I returned to Salt Lake City with mixed feelings. Because of our abrupt and unexpected
departure from Washington, D.C., I had to cancel a series of appointments with
agency heads in diverse government departments. If Ruth and I had remained several weeks more, I suspect
that I would have spent my life as a government bureaucrat in Washington. I also regretted my leaving before I
had an opportunity to explore the holdings of the Library of Congress on
Syrians and Lebanese. I worried
over whether or not I had obtained enough material on them for a good
dissertation.
Upon arrival in Salt Lake City, Ruth and I lived with my folks for a
few days. Relationships between my
parents had improved. My father,
besides working as executive director of the Utah Sand and Gravel Company, was
very active in Rotary and served on the Stake High Council. He also taught a
very popular gospel doctrine Sunday school class in the 27th Ward. A very fine teacher, he worked hard to
prepare his lessons. I thoroughly
enjoyed the opportunity of discussing various aspects of family, church, Utah
and national history with him. A
wise, magnanimous, humble, quiet and very private man, he taught me much. I found out that he was a national
authority on highway construction, maintenance and safety. He read a number of papers at various
national meetings as a representative of the National Sand and Gravel
Association, of which he was a member.
During our stay in Salt Lake City I came to know and to respect my
parents more than I had ever before.
My mother had become a rather decent artist. She painted in water colors and oils
and took many classes in art. She
worked very hard at her genealogy and quickly co‑opted Ruth, who became an
active researcher. Jayne, Paul and
Virginia were still at home. Jayne
was engaged to Kelvin Brewer, who was serving a mission in the Eastern States
Mission. Paul worked for the
church as an accountant, kept books for several small companies on the side,
and dated a young German immigrant girl.
Jerry had married a Swiss immigrant who, with financial help from my
father, was struggling to establish a business manufacturing structural and
decorative iron products.
Virginia had become a family problem. Mercurial in behavior and shrewish of tongue, she disturbed
the family harmony with chronic temper tantrums and caustic comments about
family members. A very intelligent
girl, she was enrolled at the University of Utah and finishing up her third college
degree. She had first secured a
degree in education at Brigham Young University during World War II. Teaching in Grantsville, she was forced
to leave because of her comments about the school administration and failure to
adjust to the local social environment.
Leaving Grantsville, she obtained a first year certificate in social
work at the University of Utah.
After a year of successful employment as a social worker in St. Paul,
she was given a year's leave of absence to work toward a second year certificate
in social work at the University of Pennsylvania School of Social Work. The school, highly Freudian in
ideology, required that its students undergo psychoanalysis. Virginia rebelled and was forced to
leave the school.
My other sister, Sarah, and her family lived close to my parents in
a small home on Sixth Avenue, near the Salt Lake City cemetery. In spite of high blood pressure and
kidney ailments, Sarah had become active holding various positions in the
P.T.A., the Relief Society and the local Republican party. Her husband, Thomas B. McKay,
struggling against near blindness, traveled constantly over the West selling
insurance. Their two very
intelligent children, Marilyn and Tommy, had become pets of the entire family.
Upon arriving in Salt Lake City I began the long, arduous task of
securing a footing in academia. I
wrote to my professors at Brigham Young University and Vanderbilt, and to T.
Lynn Smith requesting assistance in securing employment. I filled out numerous applications,
sent off many references, and desperately hoped that some of the offers that I
received would materialize, but nothing happened. I am now convinced that I was sabotaged by one of my
references from Brigham Young University.
My hopes were raised high when Dr. Carlson wrote me from Vanderbilt to
let me know that the school was about to offer me the position of instructor in
sociology. But he later wrote to
tell me that Dr. Weyland Hayes had blocked my appointment.
Depressed and uncertain, I took a state civil service examination
for social worker and related areas and was offered jobs in several state
agencies. But the salary offered
was so low that I turned them all down.
To escape my depression I began to read systematically through Spanish,
French and English literature and the writings of the early Christian
fathers. Ruth and I traveled
frequently to Provo to visit faculty friends and old friends such as Roland
Thunnel, Ross Christensen and Bruce Clark. I was tempted to apply for a position at Brigham Young
University, but Dr. P.A. Christensen strongly advised me against it. He did not believe that I could survive
under the harsh, repressive administration of President Wilkinson. Finally, on October 16, 1951, my father
put me to work as a manual laborer at a Utah Sand and Gravel plant under construction
in Garfield, Utah.
