErkWeeden

86 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Darwin's Natural Selection

The night is cold but clear with no clouds in the sky­ which appears a deep midnight blue.

A sandy-colored snake slithers silently across the darkened sand dunes, searching for supper.

The vegetation is sparse and surrounded by rocks, making the hiding places few but hard to find

The snake flicks its tongue tasting the air for signs of prey --suddenly it stops and becomes statue still.

A little to the right a small grayish rodent unaware of huking danger searches for its own meager supper.

Closer and still closer the rodent slowly moves, not noticing and seemingly not caring until too late.

In a single deadly move the snake coils and strikes with the accuracy of an expert marksman and the quickness of the bullet from the gun.

Death is instantaneous and immediately the swallowing process begins. One life is taken so another might live is Natw"e's vicious cycle of-- Survival of the Fittest. Stacee Winten

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,87 University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Coyote .. .

One lonely cry pierces the moonlight night-­ followed by more.

Birds ...

The morning sunlight filters through an open door-­ sounds of early risers.

Snake ...

Hidden from the heat rock ceiling for protection-­ a silent coiled rope.

Stacee Winters

Australia

Majestic mountains Moist green forest Oceans bluer than skies Memories

Picture Timeless image Freeze on memory Friends and fun forever Nostalgic

Mary-Jac Witherspoon

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,88 University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Heat

Hot summer afternoon. The sun's burning rays bake everything in sight. The rattle oflocusts fills the air. The slight breeze only kicks up dust. The sidewallc shimmers as heat rises from it. No water, no relief, no fun.

DedraWour

The Meadow

Shy and alet1, they step out of the cluster of trees. Ears keen to the slightest sound, they slowly move out onto the meadow. An occasional snort; not Liking the faint smell of strangers in the wind. As they start to graze, a twig snaps beneath my weight. White flags of fear are raised and they bound into the safety of the trees. The meadow is empty, as if they were never there. Dedra Wolff

89 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor The Enemy

He creeps inside of us each chance he gets, And uses subtle tactics to strengthen egos and increase ruthlessness. We never suspect him to be the demon that grows inside of us, but he always gets the last cruel remark in an argument We often mistake him for the winner or the other team. He becomes fatal when taken to an extreme degree. The relentless force that pressures us not only to contend, but to win. We desire more than to succeed, we desire to sin.

Treena Zimbelman

The Lizard

A lizard green climbs on my screen crawls incessantly

Tbe Final Outcome

He's dead The lizard green beneath my screen

Kathy Zlngone

90 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor No Sweat

My dry throat and sweaty palms remind me of speech class, ifl can not relieve my nervousness at least I can relieve the heat. I hold the door as we walk into the cold, dark movie theater. The cool air causes goose bumps to fonn on my arms, just like sleep after a long, bard day at work. I offer to buy the fresh, buttery popcorn and a coke, she accepts and I grab two straws on the way into the room. My stomach grips as a wrench tightens on a nut and bolt. I wonder what she is thinking .. . At the scary part of the movie she jumps, despite my knotted stomach, I gently rest my hand on the back of her chair, and she lays her head on my shoulder. Tension releases from my neck like my body relaxes after football practice. That was no sweat.

Treena Zimbelman

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,91 University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Alumni, Faculty, and Staff

COOL HAND KILL

On an April day like a day in any other spring, a young day, cool, fair, fresh, a day without date,

Coolly he asked, Which shall it be? This one? Or that one? Ob, he was a cool one.

Then, Hands More famous than the flying fingers ofPaderewski, kissing ivory keys the lightest; More famous than those of Fritz Kreisler, fingering taut gut to sweet song; More famous than the perfect Praying Hands by Albrecht Duerer, copied in every Couture Gift Shoppe . in the country, as well as the five-and-dimes.

Those Hands befouling a silver salver of cool, clear, clean water on that Good Friday, the first day of Year One.

Georgia Earnest Kllpple

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,92 University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Joumeys

Yesterday,

I'll wear white Linen stockings itching, pulling, new Ready our Model-A Night my groom driving Roads Fort Worth paved not Say words friends ... "May you prosper. A long and happy life, many years together."

Today,

"Mama doesn't know we're here. Let's go," he says. He stoops, in patches his rusty hair thins, like his daddy's, my long life's love. He pecks my check I shudder, happy-- Peaceable. "Where? Where?" I ask, Prepared for any jowney. He cries.

Tomorrow,

I cried ...... today not was ... yesterday . . . tomorrow ...

Donna Walker-Nlton

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,93 University of Mary Hardin-Baylor YOU CANNOT TOSS LOVE LIGHTLY

You cannot toss Love lightly aside. Love is like the lingering of used-up perfume in its original bottle-capped.

No matter how old it is, open the flask, and sweet aroma wafts-­ faint-- but bold enough for remembrance.

Those memory shafts of Love come-- like the perfume-- a smile, an expression, a raised eyebrow.

A skipped heartbeat, and, in floods that old feelin'!

You cannot cast Love lightly away!

Georgia Earnest Kllpple

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor

Q4 VIrtue

How gentle her touch in the crowd that day As Jesus, the Physician passed her way. How quickly He turned. away of her presence. Knowing her faith was her balm of essence. "Who touched Me?" He asked, in His gently way. The crowd pressing 'round Him, laughed in dismay. "Who touched Thee?" they asked. "Why all of us hath!" Yet, one was different by virtue and faith. As He turned to look on each face around, Sbe crumpled in trembling fear, to the ground He tenderly touched her, knowing her plight. Her faith in Him brought a song to her night Of suffering and pain, which now was released Christ's gentle response, "Daughter, go in peace." I, too, felt the touch of Your robe today, Aware of Your presence passing my way. Feeling accepted, understood, and loved, A gift of the Spirit sent by a dove. 'Twas healing for me, faith's balm of essence, Transformed by love alone in Your presence.

