David Michael Burrow

University of Southern Mississippi (Part 6)

Cheerleading was only one of numerous camps the college sponsored during the summer. They had every kind of sports camp imaginable. Every week three or four groups of kids would invade campus for special training in football, basketball, soccer, weightlifting, horseback riding, archery, volleyball, track and field, or baseball. They also had computer camp, marine biology camp, forestry camp, space camp (in conjunction with the NASA facility on the Coast), drama camp, band camp, and a special camp just for drum majors. ... I had never known so many summer camps existed--and none of them had anything to do with camping.

* * * * *

The camps have to be a goldmine for the university. These kids (or more likely their parents) paid from $200 to $1,000 for the privilege of spending a week or two in a dorm that would otherwise be empty. They eat the standard food service fare, and they are supervised and instructed mostly by college undergrads who earn minimum wage for their work. In addition to the registration fees, the kids spend a small fortune on T-shirts and other souvenirs at the campus bookstore, and they drop any extra money they might have in vending machines and video games--all of which are owned and operated by the university. ...

* * * * *

There's three other things I should mention in these random ramblings. First, at the end of July I participated in a special workshop called Project Wild. This is a program that trains teachers to incorporate conservation and ecology into all fields of the curriculum. I had a lot of fun at the workshop, and I learned quite a bit; although I can't say that much of it is directly adaptable to my own classes.

Also, just before leaving USM, Sandra and I (together with nine other SPGE students) were inducted into Phi Delta Kappa, a special honor society in education. It's really not as much of an honor as it seems, but I was certainly pleased to be invited. ... I'm a bit prouder about this membership than such stupid honoraries as "Purple Arrow" or "Chimes" at UNI.

The final thing is sort of stupid, but it's what everyone noticed when I got back to Algona. My hair grew lighter over the summer--partly from spending so much time on the beach and partly with some help. ... It surprised me that while the change was very gradual over the summer, when I got home everyone noticed a pretty dramatic difference.

Finals Week -- August 3 -- 7
As August came it was time for finals and an end to this summer. The summer ended with one last week that combined fun with tests.

* * * * *

In my rush to finish the curriculum project, I never really had time to study for my Number Theory final. I was dreading this, since in the last week of class we had covered four chapters--after covering only one all the rest of the summer. Fortunately the final (which I had bright and early Monday morning) went into no more depth than we had in class. In fact, I found it a surprisingly easy test, at least compared with the rest of the course. ...

My only other "final" on Monday was a farce in the curriculum class. We were required to attend, but there was no actual test. Instead we turned in our projects, listened to one last presentation ..., and had pizza and pop. While I wasnt going to complain about not having a test, it did bother me that after a whole summer, I really had no idea how I did in the course.

Tuesday morning I took my other math final. It was largely an essay exam on the history of mathematics. That came as a bit of a surprise, but it was no real problem. It amused me that after boring us to tears all summer, "Dr. Sominex" seemed to reward us by being absent for the final.

That afternoon I took my final in Research. All of Dr. Davidson's tests were multiple choice tests, where we filled out "Scantron" answer sheets. The tests weren't exactly hard, but they were tricky. They were designed so that if you didn't know your stuff, you would miss the questions. Fortunately for me, his was one of those classes where the lectures were far more important than the book. I've never been able to learn much from reading, but I listen well and take notes effectively.

* * * * *

Tuesday night Roy, Sandra, and I took a break from academic pursuits. We all went to the movie "Robin Hood" and later we went out to Cuco's, a combination bar and Mexican restaurant near campus. Roy was leaving the next morning. ... We wished him well and had a pleasant evening reminiscing about the summer. ... We had become extremely close friends, and even though we would probably be meeting again next year, it was sad to have to say good-bye.

I spent most of the day Wednesday packing and cleaning my room. In the midday I made trip after trip down the fire escape (which was technically illegal, but nobody cared) out to my car, ... carrying boxes and bags filled to overflowing. I was amazed that I could stuff so much into my car. I had brought far too much stuff with me, and it seemed as if I was taking twice as much back home. Somehow, though, I managed to get it all to fit.

The check-out policy at Wilber was bizarre. We were only allowed to check out at times that were convenient to the resident assistant. I was hoping to leave early the following morning, but my R.A. had told me she would not be available until 9:00am. She also wouldn't allow me to clean out everything and check out the night before, and then just leave my key as I left. It turned out the only real choice was to check out during the day on Wednesday, get a motel for the night, and then take off from the motel the next morning. I finally left Wilber about 2:00 and got a room at the Motel 6, about a mile north of campus. At $20.95, the Hattiesburg outlet is in a three-way tie for the cheapest Motel 6 in America. It was, however, a surprisingly pleasant motel with a quiet, clean, and comfortable room. I resented having to pay for a motel room, but $20.95 beat forfeiting my $50 housing deposit for improper check-out.

My only remaining final was Wednesday night, and this was the one that concerned me most. We had been assigned almost two thousand pages of reading in "Foundations of American Education". While I had skimmed all of it, every time I tried to read anything in detail, it all just seemed to blur. I had paid close attention in class, but the final was supposed to be primarily about the readings.

