COLUMN: Musings of a Simple Country Man
Crossroads
By Hobie Morris
“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood…I took the one less traveled by. And that has made all the difference.” The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost (1874-1963)
“Everyone reaches a crossroads in life. Difficult decisions have to be made. Some take the wrong road. Others are more fortunate.” – Author
We are like two deer in the cross hairs of high beam headlights. A speeding car careens and bounces over the curb targeting us. We fling ourselves out of its path as it rapidly accelerates, its red taillights rapidly fading in the distance.
Our relaxing nightly walks around this rolled up sleepy, peaceful college town have turned dangerous. This has happened several times before. Our stalker is determined to maim us or worse. His hatred takes many forms, including deviate anonymous correspondence that would have made Sigmund Freud blush.
On campus, if no one was watching as I was walking to class or other places, he would come toward me with elbows and other physical attempts. He wanted me to physically retaliate, which I had every right to do and was far more capable of doing, but I knew that I would be the culprit. I said nothing, gritting my teeth and continuing on.
Behind his back, students called him Crazy Jose. For many years we were teaching colleagues and friends. But for some inexplicable reason, this friendship began unwinding. It turned into a pathological hatred that had become physically dangerous to Lois and me. We agreed and disagreed on many issues, but we always assumed this was part of the collegiate free speech forum. We were peace marchers at the time of Vietnam; we opposed Nixon, etc., all of which were unpopular positions with others on the faculty, including the one who became our arch enemy.
In many ways, my college teaching wife and I were not good fits because of our liberal positions on many issues, including some at the college. In all honesty, we ruffled feathers in our naiveté.
The college was experiencing serious enrollment and other problems at this time. Cuts in the faculty and staff were widely rumored. Cutthroat competition crept in for the declining number of students. Large class enrollment helped to justify job security. I later found out my one-time friend and department head was directing students not to take my courses. The negative atmosphere at the college increased, and scape goats were conveniently targeted.
As semi-nonconformists, Lois and I were often targeted in subtle ways for some of the ills facing the school. One circulating idea was to make me a book stacker in the college library. This was after 15 years of teaching. By this time, I had become a tenured associate professor of history and political science with many teaching awards, publications and community leadership positions. My wife and I fought hard for our professional rights. In the midst of this extremely difficult time, a trusted colleague said to us one day, “I know you are right, but I have to think of my job and family.”
We were at a crossroads, but a new road was coming clearly into focus.
It was a difficult decision because we had a great many friends in the community, college and among the student body. Many of the students would become lifelong friends. Exemplary men and women who went on to distinguished professional careers in many areas, not only in Missouri but all across the country. Today, many of them claim we were very instrumental in their lives. Quite honestly, we really weren’t, but feel honored and thankful for their highly exaggerated claims of our importance in their success.
In late May 1980, everything we owned was packed in two old pickups. The night before we drove out of town, I had put invisible tape over our gas tanks and truck engine hoods. The hate man was still driving by our house. Then we were gone.
We were heading east to the still chilly and leafless Brookfield hills and a new life. We had taken the right road and are still traveling it, for now almost 40 years. This road continues to be a leap of faith and a great challenging daily adventure. While we loved Missouri and many of its people, we have never looked back. Our arrival in Brookfield has produced endless musing stories and, hopefully, a few more in the future.