For several weeks I tied steel and, through pick and shovel labor,
helped to level the construction site of a plant being erected to process slag
in Magna for highway construction and railroad ballast. When the foundations were poured, I was
transferred to the North Salt Lake plant to load trucks with sand and gravel
from enormous bins. For the first
few days I suffered from unhappy truck drivers complaining about my inability
to load their trucks properly, but soon caught on. The work was dull and boring, but at least it provided us
with an income.
The weather turned bitterly cold as winter came on. From December to late March one
blizzard after another piled up unprecedented amounts of snow in the valley and
on the mountains. Deer came down
in large numbers into the streets of the town, followed by mountain lions. At times I counted over 60 deer in and
around our sand and gravel plant.
Dressed in old army clothing, I worked outside enduring the bitter
cold. Interestingly, I did not
come down with any colds, flu or infections. Ruth suffered all through the winter from appendicitis
attacks, but refused to go to the doctor or to the dentist because of the low
state of our pocketbook.
Ruth's parents put pressure upon Ruth and me to live with them. Feeling very insecure and unwanted in
their family circle, I resisted but finally gave in. I fully realized that her mother resented Ruth's marriage. Ruth's father, a builder, was unemployed
during the winter, and the family was in a precarious financial position. The rent that we paid helped them. I found it difficult, however, to
adjust to the chronic family arguments, tensions, and anxieties. Caught up in my own problems, I made
little effort to fit into their family existence and retreated into my books,
which antagonized Ruth's parents.
Our relationships reached a very low point on February 21,
1952. Trapped at home because of a
blizzard, I noticed that Ruth was suffering from a toothache. I urged her to go to a dentist. I believed that when in such conditions
one always went to a dentist.
This, as I learned, was not true among those without money. Her father, irritated at our
conversation, demanded that I leave his daughter alone. I replied, unfortunately, that the
matter concerned my wife. His wife
entered the argument, accusing me of being a failure and having dragged off her
daughter to Tennessee and to Brazil.
Hurt, indignant, and unable to defend myself verbally, I called my
father. At that moment Ruth's mother
attacked me physically. The rather
undignified scene ended with the appearance of my father and brother‑in‑law,
Thomas B. McKay. That night the
DeYoungs apologized, but my relationship with my in‑laws went into a deep
freeze that lasted for many years.
I have always regretted that Ruth and I did not rent a cheap apartment
upon my securing employment with the Utah Sand and Gravel Company.
The winter ended suddenly with the coming of warm weather. Salt Lake City was flooded by melt
water pouring down the canyons and benches. Much of the west side and the central city were
flooded. My father was called to
direct a county‑wide flood control committee and performed magnificently. A major east‑west street was banked and
turned into a spillway running from the benches and canyons to the Jordan
River. I worked incredibly long
hours loading trucks. I admired my
father for remaining in the background and permitting pompous local politicians
to take the credit for the successful flood control strategy.
Shortly after the end of the flood, I received an unexpected letter
from a Dr. Thomas B. Alexander, Chairman, Division of Social Sciences, Georgia
Teachers College, Statesboro, Georgia, offering me a position of assistant
instructor. He mentioned that he
had secured his own Ph.D. in history from Vanderbilt University. On a recent trip to the school, he
sought out Dr. Emilio Willems to ascertain if there were any recent graduate
students available to teach sociology.
Dr. Willems recommended me.
Alexander mentioned a salary of $4,000 and asked if I would come to
Georgia for an interview, expenses paid.
Would I? It is doubtful
that he would ever know how delighted I was to come.
I left Salt Lake City early the next morning on a Union Pacific
train bound for Kansas City via Denver.
I sat in the observation car with a book on my lap virtually all the
way. I was especially interested
in changes in terrain, in settlement patterns, in human types, and in
wildlife. Traveling across the
Great Plains I thought, as I always do when on the plains, of my ancestors
plodding along in covered wagons week after week. Arriving in Kansas City I changed to a dirty, dilapidated
Frisco train. Coming into Macon, Georgia at midnight, I boarded a train running
from Atlanta to Savannah, getting off at a siding by the name of Dover early in
the morning. Dr. Alexander and his
wife, Elise, were there to greet me.
They mentioned that the train did not go through Statesboro because the
local farmers did not want their livestock frightened or endangered by trains.
