[September 19, 2024] Arriving at the Texas Tech University campus in early May of 1970, this would be the first time I’d ever been away from home for more than a few days since Boy Scout Camp. College was about to become a doozie of an adventure, beginning with my first day checking into Gordon Hall, one of the oldest and non-air conditioned student residential buildings on campus, maybe the oldest. Under the bunk beds, written in pencil, was graffiti saying “Screw Truman,” the U.S. president when the dormitory was built.
The campus of “Tech,” as we called it, was majestic and huge. On my first trip to Lubbock, traveling north on US Route 87, a monster sandstorm enveloped the city. On campus, the university provided buses that ran various routes so students could get from one class to another. The area was clean and free of trash, with flowers and large trees everywhere. It seemed as if the semi-arid climate couldn’t keep the fauna back. Most impressive were the massive buildings that housed a student population of about 40,000, plus another 15,000 faculty and staff. It was awesome. I felt out of place being at such a glorious university.
I’d arrived with all my worldly possessions, consisting of a tan Lincoln De Lux suitcase, loaned to me by my Dad, containing my entire clothing line. It also had one threadbare towel that Mom had sowed my name on, twin bed sheets, toiletries, an old dictionary, a metal slide rule recently purchased, the last of my savings of $47, a pencil and one spiral notebook. I would live with that suitcase until I was in my 40s, and my wife would then secretly and purposely throw it out.
My roommate was a tall fellow from El Paso, Texas, a Mathematics major in his junior year and the son of a Texas Ranger, a highly regarded statewide law enforcement agency. J.J. was a third-generation Texas Tech student and proud of it. He had cleverly arrived before me and taken the best bed, drawers, and desk. Yep, first come, first get.
Arriving first and being a junior, he also had first dibs on the telephone that hung on the wall, a black rotary dial. He was tall and thin and wore a straw cowboy hat and boots to class. Unfortunately for me, he was also a high-energy young man – older than me by a couple of years – who stayed up late studying and calling his other college friends for help with unsolved math problems.
The good news was that he lived close enough to drive every weekend to spend time on his uncle’s cattle ranch. He had an uppity girlfriend from somewhere out on the Yankee East Coast; I think it was New York City or Boston. She was an odd phenomenon all by herself, and she thought college Freshmen, which I was at the time, were dweebs to look down upon.
I didn’t like her, but she came by our dorm room often enough that I was not getting on my roommate’s wrong side by saying something to her. She sure made up for what she lacked in charm and manners by being a hot mess. Other guys on our dorm floor stared at her whenever she was there, dressing provocatively in tight, tight shorts. And she knew it. She also walked in a cloud of perfume and cigarette smoke, enough to make the cockroaches that patrolled the hallways run away.
This event was 64 years ago, and I clearly remember trying to get up the courage to tell my roommate that his girlfriend was playing the field with other guys in our dormitory. “Girls” were not allowed on the men’s dormitory floor. If the girl was cute, like my roommate’s girl, we would ignore that rule.
Two of my friends were to attend that summer at Texas Tech with me but backed out when they didn’t have enough money. Fortunately, I had saved for three years working multiple jobs – some were fun and certainly educational – like being a gas jockey. There was one incident where two wayward robbers tried to steal from Mr. Amato, who owned a gas station in Abilene. Even I knew better than to try to pull something as brazen as that off against an Italian immigrant. I loved that guy; he taught me more than I would ever have learned in college. And that’s a fact.
One day, J.J.’s girlfriend asked me to read one of her English class book reports on the book “Fahrenheit 451,” which was later released as a film directed by François Truffaut. I didn’t have the heart to tell her the report was rubbish – I couldn’t even follow what she was trying to say – and her English composition was grade-school level. She must have had a brain freeze the day before as she threw random words onto paper. “Yeah, looks good to me,” I said. I do hope she eventually forgave me for that white lie I told her.
After her professor read it, I’m sure there must have been a one-way “conversation” about who should be in college and who might think about a different path in life. She was probably looking for her MRS Degree anyway, like so many blonds that found college life so exciting and picking smart men to get engaged to. The engagement ring meant a lot to these young women. Later, I asked myself why a gold digger was after J.J., a Mathematics major. Oh, yeah.
What I remember most about the Freshman Trigonometry Class I took that summer was the Pakistani female grad student teaching the course, who barely spoke fluent English and tried to pronounce math-essential words like “perpendicular.” It took my class two weeks to figure out what she was saying. Thank goodness for my high school Trigonometry teacher for teaching me the basics.
I took the college course to help me acclimate to college life and give a nice boost to my GPA. And J.J. was there to run a self-help study group for us, where we spent a significant amount of time translating heavily accented sentences. I passed with an “A,” unlike the rest of the poor souls, many who failed.
Some of my newly found college friends ordered a whole bunch of cheese pizzas for our English Literature study group. Cramming a dozen guys – yep, all guys – into one of the group’s dorm rooms and then expecting anything remotely similar to studying might have been a bridge too far.
And this is where my reckless avoiding of public education came flying back to haunt me. I was keenly aware the highest grade I had ever got in high school English was a marginal pass, and that would be a predictor of my future success. Anyhow, inspired by a bunch of scared Texans, we stuck it out for three hours a day, Monday to Thursday. Hey, I don’t want to spoil a few days off by trying to pass a required but unnecessary course. And by a miracle, I passed again, but marginally.
Shortly after arriving at school, I volunteered to help out cooking in a soup kitchen and met my first college girlfriend, all while helping feed hundreds who we affected by the dual tornadoes that ripped through Lubbock. That is a story for another day.
