When I arrived in Weatherford at Southwestern Oklahoma State University (SWOSU) in the fall of 1993, I immediately enrolled in the college’s newspaper class because I had already taken “newspaper class” four times at Redlands Community College and thought that if you were pursuing a degree in journalism and wanted to work on the school’s newspaper that’s what you did. It turns out you don’t get credit for taking the same class over and over again (even if you really like it), and I had simply been paying to work on the newspaper at Redlands. (My professor and friend Kelly Rupp got me a paying job as the editor for both the newspaper and the yearbook there, so it all came out in the wash.)
My memories of SWOSU are a distant, hazy dream. I attended classes there for one full year; according to my transcript from Oklahoma City Community College, I earned a total of 12 credits during those two semesters. Other than journalism, photography, and one particularly hellish biology class, I can’t remember any of the other classes I took. I don’t even have a copy of my SWOSU transcript. Neither the beginning or the end of a journey, SWOSU was more of a rest stop — a temporary place to stretch my legs, refuel, check the map, and figure out where to drive next.
The vast majority of my time on the SWOSU campus was spent in the journalism department. The room had a long table full of Macintosh computers reserved for editing and writing and some other tables and chairs for sitting, working, and visiting. During my brief tenure as the school’s yearbook editor I had my own desk in the corner of the room, before I was unceremoniously (yet deservedly) removed from that position. I don’t remember if the building or room was locked after hours but I remember being there many times after the sun had gone down; if it was ever locked, more than one person had a key.
The seniors in the department ruled the roost. Having run a weekly paper before they knew what was going on, what needed to be done and when it needed to happen. Then there were the freshman who were new and lost. Because I was older than they were they looked to me for guidance, which is not unlike asking an old homeless beggar where the best hotels in town are. In those days a year or two made all the difference in the world. Entire pecking orders were decided by the weeks and months between children’s birthdays.
And then there was Don Price. I have no idea how old Don was, but back then I would have guessed “50ish.” I recall him having a teenage son, so “40ish” is probably closer to the truth. He had gray hair and was overweight, which made me think he was old. I had gray hair and was overweight by the age of 25. At 42, I’m more gray than black, and more overweight than gray.
Don walked with a cane, though I don’t know why. At the other end of the building were the soda vending machines, and one of Don’s favorite sayings was, “If you’re flyin’, I’m buyin’!” With that, Don would hold out a couple of dollar bills, and whoever was willing to run down the hallway to the vending machines would purchase two cans of pop — one for Don and one for themselves. At the time I wondered where Don got all this disposable income from, and thought it neat that Don was always willing to buy drinks for fellow students. In retrospect I see he was simply paying kids a dollar to run and fetch drinks for him. I offer my kids loose change all the time to get me refills of Kool-Aid and have paid cash bounties for finding lost television remotes, so now I get it. If I still drank Dr. Pepper like I used to I would pay people $1 all the time to go get me one.
Don was a cool guy to have around the journalism department. At a time when alternative and grunge were in heavy rotation on the journalism department’s stereo, it was Don who brought in a Billie Holiday cassette and explained to us what the “Strange Fruit” was. Don was always laughing and always had a funny story to share. I even replaced the stereo in his car for him once. As I recall it was the world’s simplest car stereo wiring job, with only a couple of 6x9s in the rear deck. I did the install in my driveway and I think he insisted on giving me twenty bucks. Back when adding bologna to Ramen noodles was considered a treat, $20 was no joke. In the Festiva, it was 3 tanks of gas.
I graduated from high school in 1991 and left Southwestern with my tail between my legs in the spring of 1994. By the time I went back to Oklahoma City Community College to finish my associate degree in 2000, I was already ten years older than most of the other students in my classes. The age differential wasn’t too bad at Southern Nazarene University as I attended an adult studies program and all of my classmates were working adults earning their degrees, but I have never felt more self conscious on a college campus as I did yesterday at the University of Oklahoma.
During lunch I zipped down to the campus to pick up my student ID. As I neared the school what I thought were children waving signs advertising a free car wash turned out to be college students welcoming incoming freshman to the school. I rubbed my eyes. Could these children actually be old enough to attend college? I barely thought they looked old enough to run a free car wash!
Walking past one kid trying to figure out how a parking meter worked and another one carrying a skateboard, I made my way inside to pick up my ID. My eyes scanned the hallways for anyone older, fatter or grayer than me, but there was no one. I was the oldest, the fattest, the grayest. After finding the line for student IDs, I finally spotted a woman roughly my age. She was there enrolling her son.
Each student before me in line was greeted the same way: “I need to see your ID,” and “That’ll be $20.” When I got to the counter I got a different greeting.
“Can I help you, sir?”
Oh boy — now I’m “sir.” And then it hit me. I’m not a “sir” at all. I’m Don Price. I’m the old guy in the room. I’m the guy who’s there because he wants to be. I’ll be the guy with practical experience and life history. I interned as a reporter for both the El Reno Light and El Reno Tribune newspapers in 1992 and 1993, 20+ years ago — likely before many of my classmates were born.
While leaving the building I noticed that many of the soda machines now take credit cards. I’ve got plenty of disposable plastic to feed them. If these kids are flyin’, I’m buyin’.
Now let’s talk about that music on the stereo…
(If anyone knows the whereabouts of Don Price who attended Southwestern Oklahoma City University during the early 1990s, please contact me.)
I was going to Rose State in 1999, and know exactly how you feel. I was well past mother age; you were older than most of my classmates. I did it for a couple of semesters before life took over again and I called it quits. I may still go back and take a few classes. Now I’m old enough to be their grandparent!