On the way into town he told me that Georgia Teachers College was
evolving from a teachers college into a four‑year liberal arts college. He asked if I could teach psychology
and economics as well as sociology.
Rather shocked I replied that, of course I could, not feeling as
competent as I sounded. I would
have replied that I could teach anything he wanted taught. I was driven around the pleasant,
sprawling south Georgia community before I was taken to the president's
office. They asked me many
penetrating questions about my background, my character, and my experiences in
life. Among them was a question
about my religious affiliation.
The interview lasted over an hour.
Then Tom was asked to show me around the campus. I admired the Georgian red brick
architecture, the lavish grounds, and liked the looks of the students. When one hour was up I was brought back
to the President's office. The
president asked me to sign a contract for a year, which I did with tremendous
inner happiness. I immediately
called Ruth to notify her that I had a job. I was then put on the night train from Savannah and,
changing trains in Macon, arrived in Kansas City early the next morning.
Learning that the Union Pacific train would not leave until evening,
I bought a guidebook and went on a walking tour through the city of Pendergast
and Truman. Finishing my tour I
caught a bus to visit a museum and spent hours going through one of the finest
collections of oriental art that I had ever seen. I was so entranced that I revisited the galleries time after
time, spending most of the afternoon there. Finally I tore myself away to catch my train. Ruth and her parents met me at the
station on May 23. I noted an
immediate change in the attitude of my in‑laws towards me. They may have decided that I might
amount to something after all.
Ruth and I went with her family to Yellowstone Park to visit her
sister, Ann, and her husband, Everett Call, there on vacation. We had a quiet trip to Yellowstone Lake
where the Calls had parked their trailer.
I quite enjoyed traveling through the park, observing the abundant wildlife. Ruth was as interested as I was in
approaching moose and other animals rather closely to photograph them. But she was not well during the trip.
Upon our return to Salt Lake City I managed to persuade Ruth to
visit a doctor who ordered her to enter the L.D.S. Hospital for an immediate
operation for removal of her perforated appendix. When the doctor came out of the operating room he told me
that her appendix had ruptured.
Ruth was in the hospital for over two weeks. When I went to arrange to pay for the operation I found that
my father had quietly paid all the expenses.
The weeks before we left Salt Lake City were quite busy ones. I was asked to teach priesthood lessons
in the Seventies' Quorum in Capital Hill Ward. On July 13 the Knowlton family traveled down to American
Fork to attend the homecoming of Jayne's fiancé, Kelvin Brewer. Shortly thereafter Elsa Vogler, a lovely
Argentine girl from Rio Cuarto, Argentina, whom I had helped to convert, arrived
in Salt Lake City. A very
ambitious girl, she found employment in a laundry, saved every penny, and
helped other members of her family to come to Utah.
About the same time we were contacted by two friends from Brazil,
Jose Camargo and Clio Jordan from Sao Paulo, who were attending Brigham Young
University. Our friends Freitas
Marcondes and his family, also from Sao Paulo, visited us. He had received a scholarship from T.
Lynn Smith to study at the University of Florida. Finally, on August 13, Ruth and I purchased a used 1950
Chrysler from Caldwell Motors in Murray, packed it with our belongings,
witnessed the marriage of my sister, Jayne, to Kelvin Brewer on August 27, and
finally on September 9, 1952, departed Salt Lake City. One of the hardest, most discouraging
years of my life had finally come to an end.
Leaving Salt Lake City in the early morning, we drove happily down
the highway. For us the trip was a
second honeymoon. We had left
behind the tensions and frustrations that had so harassed us. We stopped briefly in Provo to visit
Jayne and her husband, now enrolled at Brigham Young University, and my friend,
Ross T. Christensen, now an assistant professor in the Department of
Archaeology. From Provo we drove
up the long, dangerous, narrow, winding two‑lane highway to Price and then
through the arid plateau country to Crescent Junction through Moab and
Monticello to Cortez, Colorado, where we stopped for the night at the Navajo
Lodge for $4.
Early the next morning we left our motel to spend most of the day at
the Mesa Verde National Park. It
was a memorable experience for me.
I meditated on the many generations of Indians that had inhabited the
fascinating pueblo ruins, the coming of hostile tribes that drove them into the
canyon caves, and finally their enforced retreat from the region when driven
out by drought. The beauty of
their architecture and their skill as craftsmen impressed me deeply. Ruth was as deeply interested as I
was. She purchased several prints
of Navajo paintings.