To force myself to study, I spent most of the afternoon by myself at a Krystal restaurant near the Motel 6. I took my Foundations books and notes and spent hours outlining the major topics. I still didnt know much of any details, but at least I had the basic concepts down.

The Foundations test was by far the hardest of my finals, but in a way I lucked out. It was all essay, and I've always been able to do well on essay tests. (Just call me Mr. B.S.) She also gave us a choice of questions, so I was able to avoid the topics I knew the least about. I spent over three hours writing, but I was pretty certain I had done a good job in the end.

* * * * *

Sandra and I had arranged to get together one last time before we left, and at about ten o'clock we met at Cuco's. She had a couple rum and cokes, while I had the classic New Orleans drink--a hurricane (an extremely strong rum punch that locals say "blows you away" like its namesake). Rum is the drink of New Orleans, and the Hattiesburg bars all play on their proximity to New Orleans.

Our bartender at Cuco's this night, as well as most of the ... other times we were there, was Scott--a USM undergrad who had just turned twenty-one, who already had a wife and child. He flattered all of us by assuming we were much younger than we were (he never really did believe that Sandra had a son his age--and, of course, she's actually got kids far older than him, too) and he was more than willing to strike up an intelligent conversation. ... We ... talked about our various lives, and it was especially interesting for me to hear about the trials and tribulations of bartending. This night Scott was complaining about people who paid for their drinks with coins. We joked with him and threatened to come back the first night we were there next summer and buy a round of drinks with nickels. Scott was amused, and he responded by writing out a coupon for us on the back of an old guest check. It said (all the problems with spelling, punctuation, and capitalization are his alone):

I kept the "cupon", and I've been saving up "nickles" ever since. I seriously doubt that Scott will still be working at Cuco's next summer, but if he is, we will be prepared.

We left the bar before the midnight curfew and said a very long farewell. Neither of us really wanted to leave, but we were both planning to take off early the next morning. Eventually I did go back to the motel and Sandra returned to her dorm (they were nicer about check-out at Hillcrest). I watched a bit of TV and finally wandered off to sleep.

Thursday, August 8, 1991
Hattiesburg, Mississippi -- Texarkana, USA

Since I still had a bit of time before I had to be back in Algona, I decided to take a round-about way home. I left the Motel 6 about 6:00am, had breakfast at that same Krystal where I had studied, and drove up Highway 49 to Jackson one last time. ...

I headed west from Jackson and crossed the Mississippi at Vicksburg and then headed north to the Poverty Point Historic Area. I had visited Poverty Point (an ancient city that was home to one of the earliest civilizations in the Americas) on my vacation last summer. I had noted that they had a series of trails, but I didn't take the time to hike them at that point. I decided that today I would take whatever time I needed to hike the trails at Poverty Point.

... I saw both undisturbed mounds and recent archaeological excavations. I also followed two nature trails that passed through forest, swamp, and prairie. While I was forever wiping up sweat, I really did have an enjoyable time.

Just past Poverty Point is the town of Transylvania, which displays a bat on its watertower and exists primarily to sell souvenirs to passersby. I was taken in, and I ended up buying a Dracula T-shirt, a mug, and some postcards. ...

I drove northward from Transylvania on U.S. 65. ... I went through Lake Providence ... and then crossed into Arkansas just south of Eudora. I picked up state highway 8 (one of the poorest excuses for a road I've ever seen) and drove west to Hamburg, where I joined U.S. 82 for the rest of the day.

Highway 82 is billed as scenic, and it's not an unpleasant drive. It goes through Crosett (pronounced like the thing you do to a "t"--"CROSS it"), a company town that lives and breathes paper. Then it wends its way through El Dorado (duh-RAY-duh), which happens to be Dr. Davidson's hometown. [With apologies to him,] there are few places I've ever been to that look more poverty-stricken than El Dorado. It's one of the most ugly, disgusting towns I've ever seen. The whole place seems to be either boarded up, shot up, or both. "Poor white trash" is about the only way I can describe the people here, and I have no idea what any of them do for money. Mostly they seem to just hang around drinking beer all day. There seems to be no real industry, and Im not sure there ever was much in the way of any business. I went through town on the business route, hoping to stop somewhere for coffee or pop, but there was nowhere I'd have felt safe stopping. El Dorado isn't one of those places I'd say must have been nice in its day. It doesn't look like it ever really knew good times; nor does it seem to hold out much hope that things will ever get better.

West of El Dorado is Magnolia (four syllables: "mag-NO-lee-uh"), where the headquarters of the Heifer Project charity is located. My Uncle Bill has been very actively involved with Heifer Project, and my father went down to Magnolia with him a couple of times before he died. I remember my dad talking about wanting to retire down there. After seeing El Dorado, I couldnt imagine what must have been going through the man's mind, but Magnolia was surprisingly different. It's really quite a prosperous community, set in mixed forest and farmland. There's active business both downtown and on the edge of town, and the houses seem quite well kept.