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NOTE: See all my letters here: https://www.theleadermaker.com/granddaughter-letters/
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Please read my books:
While our journey with Gen. Satterfield looks to be coming to an end after more than a year of these letters, I do want to let him know that I thoroughly enjoyed all his letters and wish him the best with developing these into a book. Now a quick suggestion of mine would be to put these in chronological order and build them into something that would be valuable – valuable life lessons – for all young men and women. Now, many will say that these letters represent times that are long past and no longer useful. But that is not true. Humans are humans and our very nature does not change. Just because we have to adapt to new technologies and learn to avoid different types of dangers does not change us as real people. There will always be, for example, those that cannot defend themselves and Gen. Satterfield has clearly written that it is our moral obligation to defend them. Support life and support a good life too. Special thanks to Gen. Satterfield for his teaching us about his early life.
Someone commented earlier that if you read his book “55 Rules for a Good Life” and these letters that a parallel will immediately jump out at you. And as it should be. Because it tells of those things that make for a good life and we are seeing them spelt out here. Gen Satterfield is an American Patriot and learning about him is a good in and of itself. God Bless, Gen. Satterfield and God Bless America.
https://www.theleadermaker.com/why-im-an-american-patriot/
Gen. Satterfield, thank you for your letter today – #94 in a series of 100 – and me wishing you do not stop at 100. I’m enjoying these letters and am hooked on them.
Anytime I see the header “Letters to….”, I immediately go to that article and I’m never disappointed.
These letters are a long story of the life and times of Gen. Doug Satterfield as a boy growing up during a turbulent time in America. It should be required reading of all children, not just us and Gen. Satterfield’s granddaughter.
Yes, and lovely written for all to read and enjoy and learn from.
The point, I guess, that many here are trying to make is that these letters are much more than entertainment or seeing how Gen. Satterfield grew up in the deep south. These letters tell the story of a young, innocent boy who wanted to go his own way and do his own thing by being “free.” But he discovers that being free requires that he learn from others and learn quickly to be strong and stand up to those who are bullies and to learn to deal with the other tragedies of life. That is the real story and we can all appreciate the struggles he had, even though he claims to have been “rich” (not rich monetarily but family) and not having a truly hard life.
😉 Exactly right, Willie. 😜
Love the intro:
“Arriving at the Texas Tech University campus in early May of 1970, this would be the first time I’d ever been away from home for more than a few days since Boy Scout Camp. College was about to become a doozie of an adventure, beginning with my first day checking into Gordon Hall, one of the oldest and non-air conditioned student residential buildings on campus, maybe the oldest. Under the bunk beds, written in pencil, was graffiti saying “Screw Truman,” the U.S. president when the dormitory was built.” – Gen. Doug Satterfield
Wonderful
Beautiful
Lovely letter
I hope you continue writing these letters so that we can both better understand the Deep South (despite the putdowns we hear about it0 and how you were influenced by being brought up there (and becoming a man). For us to better understand what it took to build up a real man, now that is in itself a real story worth reading about.
Veronica, yep. thinking the same thing here. 👀
Thank you, Gen. Satterfield for this 94th love letter to your granddaughter, now sharing about when you were 17 years old and starting college.
I want to read more about this teaser, “Shortly after arriving at school, I volunteered to help out cooking in a soup kitchen and met my first college girlfriend, all while helping feed hundreds who we affected by the dual tornadoes that ripped through Lubbock. That is a story for another day.”
Yusaf, you and my readers will not have to wait too long.
👏👏👏👏👏 Great news.
Another letter that tells the story of a young boy growing up in the Deep South and becoming a man. I’m sure that Gen. Satterfield as a young boy (although this letter is about his first summer in college), was unprepared for what he found the real world to be. And college was not that first step. It was him learning how to fish and hunt and camp out in the woods and travel down rivers meeting other fishermen and seeing the sites and learning that mosquitoes bite and that your dad can actually teach you a lot more than perhaps you thought.
ijore, great comment. 👏
❤😘😉✔👍🤷♀️🤞💋😊✌🤷♂️✨😜🤣👏😎👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀
Thank you sir for another wonderful letter to your granddaughter. I’ll be sharing this one with my sisters.
❤ Whenever I see “Letters to My Granddaughter,” I immediately click on the link. ❤
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And here we are with another love letter, of sorts, and one that may not immediately resonate with his youngest granddaughter but will eventually. I sure hope that Gen. Satterfield continues with this series beyond the 100 that he promised us. BTW, be sure to get a copy of his books, the best one being “55 Rules for a Good Life” and you will be happy you got the book. Upon reading it, you will immediately begin to see parallels between that book and these letters. For it gives us an idea on how Gen.S devleoped his ideas and personality.
True enough, Jane. And I think most of us will concur with you about Gen. Satterfield’s book “55 rules for a good life” and many like me have a copy and enjoyed it. Plus, it is more than just ‘advice’ but also entertianment too. And easy reading.
This is why I read this blog daily from Gen. S. but also I have copies of his two books and hoping that he begins to write his 3rd book. Maybe he can create it from these letters. Just thinking. Now, I know others have made the same suggestion but I’m not going to let an opportunity pass us by, and will recommend it to him again. Thanks to everyone today for making comments about this letter.
Great book. Get your copy on Amazon and other media sites.
https://www.amazon.com/55-Rules-Good-Life-Responsibility/dp/1737915529/
It has become an ‘underground’ hit with many young folks.
Nice discussion about a great love letter.
BEAUTIFUL, thank you, Gen. Satterfield for another lovely letter to your granddaughter.
Indeed, u are right, Melissa. thanks.