Leaving the park in the afternoon we drove slowly through the lovely
mountain country to Durango, stopping to photograph scenic vistas. Entering the town about dusk we suffered
a flat tire upon crossing a railroad track. Unable to find a vacant room or an open service station, we
drove through the night to Chama, New Mexico. The next morning the service station attendant showed us a
small, sharpened peg that had penetrated our tire. Almost every time we passed through Durango during the next
few years we had car trouble.
Ruth and I enjoyed the drive from Chama to Espanola. We visited every Spanish‑American
village and Indian pueblo, impressed by the people and the architecture. We felt exalted by the impressive,
luminous blue sky, the piñon and cedar forests, the clean, pure air, the smell
of sage, and by the green‑covered mountains that rose on every hand. In contrast to the aloof mountains of
the Wasatch Front, the northern New Mexico mountains breathed an air of
friendliness. At Espanola we
turned towards Taos stopping at Chimayo to admire the architecture and the
churches and to purchase several blankets at the Ortega weaving
establishment. We next stopped at
Ranchos de Taos, enthralled by the magnificent church with its heavy mass and
clean, simple outlines. Going into
Taos, we drove to the Indian pueblo, paid our fee, and wandered around the
permissible area taking many photographs.
Then we returned to the plaza, walked around the central part of the
community visiting art galleries.
We also visited the home of Kit Carson, whom I dislike for his treatment
of the Indians and the Spanish‑speaking people. Then we drove down to Santa Fe, arriving early in the
evening, finding a motel close to the historic church of Guadalupe.
Ruth and I simply fell in love with Santa Fe. We walked through every street of the
plaza region, visiting the cathedral, the Church of Guadalupe, the art gallery,
the museum in the Governor's Palace, the La Fonda Hotel, the archaeological and
anthropological museums, and the Cristo Rey Church. We also spent time in book stores and spent far more money
that we should have. Both of us
were reluctant to leave northern New Mexico and its friendly Spanish‑speaking
people. We left Santa Fe late on a
Friday afternoon and drove steadily through eastern New Mexico and the Texas
Panhandle, reaching Amarillo, Texas, late at night. From Amarillo we drove the speed limit through an enormous
extension of dull country. East of
Dallas the landscape changed into a more interesting forested region marked by
ugly, rundown, unpainted shacks.
Crossing the Mississippi River in the late evening was a special
treat. I slowed down on the bridge
to admire the majestic river.
Spending the night at Shrevesport, we pushed on early the next day,
crossing Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama before night caught us in
Columbus, Georgia. I was shocked
at the poverty, the terribly bad housing, and the abundant signs of land
erosion. At the same time I liked
the woods, the many streams, and signs of varied animal and bird life. We drove to Macon, Georgia, the next
morning through the peach orchards and stopped to tour the Indian mounds and
museum at the Ocmulgee National Monument.
Finally reaching Statesboro around 1 p.m. we drove around the square and
finally found the Alexander home.
The Alexanders were not in, but Tom's mother‑in‑law directed us to the
house that he had rented for us.
The house was an unpretentious brick house. As we began to unload, George Rogers, a
member of our social science division, came by and helped us clean the house,
put our few belongings away, and take care of the utilities, and call the
repairmen to fix bathroom facilities and kitchen appliances. We liked George instantly. Once our house was in order George
drove us over to his home to meet his wife, Betty, and two small children. We remained there for supper and talked
long into the night.
Ruth and I awakened to the hot and muggy weather so characteristic
of southern Georgia. The weather
came as a shock. I concluded that
the climate was not conducive to long walks, but I did enjoy the contrast between
the vivid coloring of the blue sky, the white clouds, and the abundant green
vegetation. I started out for a
walk but changed my mind and listened with pleasure to the cardinals, brown
thrashers, blue jays, bobwhites, and many other birds. Just outside my window a squirrel ran
up a tree. I decided that in spite
of the hot, muggy weather I would like Georgia.