I stopped for coffee and ice cream at McDonalds in Magnolia. I was wearing my Hawkeye baseball cap (now full of sweat stains), which was becoming quite a conversation piece. Earlier in the day, in Transylvania, someone had noticed it and told me they had friends in Perry. Here in Magnolia the McDonalds clerk asked if I was from Iowa and told me she had "relations" in Clinton. ... Another customer at McDonalds asked if I knew where Morning Sun was. He could hardly believe that I had grown up just south of there, in Mt. Pleasant. He had apparently worked at a packing plant in Morning Sun before being transferred to Arkansas ... and was engaged to a reporter from the Mount Pleasant News. ...

A little ways past Magnolia I crossed the Red River. I couldn't help but sing a chorus of "Red River Valley", and I also couldn't help but notice that the geography changed almost immediately. I was no longer in the South, but rather at the eastern edge of the West. The forest thinned out rapidly, and the Arkansas hills gave way to high red plains. Instead of logging trucks, I saw oil wells and cattle. ...

* * * * *

My destination tonight was Texarkana, that city that straddles the line between Texas and Arkansas. Technically there are two cities here, but no one differentiates between Texarkana, Texas, and Texarkana, Arkansas. ...

Texarkana is a nice little city that could be a medium-sized, middle class city absolutely anywhere in America. It has a downtown thats struggling, but still managing to get by, a variety of suburban strips (some nice, and some tacky), and residential neighborhoods ranging from elegant to slightly seedy. ...

State Line Avenue is the main street in Texarkana. This is about the only place where you can tell you're on a border. Most noticeable is that Bowie County, Texas, is dry, while Miller County, Arkansas, allows booze. Both sides of State Line Avenue are lined with business, but all the liquor stores, bars, gas stations, and supermarkets are in Arkansas. The Texas side features discount stores, banks, and fast food joints.

I had dinner in Texarkana at a fast food place ... called "Whataburger". ... I ended up having a meatball fajita (I figured when in Texas, --). I had to wait forever for it, but it really was delicious. ...

* * * * *

FRIDAY, AUGUST 9, 1991
Texarkana, USA -- Lexena, Kansas

I left Texarkana before sunrise. It rained as I drove down Interstate 30 (which they treat as a six-lane highway--four lanes, plus shoulders), driving for the first time in Texas. It was just getting light when I reached Mount Pleasant, Texas, where I turned off onto U.S. 271. ...

* * * * *

I drove north from Paris to Hugo, Oklahoma, where I got on the Indian Nation Turnpike. The road was absolutely empty, and I was in the right mood for a little bit of craziness, so I joined the locals in driving as fast as my car would go. ...

I got off the turnpike and stopped for gas at McAlester. This time the clerk had relatives in Sioux City. I got on U.S. 69 ... and headed north to Muskogee. I drove onward ... to ... Vinita, where I stopped for lunch.

Vinita is one of those places that rings a bell for the Burrow family. Almost twenty years ago my sister Margaret took a group of her Spanish students to Mexico. My mother and my brother Paul went along on the trip. On the way back they ran into a blizzard on the Oklahoma Turnpike, and their bus got stranded in Vinita. My mother told stories about a pleasant little hotel that put them up--mostly in the lobby--and a little cafe that served them hot chocolate in the middle of the storm. She would also tell us every detail about the friendly people she met there. (My mother could strike up a conversation with Godzilla and say he was friendly.) I had thought of Vinita while watching "Bus Stop" this summer (there are remarkable similarities in the plot), so I decided the town was a "must see" on the way back home.

Vinita today is small-town anywhere. It reminded me a lot of Maquoketa, where John and Janet live. The towns main claim to fame is its location on Old Route 66, almost exactly halfway from Chicago to Los Angeles. ... The town itself has about 5,000 people, and it's about as typical of a county seat as you could ever expect to find. The people are friendly and wholesome, and almost everyone seems to enjoy living here.

I saw the building that had to have been the hotel where Margaret's group had been stranded. The ground floor is law offices today; the rest is vacant. There was also no cafe downtown, but I did find a Hardees that I was delighted to find served the same menu they do in Iowa. ... I had a leisurely lunch (watching people and imagining how my mother would describe them) and then set off again.

I went west and then north from Vinita, eventually picking up U.S. 169. ... I crossed into Kansas at the town of Coffeyville. They must have had a tornado through here not long ago; everything in town is brand new. I was surprised at how many blacks there were in southeast Kansas. It's the only place I've ever seen prosperous black farmers. ...

I headed westward from Coffeyville, stopping briefly near the town of Wayside. This was the site of the "little house on the prairie" where Laura Ingalls Wilder lived. There's not much to see (a reproduction of a rather generic log cabin, an old schoolhouse, and a barn--none of which was there when Laura was), but now I can say I've been there.

I followed highway 75 ... to Independence, Neodesha, and Burlington, before joining interstate 35 at the town of Olivet. ... From there I drove onward to the Kansas City area.

CONTINUED IN PART SEVEN

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