From the day I was born until the day he died, my dad was intimately involved in the Millsaps College board. In retrospect, he was probably too young for the responsibilities given him. He paid a price for it, and so did we kids, but that was a different time, and he felt a genuine calling for it.
Of Millsaps College presidents, I heard about Ellis Finger my entire life (and still do), but I don't remember meeting him. If I had, I would have been in diapers. Dr. Graves, I only know by name. He wasn't there very long, and I don't recall ever meeting him. Again, I would have been pretty small.
The president I remember the most in my youth was Eddie Collins. He and my dad were about the same age, and his kids were about the same age as my brothers and me. My most constant playmate and classmate was his son, John. John had similar but less intense learning problems than I had. That was something we shared, although most of our classmates knew nothing of it.
Besides Millsaps, Dr. Collins and my dad had a lot of similar interests, so they became close friends. When my parents had dinner parties, Mr. and Mrs. Collins were there. Johnny Gore had me running drinks to the grown-ups I knew and breaking up ice bags for him.
There came a time when the school wasn't doing so well. In fact, we were in trouble. The board decided to replace Dr. Collins, and the job fell on my dad to tell him. It couldn't have been a pleasant task. We never discussed it, but I never again saw him socialize with somebody he might have to fire one day.
I don't remember any of their names, but I know there was a parade of guys vying for the open spot at the top of Millsaps. From early on, George Harmon distinguished himself. He had an idea to develop a program modeled on the Harvard Business school that would give Millsaps something to offer that no other school in the state offered. I'm sure, at the time, the idea sounded audacious. Millsaps, even then, called itself "the Harvard of the South," but everybody knew that was a reach. Trying to actually do something Harvard was already doing was quite a stretch.
Now, some forty-five years later, I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that every college in Mississippi would eventually copy the success of the Else School of Management. Just the other day, someone asked me why Millsaps was trying to imitate Belhaven's business school. I thought, "Brother, you got it all backward."
I don't know if I'd say this if he was still alive, but George Harmon was known for two things: being short and being stone-faced. I'm not gonna lie. Just a few inches taller than my Mom, George was pretty short. He was also one of the best athletes I ever knew. We both used the Downtown YMCA, and except for a few larger muscle group exercises like squat and deadlift, he could outdo me at just about every exercise. I used to watch him play handball. He'd invited me to play with him a few times, but I wasn't that dumb. He regularly buried men half his age, to the point where it got kind of difficult for him to find somebody to play with.
As to being stone-faced, he socialized differently from most folks. Because nobody got up that early, most students never knew that Dr. Harmon ate breakfast every day in the cafeteria at the biggest round table, he could find in hopes that students would come to sit with him, which they almost never did.
I tried to eat with him fairly regularly because I genuinely liked him and because the KA table was pretty much a ghost town in the morning. Conversations with Dr. Harmon were pretty formulaic. "How's your momma?" "She's fine." In those days, her health almost never changed. "Where's your daddy?" "He's in Washington on Chamber business." "Where's he eat when he goes there?" "There's a little greek place across the street from The Madison, where he stays." Inquiring as to one's relatives is a staple of Southern social interactions. Despite his reputation for coldness, Dr. Harmon was well-versed in our customs and niceties. That the answers never changed was immaterial; it was the asking that was important.
He had absolutely no interest in the fraternity life that dominated Millsaps. He recognized I was involved in it, but that's about it. Every so often, he'd see somebody and say, "Is he one of yall's?" "No, sir, he plays baseball. He's a Sig." In those days, sports were pretty evenly divided by greek-letter affiliation. The Pikes dominated soccer, The Sigs baseball, and only football was fairly well divided between the greeks. Unless you counted sports betting and pool, the KAs never really dominated any sports.
The only student who would regularly join us was David Biggers, who was as tight-lipped as Dr. Harmon. My pledge trainer, David, was one of my favorite KAs. He would go to Johns Hopkins after Millsaps. He was that smart. Another regular breakfast eater was Jack Woodward. Deeply involved in both Galloway and Millsaps, I can't really remember a time when Dean Woodward wasn't a part of my life.
Dean Woodward and I had a relationship that transcended business, Millsaps or Galloway. There were a few times when I knew somebody was in trouble, and I'd sneak him some money to apply to their tuition, with the understanding that he'd keep it a secret, both from the student and from my dad. Anybody who would help me keep secrets from my Dad, even when I was doing the right thing, was in my good book for life.
His youngest son, John, was socially involved with my sister and distinguished himself from some of her other boyfriends by actually being likable. John was there the night my sister's best friend and neighbor died. One of the worst nights of my young life. That next week, his dad made an effort to spot me on campus a few times, just to make sure I was alright. I can't tell you if I was or not. By that time, I had learned to bury my feeling so deeply nobody knew what they were.
My dad's last major project at Millsaps was constructing the Olin Science building. He almost lived to see it open. Not many years after that, both George Harmon and Jack Woodward would retire. I stayed involved for a while, but the school was beginning to falter again, and I couldn't take it, so eventually, I drifted away. This wasn't by design or by choice, but I felt like I couldn't do a damn thing to stop what was coming, and a lifetime of self-denial was beginning to make pretty serious cracks in my personal foundations. Soon, I'd go into hiding, where I stayed for many years.
I'm back now, even though I feel like Rip Van Winkle, and Millsaps is again on the front of my mind. Whatever adventures they have on deck, I'm in one hundred percent. I might bring some ghosts with me if they're not already there.
