Snow

  I think the most snow I have ever been in at one time was about two feet as a Sophomore at Anderson College.  We had heard it was going to snow one weekend, but we had no idea it was going to be so much.  This was back before professional meteorology and models on TV.  The weathermen knew it was going to be cold and wet, and they knew it would probably snow.  That was about all they knew.

 When I woke up the next morning and looked out of my dorm window, I saw a lot of white snow on the ground.  Because it was on a weekend, the school didn't have to worry about cancelling classes yet.  I got dressed and went outside to see other students marveling at what they saw.  Our campus was kind of hilly, so some students wanted to sled.  They got into the cafeteria and "stole" some trays.  They worked pretty well, although there was very little steering.  Other students got cardboard to slide down the hills.  The cardboard would get wet and fall apart after one or two runs.  I wanted to walk around the neighborhood, and I found I needed to stay on the road or sidewalk to keep from getting caught in the drifts.

 When Monday came around, the college decided to cancel classes, because the off-campus students couldn't get there, unless they had a dog sled or skis.  There were people in the neighborhood who tried to get out in their cars and would get stuck.  That's where we came in.  The drivers couldn't tell where the roads were in connection with the ditches.  Our job was to get them out of the ditches.  One student had a truck, and we would tie a rope to the car, and he would pull it out of the ditch.  We would push the cars to help.  Some kids wanted to charge money for this service.  Some drivers wanted to pay us for our work.  If they insisted, we took their money.  Otherwise, we didn't.  

 The last snow on the ground melted ten days after the event.  We had since gone back to class.  It was a lot of fun.

Pizza

  My friend Jimmy and I were in Atlanta on a Saturday night in 1973.  We decided to go to a Pizza Hut for supper.  It was near the hippie community in Atlanta downtown.  As we were getting out of his car, we saw a girl approaching us.  She was probably no more than 20 years old.  She had long hair that probably hadn't been washed in a while.  She was also wearing a long, white cotton dress that went down to her feet.  She was barefoot.

 Just by looking at her, you could tell she was stoned out of her mind.  She was also very pregnant.  She walked up to my friend and said, "What about the baby?"  My friend told her that he didn't know.  Then, she walked up to me.  She had tears in her eyes and said to me, "What about the baby?"  I told her that I didn't know, either.  I was afraid that she was looking for the father, and I didn't want it.  I saw a man across the parking lot getting out of his car.  I told her to go ask him.  We hurried inside.  

 I saw her go over to him to ask about the baby.  I felt sorry for her, but there was nothing I could do.  This was before you could call 911 to get help for her.  I also hope she got the answer she was looking for.  Oddly, a little over a year later, I was in that same hippie community getting stoned out of my mind.  I didn't see any babies, but I did float along the sidewalk one night.  

Mauldin

  When I was in the youth group at Kilbourne Park Baptist Church, I was in the handbell choir.  Our director was also the director of the Church Music Department for the South Carolina Baptist Convention.  He was proud of our handbell choir and wanted to show us off at a handbell convention at the First Baptist Church of Mauldin, SC near Greenville.  

 We stayed overnight at a motel outside of town.  As boys will be boys, some of us stayed up all night playing games, so we didn't get any sleep.  The girls in our group did get some sleep.  The next day was going to be a concert by several handbell choirs from around the state.  They brought in one of the premier writers of handbell music in the country to direct one of his pieces.  We had practiced his song back home for several weeks to make sure it was right.

 I played the deep bass bells.  They were pretty heavy, but the good news was I didn't have as many notes to play as the higher pitched bells.  I knew when to come in on the count. During the rehearsal for the concert, the writer of his piece decided to put a rest, where one of my notes was.  I didn't have a pencil to change the music, so I thought I would just remember it.

 There were about 12 handbell choirs in the church's gymnasium for the concert.  We were placed toward the back.  It was time for the playing of this man's piece.  Everything went flawlessly until we got to the changed rest.  I saw my note and played it with gusto.  There was a gasp from the other choirs.  I realized my mistake and quickly muted my bell.  I suppose the audience thought I had a solo, but I had committed the unpardonable sin in handbells.  The director glared at me.  I turned all the colors of red in my face.  

 After the concert was over, our director came over to me and just stared at me.  We packed up our bells and headed for his car.  He wouldn't speak to me.  We drove back to Columbia in silence.  I had embarrassed him in front of the famous composer.  My punishment was being kicked out of the handbell choir.  I blamed myself on not getting any sleep from the night before.  Even so, I thought my brief solo was dramatic.  Nobody else shared my belief.  Oh well.

Detergent

  As I have said previously, being a kid required science experiments to try out. I was a curious boy.  I never took chemistry, but I tried a chemistry experiment.  

 What would a combination of vinegar and dishwashing detergent taste like?  It sounds gross, and I have to admit it was, but a drink is a drink.  The first time I drank it, I threw up outside.  When you heard that your mother was going to wash your mouth out with soap, it was kind of like that.  I was foaming at the mouth from the detergent.  

 As time went on, I began to like the taste.  It was nasty, but I could tolerate it.  I would only drink this concoction on Saturday mornings, as I prepared for the sound of the noon siren.  There was no chugging of my drink.  Just a little sip or three.  My mother started to wonder why her vinegar and detergent seemed to be lessening.  She caught me taking some one morning, and I felt the paddle.  

 That was the end of my mixed drinks, at least until college.  Some would say that my drink made me clean inside.  It did.