Designing with heart - timesfreepress.com

Designing with heart - timesfreepress.com

Judy Butler Science Scholarships

Judy Butler was an award winning educator, naturalist, artist, and journal writer. She served in leadership roles at Williamson County Schools and as president of Dragonfly Enterprises. She raised millions of dollars in grant funding for science education especially for students who are not traditionally found in these careers. In the last weeks of her life as she faced ovarian cancer she helped to organize two college scholarship funds as her legacy. Please send your tax-deductible scholarship contributions to honor and continue Judy’s passionate dedication to education for all students. 100% of your donation goes directly into the scholarship funds for these future scientists.

a. Judy Butler Scholarship for STEM at TSU
Two $500 scholarships will be awarded each year to students majoring in STEM areas at Tennessee State University. Preference will be given SEMAA graduates. The NASA Science Engineering Mathematics and Aerospace Academy, or SEMAA, is a national, innovative project designed to increase participation and retention of historically underrepresented K-12 youth in the fields of science, technology, engineering and mathematics, or STEM.

Contributions may be mailed to:
Tennessee State University Foundation
3500 John A. Merit Boulevard
Campus Box 9542
Nashville, TN 37209
Att: Betsy Jackson

Make check payable to TSU Foundation with Judy Butler Scholarship in the memo line or donate online at www.tnstate.edu/contributions at the Judy Butler Scholarship link.

b. UM-NARL Judy Butler Student Scholarship
One $1,000 scholarship will be awarded each year to a student for research training at the University of Montana Native American Research Lab (NARL) who has demonstrated interest in pursuing an advanced degree and research in Astrobiology or other space-related sciences with a dedication to Native American science education. The mission of the Native American Research Laboratories at The University of Montana is provide American Indian undergraduate students and graduate students with “hands-on” research opportunities in basic sciences and biomedical sciences in a culturally-relevant cross-disciplinary and cross-cultural environment.

Contributions may be mailed to:
University of Montana Foundation
P.O. Box 7159
600 Connell Avenue
Missoula, MT 59807-7159
Att: Kelley Willett
Make check payable to University of Montana Foundation with Judy Butler Scholarship in the memo line.

For more information about these scholarships contact:
Todd Gary at TSU tgary@coe.tsuniv.edu
Michael Ceballos at UM rmichael.ceballos@umontana.edu
Susan Kuner skuner@gmail.com

Thank you for supporting the Judy Butler Scholarships

God's Speed Judy Pie

IF I COULD TALK, I’d tell about the redhead sitting in the second row of the 1970 summer institute. I had just been hired by The Southern Regional Media Center for The Deaf at UT Knoxville. We hosted fifty teachers of hearing impaired students for a six-week, immersion experience into the technologies then available.

That Thursday I was giving a presentation on photography when I noticed the cute redhead in the second row. I didn’t give her much more thought until on Saturday, I found her seated at the picnic table at KFC. I sauntered over with my lunch to visit.

I ate the chicken and she ate the bones!

We struck up a cautious conversation and I suggested showing her around. I found that she was from New Orleans and most recently from Baton Rouge. We rode down to the overlook at Loudon Dam. Sitting on the hill above the dam I leaned back to give her a good once-over and the thought came to me: This girl is not like anyone I have ever encountered.

SHE COULD BE BIG TROUBLE!

The institute continued and we found each other’s company agreeable, so we became a couple. Then the day came when the institute ended and we all parted ways with many “well-done's” and “see you around:” etc. I thought, Oh Well. Back to the new job and then who knows what?

Three weeks later, who rings my doorbell but Julia Alta Faye Graythen, announcing that she had enrolled in the Master’s program at UT in Deaf Education! I was amazed, but thought little of it. (Oh how stupid I was!)

A year later we were wed in a glorious ceremony. It was a splendid affair: we received the license and went to the Halls Methodist Church for the nuptials with the preacher, his wife and the church secretary in attendance. Then we went to Big Ridge State Park to grill a steak and have some wine. Our honeymoon consisted of a ride on the Octopus at the Anderson County Fair.

Our wedding song came on the radio on our trip back to Knoxville: it is

“I just want to celebrate another day of living!”
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Judy began the UT Master’s program, and given her abilities, pretty soon she was selected as a faculty person in the Department of Special Education and Rehabilitation.

Two years later Judy and I returned to Indiana University: I, to complete my Education Specialists program , and Judy to start a doctorate in Hearing and Speech. Then we had a major distraction!

Judy tested positive to being pregnant! And all our priorities changed! She told the IU folks to take a hike, and she devoted all her days to welcoming Kelly Dee Butler into the world.

Kelly arrived in October & we moved to Nashville in December 1974. We were stuck in an apartment in Hermitage and Judy was experiencing postpartum depression. I went out of town to a convention in Minnesota, and Judy bought a house! This was the second time she had taken upon herself to commit for a house while I was out of town. We have loved our home all these years and we call it the Butlerossa.
After stints at Vanderbilt University and Belmont, Judy launched herself on Williamson County schools.

Judy became the coordinator of the program for gifted students. Judy thought BIG and sought an environmental grant from Saturn. She received a grant to establish the Harpeth River Environmental and Educational Project. That project resulted in over ten thousand students being involved with evaluation of water quality and in almost a million dollars in grants to support the projects in Williamson County.

Judy was recognized as The Environmental Teacher of the year by the Tennessee Conservation League. She received an international award from Project Green as the Teacher of the Year!

Our relationship has been based on moving forward.
Now you and I have to say goodbye to one of the sweetest souls on the planet! She took after her mother in that aspect. Judy was always supportive in helping those around her to achieve greater things. The other day, I told her, “Let’s not wait so long to find each other next time around!”

God’s speed Judy-Pie!

When loyalty was severely tested.

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The three main rascals of Fisher Hill in Carthage in the forty's were Tommy Moss, Sonny Apple and Lewis Butler. These three played, ran, fought and otherwise associated with each other daily. Other male members of the neighborhood were allowed to associate with this unholy trio on occasion, but Tommy, Sonny and Lewis could always be counted on to be at the center of an occurrence of most any kind.

It was either Tommy or Sonny who owned a BB Gun. Lewis was never allowed to have one! His mother always gave the standard answer for not allowing him to have it:, "NO. You'll shoot your eye out!" (The movie, "A Christmas Story" just about says it all on this point.)

At the top of Fisher Hill, Fisher Avenue dead-ends at what was once a circular drive for the Antebellum home at the top of the hill. Fisher Avenue is lined with old Sugar Maple trees that stand 10 feet from the curb on each side, but they are so large that their limbs intertwine above the street. It becomes a fiery, golden tunnel in the fall. In fact Fisher Avenue and Main Street in Carthage in the fall are often spectacular.

On this particular occasion the Trio was seated at the end of the Moss sidewalk, taking pot-shots with the BB gun. Little if anything escaped their attention: the telephone pole, the nearest maple tree, a wandering dog, or a bird perched high above on a power line. It was late in the summer afternoon and the sun had just about set. In the half-light before dark the lightning bugs were beginning to appear and the katydids had begun their songs, when Chicken Mc Clanahan came driving up Fisher and made a turn on-to Cullum away from the seated Trio.

Author’s note: Almost everyone in Carthage in the first half of the century had a nickname. There was Booger Mc Cormick, Slicker Snake Huffines, Rubber Dick Huffines, Hog Liver Key - the Huffines family had all the best nick names, and a hundred others.

Tommy was seated between Sonny and Lewis and at that moment, and Tommy was in possession of the BB Gun. Chicken made the turn away from the group. Tommy raised the gun and glanced a BB off the rear window of Chicken's car. Tommy dropped the BB Gun in front of all three of us and said, "DON'T TELL HIM WHO DID IT!"

Chicken was mad! Livid is probably a more appropriate word. He jumped out of the car and shouted, "WHICH ONE OF YOU BOYS SHOT MY CAR?"


Now this is the point where loyalty was severely tested! Sonny, Tommy and Lewis were not very mature, probably nine and ten years old respectively, but they were smart enough to know that this episode could rapidly turn into a period of substantial and sustained pain if not handled with proper aplomb and decorum.

The Trio knew that Chicken had a temper and it was possible that he had had a "drink". (It is true that you can't trust most men who won't take a drink, but it is also true that you'd better look out for some people when they do take one! Chicken was a member of both categories.)

At the split second, in the blink of an eye, and as quick a hick-up, Sonny pointed right and Lewis pointed left: Tommy was caught between points! The Trio received an appropriate, and well-deserved, tongue-lashing from Chicken which was all quickly forgotten except for the part about their parents would be told if they ever did such a thing again.

The Trio's loyalty had been tested and overcome by expediency!

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Military Man

Some years ago I was playing pool with a friend at The American Legion. He asked, "Were you ever in the military?" Then not long after I got some promotional literature from the same organization asking me to join if I could verify that I'd been in the military for only one day!

I was in the army for one day, one day only, and that was ENOUGH!

Actually my military career began in college, at Tennessee Polytechnic Institute – later renamed TN Tech University. In 1958 every freshman and sophomore was required to take ROTC, (pronounced "rot'c" which stood for Reserve Officer's Training Corps.) or, he took physical education. The T.P.I. "Corps of Cadets" was a Signal Corps Regiment, Battalion or Group or something: I never learned just which exactly!

Being legally blind in one eye I suspected that I would never be accepted in the military. And none of the guys I knew were in physical education, so we all took ROTC whether we were serious about killing people or not. I haven't had to kill anyone yet, but if I ever do I know the ROTC training I had will serve me well.

Every music major was automatically placed in the ROTC Band. The commander was in cahoots with the band director, and most of us would rather have been in the band than being screamed at by company commanders and platoon leaders: seniors and juniors who were inordinately intent about being in step and "dressing up that line." We band guys knew how to march and stay in line.

The Freshman year was OK: We learned small weapons' maintenance, positioning of a mortar and sighting in the target, but most of all we learned posturing! It was 1958, and there were many upperclassmen who took their R.O.T.C. "Rank" seriously. They had also seen every movie ever produced which showed just how rough it was getting through the military training program. Therefore they tried to emulate the toughest of the Drill Instructors that Hollywood had conjured up. The worst of the lot were the officers in the Pershing Rifles, TPI's award winning drill team.

So on Thursdays, “Drill Day,” between 3:00PM and 5:00PM the "Officers" would attempt to make life a living hell for the underclassmen! During our Sophomore year the R.O.T.C. Band had decided as a group not to attend the Military Ball. To the officers of the Pershing Rifles, this was an unbelievable affront! After all, the proceeds from the Military Ball went directly to the Pershing Rifles! How could we sniveling, trouble makers dare challenge the omnipotent Pershing Rifles?

An inspection of the ROTC Band was demanded and granted by the military faculty. We had been promised that the inspection would be particularly rigorous. The Officers were solemn and strict and dispensed demerits to all concerned. Demerits had to be "worked off" prior to next Thursdays drill: One demerit meant one hour cleaning rifles, sweeping or some other onerous task.

We in the R.O.T.C. Band knew that if you went to the armory to work off a demerit on Friday or Monday or Tuesday the Sergeant Major in charge would make you clean some M1 Rifles, etc. But if you went in a group on Wednesday afternoon about 3:00 there was nothing to do.

So we worked off our demerits late on Wednesday afternoon by one guy pulling down the window shades and the next guy raising the window shades. It took about ten minutes. The Sergeant Major knew all of us and got a great laugh out of our demerit problem.
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Moving ahead four years:
The USA was fervently providing "assistance" to the Republic of Vietnam in 1963. We had had advisers there since the late fifties, but by 1963 we were getting our guys killed! I received my notice to report for my physical exam in the spring of 1963.

Stripped to our underwear with our valuables in a drawstring bag we sat or stood in line to pee in a bottle, and have our hearing, vision and reflexes tested. Being legally blind in one eye, I knew that I was not a candidate for induction. However the "shave-tail" doctors who were administering the tests wouldn't listen and couldn't verify my damaged cornea and optic nerve. Then to top it all off they stamped my papers "Inductee" instead of "Pre-inductee" as they should have been stamped: I was on my way to Fort Polk Louisiana the very next day!

I finally got some older doctor to listen to me and he signed me in for the night to be examined by a "Downtown Doctor" the following day. That evening I and the real inductees were in the United States Army! The evening meal was beans and potatoes: two kinds of beans and two kinds of potatoes. An army travels on its stomach, you know. After supper we were required to police the area. That's Army Talk for pick up trash which in this case was cigarette butts. There didn't seem to be anything to gain from fighting the order, so we went about policing the area.

We were encouraged to hit the sack early. It seemed appropriate since there was absolutely nothing else to do. I was aroused in the middle of the night by someone rummaging through my locker. When I sat up in bed the perpetrator vanished and the bunk of black boy two bunks over was bouncing. I arose and found that my single dollar was still in my wallet. I then spoke a vow to whoever was interested about all manners of physical consequences that would befall anyone who attempted to repeat the deed.

The next morning I was examined by a "real doctor" who spotted the malady. As it turned out he had trained the eye, ear, nose and throat specialist who had played a big part in my personal miracle of not losing my right eye! I returned to Macon County and to band directing without being required to serve another day.

EARTH DAY

This year, 2010, we celebrate the fortieth anniversary of Earth Day. On the first Earth Day I was walking among the displays of concerned students and faculty at Indiana University. It was an almost-cold, dank Indiana spring day.

The main display area was at Dunn Meadow where a series of momentous gatherings took place in that year of civil unrest. Dunn Meadow is a lawn at the west end of the main campus, across the Jordan River from the IU Student Union Building.

We first gathered at Dunn Meadow to protest the Kent State Massacre.

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"Kent State massacre" Wikipedia

Kent State shootings
John Filo's iconic Pulitzer Prize-winning photograph of Mary Ann Vecchio, a fourteen-year-old runaway, kneeling over the body of Jeffrey Miller after he was shot dead by the Ohio National Guard.
Location	Kent, Ohio, USA
Date	May 4, 1970 12:24 PM[1]
Target	Kent State University students
Death(s)	4
Injured	9

Memorial to Jeffrey Miller. Taken from approximately the same perspective as John Filo's famous photograph.

The Kent State shootings, also known as the May 4 massacre or Kent State massacre, occurred at Kent State University in the city of Kent, Ohio, and involved the shooting of unarmed college students by members of the Ohio National Guard on Monday, May 4, 1970. The guardsmen fired 67 rounds over a period of 13 seconds, killing four students and wounding nine others, one of whom suffered permanent paralysis.

Some of the students who were shot had been protesting against the American invasion of Cambodia, which President Richard Nixon announced in a television address on April 30. Other students who were shot had been walking nearby or observing the protest from a distance.

There was a significant national response to the shootings: hundreds of universities, colleges, and high schools closed throughout the United States due to a student strike of four million students, and the event further divided the country, at an already socially contentious time, about the role of the United States in the Vietnam War

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Our next gathering at Dunn Meadow was a gathering to listen to Jerry Rubin who was protester in the Chicago Seven riots and trial. It turned out that Jerry was soliciting funds to pay for his lawyer’s fees.

From Wisegeek.com

When the Democratic party announced plans to hold its national convention in Chicago, key leaders of these various factions urged members to hold rallies outside of the facility. The results were horrific. Protesters and law enforcement officers clashed violently, and Chicago's mayor, Richard Daley, ordered in National Guard troops to restore order. When the smoke cleared, eight men identified as leaders of the protests were charged with conspiracy to incite a riot. They became known originally as the Chicago Eight, later the Chicago Seven.

During the trial, the eighth co-defendant, Black Panther member Bobby Seale, was improperly denied his attorney of choice by 74 year old judge Julius Hoffman. Seale's heated protestations caused Judge Hoffman to order him bound and gagged while in court. Hoffman later separated Seale's case, leaving seven co-defendants: Abbie Hoffman, Jerry Rubin, David Dellinger, Tom Hayden, John Froines, Rennie Davis and Lee Weiner. Although their associations before the convention were often vague or non-existent, these men became inextricably linked in the media as the Chicago Seven.

Of the Chicago Seven, perhaps Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin were the two most recognized faces. Both were members of the Youth International Party, or Yippies. The Yippies were notorious for suggesting outlandish acts of sabotage or civil disobedience, but rarely carried out these extreme plans. During the Democratic National Convention, the Yippies gained media attention by nominating a pig named Pigasus for president.

While in Chicago, both Hoffman and Rubin met with other leaders of counterculture groups such as the Students for a Democratic Society (SDS) and the National Mobilization Committee (MOBE). Other defendants, such as David Dellinger and Rennie Davis, attended these meetings as well. Unbeknownst to participants, the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) had already placed undercover agents at many of these meeting sites.

The Chicago Seven were charged with violating a recently enacted federal Anti-Riot Act, which gave law enforcement officers more legal teeth against protesters. The trial of the Chicago Seven became a media circus, with some of the defendants arriving in black robes or openly defying the authority of the court. Judge Hoffman's questionable pre-trial decisions also hampered the efforts of defense attorneys William Kunstler and Leonard Weinglass. Potential jurors could not be asked questions pertaining to their knowledge of popular counterculture entertainers, for example. This exclusion allowed federal prosecutors to seat a jury largely unsympathetic to the Chicago Seven's political and social culture.

Despite the theatrics and occasionally heavy-handed tactics used by both sides during the trial, the jury found two of the Chicago Seven, John Froines and Lee Weiner, not guilty of the charges. Weiner and Froines were considered peripheral characters, accused mostly of using their skills to create non-lethal stink bombs. The other five members of the Chicago Seven were found guilty of violating the Anti-Riot Act of 1968 and were given various sentences.

Judge Hoffman did not stop at that point. He also sentenced all of the Chicago Seven and their attorneys to several years in prison for a number of contempt of court citations. The Seventh Circuit Court of Appeals overturned these sentences in 1972, based on Judge Hoffman's behavior during the trial and the excessive length of the sentences.

Following the Appeals Court decision to overturn their original sentences, members of the Chicago Seven resumed their lives during the 1970s. Some returned to academia, while others remained politically active. Tom Hayden eventually became a congressional representative from California. Former radical Jerry Rubin decided to become a mainstream businessman in the 1980s.

David Dellinger, the oldest member of the Chicago Seven, continued to participate in civil demonstrations until his death from a heart attack. Abbie Hoffman, arguably the most impassioned member of the Chicago Seven, tried to reinvigorate the counterculture movement through media events and several books. Disillusioned by the apparent apathy of American society in the 1980s, Abbie Hoffman committed suicide in 1989.

We “protested” the Kent State tragedy by “marching” from our various dorms and apartments to Dunn Meadow. There were to be speeches and announcements and a protest rally by thirty thousand angry students! We were told that there could be ‘police riots’ such as those that occurred at the Democratic Presidential Convention that the Chicago Seven disrupted.

As it turned out there were only about ten thousand un-angry students milling around the ‘Meadow.’ The police were held in place at intersections about three blocks away in case there was trouble. They were never called to quell our riots.

It was a rather quiet event with one speech by the Student Body President; a young man of color who had a very vigilant cordon of body guards in case there was a sniper in the trees or on the roof of the student center.

Our ‘protest’ was reported in the Bloomington and Indianapolis papers. There was a picture: is seems that some jerk with a flag from North Viet Nam had jumped in front of the march just as the pictures were snapped. I was mortified!

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Back to Earth Day

The whole Instructional Systems Technology Department was opened for assisting students who wanted to create displays for the ‘meadow.’ I was assigned a junior student who wanted to make everyone aware of the problems caused by over population. I was stuck in the dark room for five hours, making two hundred prints of a picture of a four person family. The display had all those same pictures stapled and taped to a backdrop and a large wooden frame: no one I saw was impressed: I certainly wasn’t!

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It is fun to remember those days of ‘teach-in’s’ in the dorm on how we got into the Viet Nam mess and how we were manipulated into a situation that poisoned our country. It all seemed both surreal and important at the time. It was a great time to be alive, really alive; or so we thought!

GRAND-THEFT, PICKUP TRUCK:

Technically we did not steal the Ligon Electric Service Company pickup truck..... John Ligon's son, Alec had given permission for Bill Moore, Tyrone Pointer and Lewis Butler to retrieve the keys from above the driver's sun visor and take the truck to basketball games away from Carthage. Never-mind that Alec did not have authority to give permission to loan the truck!

Bill was the only member of the group with a driver's license, but Lewis had instigated the operation, and he drove most of the time. It should be injected here that the truck in question was taken to only a few games. Twice, to be exact!

Once in Gordonsville, the cross-county rival: Parking was so dear that almost everyone was wedged-in and without drastic action one could not leave until vehicles in front and behind moved to let trapped vehicles out.......We were trapped! We could not allow John Ligon to see his truck in the parking lot! So, we were required to do something drastic!

There were always several guys near the front door of any sports event, smoking ready-rolled and roll-your-owns and slipping to the car for a "sip." We recruited four of them to help us physically move cars and pickups that had us blocked. At least six vehicles were moved: Some into positions that would require considerable gyrations to avoid scraping other vehicles.

We made it back to Carthage without mishap and before anyone else. So we were not seen. This arrangement was going to be great! (Or so we thought.) And so ended episode one.

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We were eager to go to the next away game at Watertown. As it turned out it was one of those, all too common, Tennessee Fall-Winter nights with just enough rain to make the road " lose its tooth. " As usual we arrived at the High School just after the team bus left, retrieved the keys and were on our way.

