Hanging with Joe: The Black Guy from Springfield

Now, I know I’ve jumped all around while putting down these memories, but that’s ok. It doesn’t have to be sequential. My memories of dad flood back all at the same time, as one point in time, so me organizing them into a particular decade or based on where we lived, is really just for the reader’s benefit. The past is the past and while it happened over time, it’s as much a point in time (the past) as anything.

Not many people know that while I graduated from the University of Illinois with two degrees, I didn't actually get into the business school right away. The application day snuck up on me and my family as we didn't have anyone have to meet an application deadline for college before. Even getting an application in at all was somewhat lucky as it was just casually mentioned to me at lunch in the cafeteria that the deadline was the next day. With a late application and acceptance into the liberal arts school, from which I transferred as soon as possible, I also got a late housing assignment. The late housing assignment came with a questionable classmate who turned out to be a very obnoxious person with whom I only had minimal contact in short bursts during my class days. But that's not all. I was actually in a "triple" that would later be turned into a "quad" with two other people! Yikes! One of those guys, a notice from the University told me, was Samuel Moore from Springfield. My dad was very upset, because he was positive "Samuel" was a black guy. It didn't bother me at all, but having TWO roommates, and later THREE, DID bother me. As it turned out though, Sam was not in fact black, and the worst roommate ever was the one I selected from my high school class. Sam and I moved into a double after our first semester.

While I was in college, my parents came down to see me a few times pretty much every year. Those were great visits, filled with love, new shoes and food. Due to my academic performance in high school, making the honor roll every semester of every year, my dad lost a bet and bought me a car, albeit a used one (1977 Buick Regal in 1984). It ran well enough to get me back and forth from school as needed, so even if my folks couldn’t come visit me, I could go back home some weekends.

But sometimes my dad would want to make his presence known without visiting. On my 19^th or 20^th birthday, he did just that. I was working my shift in the lunchroom, refilling beverages I believe was my main task that day, when in comes a belly dancer. Yep, my dad had conspired with my roommate to get me a belly dancer in front of everyone eating lunch that day. She had me sit in a chair in the front of the lunchroom and danced right in front of me. My dad howled on the phone later that day when I called him, and anytime we talked about that day in the years following. Ugh.

Pops knew Sam was a good guy and let him know it every chance he could. When my folks came down to take me out to dinner, Sam came with. Food for Joe meant food for Sam as well. And that was just fine for Sam, the second youngest of 13 kids and whose father had passed away. Sam would end up going to law school and we’d room together for my 5^th year as well, making it 3 of the 5 years that we lived together. He certainly could have asked for a better roommate, but I couldn’t have!!