The Yellow Jacket Overwhelms
All too soon, the day arrived for Tim Mallory to pack 'em up and head North toward Georgia Tech, but he was hesitant about departing. Reluctance was not fear of the new academic challenge but the fact that he just plain hated leaving the girl who had increasingly grown to mean so much to him. On the scheduled departure day, he hung around all day for one last date. Then, around midnight, he begrudgingly left a tearful Adrienne waving good-bye as he departed in his old blue Chevrolet.
A tired, but eager young man drove all night, arriving at Grant Field shortly after 7:30 a.m. the following morning. Too early for registration, he burned time by crawling into the back seat for a few winks. Was soon fast asleep, remaining that way 'til awakened by the sound of students passing by his car. He followed the crowd and was soon caught up in the excitement of a mad scramble to register in courses outlined on his co-op program.
Tim signed up for a big load consisting of English Literature, Physics, Organic Chemistry, Calculus, and Quantitative Analysis. Though resolved to the fact that he'd never be able to compete against the incredible students at Georgia Tech, he felt he could at least make passing grades. His convictions strengthened by the excellent academic background obtained at PRC, coupled with high scores made on achievement tests, and the tremendous support given by his grandmother, parents, former teachers, and friends. That's why he'd ventured out on this mind-boggling attempt to grab the brass ring. In the depths of his mind, he could still hear his grandmother and mother telling him, "If you don't reach for the rainbow, you'll never get there
Tim was pleased to find Pet Tatum in the dormitory room when he brought in a load of clothes and books from the car.
"Hi, Tim! Damn, I'm glad to see ya'." The happy roommate rushed across the room to help.
"Thanks, Pet. I'm glad to be here, myself, I think." Both laughed at the trailing comment then carried on casual conversation as the Floridian pitched in and helped finish emptying the car of 'bare necessities' for college life. Afterward, Pet popped the tops of two beers and they settled down to continue their second get-acquainted talk.
"What courses did ya' get?"
In response to the question, Tim tossed a stack of registration cards for Pet's review. The new roomie began closely examining each one then stopped, slapped one hand to his forehead, and exclaimed, "Aw shit!"
"What's the matter?" Tim asked.
"Those sorry bastards signed ya' up for a Calculus class with the toughest, meanest son-of-a-bitch on campus."
"That's about par isn't it?" Tim chuckled and took another swig of beer.
"Yeah, Tim, it is. They've gotta' fill the prick's class with somebody, so they grab up unsuspecting guys like you and throw 'em to the wolves. Hell, anybody who's been here at least a quarter steers clear of that bastard's classes as if he had Bubonic plague."
"Surely he couldn't be that bad."
"Bank on it, Tim," Pet rebutted. "I've got another beer that says you'll never meet a bigger ass-hole than Doctor Paul Morton. Students call him 'Hard-Ass' behind his back, and it won't take but one class meeting to find out why." Tim slowly shook his head and said, "You know, I felt I was being 'dry-holed' just from the way the guy smirked and flipped the card at me." The dejected ex-football player took a long, slow drag of beer and continued, "Well, hell, Pet, is there any sunshine a'tall in that stack 'a cards?"
"Yeah, man," Pet beamed, "there damned sure is. Seems you and I both signed up for the same Quantitative Analysis class."
"Great!" Tim exclaimed jubilantly.
"Ya' know it is, Tim. Maybe you can help me make a decent grade this time around."
"Whatta' ya' mean this time? Have ya' had it before?"
"Yep, I took it last quarter and made a 'D'."
"Aw shit," Tim grimaced, "don't tell me that."
"Why?" Pet chuckled.
"Man, I'm worried sick as it is. This news just jacks up the anxiety level that much higher." Both laughed and Tim asked, "How'd ya' do in the rest of your classes?"
"Not good a'tall. As a matter of fact, they placed me on academic probation."
"Aw crap," Tim moaned. "What does that mean?"
"It means I've gotta' pull my overall average up to a 2.0 this quarter or they'll boot me off campus."
"C'mon, Pet. I told ya' I didn't wanna' hear anymore of that kinda' talk."
