The weekend before last Thanksgiving, Melanie and I drove to New Orleans to attend my 50th college reunion at Xavier University in New Orleans.  In freezing rain and snow, we were compelled to drive no more than forty-five miles per hour between South Bend and Indianapolis.  Along the way, we saw cars stranded in ditches.  Several miles earlier, one of those had sped breezily past us.  We were well into Kentucky before we able to drive at normal highway speeds.

Before and during the drive down, I had ample time to reflect on my college years, 1964-68.  Since I had spent most of my high school years in seminary in the Hudson Valley, I had no clue about what to pursue as a major.  My mother wisely suggested that I study what I enjoyed, noting that success would follow. I had always enjoyed reading and the power of words, so I decided to major in French language and literature. The rest is history.  Now in retirement, after a successful career in academic administration and teaching at two Catholic and two public universities,  I consider myself fortunate.   Over the years, I’ve thanked my mother for her priceless advice.  When I expressed my gratitude to her for the very last time during my Thanksgiving visit, she smiled meekly.  I knew then that her time to leave us was nearing.  Several weeks later shortly after the New Year, we returned to New Orleans for her funeral. She was buried the day after what would have been her ninety-third birthday.

As an undergraduate, I was addicted to the smooth rocking Motown tunes of Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, the Temptations,  Martha and the Vandellas, Diana Ross and the Supremes.   The raw, bluesy soul music of Otis Redding, Wilson Pickett, Percy Sledge and Jackie Wilson thrilled me.   We danced the Bunny Hop, the Hitchhike, the Twist, the Locomotion, the Monkey, the Limbo , the Hucklebuck, the Mashed Potato, and the Jerk .  We imitated the gyrations of James Brown.  And in New Orleans-style, we did the Alligator, a sexually suggestive dance of writhing bodies hovering just over the floor boards.  And of course, when the trumpet hit the high note, we danced gleefully the inimitable traditional Second Line to the tune of “When the Saints Go Marching In.”  Etta James , Gene Chandler and  Jerry Butler sang mournful ballads as we moved slowly, rigidly in place,  with our dates.  American Bandstand was on the wane and Soul Train on the rise. Saturday night dances at the Barn (Xavier’s gym) with music by the Royal Dukes of Rhythm , were jam packed with sweating bodies.

But those years of collegiate mirth were years of intense civil unrest.  All across the South, citizens of all races and ethnic groups marched in protests against odious racial injustice.  On TV screens, Americans watched in horror the burning buses of the Freedom Riders, the brutal beatings by police of civil rights workers and the eruption of riots in inner cities.  We mourned the slayings of Goodman, Schwerner, and Cheney, of Medgar Evers and Martin Luther King, Jr, and then Bobby Kennedy.  America was in turmoil over the Vietnam War; the Women’s Movement too was taking root in the struggle for equality.  Martin Luther King’s vision of of a beloved community in America was shattered by his tragic murder in 1968. As cities burned, I remember Bobby Kennedy’s comforting words in Indianapolis as he urged black Americans not to seek revenge while recalling his own brother’s tragic murder.  At Xavier’s Barn, the student body gathered in prayer as we listened to then dean of students, Norman Francis, urging us not to give up hope, reminding us too of our responsibility to continue Dr. KIng’s dream of  living in a society where we would be judged by our character, not by the color of our skin.

Much has happened in the span of those fifty years.  The Class of 1968 did fulfill Dr. King’s dream of extraordinary achievement for black people as we became leaders and high achievers in our respective professional and personal lives.  As we met and basked in fellowship, in telling and re-telling of events and stories, we were painfully aware, in thought and words unspoken that our nation within the last two years has regressed shamefully in its progress toward racial harmony and justice.  Notwithstanding, we were  happy to see each other, our friendships rekindled as if the span of time were non-existent. Remarkably, age has been kind to us.  Our septennial bodies relatively still in good form.  

The weekend began with a Friday night social with music by a DJ. Since no one was dancing, Melanie and I suggested ballroom dance tunes for him to play. Our foxtrots, waltzes, and tangos delighted those in attendance. Even the DJ came over to show his appreciation and thanked us.  Festivities continued throughout the weekend with small gatherings, lunches, basketball game, campus homecoming and cookout, evening banquet and finally with Mass celebrated in the beautiful St. Katherine Drexel Chapel.  Replete with African style dances, gospel hymns and a spirited sermon by the celebrant, who was an undergrad during my time at as dean of arts and sciences at Xavier, the Mass was a joyful celebration.

There’s not much to remember about our college graduation. There were the usual pomp and circumstance, the parade of graduates on stage receiving diplomas, the requisite congratulatory handshake from the president of the university and the awarding of honorary degrees . But I do recall one remark by the commencement speaker.  Since our generation viewed anyone over  thirty as “over the hill” and  not to be trusted, he reminded us that we would soon be “over the hill.”  We chuckled. Young, vibrant, and eager to make our mark on the world, we thought thirty years of age seemed eons away.  I’ve recounted this story countless times to undergraduates over the years, always eliciting laughter.

I am deeply grateful for the education  I received at Xavier, the only black Catholic university in the western hemisphere.  It was there that my love of the humanities and the arts was nurtured.  As a child, books were my friends.  Every week during the summer I visited the bookmobile for Coloreds, usually parked under a large shady tree in my elementary schoolyard.  Mrs.  Roussève, the librarian, always eager to see me, suggested books, typically history and biographies.  I read insatiably.  At the end of each summer, I received a certificate noting the number of books I had read.

One of my memorable courses as a freshman was an interdisciplinary course, Humanities 101,  that blended literature, the arts, philosophy and science.  Each week in the campus auditorium, a professor from various disciplines lectured.  It was this seminal course that has had the most profound impact on both my personal and professional life.  It set in motion the basis of my intellectual rigor, my moral foundation and the way I conduct my life.

My language courses with Dr. Baisier, Sr. Augusta and Dr. Mace were pure joy.  Most of the students were women.  They were equally bright and beautiful.  They challenged me and I had to work hard to keep up.  I remember fondly Helena, Myra, Penny, Elise, Eileen.  Among them, only Penny and Myra came to our fiftieth reunion.  We shared stories and laughter about our favorite professors.  Since Dr. Mace’s literature classes were entirely in Spanish, I tried, much to his vexation, to secretly record his lectures.  He, on the other hand, preferred that I listen attentively and take notes.  Dr. Baisier, a French Resistance fighter, always serious in the classroom, spoke an elegant Parisian French, but would often revert to English.  When we began as freshmen, Xavier was entirely black in its student composition, and the majority of faculty, including the nuns,  were white.  They were devoted to us and firmly committed to making a difference in our lives.  They believed in our moral, social and intellectual development during a time when our country was struggling to consider black and white people as equals.  Thank you St. Katherine Drexel and the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament.

Xavier University of Louisiana and I share an indelible bond.  Wave her colors, bear them onward/Gold and White so true!  Hail XU!