It was a hot summer day in Alabama. I was still fairly ‘fresh’ at Jacksonville State University — taking summer classes that year were important to me. I can’t remember exactly why, but they were.
After a long, hot walk with a backpack weighted down with a stack of books, pens, and notebooks; I came into a tiny cube of room in the basement of the Stone Center. It was about 10′ x 12′ — one or two more young people shuffled in…all looked a bit lost, and afraid to say much.
A few minutes later, a thud sounded as a bundle of school papers, books, purse, and several other items landed next to the outside of the door. The last student of the group happened to come up behind the lady as she was trying to sort out the tangle of items — he helped her with the door.
She was not very tall, was age-less in some elusive respects — brilliant red hair, “poofed” and she very prominent ‘librarian bi-focal’ glasses. Her mid-section was not trim; but she was very like-able, in a grandmotherly way. As she brought her collection into the tiny room, she surveyed the class: 5 students (if memory serves me right) for that first day; it seems like two others added the class, and one of the original students dropped — so 5 was the final class size.
The whole time she had be bringing the things in, she had been rattling in conversation about how crazy her day had been, and how the class had originally been meant to be held in a larger room — but…that, since we “were a small group” this room will be fine.
Day one was introduction. Mrs. Herb began by giving a brief overview of her life, travels, and adventures in other countries (including Panama); writing for various publications, and her own special ‘nickname’ she had for herself.
Then each of us students took turns — I don’t remember any details from the students — just have a general impression from the emotions that have linger in my memory through the years — each of us were first-time away from home, thought we enjoyed writing; but wanted to learn more about what it took to write for a college/school publication…
From that one class…and a very persistent Mamie Buckley Chisholm Herb — I discovered my “love” and affection for writing. Mrs. Herb kept asking if I had “been to the Chanticleer office yet”. Finally I went by during one afternoon, fall of 1984 — the editor asked “what do you want to write about?” I mentioned I enjoyed music, so he suggested that find out if any local bands would be available for an interview, and sent me scurrying off [thinking to myself, what do I do for interview questions?].
Mrs. Mamie Buckley Chisholm Herb — Thank You!
You gave a shy college kid the courage to find the love of writing.
– Cathy Ann Abernathy
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