“Hey, Brainy-Beautiful,” I said to Shari Wheeler, the young woman
I’d been dating for quite a few weeks during my junior year at Southern
Methodist.
Shari was both of those alliterative appellations, a lightning
quick conversationalist who would entertain any subject, destined to be an English
teacher like her mother and a principal like her father; and a dark beauty for whom a slight gap in
between her two front teeth accented the quirky quality that gave added appeal.
“Hey, yourself--- Gary,
this is Barbara Reed--- you know, my roommate.”
I looked at the young woman standing at Shari’s side on the steps
of SMU Student Union. I think I kept my
cool. I remember smiling with fair
nonchalance and having a few brief moments of conversation with these two
sophomore sponsors in Snyder Hall, on the women’s quadrangle just across from
the Student Union.
However much cool I kept and however I managed to maintain
insouciant conversation, I may have set a Guinness world record for being
mesmerized while smiling nonchalantly and talking casually. The sight before my eyes was unlike any woman
I’d ever had the good fortune to have loom into my visual scope:
Barbara was dark blond, fair, about the same 5 feet, six inches as
Shari. The month was February. She was wearing a nice gray coat with outfit
that matched. She had a stunningly
gorgeous face and widely spaced blue eyes that communicated the real
difference, the quality that set her apart.
Shari was a mighty great date, with a personality and intelligence
that in the manner of a collegiate junior had me at least contemplating what a
future with her might be like. But that
was not to be, and could not have been.
Within a couple of months, our semi-serious relationship was over in the
romantic sense. I would later learn from
Barbara that as spring 1972 moved on, Shari would increasingly return to their
room and answer Barbara’s “How’d it go?” query with,
“Oh, you, know--- We talked
about the meaning of life again.”
And here I thought I was such a humorous lad. But my philosophical speculations and searing
criticism of humanity at SMU and beyond had apparently grown wearisome to Ms.
Wheeler of Anahuac, Texas.
I went through another semi-serious relationship that spring with a
person who had many of the liberal Christian views on ethics and community commitment
as did I. Like myself, Jane Bockus
participated in Religious Life, the liberal (distinct, therefore, from Campus
Crusade for Christ and such) Christian group led by assistant chaplain Robert
(Bob) O. Cooper. Jane had more
enthusiasm for the philosophical ruminations that eventually wore Shari
out; we had many a super conversation
amidst fun and inspiring times on the weekend meetings, barbecues, and camp
retreats led by Bob.
But when Barbara and I reconnected at late spring, having found
out that we were to be paired as Residential Advisers (RA’s) supervising first
year students in SMU’s Living and Learning program, I knew my life had taken on
a dimension that I had not really thought possible.
By my last two years at SMU, I was set on moving to Harlem after
graduation and ensconcing myself in an Up
the Down Staircase situation, striving nobly to bring high quality
education against obstacles of manifold sort.
The fundamental vision would remain but the locale would shift.
Barbara changed the details of my plans.
……………………………………………………………………………
I have reflected many times how that first meeting with Barbara on
the stair steps leading up to the Student Union was predictive of the wondrous
reality that became my life.
Shari and Jane were both super young women who were may cuts above
the smart but superficial, fashion and society conscious, sorority types that
were replete at the university. The
Greek system, to which I had an ever so brief introduction, was a big thing at
Southern Methodist. I assessed the
values and time expenditure descriptive of those in sororities and fraternities
and made a quick exit from Lambda Chi Alpha after only two months of membership
in the spring of my first year at the university. I turned decidedly anti-Greek and mostly held
aloof from the sorority types, considering the time given to associated
activities and high-society values to be at odds with my experiences in
Volunteer Services, at Pinkston, with Rex, on those Religious Life retreats, my
burgeoning academic interests, and my commitment to political and social
activism. Aside from Shari and Jane, my
dates tended to be one or two-timers, enjoyable but transitory. I came to doubt that anyone would meet my
exacting and highly particular standards or anyway induce a detour from Harlem.
But Barbara induced a detour that sustained my presence in West
Dallas longer than I had planned and then as matters developed turned by focus
to at-risk student populations not very close to Harlem--- eventually to North Minneapolis.
……………………………………………………………………………….
Because behind those beautiful blues eyes on the stairs that led
symbolically as well as tangibly to the Union was an intelligence and a soul
that I read in the moment and with which I would unite eternally.
In that first instantaneous mesmerization I knew that I was
peering into a unity of brain and body and countenance and soul that was an exaltation of
humanity never thrust so fortuitously into my personal sphere before. Most likely, in the absence of that meeting
my journey on this one earthly sojourn would have been singly lived. My life would have been well-lived and
directed much the same as has been the case, however different in geographical focus.
But Barbara was Destiny, she who incalculably magnified the magnificence
of the Journey.
No comments:
Post a Comment