After breakfast Ruth and I drove around the college. We quite liked the large, oval expanse
of lawn bordered by trees and the collection of red brick Georgian three‑story
buildings clustered at the top of the oval. She dropped me off and returned home to bring order out of
disorder while I walked up to the tiny, windowless office on the second story
of the administration building that I would share with George A. Rogers. There was scarcely room for two small
desks, two small bookcases, and two large file cabinets. Tom Alexander told me that I would be
responsible for courses in psychology, economics and sociology. All faculty members taught fifteen
hours a quarter, three classes of five credit hours taught every day of the
week. Normal class enrollment would
run from 15 to 60 students. With a minimum of student assistance, the burdens
of teaching, grading papers and handling class assignments were heavy.
The division of social science in the college was staffed by five
faculty members‑‑Tom Alexander, the chairman, who taught history and political
science; George Rogers, responsible for history and geography; Jack Averett, on
leave in England; and Ms. Hestor Newton, one of the many unmarried women that
staffed the college in those days.
Tom made it very plain to me that my continuance at the college would
depend on how well I taught "Introductory Psychology," a required
course that students had come to dislike.
I firmly resolved that they would like my course and they did.
The next morning, Saturday morning, I attended my first faculty
meeting. The president of the
college, Zach S. Henderson, had the meeting opened with prayer, introduced the
new faculty (including myself), and mentioned that the fall quarter would open
with 600 students and 70 faculty.
In the evening Ruth and I attended a college banquet for faculty and
staff with the Alexanders and the Rogers.
I was impressed by the friendliness of the faculty.
As I have mentioned before, Georgia Teachers College at the time of
my arrival, was in the process of shifting from a teacher training institution
to a four‑year liberal arts college, reborn as Georgia Southern College. As a result, the faculty was an
interesting mixture of an older faculty predominantly single, mature women
without advanced degrees, who filled the divisions of Education, Domestic
Science, Physical Education, and the Fine Arts; and a younger, better paid male
faculty with advanced degrees, entrenched in the divisions of Music and the
Physical and Social Sciences.
Although little overt friction existed, a fine line of snobbery
separated the two faculties.
Fortunately, Ruth and I were able to bridge the line. She enrolled as a student majoring in
musical education and minoring in art.
She had to take required courses in English, education, music and other
divisions. We thus made friends on
both sides of the line. Among them
were Ela Johnson, a member of the English Department approaching retirement
age, whose fiancé had been killed in World War I. She told us that she had sworn eternal fidelity on his grave
and never married. The chairman of
the English Department, Dr. Fielding D. Russell, the only man in the
department, brother of Georgia Senator Russell, was an intellectual leader on
campus, with both the virtues and vices of the educated Georgians of the
time. Ida Long Rogers, who came at
the same time we did, occupied the position of Dean of Women and taught
psychology, became a very special friend.
Hassie McElveen (the librarian), Fay Edwards (English), Frieda Guernant,
and Roxie Remley of the Fine Arts Division, and Georgia Watson (student
counselor and alumni director) all became good friends. As Ruth majored in music and her
talents were speedily recognized, we virtually became members of the music
Division and enjoyed the company of its talented members, Ronald J. Neil, Jack
W. Brouchek, and Daniel Hooley.
Dr. Farkas, a Hungarian refugee who taught German and French, was
numbered among our special friends.
Of course, the Social Science Division became not only a fine academic
division with high standards, but also a close group in which the bonds of
friendship reinforced those of collegiality.
I gradually came to respect President Henderson. A deeply religious, compassionate,
thoughtful and courteous person, his office was always open to faculty and to
students alike. I never saw him
raise his voice in anger. He was
respected and liked by students and townspeople. Opinions varied among the faculty. Many degreed faculty looked down their noses at him as his
degree was complimentary rather than earned. But other faculty, such as myself, recognized his
administrative competence, his love for the college, and his desire to serve
faculty, staff and students. His
only weakness was a tendency to take the social pretensions of Statesboro elite
families too seriously. Even
though he was not well‑read or an intellectual, he was one of the finest
college or university presidents that I have known.
His warm, relaxed spirit marked the college administration. The one college dean, Paul F. Carroll;
the comptroller, Donald McDougal; the registrar, Viola Perry; the Director of
Guidance and Counseling, Georgia B. Watson; Roy F. Powell, Director of Public
Relations; and Hassie M. McElveen, the librarian, were relaxed, friendly, and
eager to be of assistance. I have
never taught at a school where faculty morale was higher, where so little
factionalism existed, and where the bonds between faculty, students, and towns-people
were stronger. Before my first
quarter had ended, I had come to respect the administration, to like my fellow
faculty members and students, and to enjoy the community in which I was living.