We were thirsty by the time we got to the "L-Rancho" motel and restaurant on the east side of Lebanon so we wheeled into the parking lot to get Cokes. Fortunately we spotted John Ligon's car in the front parking lot, and since the truck we had "borrowed" had Ligon Electric Company painted all over the racks we wheeled around the drive in front of the rooms and made a hasty exit toward Watertown.

It began to drizzle-rain on the way to Watertown and pickup trucks are known for a lack of road-holding abilities. The road into "Watertown proper" turned to the left at about 60 degrees. The road surface was gravel with multi-, multi-sprayings of tar. By the time Lewis, Bill and Tyrone saw the turn it was too late, we were going way too fast but Lewis attempted to make it anyway.

There was a narrow shoulder then a drop of about 20 feet on either side into a creek on one side and a muddy corn field on the other. Lewis hit the brakes (having never had any experience with wet roads) and control was lost immediately. The pickup began a very fast 180 degree spin, and it was plain to all on board that there was to be no way out of this mess!

Lewis did the only thing he could, given the circumstances: HE YELLED AN APPROPRIATE FOUR-LETTER EXPLETIVE AND SHUT HIS EYES AS TIGHTLY AS POSSIBLE AND HELD ON FOR DEAR LIFE! What Tyrone and Bill did will await their own renditions of the event, but you can imagine that a certain portion of each boy's anatomy was puckered-pretty-tight!

When Lewis opened his eyes the truck was on the Watertown road, in second gear and under control. That was one time that our guardian angels earned their keep.

The boys were more careful in parking the truck this time and were able to leave without manually lifting vehicles out of their way. They left early enough not to have to hurry home, but since the Chevy pickup had "80 mph" on the speedometer why not do 80? Besides, the roads had dried considerably.

So, exiting Lebanon at high speed and in high spirits the trio headed toward Carthage. About one-third of the way Lewis noticed a car catching up quickly even while the pickup was doing 80. The car passed the boys going up the hill by Johnson's Rest Home and turned on a siren. The boys slowed wondering what could be wrong!

Since Bill had a license he and Lewis changed places. While they were doing that the pursuer was getting out of his '47 Olds with a pistol that looked to be about a foot long! He had Civil Air Patrol license tags on his car so the boys determined that he was an over eager constable out to make trouble for we completely innocent teenagers!

Bill "ground" the Chevy pickup into first and we were off again. The Constable fired at the rear tire twice as we passed and once at the truck from behind as we were going over the hill. We asked each other about getting onto a side road and hiding, but decided just to stay on Hwy-70 and go like hell!

Believe it or not the Constable didn't come after us! But believe this also we did not linger longer to give him any more opportunities to catch us!

We made it back to Carthage and were physically, mentally and emotionally shaken by the whole experience. The Ligon Electric Truck remained parked henceforth and forever more!

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My Musical Highlight(s)

When I was a mere tyke I knew that I would become a brass band director. In our home we had a hard bound catalog of jewelry, silverware and musical instruments. My dad and I, seated in his lap, would go through the book marveling at the 'bling' printed on slick paper with richly colored red and blue backgrounds. It was captivating. My dad would point out the various brass instruments and tell me stories of his days in the Brown School Band. His uncle Willy Butler was the director of the Brown School Band. When one went to a particular school back in the early 1900's one played in that band all the rest of his days.

I majored in BAND in high school: nothing else meant very much to me. Perhaps some of my classmates thought otherwise since the phrase "Don't wake me unless it's a woman" was entered by my senior picture in the Smith County Annual in 1958.

We held a Spring Festival every year that culminated the fund raising drive for the music program budget. The school board did not provide significant funding for band programs. My Junior year I performed "When Johnny Comes Marching Home" at the Spring Festival. My knees were shaking so badly that my mother thought that a breeze was blowing my pant legs. It was the time of the "White Sport Coat and Pink Carnations." My coat was white linen and my pants were black: my mom would have nothing for me if not the best.

My college experiences were not remarkable for the most part. I was playing a Baritone, also known as a Tenor Tuba or Euphonium. It serves the lower end of the horn voice: just below the French Horn and just above the Tuba. It is assigned the counter point to the higher brass and the woodwinds. The Baritone was occasionally given a significant part such as in the works of Gustav Holst. (Suite in E flat for Military Band for example)

In my freshman year I was just beginning to come around to the facts that one needed to exert a modicum of effort to succeed in college. We were trying to master a difficult band piece by Jenkins: sorry I can't remember the title but I do remember the difficult baritone part. Our band director was holding "section practice" to see who could play their parts. I had practiced and 'aced' the session. My compatriot, a senior, did not do very well.

All things changed at TPI the following year and we struggled through the next eighteen months. Then my senior year began.

We were involved in student teaching in the elementary and high schools around Cookeville, TN. I loved every level and every experience with the young students. We were also involved in 'teaching' on the college level. I sub'd for the Music Appreciation Professor and for the Putnam County High School Band Director. We were also required to make arrangements for and to conduct the TPI Band as well as the chorus in concert. My penchant for self destruction emerged I guess, since I chose the most obscure and difficult pieces I could find.

The highlight of my senior year was the performance by the TPI chorus of a piece by Strauss that had to do with the lyrics; "Swirl out the canvas favoring winds." It was a soaring piece that could be done with piano or without: I chose a Capella! My instructor, Dr Walter Wade and my peers were surprised because it was a big risk.

We were performing in the Derryberry Auditorium that had just been renovated: we had been practicing in a band room. The acoustics in the auditorium were much superior. and the 'live' auditorium enhanced our sound. The chorus 'got to feeling it!' They exceeded everyone's expectations, and I was thrilled with their performance. The audience gave us a wonderful round of applause, and I was pleased as were the chorus members.