Jeanette West

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,9S University of Mary Hardin-Baylor A SESQUICENTENNIAL TRIBUTE

Your gates opened wide welcoming my entrance. Crossing your portals, a new life did begin. Feelings were many, the journey Wlcertain, Yet, God led the way, down the path, step by step.

A desire to learn flowed like blood through my heart. Thoughts carefly conceived stirred the depths of my soul. Challenges anew permeated my mind's Longing for knowledge~ a-thirst for God's wisdom.

God gave me a dream, a goal for which to strive. Providing this place in His own chosen time. Many before me a strong heritage built On the foundation of Christ, Master Teacher.

Through perils and fire how proudly she remains A fortress for all who continue to pass Through tow'ring arches, symbolic of her strength, FoWlded on Jesus, the Author of our lives.

Oh, for yesteryear, what memories remain, Yet time marches on. Into the present She consistently moves, making a diff'rence By challenging each to look toward the future.

The University of Mary Hardin Baylor . Has shaped the lives of countless individuals by Allowing goals and dreams to become realities. How opportWlity continues to open doors Unceasingly for her graduates aroWld the world. As God's workmanship, lighting the darkness of our lives From the flame of His eternal candle, radiates A luminous aura of knowledge and love for all

Jeanette Labaj West UMHB 1845-1995 ~aduated, Class of 1988

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library,96 University of Mary Hardin-Baylor A Final Word from the Family or Dr. William F. HutmachFr

Dr. Hutmacher's fust love was his family. A measure of a man fact is the love and esteem in which his family holds him. This by can be attested to when we read some o( the mater~ written his granddaugthers. The first includes excerpts from a poem that his granddaughter Dawn wrote after the made the region choir. her After that, she has given to us a letter that she wrote to grandfather.

Papa ••• I did it!

Papa ... I did it! I did it for you. nu~ way you said I could aud would do.

Papa . .. I did it! I worked everyday Because you said, 'To make it, Working is tho only way."

Papa ... I did it! I used my whole heart I listened to instruction And practiced my part.

Papa ... I did it! I did it for you I'm glad you directed me Inside the audition room.

Papa ... I did it! I'm glad you're so proud Your smiles fool like sunshine Coming (rom that cloud.

97 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor The letter reads as follows:

Papa,

When you look at me from way up there, I want to be proud. I want you to tell all those guys, "En! Voisl C'est ma petitte. Ette est tres fier d'elle." I want you to be able to hold your head high and say with pride, '1ltat's my granddaughter. Sbe loves me, and what she does, I approve of." That's what will make me happy. Papa, at every concert, I'll save you a seat so you can have the best view of the whole thing. Papa, if I don't make it to AU-State this year, I'll stiU want you to be proud of me and know that I'll try my hardest for you. Papa, when I say,"[ did it," I really mean "I did it for you, Papa." Je t'aune bcaucoup ta petite Dawn

Now we include some poetry by his granddaughter Yvonne Major.

No one snid .••

No one said it would be this hard. I was going to buy you a get-well card. No one said it would hurt this much. You looked so alive, but you were cold to the touch. No one said it would be so sad. I didn't know I could feel so bad. No one said I would feel so low. . The year, it went by oh so slow. No one said it would hit like that. I thought I'd been hit with a baseball bat. No one said you would always stay. I really wanted to run away. No one said it would be like this uow. AU I wondered was how, how, bow. No one said it was my fault. My life just stopped with a halt. No one said it would end like this. All I wanted was one last kiss.

98 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor I Wonder

I wonder as I wonder out under the sky, What it would be like to have a speckle in my eye. First, you were here, but now you are gone From the world that we know To the heavens beyond. The clouds in the sky, The floor in the sand, Though you're not here, You still hold my hand. From tho sun way up high To the lamp by my bed, You are the light in the sky. You gently beat upon my head. The books that I read, The way you taught me to succeed, Titey said it would hurt, But the pain won't go away. Titcre's so much to hear, Y ct so much to say. You arc the speckle I see in my eye, W110n I wonder as I wond~r out under the sky.

Yvonne Major

...

99 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor lu a final parting word, we are printing a poem that Dr. Hutmacher read one year at the reception for the Baylorian reading. Each year at the •unveiling" of the Baylorian, Dr. Hutmacher and Dr. Charles Taylor would regale the audience with their stories and jabs at each other. Dr. Taylor's name for Dr. Hutmacher was "Wicked Willie: but students probably remember both of these professors as the Immortal Bards of UMHB. During his Lifetime, even though be was asked to allow the editors to print this poem, Dr. I lutmacher would not give his permission. We print this sonnet with the permssion of his wife, Hazel Hutmacher.

Two coals of night that leap to ooals of fire So burn away the fear that this has bought Bespeak the depth of passions that respire And soothe the pain and hurt tho heart bath wrought. The tubes that twist across a crumpled shcot And lines that lead tho life-stuff through the veins Bespeak the agony of hope deferred And begs the balm in herbs of healing rains. Though aU the shades of hell beset me sure And chains of darkness weigh upon the soul, Your kiss that lies so gentle and so pure Refreshes and renews the broken whole. Evon so long as this shall grace the eyes Ever so lives the grace that in thee lies.

William

100 Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor UNIVERSITY OF MARY HARDIN-BAYLOR.

Cover by Layna Lewis

Courtesy of Townsend Memorial Library, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor