Providence

The three students I was assigned to work with were all perplexed when I walked up. They were not puzzled about me, they were in the middle of decorating one of the school’s display booths in the Ladies Home Demonstration Building for the upcoming 1967 Stone County fair and had encountered a problem. They were covering the last side panel of the booth with wide, white butcher block paper and had just come to the end of their allotted roll. It appeared they were going to be about three feet shy of what was needed to finish the job.

Front page of the October 12, 1967, Stone County Enterprise announcing the upcoming county fair.
(From newspapers.com)

Just a few minutes before, I had been sitting in my afternoon Mississippi History class, waiting for Coach Roberts to get started, when a student worker came to the door and announced that I was to report to the principal’s office. “Bring your books,” she said. That caused a visceral reaction in my gut. It also created a buzz among the rest of the students. Was I in trouble? Surely not. Was there some family emergency at home? Lord, I hope not. As an awkward 9th-grader, just five or six weeks into my first year at Stone High School, I couldn’t think of any other possibilities, not any good ones, at least.

In the hallway, just before I reached the office, Mrs. Moore, my algebra teacher, met me and explained that she had cleared it so that I was dismissed from my afternoon classes to go over to the fairgrounds to help with the work there. She said that there were some students already there and that they would fill me in with the details. I recognized the names as she told me who they were. Two girls and a boy—one of the girls, a junior, was a cheerleader and the other girl and the boy were both seniors and both members of the student council. Though I had seen them on campus, I didn’t actually know them. And I was pretty darn sure they didn’t know my name or the first thing about me.  

As I walked off campus and across the 300 yards or so of an unused over-grown pasture, following an old path that led to the fairgrounds out on Highway 26, I began to think that I’d rather be back in class. Actually, what I’d druther would be to be back at good ol’ Home School in Big Level where I had been so comfortable for my first eight years of school, back where I knew everyone and felt so nurtured and safe. What was I going to say to these upperclassmen? I was just a freshman, not yet 14 years old; how was I going to help them? Would they even want my assistance? I felt so out of place.

The building was astir with activity when I walked in, with several small groups working on all sides. There were other students and several adults constructing and setting up various displays and performing other projects. There were sounds of hammering and sawing. There was laughter and light-hearted chatter. Among all this activity, I spotted my group at one of the booths in the middle of the floor. My initial feelings of timidity were immediately heightened—not only were they older and knew each other, but they had already been working on this project for some time, maybe for a couple of hours or more. And, as I suspected, they didn’t seem to know me and they made no move to include me in the work at hand. So, I stood there awkwardly.

The cheerleader said, “Maybe we can get some more paper from the school office.” The other girl said, “I don’t think we’ve got enough time for that; we’re supposed to be finished before school’s out today.” The boy said, “I’ll go ask one of these other groups if they any paper to spare.”

As quickly as I saw the problem the solution to their predicament popped into my head. “Wait, why don’t we do this,” I said, surprising myself that I even spoke up. I then quickly demonstrated how we could take that remaining sheet of paper and starting with one end back a bit, we could let the other end fold over that 45-degree angle up front, thereby having just enough to cover the whole side panel. It was so simple; why didn’t they see it?

I’ll never forget the look of amazement on their faces. Likewise, I’ll never forget what came next. The boy said, “Well, Mrs. Moore said he was good.”

Whoa! What did he just say? Did Mrs. Moore let them know I was coming and did she actually preface it by saying that I was good? What was she basing that on? Had she seen something in the short time I’d been in her algebra class that caused her to recognize qualities in me that I wasn’t even aware of?

Okay, in actuality, Helen Moore and her husband, Rit, were long-time members of Paramount Church in Big Level where my family and grandparents were members. Though our families were not close, maybe she had seen something earlier in my childhood years. What it could have been, I guess I’ll never know. But I do know that I took, and exceled in, fours years of high school math, as well as chemistry and physics, never shying away from those advanced courses because Mrs. Moore said I was good and she and my other teachers believed I could do it. I even learned how to use a slide rule because Mrs. Moore said it would be essential in the courses she knew I was going take in college.