The student body was composed of the sons and daughters of nearby
farmers, merchants, teachers, and professionals with few foreign or out‑of‑state
students. The majority came to
college with limited resources and their stay depended upon a good harvest or
mercantile season. The students
tended to be well‑mannered, quiet, low‑voiced, respectful and intellectually
and socially insecure. They were
eager to please and bloomed under praise and kindness. As students do, they knew which faculty
members liked and respected them and which did not. There were many faculty, primarily from northern schools,
who looked down upon their limited cultural and intellectual exposure, their
classroom insecurities, and their lack of sophistication. Those, like myself, who liked them
became substitute parents to whom students came for friendship, intellectual
stimulation, and counsel on the most varied personal, intellectual and social
problems.
I liked them immensely.
As a result, the students filled my office, invited me over to the
student union for long, intimate talk sessions, and introduced me to their parents,
who promptly invited me to visit them in their homes. Many parents who were farmers kept our refrigerator filled
with produce in season. From the
time I came to the time I left I was constantly interceding for students with
the administration, other faculty, law enforcement officers, ministers, and
even parents. The students tried
to develop family‑like ties with faculty and where they succeeded as they did
with Ruth and me, behaved like family members. It was as though they subconsciously desired to recreate on
the campus the large extended families from whence they came.
Through them I came to know the Georgian people and to love
them. They shared many
characteristics such as love of family, love of the land, love of nature, and
the desire for informal primarily relationships with people I had grown up with
in Holliday. Because of these
shared values, Ruth and I felt at home in Statesboro and soon were better
integrated in the community then were many faculty members who had been there
far longer than we had.
Statesboro was a thriving modern Georgia county seat, located at the
intersection of two heavily‑traveled national highways. Although tourism was important, the
local economy depended more on the college and on agriculture. A network of interconnected civic and
social clubs, garden clubs, card clubs, bowling leagues, and other voluntary
organizations integrated community life.
Community mores rested on Protestant values and Protestant churches and
their ministers were very influential.
A very large proportion of the inhabitants attended church on
Sunday. The Presbyterian church
was the church of the elite.
Within a few months Ruth and I joined the community intellectual
circle composed of retired and active high school and college teachers,
librarians, social workers, and many well‑traveled, highly‑educated businessmen
and professional men and women.
The group met at least once a month to listen to classical records,
discuss books, argue international, national and local politics, and support
the visiting lecture and musical series.
One of the leaders was Leodel Coleman, editor of the local newspaper,
the Bulloch County Herald, an
excellent local newspaper. Leodel
taught me much about Bulloch County and Georgia.
Perhaps the most influential clique in Statesboro was a small group
of political leaders, lawyers, and businessmen who met each morning for coffee
at a local cafe to discuss politics and community affairs. A cog in the Talmadge political
machine, the group ran the political and much of the business life of the
region. One could not get very far
in politics or perhaps even in business without their cooperation. I learned the reason why supplies at
the college cost more than similar supplies downtown. Every contractor doing business with any branch of
government was expected to kick back to state and county party leaders.
Statesboro was a surprisingly tolerant town. As long as public mores were respected,
people could behave much as they pleased.
Bootlegging was common and bootleg whiskey sold throughout the
community. Groups of men came
together in private businesses and clubs to drink and to gamble. Several
homosexual circles, including both college faculty and townspeople,
existed. As long as the
homosexuals did not engage in cruising, molesting children, or picking up young
people, they were left alone. Very
little crime or delinquency existed in Statesboro. Cars and homes were never locked. What little crime existed came from drinking or from
periodic visitations from traveling groups pausing briefly in Statesboro. It was known that certain local women
and girls were available for private entertainment. Although one's reputation in Statesboro depended upon
abiding by local moral codes, little was ever done to violators as long as
public attention was not drawn to their existence.
Numbering from 30 to 40 percent of the population, blacks were (of
course) an important part of the community. Living in numerous small clusters of incredibly bad housing,
they performed most of the unskilled, poorly paid labor, including domestic
service in Statesboro. A small
Negro middle and upper class made up of school teachers and principals,
morticians, several small businessmen, lodge leaders, ministers and a few
government employees existed.
Blacks were rigidly segregated.
