If i were a good boy today, i would have spent my day filling out about 438 feedback forms requested from every imaginable type of organization. i even have one from a medical group that arrived via snail mail, including the free mailing for the enclosed envelope.

The dentist, the audiologist, the dermatologist, the optician, the vehicle maintenance shop, the vet, and several hundred more i cannot recall all wanted me to rate them from heavenly to awful.

With each one, i remembered the 45 reminders i had an appointment and should show up a half-hour early, so they could be sure i wouldn’t wait too long…or something like that.

i kept thinking of “Raiders of the Lost Ark” with its final scene when the custodian in the huge government warehouse is towing the well-packed ark into the rows and rows of government top secret crates.

i think all of my feedback forms would end up in that warehouse.

Then i consider rating them all at the bottom of the scale and berating them for sending me so much…er, crap. But i realize that would bring about and unending number of texts, emails, and phone calls to assuage their displeasure. Not worth it.

So, i turned to my never-ending project of organizing Maureen’s and my photos, somewhere in the range of four million.

Then, out of a shelf in my bookshelf/credenza falls a unique bit of my history. It is the only sports action photo that exists of me: Heights vs. Carson Newman freshman team, October 1960, tie game 6-6,. This was the third quarter. Number 30 is me. i, along with the guy behind the ball carrier (unidentified) and number 82, Greg Hill, made a gang tackle on the sideline.

Ordinarily, that photo would be here. But my app running my website, Go Daddy, does not like my scanner. Or my scanner doesn’t like my website. Or either one or both do not like this technilogically challenged old man. So i’m posting the photo along with this post on Facebook.

Regardless, it was a nice day rather than filling out feedback forms.

In June 1964, i received the form letter in my mailbox. My dismal grades from being in the wrong major and raising cane far too much…and perhaps not being bright enough, my NROTC scholarship was defunct. and i would have to go into the Navy as an enlisted sailor or enter the Naval Reserve.

Still not ready to accept defeat, i, with my parents financial support, signed up for the reserves in Nashville and would try to bring my grades up to a “C” average at Vandy in order to resume my college career. At the time, a flunkie had to wait an obligatory six months, the standing rule at the time, at least in Tennessee.

In August of that year, the second shoe stomped on my head. i had done well in the summer session taking drama, philosopy, and one of the best courses i ever had, British and American Fiction under Dr. Sullivan.

Unfortunately, i was required to take Statics, the engineering course i failed in the spring. i got it up to a “D” but the time i spent on that final exam pulled the other exams down just enough to miss my goal of a “C” average. This head stomping shoe was a letter was from Vanderbilt informing me i was no longer welcomed as a student.

The letter did not note that i had just missed making history of the dubious sort. That one “F” in Statics was the only “failed course” on my record. Had i made a “D” that spring rather than a retake, i would have been the first person to flunk out of that prestigious school without failing a course. Of course, i had chalked up 14 “D’s” over those four semesters. Oh, well.

It was time for me to look for a job. Then Major JB “Coach” Leftwich pulled out his magic wand and with the relationships he had established with The Nashville Tennesseean and Nashville Banner, i became the cub reporter and office boy in the Banner’s sports department.

Those nine months was an incredible school for sports writing, already my dream. Fred Russell taught me so much and became a big supporter for me. Waxo Green, George Leonard, and Mike Fleming escorted me through sports journalism. Bill Roberts, the crusty, old style, managing sports editor, took me through the mechanics and technical side of the business.

After those nine months, i was locked into pursuing sports journalism as a career.

Note: i have written of a great deal of this here before, but feel the info was a necessary preface to the rest of this post.

Then, i needed a place to stay. My previous time at Vandy had been in the dorms except that summer when i commuted from my parents’ home in Lebanon.

Fortunately, there were four Kappa Sigma brothers also looking for a place beyond dorm living. i think Gerry Peeples found the place. We moved into the 1920’s home near Vanderbilt in September 1963.

The house was huge with a winding staircase to the second floor with four bedrooms, two heads, and a kitchen, also unused. There was an unused large room on the story above where we once showed some movies. The basement was huge and where Terry led the effort to make beer, a lot of bad beer.

The four Vandy students had the upstairs bedrooms.

Since my new job required me to leave around five each morning, my bedroom was what once had been the study behind the formal dining room. There was a small bath in the hall with a shower. All of the doors downstairs were pocket doors.

The living room or salon in the front held our television. It became a gathering place.

Maple Manor became legendary. We would have parties after campus parties. Folks would come over and stay overnight, some because they shouldn’t or couldn’t leave. It was usual to find guys sleeping on the living room couch or the rug and even on the floor in the dining room. Once, there was a couple of guys sleeping on the dining room table.

It had been lived in by two old sisters and their mother for years. It was to be torn down the next year. It had a sparse maple tree in the small front yard. Naturally, we named it “Maple Manor.”

Oh, the stories that old house could tell. Fortunately, it is gone now.

So when our fraternity had its annual Star and Crescent Ball in early may, we had to have a formal photo of the Maple Manor gang of Johnny Henderson, Gerry Peeples, Terry Lindsay, Tom Chase, and the goofy one — the shorts were a tradition for the Kappa Sigmas to wear at the annual gala.

A month after this, i restarted my college. i went to Middle Tennessee State College (it became Middle Tennessee State University while i was there). i majored in English and excelled, going straight through while commuting with mostly Jimmy Hatcher and several others, getting home at noon, and holding down three jobs, mostly as a deejay for WCOR AM & FM and as a county and sports correspondent for the Banner.

i think the photo shows i hadn’t grown up. i am not too sure if i have reached that level of maturity yet.