I arrived in Lexington, Kentucky in April 1977 determined to make it home, at least for a while. The weather was cold and rainy the first two weeks, but that did not deter me. I found a small apartment near the University of Kentucky campus; there would be three—on Mill Street, on Transylvania Park and on Maxwelton Court. The sun eventually came out, and I found that I liked Lexington a lot.
My first job was as a dishwasher at Big Elm Country Club. The cook, a black World War II vet named Frank Jones, was puzzled as to why a college graduate was doing such work. What I most remember about Big Elm was watching the television with about 75 others as Seattle Slew won the Kentucky Derby over in Louisville. (Female club members got rather maudlin as they sang "My Old Kentucky Home.") Slew, of course, went on to win the Triple Crown with victories at the Preakness and Belmont Stakes.
Lexington was and is the very heart of the Bluegrass region of Kentucky, where many generations of people had bred some of the finest and fastest horses in the world. I would often go driving in the countryside, admiring mile after verdant mile of horse farms behind white fences. It was soothing and calming. There was a rather historic race track in the city, Keeneland. I went there once with a friend. We pretended to know what we were doing in betting for one horse or another. Needless to say, we lost.
Woodland Park was just down the street from one of my homes in Lexington. I swam at its pool numerous times that summer. There seemed to be a disproportionate number of booze hounds in the Woodland Park area. They were harmless but sad. Once, perhaps against my better judgment, I agreed to buy some beer and wine from a nearby store for one of these gentlemen. Such was his notoriety that the proprietor had refused to sell him any more.
My second job was not glamorous either. I drove a delivery car for Cassell’s Pharmacy. It enabled me to see a lot of the city and meet a variety of people, most of them quite deserving of sympathy. There a man with a colostomy bag, a lady who seldom left her house and another one who had the gall to suggest we “negotiate” payment of what I had brought. I told her I was not that kind of boy.
The fall of 1977 featured bright and vivid colors. At their peak, the yellow and red leaves on the city’s trees dazzled me. By contrast, Texas was rather muted.
I took part in some of the things the university offered, once attending a lecture given by a South African who anticipated the fall of his country’s apartheid regime. I lived with UK students and became friends with some faculty members. Most of all, there was hoops on an outdoor court beside Jewell Hall, one of the dormitories on Avenue of Champions. Forgive me, dear reader, if I sound like an old-timer a bit too impressed with his younger self. But truthfully, I played some very good basketball in those days. I recall the time I took an inbounds pass from a teammate, pivoted left, dribbled once and went up for a 15-foot jump-hook that rocketed off the backboard and in. The whole process took about two seconds and the fact that it concluded the game added to the drama.
Now about the UK Wildcats. I had come at just the right time because both the football and basketball teams had superb seasons. I went to three or four games at Commonwealth Stadium and saw Fran Curci’s team go 10-1, finishing No. 6 in the nation. It was the best result for Kentucky football since 1950, and no team has come close since. The 1977 Cats did not play in a bowl game because they were on probation. They cheated and they won! Basketball was even better. Joe B. Hall’s team (I recall players like Rick Robey, Jack Givens and Kyle Macy) won the SEC title, went 30-2 and beat Duke in the national championship game. I saw Big Blue numerous times at 23,000-seat Rupp Arena that magical season.
Finally, there was Miss B., of whom I have written elsewhere. Our relationship began with some bantering as she played volleyball adjacent to the aforementioned outdoor basketball court. She was smart, attractive (although not a dazzling beauty), a good listener and blessed with unusual wisdom for her age. Miss B. was a first-semester freshman when we met, and we had a lot in common. I hope it is not unseemly to say that we were very compatible behind closed doors.
In early 1978, I left for Michigan to have surgery on my foot, and that was the end of the Lexington sojourn. Sometimes I find myself looking back at it with fondness and yearning, but life goes on.
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