Names on a Wall
a visit to Millsaps
“Tell Dave the sheriff is here for him!”
One day, David Woodward will get in trouble because the sheriff really will be there for him, and he’ll think it’s me again. Talking in the lunch line, I get the same looks I always get. At Millsaps, my official title is “weird old dude” till they find out who I am.
When I was in high school, somebody spraypainted “HIX SUX” in six-foot letters on the wall of the B quad at St. Andrews. “Do you have any idea what it means when someone puts your name on a wall?” He shouted. “Um, well, yeah, I do, actually. I do.” Boyd being a smart ass, is the number one reason he hated me, even though I was telling the truth.
When I was a student at Millsaps, it kind of bothered me that everybody knew my name was on the wall. Everybody knew who my dad was, my uncle was, my granddad, all the Wingates, Campbells, Flowers, and Boyds going back to Moses. It made it hard to just be me, which is all I’ve ever wanted.
Campbell Cooke, being a fourth-generation Millsaps student, didn’t have it so bad because his last name was Cooke, even though his first two names were James Campbell. I always loved it that his Pike friends called me either “Uncle Boyd” or “Mr Cooke.” I never once corrected them.
At the student fair, I talked to a woman representing the Millsaps Mock Trial Team. We’d met before. She’s very bright. On a plaque on the wall behind her were the names Herman Hines, Warren Hood, Con Maloney, Luther Ott, Army Brown, Tom Scott, Louis Wilson, and Rowan Taylor. I tried to explain to her what that meant, but my words came out broken and confused. What use is it to make somebody a “Life Trustee” if I’m there and they’re not? They weren’t supposed to leave me alone in the world. Sumbitches.
Two or three times a week, somebody will say, “How’s Millsaps doing?” Well, I just came from there. Let me give you my report. Like most of the time I go on campus, my aim was to give it a good look-see, from top to bottom. I think I’m being subtle and stealthy. My sister and my friends remind me that’s not entirely something I do, ever. Even if I don’t say anything, somebody is gonna say, “Oh, look, Boyd is here.”
I had two purposes. One was to be seen. People need to know I’m strong and I’m engaged. Nobody is supposed to worry about me. Ever. I worry about them. This is not negotiable.
The other, more important purpose, is for the students to know that I see them. Not only do I see them, I’m interested in them. I care. I care about their experience at Millsaps, and I care about them as a person. They’re part of the family now. I’m good ole’ Uncle Boyd. What they don’t know is that this is a lifetime appointment. Maybe not their lifetime, but certainly mine.
About once a week, I’ll tell Little Bird, “I can’t promise to love you to the end of your life, but I can promise to love you until the end of mine.”
At the Millsaps Pride table, they had hardcopies of Casey Parks’ book “Diary of a Misfit.” That made me happy. Casey came to Millsaps from a rural Louisiana town. She wasn’t ready to tell anyone she liked girls, but she did. Her experience at Millsaps (and at Cups Coffee) made her realize it was ok. She wrote a book, telling her story, the story of her at Millsaps, and the story of a man who was born a woman, where she was born.
I thought Sam and Henry would have a table for the Performing Arts Dept, but they got their schedules crossed. Jasmine Brewer was there, though, so same thing. I think there are two or three copies of Jasmine. She’s pretty useful.
I had a nice, long visit at the financial affairs office. (I told you it was a top-to-bottom examination) I laughed. They checked out two very valuable paintings from the library. Millsaps has a pretty substantial art collection. Millsaps has a very progressive and impressive financial package to offer students.
Next year, two of my dearest friends are either committed to or strongly considering Millsaps for their daughters. Guess who will be spending more time on campus? I’m sure at some point, one of their friends will say, “Who is that weird old dude who keeps asking about you?”
“Ugh, it’s a friend of my mom. Ignore him.”
I’m ok with that. As long as I get to report back, “Your child is happy, well fed, and making friends,” then I figure it’s all good. As far as food goes, you can’t imagine how good the food is now. No more “Poppy seed bread or Onion bread?” or “Fity-Seben! Fity-Seben! Pick up dis damn club sammich Fity-seben!”
Waiting for my ride to come, I saw Larry’s house. My heart stopped. Then I could hear it beating in my ears. I keep Post-it notes in my backpack. I thought about leaving a note.
“Hey, dude. I came by, but you weren’t home. They said you’re not coming home again. That doesn’t seem right. You were always so careful with your health. How did you go before me? She doesn’t know it, but I check on Anne quite a lot. She doesn’t have to know I’m checking for me to check. I’m sure she’d tell me not to. I do not care even a little. Catherine gets younger every year. Brent too. You can’t imagine how much weight he’s lost. You can’t imagine how much weight I’ve lost.
Goddamnit, Larry, why aren’t you here? I miss you, you know, I really fucking miss you. We had that call about Bob Hearin, and I thought things were great, and then…
The school is getting better every day. Jackson is getting better every day, despite all the damn Democrats. Anne keeps saying she’s gonna retire, but she doesn’t. Kirsten is feeding your cats, all ninety-seven of them. Crazy old cat dude with more guns than El Chapo.
I changed my mind. I don’t miss you. Not at all. Unfaithful bastard. Who needs you?
I love you. I don’t know when we’ll meet again. Hopefully not too soon.
Always,
ABC...”
Names on a wall. I’ve become accustomed to it. Sometimes, it’s all I have left.
