By Judy Prather

As Baylor alums, if we are to honor our education, we will keep learning for our entire lives. Last Friday morning, it was Baylor students who were my teachers.

I was one of about two hundred students, faculty, administrators, alumni, and parents who participated in a “unity march,” held the morning of November 14 in response to the events on the Baylor campus the evening of the presidential election.

The march was a true grass-roots effort–conceived, planned, and carried out by a diverse group of student leaders. We walked in silence from Waco Hall to Morrison Hall, where we heard from some of the students who had been involved in the conflict. Then the leaders encouraged us to “mix it up a little and make a new friend” as we walked together to Penland to hear from a few more students before we ended up in front of Pat Neff.

In addition to supporting their efforts, I went out of a personal need to be a part of healing the divisions in our country. It’s been almost a week now, and I’m still trying to unpack the experience, to interpret and assimilate it. A blog entry cannot fully do that, but I am offering some of what I experienced.

At Morrison Hall, we heard from the student who found the rope hanging from the tree on his way to class Wednesday morning. This student was one of several there–I saw at least five hands raised when asked–whose family stories included a relative who was dragged out of his home by an angry mob and lynched. When this student saw a rope hanging from a tree, he thought it was a noose, and it frightened him.

After he finished, three Baylor freshmen told us their part of the story. Looking a little like a deer caught in the headlights, the one named Sam told us how he and some friends were star-gazing late Monday night on Fountain Mall. He got bored, wandered around, and found a rope left behind from a Homecoming tent. First he made a loop and tried to lasso a friend. Then he tied it around a Pringles can and made a sort of slingshot. Finally, he recruited his friends to help him make a tree swing, but the venture failed. It was late, and even college freshmen need sleep, so they left the rope hanging from the branch and walked home.

Between the night of the star-gazers/swing-makers and the student discovering the rope they left behind, the world had changed. A black man had been elected president of the United States. Students on the campus–some thrilled, some disappointed by the election results–had exchanged angry words.

As I heard these students each give their accounts of the events, a German folktale came to mind: A farmer’s axe went missing. Though he had no proof, he was convinced the neighbor boy stole it. Each time he saw his neighbor, the boy looked, walked, and talked like a thief. Then the farmer found his axe under some hay in the barn, and the next time he saw the neighbor boy, he just saw a boy.

In some cases, “truth” is not as important as perception.

I wish the rope-in-the-tree part of the story were the whole story. Simple misunderstandings can usually be cleared up when people with differing perceptions are willing to talk to each other. But those angry and hateful words exchanged near Penland Hall on Election Night are part of the story, too.

Subtle racism is just beneath the surface at Baylor, as–I dare say–it is on every campus in this country. Great strides have been made since I was a student in the early 1970s, but Martin Luther King’s dream of a nation where we do not judge one another by skin color has not been fully realized. We still have a long way to go. Those kids last Friday knew that, and they were doing what they could to advance the cause.

One reason this unity march had integrity, and touched me so profoundly, was that the assembled crowd didn’t hear “he said … she said … .” These honest young people said, “I saw … I heard … I felt … .” And three very scared and brave freshmen stood in front of a crowd and confessed to a “crime” they didn’t commit. “I’m sorry if someone was hurt by what we did,” they said. “We never meant to hurt anyone.”

The truth is that we live in a divided and broken world. But last Friday morning, I was caught up in a crowd of all shapes and colors, with students who marched and prayed for unity, students who listened with open minds and gave others the benefit of the doubt, students who are willing to continue learning.

It’s a reason to hope.

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Photo by Elizabeth Herring

By Lisa Asher

When Baylor students receive their official class rings at the alumni association’s December 2 ring ceremony, they will be told the meaning of the symbols depicted on their rings. These images–which include bells, an ivy chain, and the Old Main Tower–are certainly important symbols within the Baylor family. But when I look at my Baylor class ring–sitting right now on the fourth finger of my right hand–I don’t see the Baylor seal or the green-and-gold gems. I see something that helped me reconnect to the Baylor family–something that brought me back home.

I know that it sounds like I moved thousands of miles away and traveled great distances, but the reality is that after pursuing my master’s degree in English from Baylor, I got a job right in good old Waco. The position was as a technical editor for an aeronautics company, and I’m not exaggerating when I say that if you had plopped me down on the moon, I couldn’t have felt more lost or confused.

Oh, I knew where to put the nouns and verbs and how to change a person’s writing. I just didn’t know how to do it tactfully. My first month there, I was named lead editor of a project, and I proceeded to rip into those aeronautics books like my life depended on it. When I presented them to the lead writer, Ken, at our first conference meeting, the documents were almost dripping in red ink.