When I was at Delta State University, something similar occurred. I was in my last semester of undergraduate studies in business management and had already sent out dozens of résumés in hopes of landing a corporate position with a large or medium-sized company. My efforts, however, hadn’t yielded a single interview or even the hint of one. Then, out of the blue one day Dr. Owens, my major professor, stopped me after his class and asked if I’d signed up to take the GMAT, the admissions test to enter a gradate program in business administration. He said he thought I would do well in the coursework and that an MBA degree would give me a leg up in a job search. With no other prospects lined up, I decided to give it a try. He even addressed my financial concerns by securing a graduate assistantship for me.

A year later, June 1976, I was finishing my last full semester of grad school, with only a couple of courses to take in the summer term. On the day after I sat for the oral exam for my master’s degree, Dr. Owens called and asked me to come by his office. Upon my arrival, he said, “After you did so well on your orals yesterday, the other professors and I were discussing a request from the business department chair at Northwest Junior College asking if we had any good candidates to recommend for an instructor’s position that just came open. Well, Mr. Lott, everyone at the table said you would be a great choice. And I agree.”

Dang! Is this real? Did he really just say that? I had never considered teaching before. The prospect scared me and I told him so. My youth being one of my big concerns. He said, “Mr. Lott, I’ve seen you stand before my class giving reports and case-problem analyses and you conduct yourself very well. Dr. Tanner and Dr. Rico have both said similar things. I think you’ll be a fine teacher.” Here again, this was a case where he and my other professors apparently saw something in my potential, in my aptitude and temperament, that I could not see for myself. I told him I would go home and talk it over with my wife. The next morning I couldn’t wait to let him know that I’d like to be considered for the opening. Using one of his pet phrases, he said, “Mighty fine! I’ll call right now and set it up.” Thus I stepped into the college classroom at tender age of 22 and commenced a 40-plus-year career in higher education. I’ll have to say there were occasions in those early semesters when I struggled to stay ahead of some of my students. I had to remind myself of Dr. Owens’ and Mrs. Moore’s words. I didn’t always lead with those thoughts, but I’ve forever held them close to heart.

Looking back at these episodes and the providential impact these two individuals made upon my life, I’m amazed there have been so many other times when certain individuals unexpectedly burst into my little bubble of mediocrity at just the right time with just the right words of encouragement, finding within me that which gave me reason to see myself in a new and more confident way. I wouldn’t be the person I am today without those affirming gestures and guiding influences.

It saddens me somewhat that I didn’t let Dr. Owens and Mrs. Moore know how much their kinds words and belief in me helped to mold my sense of self-worth. At least, I didn’t say it in words—I regret that. However, maybe I didn’t have to. Just as they were able to sense my need for affirmation at critical times in my life, maybe they were also able to sense my gratitude as they followed my later successes.

Helen Redmond Moore, 1923-2011
(Photo from the 1967 Stone High School yearbook)

Lawton K. Owens, 1919-2000
(Photo from the 1976 Delta State University yearbook.)

Every person needs someone—several someones—in their life to recognize what they have to offer and to tell them that they can be somebody, that they are somebody. Throughout my years at the college, I had many opportunities to provide encouraging words and helpful advice and to write letters of recommendation for my students. I would like to think that what I had to say made a lasting positive impact on the direction of their lives. The fact that I still hear from and maintain friendships with some of my former students, a few of whom are regular readers of My Back Pages, tells me that maybe I did.

A WORD TO PONDER

prov·i·dence (noun): God or nature as providing protective or spiritual care; providing timely preparation for future eventualities.
merriam-webster.com

SONG OF THE DAY

“(What a) Wonderful World” by Art Garfunkel, featuring James Taylor and Paul Simon (Watermark, 1977)

A beautiful but little-known cover of Sam Cooke’s classic 1960 original.