I cannot relate the euphoria of that brief moment. I could have done a back flip off the podium. It was the highlight of my college experience. It's still a great memory even after fifty (yes - fifty) years!

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Fowler G. Stanton

The memorial service was held today for Fowler Stanton a special mentor of my high school days. Let's think about; a fellow from a curve in the road in the edge of Putnam county who is named ' Fowler!' Now give me a break: a Fowler is a guy that trains and uses birds of prey for hunting. He was destined to do great things with a name like that!

It was a great service; complete with a wind ensemble, a 40+ choir, a piper (Amazing Grace, of course) a flag ceremony and a Dixieland Band as the service ended. WHAT A MEMORIAL SERVICE!

I was able to speak with Sarah Smith (sister of Sam and Daughter of Ervin, our beloved principal) the Amonette Brothers; Jackie and Billy Jolly (finer trumpeter's never came our way). I spied Elane Wilburn, saw Carl Ballinger (I think) in the choir.

Fowler Stanton was a special guy. Who knew about his military record? He was the 'song flute' KING. We who became band directors should have followed his example.

Little did I know that there was no budget for band at Macon Co!

The event caused me to decide on a set of themes for my life, so far:
On aging: "Don't Blink" a Kenny Chesney song
On living: "Gimme Three Steps!"
On changing: "I'm Still Crazy After all These Years"

Here's the Obituary

SMITHVILLE -- Memorial services for Fowler G. Stanton, 88, of Smithville, will be held Saturday, March 6, at 2 p.m. at First United Methodist Church in Smithville. The family will receive friends today, Friday, March 5, from 4-8 p.m. at the C.F.C. building of the church. Mr. Stanton's wishes were for his former students to arrive at the memorial service one hour early for a special tribute in song. Mr. Stanton died Thursday, Feb. 25, 2010, in DeKalb Community Hospital. He was born Sept. 17, 1921, in the Gentry Community of Putnam County to the late Della Starr Sanders and George Mizell Stanton.

Fowler began his musical career at the age of three when his mother and aunt taught him how to play the piano and various string instruments as well as singing. Since that early age he grew up to respect and appreciate all kinds of music. He graduated from Baxter Seminary and enrolled at Tennessee Technological University in 1940. The war interrupted his schooling, but he returned after the war to TTU and received his B.S. in music education in 1950 and obtained a Master's Degree from Peabody College in 1952. He continued in studies, more specifically in the areas of voice with the famed vocalist instructor Constance Ohlinger of Germany, and American voice teacher Jean Taylor at the Chicago Conservatory. After his studies, Fowler began his teaching career, organizing, developing and directing a number of top-rated bands at Jackson, Smith and DeKalb County high schools that represented the State of Tennessee at the Cherry Blossom Festival in Washington, D.C., Disneyland Centennial in Orlando, Fla., various state and local parades, athletic events, dedications and community events. His teaching experience extended from all grade levels through senior college. In later years he helped with the organization and judging of the annual Smithville Jamboree each year.

Fowler served in the Navy during World War II as an aircraft turret gunner, and during one three-day stretch, his crew flew 55 missions while participating in the battles of Luzon, Leyte Gulf, Mindoro, Mindanaro and Manila Bay, until their badly shot up aircraft had to leave the battle zone managing to fly back to and make a crash landing on their home aircraft carrier. The original citation recommending the Air Medal was lost during the fierce battles and records were reconstructed later and Gunner Stanton was awarded the Air Medal in June of 2002, some 57 years after the fact. In addition to the Air Medal he was awarded the American Campaign Medal, Asiatic Pacific Campaign Medal with three stars, Navy Occupational Medal, China Service Medal, Philippine Liberation Medal, Philippine Presidential Unit Citation and the World War II Victory Medal.

In 1970 Mr. Stanton was united in marriage to Oleta Robbins from Byrdstown and they made their home in Smithvillle, where they were both members of First United Methodist Church of Smithville. His family includes his wife, Oleta Stanton of Smithville; a sister, Evelyn Harding of Lebanon; two daughters and sons-in-law, Melody and Dr. Tim Foster of Old Hickory and Sonata and Randy Rayburn of Nashville; a stepdaughter and son-in-law, Donna Jane and Pat Clements of Nashville; a stepson and daughter-in-law, Harold Edward and Vicki Copeland of Cookeville; two granddaughters, Lauren and Katie Foster; and three grandsons, Duke Rayburn and Ethan and Braden Copeland. In addition to his parents, he was preceded in death by a son, Tommy Stanton. Memorial donations may be made to the music department of the schools where he taught: Jackson County High School, Smith County High School or DeKalb County High School. Bro. Terry Little and Dr. John Purdue will officiate the services. Bass Funeral Homes, Carthage Chapel, is in charge of arrangements.

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Dr. GENE

I was sitting around enjoying my upgraded audio/video system last night listening to our Macon County High School Band CD from 1967 and the TPI, Raphael Mendez concert at the Ryman in 1960. It crossed my mind that maybe the professors from TTU who stuck with us in those trying days may still be alive and kicking. I was listening to "Tulsa; Portrait in Oils" when I found the phone number for Dr. Eugene Steinquest. So I did what I always do, I called him.

It was a real treat to get reacquainted with Dr. Gene. He was our woodwind and string instructor back in the early '60's. He was only eleven years older than we were. I thought he must have been older. Dr. Gene was the music theory and the woodwinds instructor. The flute and piccolo were is fortes, and he played bassoon as needed. Dr. Gene was a master of the brief pun, and was genuinely supportive of our success. I was honored to attend a "Gator Bowl" college basketball game with him as we were in Florida on our way to the Tangerine Bowl.