Ken flipped through the first book silently and then passed it down the row to the other writers. The silence lengthened as they looked at each other and then at me. Suddenly, Ken launched himself across the table toward me, shouting and flailing his arms to illustrate his point about just how stupid I was and how much I had ruined his work.

A smart person would have left that day, but I had never failed at anything I’d tried before, so I was determined to stick it out and make it work. Besides, the salary was really good, and I had no idea what I would do next if I quit. Thus began my five-year career as a technical editor in Waco.

I wish I could say it got better, but the job only got worse from there. Seventy-hour work weeks became standard, and as I drove to and from work in the dark, I wondered if I’d ever have a normal life again. Then one weekend, I passed a jewelry store that was advertising a going-out-of business sale, including Baylor seal rings. On impulse, I stopped in, looked through the selection, and placed my order–all within the space of about ten minutes.

When I got my ring a week or so later, I couldn’t stop looking at it–not just because it was beautiful, but because it made me remember the friends, faculty, and community that were just a few miles–and another world–away from where I was now.

I started looking through the classified section of the Waco Tribune-Herald, and one day I saw the modest little job notice that would change my life. The position at the alumni association was only thirty hours a week and paid less than half what I was making, but I didn’t care. It was my own personal “welcome mat” back home.

When I went to my first ring ceremony as an alumni association staff member, I envied the students who got to walk across a stage, shake the Baylor president’s hand, and learn the meaning of the official ring. It’s a wonderful ceremony, and there are usually more than a few tears shed, by both students and their families.

But I’m also glad about how I got my ring, even if it was from a now-defunct jewelry store and even though I was of an “advanced” age. The symbols etched on the ring are meaningful–but so are the ones no one can see.

Click on Class Rings for more information about the alumni association ring program.

By Luke Blount

As I spent Homecoming weekend in Waco this year–my first time as an alumnus–one thought kept rolling through my mind: The more things change, the more they stay the same. At least that’s how the saying goes.

I graduated from Baylor just a few short months ago and moved to the Dallas area not long after. But as I spent this past weekend on campus, I realized a few months is enough for a mountain of change.

Friday night I went to the bonfire like I had done for the previous four years, but this time there were fewer faces that I recognized–and younger faces looking back at me. At one point my friend Allan turned to me and said, “Some of these kids look so young.” That sounds absurd coming from a twenty-two-year-old, but he was right. I can’t imagine how much younger they will be in five more years or at least how old I’ll feel.

We watched the lighting of the bonfire, which was way too hot on a seventy-something-degree night, and circled the grounds looking for friends.

Something funny happens in situations like Homecoming or reunions. Sometimes you see people you recognize but don’t really know. In that case, a head bob, smile, or short greeting is sufficient. Other times, you see people (or at least I do) who you do recognize but have no interest in speaking with. In that case, avoiding eye contact is a must. Perhaps that reveals me as being anti-social, but quickly looking away can often save me a great deal of awkwardness.

Nonetheless, for all the posturing, there were some people I was genuinely excited to see again. Catching up with fellow students, professors, and co-workers from my years at Baylor was a true joy, and in every conversation I discovered how much my life and theirs have changed in every direction. Many people have moved on and some are still there, but as life goes on, the only commonality that I will have with many college friends will center around the four years we spent at Baylor.

Saturday, I chose not to go to the parade. Actually, I have never been. I wasn’t involved in a fraternity or other organization that makes a float or participates in the parade. Thus, I always felt my early Saturday mornings after long Friday nights were best spent in bed.

However, as usual, I did show up a couple hours early to the football game, except this time by choice. During all four college years, I spent the games in the press box as an intern with Athletic Media Relations, and it felt awkward (but also relieving) for me to have no responsibilities during the game. I was able to visit with my former co-workers, and that was fun.

In Touchdown Alley, the 2008 table at the Baylor Alumni Association picnic was sparsely populated, but you can’t really blame us for being amateur alumni. Many of us are still pretending to be students.

Prior to this year, I had not sat in the stands at Floyd Casey Stadium since high school, and it was a terrific experience in the hot sun as I re-learned how to cheer for the Bears. I, like most people, didn’t choose to enroll at Baylor because of the football team. (In 2004, I would have been insane to do so.) But Coach Art Briles and quarterback Robert Griffin put on a good show for the alumni against a ranked opponent.

I had an extra ticket to the game that one of my friends decided not to take at the last second, so I had extra incentive for cheering on the Bears, just so I could hold it over his head in the event of victory. Baylor couldn’t quite get over the hump, but being competitive was a good sign for the future.

The rest of my weekend was spent enjoying the company of many of my closest friends. In the few moments where we weren’t joking or reminiscing, we discussed how our lives were changing and what our plans were. But although our paths were not headed in the same direction, we still had Baylor. We still went to the same places, acted the same way, and told the same old jokes. And at least for one weekend every year, we always will.