"I'm sorry, Tim, but that's a simple fact of life. Either I do it, or bid you adios."
"Can ya' do it?" Tim queried.
"I think so. But, I'll hafta' work hard at it."
"Sounds like a winner to me," the Mississippian laughed. "Hell, studying has become a way of life with me."
The first day has to be the most disconcerting and longest one of a quarter, especially if you don't know your way around campus. Somehow, however, Tim made it through the long, tiring day, and wearily dragged himself up the steps to the room about five o'clock that afternoon. His entrance was greeted by a warm welcome from a roomie who got in the initial comments regarding the day's activities. The revelation of some of his happenings encouraged Tim to contribute in a light-hearted conversation about what a 'trying' day it had been for both of them.
"Can ya' believe it?" Tim said. "Some Juniors and seniors were standing outside Morton's Calculus class snickering and jeering at the poor unfortunate bastards who'd drawn his 'kiss-of-death' class?"
"I believe ya' 'cause I've seen it happen before. Every college in the world must have its share of bad ones, but ol' Morton truly takes the cake."
Well, from what I've seen, Pet, I'll have to agree. Ya' know the first thing he did after introducing himself was to issue a statement to the fact that he doesn't give A's. The pompous ass glowed all over from moans a few students let slip out."
"I told ya' he's a 'beaut', didn't I?"
"You surely did. To tell the truth, though, I was hopin' you'd simply laid it on a might thick. Regrettably, however, you didn't."
"Nope, 'fraid not, buddy." With that statement, both settled down to study.
About an hour and a half later, however, Pet closed his books, stretched and stated, "Look, why don't ya' close the books for awhile and let's go have a few cool ones?" The ex-PRC (Pearl River Jr. College) student astonishingly exclaimed, "Tonight? You're going out tonight?"
"Yep. A few friends are droppin' by in about ten minutes to pick me up. They'd be glad to have ya' join us." Tim shook his head and reflected in a mixture of disbelief and disgust. "How the hell can this guy even think about screwin' off? Shit, he's already skatin' on thin ice, and now wants to complicate matters further by trying to do it on one leg."
"What about the homework assignment in Quantitative Analysis?" Tim questioned.
"Oh, I'll get it up later tonight when I return."
"Okay, okay," Tim conceded the point. "But what about the other assignments you talked about?"
"Don't worry, Tim," Pet chuckled, "I'll get it done."
Three hours after leaving his roomie hard at work, the Floridian returned half drunk. He tried to study for about half an hour, but was in the bed snoring for at least another hour before Tim finally, reluctantly closed the books, killed the light, and closed weary eyes.
This first night of study set the pattern for many nights to follow. Tim pushed himself to extremes every night learning the material while Pet usually hit the material lightly with a lick and a promise 'til friends arrived to whisk him away. The fact that he didn't study to the degree Tim felt necessary was bothersome enough but when Pet complained periodically about not doing as well as he'd like to in his classes, the Mississippian seethed almost to the point of exploding.
One night just short of mid-quarter exams, Tim was having a rough time concentrating on studies. The problem was primarily due to lack of feedback from professors regarding grade status and his unfamiliarity with the curve system, which was used school-wide at Tech. As a result of this communicational paucity, Tim felt he was flunking all of his classes. What hurt more was the knowledge that he was failing though studying his tail off night after night. At this highly inopportune time, around 11:00 p.m., Pet came in from another night of 'winging it' around town with friends. The entry distraction was bad enough but then roomie made the mistake of complaining about having a test the next day and he was not prepared. This time he'd gone too far. The time bomb exploded with all its force, and poor Tatum caught the pent-up fury.
"Why don't you just shut the hell up!" Tim commanded loudly.
"What? Whatta' ya' mean?" Pet exclaimed, surprised by the uncharacteristic behavior of his roommate.
"Just what I said, shut your mouth! I'm sick and damned tired of hearing you whine about how poorly you're doin' in class. If you really gave a damn, you'd stay your ass home at night and study instead of traipsing up and down the streets."
"I study," Pet responded meekly.
