An Incidental Photo
by Moses Glidden '68
If you knew me at Centre, it was between 1964 and 1968 as John Glidden. At a dirty little detox in 1980, God edited me via one red-headed soak-sister: "Your name ain't John - it's Moses!" Too flat to fight fate, John died - and Moses sobered up. Later a lady lawyer legalized it pro bono. For years judges been looking down, sayin', "Shut up and be guilty!" This judge looked up, said, "New name for a new life, eh? Beautiful." You could read 15 walls in the tome-tomb of jurisprudence before your peek-a-boos bit into another "Beautiful!"
If you saw me at Centre, it was pell-mell past Commons, headed for The Herr's Kraut: "Vell classss . . . zer es ten minutes left in zis class. Es Herr Glidden absent or tardy?" One daring Flowerbelle smuggled donuts in under his schnauzer, my only breakfast at Centre. My grades trudged up, 1.4 to 1.8. to 2.4, to a summons from the Old Man in Old Main, who sat his hand on my shoulder and said, "Well done!" Shook me hard. Alack, those donuts were love-laced - next semester I's smack back on my 1.4 knees.
Pre-donut, my Friday night date was a fifth of dollar-five ThunderMud, bottle to belly in five minutes. Blacked out before I docked at the frats, I'd fill in the unholy holes with day-late hearsay: "Man, you was one mad-mess, talking truck-trash wit some high tuned, pretty-priced chicks twice your size, havin' a wild twistin', shoutin', knockin'-down-band-equipment time, and say, hey - go wide on the Betas and Delts for a spell - they's squallin' serious salt, waltzing you off their planks."
Makin' enemies come natural for me and my bottle.
The 1966 Kentucky Derby was critical to my life at Centre. Me and my Ashland buddy swang through the infield tunnel carryin' a case of Huddlepuddle each, climbin' a nine-foot flowerpot to feast on the wondrous mess of 100,000+ flesh. Mr. Ashland quick-captured the crowd's fancy with a classic Roundhouse Moon. Some chump from Miami of Ohio jumped up and challenged Ash to a doubleheader. A bit of nothin' from Nowhere, Wis. (graduating class of eighty-two - eighty of 'em virgins), I wasn't pullin' my pants down for nobody. The cops broke through, snatchin' Ash while I stood stupor still till they back and bagged me for the long-gone Miami. Common sense and me never could get up a conversation.
Could'a paid a $25 fine and forgot it. Could've tole the draft board I's guilty of grand exposure and never-no-army take me. Not me. I was innocent. That summer I skipped my draft deferment test for two minutes in court so's a cop'd snap, "That's him," to a bing-bang "Guilty!" and my sputters. Any more sputtering and Judge Fudge'd double it, while my Centre alumni lawyerÍs busy enemy abetting, hustle-shushing my sputters off the docket. Probably a Delt in his previous life at Centre. So I was abducted by the Army, deported for 16 months to Korea instead of Vietnam (a flag on my folder said "possible instability in combat - might not kill"). Honorably evacuated after two years, I returned to Centre in fall '68 for a GPA resurrection-transfer to the University of Wisconsin in Madison, fightin' the war at home with my body, camera, and pen. And my bottle.
But WAIT ONE MINUTE! BACK UP! Between the '66 Derby and that semester's end, I was racked by a neck-snappin', hat's-backward miracle! Ashland done double indemnity back at Centre, but I didn't. The dean of men, Dr. Max Cavnes, believed me. When I dialed dad for jail-bail, I got the short answer, followed by a swearless letter that cussed me up and down over my latest "fiasco." But Cavnes believed me, stood by me - the first of many epiphanies that led me to my detoxin' knees. And God snapped a picture of the conversation with Cavnes. An incidental photo in a Centre book. YouÍll find it if you dig.
Moses Glidden '68 teaches literature, composition, and film at Yavapai College, Prescott, Ariz. He and wife Dinah have three children: Zara Ruth (4), Johan Baxter "Bix" (2), and Glory May, born Feb. 19, 2000. He has two older sons, Zach (22) and Woods (27). Woods was named by father and mother (yup, the donut darling) for Mr. Woods, groundskeeper at Centre. His e-mail address is Moses_Glidden@yavapai.cc.az.us.
This article is prayerfully dedicated to Tommy Thompson '68 and Lowell Thompson '68 - friends who suffered and died in separate wars.