A double legal standard existed and blacks were arrested more often and
were treated more harshly than whites by law enforcement officers. Little apparent racial tension existed
on the surface, but my own quiet research revealed the existence of a deep,
repressed hostility among the Blacks towards the existing social system. I was amazed that so few whites seemed
to have any knowledge about Black attitudes and feelings. Ruth and I hired black maids several times
but, unaccustomed to servants, abandoned the practice and did our own
housework.
Bulloch County, of which Statesboro is the county seat, was never
part of the traditional South. The majority of the rural population are
independent and fiercely proud, small, semi‑subsistence farmers who produce
most of their own food and grow a few acres of tobacco, cotton, peanuts, corn,
watermelons, and vegetables as cash crops. Every farmer kept hogs and cattle that roamed freely, as the
county is an open range county.
Wild hogs and cattle existed in the swampy, forested segments of the
county. Paying little attention to
state and federal laws, the rural population hunted, fished, and made whisky as
they pleased. As they wanted
nothing more than to be left alone by the outside world, law enforcement
officials treated them very delicately.
The rural population was heavily armed, and most of the men and boys
were excellent shots. Deeply
equalitarian, the farm population never accepted social class pretensions. Politicians, businessmen, and
professionals had to treat them as social equals.
It was here that I learned to understand the function of Southern
courtesy and politeness. It
assumes equality and reduces the possibility of friction and conflict. Deeply religious, most of the local
people were Baptists of diverse persuasions and their ministers were local
leaders. In spite of their
suspiciousness of outsiders (especially Northerners), their racial prejudices
and their mistrust of the outside world, I found them to be an intensely humane
people, deeply concerned about each other, ever ready to assist the unfortunate
and open to friendship. They have
maintained a sturdy independence, a self‑reliance, a willingness to work hard
and to go without, an ability to enjoy life, and a capacity to endure
deprivation that I admired.
Ruth and I developed many friendships with the rural people through
our work with their young people at the university. I liked them very much, even though I could never accept
their propensity to shoot at any animal or bird in the county. It should be mentioned that they were
coming to believe in education for their children, and to adopt new
agricultural methods. I noticed
that much of the county was returning to forest. Pines that could yield
turpentine as well as lumber over a ten‑year period paid more than most
crops. Also, pecan groves were
being planted.
Ruth and I discovered that we were the only Mormon family in
Statesboro. A bit disoriented, we
began to attend the Presbyterian church, the upper class church in Statesboro,
with Tom and Elise Alexander.
Ruth, upon invitation, joined the Presbyterian Professional Women's
Club. The ladies met once a month
in each other's homes. Coffee and
elaborate cakes were served, each woman trying to outdo the others. When it became Ruth's turn to
entertain, she served one of her exotic, tasty punches. By the time we left, most of the
members were serving punch rather than coffee. Ruth served as president for one year.
Ruth was active in many organizations during our life in
Statesboro. Among them were the
Faculty Wives, of which she was president for one year, League of Women Voters,
the Statesboro Music Association, over which she also presided as president,
and the Women's Club of America.
Very few faculty wives belonged to as many civic clubs or were as
integrated into community organizations as was Ruth. She was sought out for her musical talents, her speaking
ability, and her happy personality.
We made it a habit to visit each of the Protestant congregations in
turn. Ruth and I were often called
upon to explain Mormonism, becoming, in fact, token Mormons in the
community. We formed friendships
with many ministers and their wives.
We thoroughly enjoyed the many church dinners and learned to like
Southern cooking. This was our
first major exposure to Protestantism.
From it we developed an appreciation for the work of the ministry. We met men and women who were dedicated
to serving their congregations and the larger community. We became more tolerant, more
sympathetic, and more knowledgeable about the diverse Protestant denominations.
Theology was taken very seriously by both ministers and members in Statesboro,
and I was fascinated by their theological hairsplitting and their willingness
to erect elaborate theological structures upon interpretation of certain
Biblical proof texts.
Our only contact with our own church during our first two years in
Statesboro was through the missionaries.
We ran a free hotel and restaurant for all elders traveling
through. From them we learned of
the existence of two Mormon farm families living in the county, Hyrum and
Dowdie Schuman, brothers. We
sought them out and organized a home Sunday school in Brother Dowdie Schuman's
home. They both had fairly large
families and we had many fine meetings with them. Gradually more Mormons moved into the county, and we finally
secured permission from the college to hold meetings in the music hall.
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