It was tough at TTU (then TPI) after Jay Julian left to take the band job at UT Knoxville. They became the "Pride of the Southland Band" though they were so mis-named prior to Dr. Jay’s move.

A large contingent of ‘students’ followed Dr. Jay. These guys had been professional musicians in the US Air Force. They had come to TPI (later TTU) on the GI Bill that paid for their college instruction. We who stayed were faced with providing student leadership and fulfilling our commitment to 'TECH.'

I was not a serious student during my early years at TPI. But I finally started to wise-up during my late Sophomore, and Junior year. I started opening the textbooks, and I was helped greatly by studying with my two best friends, Bill Moore and Carl Ballinger: classmates from Smith Co High School. Dr. Steinquest and James Marks, out brass instructor, were plunged into the positions of carrying the program forward with a "B-Team" of students.

I decided that I had a lot to learn and a short time to get it done. So when the most rigorous opportunities arose my hand always went up. I filled in for the band director at the local high school when he went out of town. Then in my senior year Dr. Gene occasionally asked me to take his Music Appreciation classes when he went to conferences. That was the most fun: no preparation was involved. I just went in and asked what questions they might have. The whole hour was filled with answering very easy questions.

Dr. Gene was supportive beyond the call, and he proved it by bringing his wife to our spring concert in Macon County TN after graduating as a full fledged band director. The concert was my first and was unremarkable except for the first year students (5th grade band). Dr. Gene's comment was that he saw some promise there.

We lost contact with our professors and fellow students over the years. Most of the guys who entered TPI (now TTU) either went to UT-Knoxville, or dropped out of music all together. A few fellow grads became band directors: Carl Ballinger went to White Co., Bill Moore went to Wilson Co. and then to Franklin High School and finally back to good old Smith County High School. Jay Flint and Lynn Morelock went into the Metro-Nashville system and each taught 30 years there.

Our entry into the milieu of higher education in the late '50's was on the cusp of an era of drastic change. Thereafter followed integration of the public schools, the first Earth Day, the opposition to the conflict in Viet Nam, the trial of the Chicago Seven and The Age Aquarius. I was minimally involved with the ' anti-war movement' (demonstrations) and enjoyed the Age of Aquarius while at Indiana University.

I am constantly amazed that the guys who most influenced my life were in the process of arranging their own stabs a maturity. I am much better off having been in their/our world.

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For the blog reader: TPI (Tennessee Polytechnic Institute) was the name for the college in Cookeville, TN. It started out as Dixie College in the early 1900’s, and the name became Tennessee Technological University (TTU) after my undergraduate days there. ‘Tech’ has always been a bright spot in the Tennessee Higher Education System: never the biggest but always one of the best in the state.

TTU is currently the premier engineering and music performance/education program in the South.

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Uncle Miltie

Mr. Milton Dickerson passed this week. He was a teacher at Smith County TN High School in Carthage during my teen years there. He was an all round great guy and coach, but not so much a great teacher, but that was the way of life back in the day.

Milton, better known as Monk Dickerson did some auctioneering and real estate marketing, a little coaching and occasionally ‘called’ a basketball game. He was ‘available.’ When someone needed to be away, Monk was available to fill in until the person in charge returned.

As if ‘Monk’ wasn’t a bad enough nickname we students in the Chemistry course at SCHS in 1957 renamed Monk, ‘Uncle Miltie’. Those were days when the Milton Bearle Show was the most popular show on TV, so it was just going to happen that Monk became Uncle Miltie.

We were going through the motions and following the adopted text through the Chem. course. It wasn’t particularly difficult and I did my ‘best’ to participate on a serious level for a change. But I was lazy and easily distracted: not to mention having a history of being the class clown for the past ten grades.

I was having a terrible time grasping the concept of chemical equations. It was not clicking in my head. Johnny Capalenor spent a full fifty minute period in study hall repeating, “it has to be the same on each side.” Over and over and over, Johnny just said the same phrase until all at once I got the concept. The hard parts were the atomic weights and valences.

We were drilling for a big test on the chemical symbols, atomic numbers and valences. I spent several nights and study halls memorizing all the chemical symbols and other stuff on the periodic table. I had it down pat on the day of the test.

Uncle Miltie gave the test by calling out the element and we were to put the symbol, the atomic number and the valence in rows going down the page. I was clicking along without a bit of uncertainty. When the test was finished we were to pass our papers to the person behind us. Uncle Miltie proceeded to call out all the correct information so that our classmates could check our data.

It was going well and I was feeling really good. Finally the girl who checked my work was to report my score. Her answer was …………………… “all correct” ……………………”except” ………………………………………”all the chemical symbols are left out!” I got a ZERO on the test! I had worked hard, and I was devastated!

I was given a chance to bring up my grade by making a graphic of the “tree of coal.” The tree of coal is a big tree with little labels of all the stuff that is made from coal. There were hundreds, and since I am compulsive about this type of project I made a tree of coal that was suitable for framing!

I was employed at Fred Cleveland’s Pharmacy after school and on weekends when Uncle Miltie’s birthday came along. Fred Cleveland’s Pharmacy had been existence since the beginning of the Twentieth Century. We had stuff in our cabinets and display cases that most folks never heard of.

