James hands me his permission agreement for the Slimy Back census. He does not make eye contact. I look at the sheet for a moment and then study the young man before me. He is 5 feet 8, disheveled, with a three-day growth of beard. I know from past conversations with him that he is 19, broke, and socially inept. That describes most of my students.
"You really want to be involved in the Slimy Back Turtle Census?" I ask, carefully.
"Yes, Mr. Moho, definitely!" he responds, with enthusiasm.
This is James, who cannot pass my introductory biology quizzes even when they are "open book" and all questions are multiple choice.
"James," I sigh. He interrupts.
"Mr. Hoyt said I could. He even recommended it!"
That sounds like something Dr. Hoyt would do.
"James, what class are turtles in?" I ask.
"Freshman class?" he asks, innocently. Then stops for a moment. "Biology class?"
"James, we've gone over all of this. Many times. We divide animals into general classes such as mammals, amphibians..." I pause for effect. "Reptiles." I emphasize the word and draw it out.
His eyes light up. He recognizes the multiple choice environment. "Right!" Pause. "Uh, mammals, right?"
He can tell from my reaction that he has guessed wrong.
"A group of turtles is called... a what?" I ask. Please James, you can get this one.
If James has attended our Slimy Back orientation he would remember this. Or if he went to a football game where we (with some difficulty) rhyme "Hail" with "bale" in the fight song.
"Hmm... " he said, thoughtfully. James is rarely thoughtful. "A team? A team of turtles!"
"No, James. A group of turtles is not called a 'team'."
I start to give him the correct answer, in my lecturing mode, and then think better of it.
"But Mr. Hoyt said I could go."
I'm sure Dr. Hoyt did not quite say that. But the fight here is useless. I am tired and James will be in the Slimy Back census regardless of what I can do. I have organized the census now for nine years. It is an unpaid, unofficial part of my job description. It contributes to the community and the reputation of SBV. And, Yes, I understand -- although every administrator will deny it -- that the evenings at the end of the turtle search, far out in the woods around Lake Monroe, happen to be the preferred drinking party for every underage student in our university.
"OK, Ok." I sigh. "I am signing you up for the Friday turtle hunt. You will need to meet Dr. Hoyt at 9 AM in Ivy Hall on Friday." I scribble Stan U. S. Moho on his sheet of paper. I circle the time (9:00 Friday MORNING!) and put an arrow pointing to it.
"Great! Mr. Moho! Excellent!" He grabs my permission slip and skips away. I have made his day.
"It is 'bale', James" I whisper. "A group of turtles is a bale. And it is Doctor Moho, not Mister." But I don't expect him to hear me. I just hope he does not drink too much. And that the Slimy Back turtles survive him. He will probably not get near any of the turtles, so I am not too worried about them.
HA! Lucky kid. The '04 class at SBV had to pass a test after orientation in order to even apply to be involved in the census. Things sure have changed since my day.
ReplyDeleteStan, what a wonderful memory - such a great depiction of those memorable annual events.
ReplyDeleteYou mentioned the school fight song. Perhaps you remember those wonderful words. But do you know who wrote them? It was our very own Theodore T. McGregor, founder and father, really, of our university. In 1953 SBV was just a glimmer in his mind, and Lake Monroe did not even exist! He purchased the land for our university, land that was only partially submerged by the creation of Lake Monroe in the early 60s. President McGregor wrote the words for our fight song, and as he describes in his memoir (The Turtle Wins the Race, 1982), he was a few glasses of wine into a lovely evening at a Smithville café when he received the lightning creative impulse, and scribbled these words on a napkin.
Of course, originally the school letters stood for Southern Bloomington Vocational, and it wasn’t until those significant searches for our favorite turtle that the school was affectionately known as Slimy Back. And then the board of trustees officially changed the name in 1995, and changed the last line of the fight song from “To our foes we deal a thwack!” to “To SBV, our Slimy Back!” Thwack was hard to sing, anyway.
Here are the words, in case you’ve forgotten. These words just make me feel the chill of autumn, bring me right back to the 50-yard line! Don’t they you?
SBV, our SBV,
SBV, we’re all for thee!
We will fight for our verdant colors
For the glory of SBV
Never daunted, let all hale,
To our colors, we never bail,
For SBV, we will not slack,
To SBV, our Slimy Back!