"No hell you don't! You just play at studying. My ol' football coach told me that people must survive, so rationalization is a necessity of life. But I didn't know exactly what he was talking about 'til I met you.
"Whatta' ya' mean?" Pet asked bewilderedly.
"Simply that as I see it you've already resolved yourself to the fate of flunking outta' Tech 'cause you see the school as a threat. So you've either consciously or unconsciously begun to dream up reasons why you can't remain in the Chemical Engineering program and survive. However, the truth of the matter is that you've got the brains and academic background to succeed at anything you try. But, naw, hell, you don't wanna' pay the price. So you piddle around with the books and halfheartedly go to class; all the while rationalizing that you're being washed out 'cause Tech's too tough." Tim knew he was at least partially right in his analysis because of Pet's reaction to his comments, so he continued. "I can see ya' now back in Freeport, Florida drinking with your buddies, whining about how rough things were at Tech, and how hard ya' tried but just couldn't hack it. They'll be so understanding and sympathetic," Tim feigned. "And probably buy the beer for awhile. But listen to me, Pet Tatum, you're gonna' flunk outta' school all right. Not because you don't have the ability, but because you're just too damned lazy, and won't pay the price!" His fury vented, Tim set down on his cot.
Pet slowly sank down on his bed and looked at Tim with a hurt expression on his face. "That's a pretty rough assessment."
"It's the truth and you know it," Tim snapped back. "But, if ya' wanna' carry on with the charade, it's okay by me. The only thing I ask is for you to just shut the hell up and let me try. After all, I'm not as fortunate as you. I'm not gifted like most of y'all. No, hell, I hafta' work my ass off for everything I get. And, thanks to your constant distractions, I'm not doing well at all.
"I'm sorry, Tim. I didn't know."
The emotional tirade had subsided and Tim tried to suppress it further by picking up a book in an attempt at resuming study. This didn't work, however, because he couldn't concentrate. He slammed the book shut and stormed out the door for a walk, leaving behind an equally distressed Pet. The stroll meandered around the dorm area, throughout a considerable bit of the campus. Eventually, he simmered down to the point where recriminating thoughts began torturing him.
"Damn, I can't believe I did that. Though he fully deserved it, I shouldn't have done it. The fact is I crawled his case because of my own shortcomings. His poor study habits wouldn't have bothered me if I weren't doing so poorly myself. I guess it's time for me to face the music, I'm in over my head."
His shoulders drooped at this admission and eyes were cast upon the ground as the introspective examination continued. "I was right all along. I just don't have what it takes to cut the mustard here at Tech. I can't maintain the pace these smart guys and professors set. I reached for the rainbow and fell flat on my face." He kicked a can and tears flowed down cheeks when the negative thought slipped forth from deep regions of his mind. He'd met strong opposition all his academic and athletic life but had never backed down from it, until now. "This will be a first," he agonizingly admitted to himself. "Dear God," he cried out, "I've failed... myself and all those who believe in me." Overwrought with grief and weakened from the abhorred thought of quitting, he plopped down on an out-of-the-way bench and silently let tears flow unabated as he attempted to bring himself to grips with the numbing realization of failure.
About an hour after departing, a much calmer, determined Tim Mallory returned to an empty room. Mixed emotions surfaced in that he wanted to apologize for being so brutally critical during his outburst but was glad no one was present to watch him pack and bid farewell to this hellhole which witnessed his academic demise. Though it hurt to admit what he was doing, Tim couldn't help but chuckle at what his ex-football Coach Dobie Holden had said one day. He was reflecting on a promising player who'd quit and left one night without saying a word. "Yes, Sir," Coach said, "Ol' Virgil struck tent one night, just like a nomad, and stole away during the still of the night."
"Well, Coach," the emotion-filled young man reflected, "I guess I'm the nomad this time."
Momma Mallory cried happily while running out of the house with the rest of her brood to welcome home the pride of them all, Timothy, who had spent most of Thursday night driving from Atlanta.