Did you know that Paregoric that is used to stop vomiting is opium and camphor? Citrate of magnesium was sold as Pluto Water. Condoms were kept out of sight in a very special drawer, and there were hair products in quart sized cans.

Glossy Pomade was a heavily scented concoction designed to straighten curly hair. The primary consumers were assumed to be our citizens of color, though I never sold any Glossy Pomade to anyone.

Uncle Miltie was well along in the process of losing his hair. We often gave him a hard time about it. On his birthday there appeared a nicely wrapped present on his desk as a token of our regard and best wishes for many more to come.

Uncle Miltie opened the package and was having fun showing Glossy Pomade all around the class when he called Runt Poynter to the front of the class. He turned Runt toward the class and proceeded to massage a whole hand full of Glossy Pomade into his hair. What a mess; what a site and what fun. Runt knew who brought the pomade, but he kept quiet and endured the event.

I’ll bet Uncle Miltie used that can of Glossy Pomade for many years afterward: probably on hinges and axles.

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Christmas in the Country

Did you ever stand close to the fireplace to warm your blanket then wrap it around your shoulders and run, run, run upstairs to an ice-cold bed? That's what we used to do at my grandparents house at our Christmas eve family gathering.

You'd snuggle down with a cousin and grand ma would come and tuck us in the feather tick. Then we would wait for sleep to overtake us. We'd lie there and hear the "house sounds": the wind blowing that loose roof shilgle, Grandpapa's yawn, "Ho, Ho, Hummy" resounding throughout the old house and in a very few minutes the sound of a steady stream hitting the bottom of Grandpapa's "slop jar."

My grand father and grand mother had eight children: four boys and four girls. When they all gathered with their offspring at the home place next door to the school in Gordonsville it was an experience to be remembered and treasured.

The ceilings were about ten feet high, but invariably the tree, always a cedar, was always too tall. There was never an angel adorning the top so we thought it only natural that the tree bent over at the top.

On Christmas eve everyone gathered around the piano and my Grandpapa snatched up his fiddle: carols and hymns were robustly sung. Aunt Daisy always sang the soprano along with aunt Linnie and my mother Anna and aunt Nellie took the alto along with Grandma. The men just sort of sang the melody or chimed in a base line.

I never saw my Grandpapa play the fiddle except at Christmas, but when he played I sat so near his feet, he was trapped. I was charmed! I still have his fiddle and played it in college: I got an A!

After all the carols were sung all the kids would warm their blankets by the fireplace and race upstairs to snuggle within our feather beds. The sheets were always cold but the blanket made us warm until our warm bodies began to warm the feather tick.

The tick rose high above our faces and bodies, and with the weight of three or four quilts on top we were "snug as a bug in a rug."

Then on Christmas morning we were coaxed downstairs from our warm beds to see what the "Jolly Old Gentleman" had brought. The socks (we didn't know anything about stockings) were filled with an assortment; usually an orange, an apple and two or three small toys. Of course, there was always something special under the tree.

I thank God for those rare times and for the wonderful family I was lucky enough to be nurtured within.

There is something about getting older, your yawns get louder and more expressive. I've noticed lately that mine are much like my Grandpapa's. When a yawn comes upon me I find that Ho, Ho, Hummy feels just right. After all, I’m a grandpa now!

Lewis Butler's Stuff: GETTING EVEN

Lewis Butler's Stuff: GETTING EVEN

GETTING EVEN

You know your children will interact with their classmates, their neighbors of nearby age groups and with adults in their world. Some of those interactions will be positive and others….well some will be less than hoped-for.

Most of my personal interactions were positive, thanks to the good will of folks who were acquainted with my family: father, mother and older brother. I was one who tended to believe and to act, as if everyone had my best interests at heart. But as the Indian chief in the movie, “Little Big Man” said, as he went out of his tepee and stretched out a hide on which he would lie down to pass on to the happy hunting ground. Just as he got settled the heavens started pelting him with big wet drops of rain. He arose after a few drops and proclaimed, “Sometimes the magic works and sometimes it doesn’t.”

I barely remember an interaction with a family who were related with the Chambers who lived in the old Cullum Mansion at the apex of Fisher Hill. That family consisted of a father, mother and little girl who was my age peer: five years old. I was visiting with the father and daughter on the back porch of the mansion and evidently holding my own with in repartee with the father. He gave me a coke – the old eight ounce bottle -- and continued engaging me in conversation. Every few minutes he would want me to shake his hand. I did so and continued to visit and enjoy my Coca Cola that I did not have to share with anyone.

I was always pretty naïve and have never gotten over it. So I was always “up” for whatever idea an acquaintance had. Two neighborhood peers thought up a really fun thing to do. They were out front, on Fisher Ave. as I came around the house. They called and mostly beckoned me over to our neighbor’s front yard. I sallied forth and when I approached they each spat a mouthful of saliva they had been saving up right in my face. I was at a total loss as to what to do, so I ran home and tearfully told my mother what had just happened.

Mom patiently cleaned me up and was internally fuming at my circumstance. When I was calmed and cleaned sufficiently, mom handed me a sturdy wooden rod much like those used by teachers to point to items on the ever-present maps on the rolls in the front of all elementary classrooms: she was a substitute teacher when needed. She suggested that I conceal the rod and approach the ruffians with purpose and stealth and whale the crap out them with as much verve as I could muster: in other words, of course.

I approached them and evidently they thought I was going to be cowed and whiny when I laid into them with my rod of vengeance and sent them home wailing and crying with good reason. I never had another run in with them from that day on. They, no doubt, have forgotten about our altercation, but I never forget anything!