"Oh, Tim," she cried while hugging and kissing him, "your daddy and grandmomma will be so surprised and happy to see that you came home to visit this week-end." Tim cringed at the comment. He'd managed to pack everything into the trunk except his clothes and, evidently, mother thought he had brought clothes home to wash or wear. "Dear God," he agonized, "how can I tell her?" After much hugging and some tears of joy, mother led Tim and her other eight sons and daughter back into the house to a breakfast table full of piping hot biscuits, eggs, ham, bacon, milk and a big steaming bowl of grits. His brother, Joe Carol, made Tim's day by volunteering to drive to Poplarville, Mississippi and pick up Adrienne so she could also spend the weekend with the Mallorys while the Tech scholar was home. Soon after a phone call alerted the excited girl to the plan, Joe Carol backed the family car out of the driveway and pointed it in the direction of Poplarville.
"That's awfully nice of him, momma," Tim said while looking out the window as the car disappeared. "He must've seen how tired I am."
"Yes, he did, Timothy," she laughed. "But, most likely, he just saw an opportunity to skip school and be with his girlfriend. And you can bet that she'll be sitting very closely beside him throughout the entire trip," mother laughed. "But I'm sure you can understand that need to be close to someone you love," she laughed again. Tim laughed at his mother's comments also and swallowed another piece of biscuit as he thought, "This is a good time to tell her." But decided to postpone the announcement until Adrienne and his daddy were also present. "That way I'll only have to tell it once," he reasoned.
The rest of the day and Saturday were absolutely wonderful except for the closely held secret that gnawed his innards. Each time the opportunity offered itself, he bit his lip and decided to wait a bit longer before telling. He kept hearing his grandmother encouraging him to reach out for the rainbow, and his mother telling him, "Sometimes in life you'll win and other times you'll give it all you've got and lose, but don't ever quit. Even in defeat you win respect and admiration if you don't quit."
Sunday arrived and all expected him to depart about mid-morning to take Adrienne home then swing north for Georgia Tech. They kept heaping on praise about how proud they were of him and the fact that a grandson, son, brother, and boy friend was smart enough to be enrolled in such an esteemed, highly regarded university. After a good Sunday dinner of fried chicken, chicken and dumplings, collard greens, big butterbeans, fried okra, fresh creamed corn, cornbread, iced tea, and blackberry cobbler, Mr. Mallory began to get a mite uncomfortable about the long drive his son had to make, and the late start he was getting.
"Son, your momma and I have thoroughly enjoyed having you home this week-end, and truly hate to see you go, but you'd better get on the road pretty soon. You've got a mighty long drive ahead of ya'."
"Now is the time," Tim thought, but reneged. "Nope, not yet. I'll just wait 'til I get to Poplarville and tell Adrienne. Then I'll come back home and tell the folks."
The warm, loving, marching band featurette snuggled up closely to her college man and remained there all the way back to Poplarville in one of the shortest trips between the two cities that Tim could recall. Seemed they had just pulled away from a yard full of Mallorys, featuring a proud, tearful momma waving a dishcloth then there they were in front of Adrienne's home. After walking inside for a short period of time to deliver both his hellos and good-byes, Tim walked out of the front door and headed for the car with a sweet young thing right by his side. At the car, he held her hands, saw the sadness in her eyes and said, "Adrienne, I've got something to tell ya'."
"Let me tell you something first, Tim." She interrupted softly, placed her hands on either side of his face, tilted his head down and kissed him then said lovingly, "I want ya' to know how proud I am. I pray for you every night because I know how lonely you are and how difficult it must be. And my heart reaches out to you because I know ya' study obsessively hour after hour, night after night. Dear God, I don't think I could force myself to do that. But, I love and admire you because you are that type person and have that type dedication. She kissed him sweetly again and continued, "Next time the pressure gets to you, just back away for a moment and remember that you have someone who loves you dearly, and aches for your loving touch." A warm, lingering kiss followed, mixed with tears. Afterward, Tim held her closely for one last time and thought, "Aw shit, how can I tell her now?" One more lingering kiss and he was on the road headed north. "They might flunk me out, but the bastards will not have the satisfaction of seeing me quit. I am not a quitter!"