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By Jean Harper
“We grow too soon old and too late smart,” was a quotation on an ashtray a friend gave me after I complained of getting old. I was middle aged, but was I too late smart? Sometimes I thought so, as I looked back at my “cart before the horse” life.
I quit high school at fifteen to run away and marry, skipped college and career to have and raise eight children before going for education and career. When most of my children were grown, I began a career as a freelance photojournalist for the Northumberland Echo, a weekly newspaper. With help from editor Hugh Ferguson and his wife, Anne, I learned how to develop and print my pictures. My husband helped by encouraging me and helping with the dishes when I was on a deadline and it was after midnight. He also helped me get news pictures. As a Callao Volunteer fireman, when the siren went off, he jumped in the car and took off. I was sometimes in the car before he was and often got to fires before other reporters. I won my first newspaper award with a photo of the Warsaw theater fire. Photo awards and story bylines quickly hooked me on newspaper work.
Since I was freelance, not staff I even had a chance to dabble in political public relations and attended a National Political convention in Miami. The congressional candidate I worked for later headed a private foundation for social work in Central America. When El Salvador suffered effects of an internal war, I went with a group from the foundation to video and photograph the work of the group. We have to travel from place to place by helicopters (I had always wanted to fly in a helicopter). Gunfire was often heard nearby so I envisioned being a war correspondent. To advance my career, I decided I needed more education. With my GED from Northumberland County, I took a few college courses. I found college much more fun than high school and decided to enroll full time in Rappahannock Community College at Warsaw and seek an associate degree. Also, I wrote in our college newspaper, I wanted to wear a special hat and gown and graduate from something. I found I missed the pomp and ceremony of my youth. I was editor of our school paper, The Gull, and when our sponsor, Glenda Lowerry entered in competition, we won awards.
Many of my classmates were older than high school students, though not as old as I was. I felt accepted as a member of this younger clique despite my age. They treated me as one of their group, but I may have been a mother figure for some, as many were young enough to be my children.
I loved all my classes. Except math, I’m math phobic. I asked my RCC psychology professor, Dr. G, “What’s wrong with me, I’m making top grades in everything but math?” Dr. G asked if I was a fast reader. I admitted I read whole paragraphs in one gulp, skimming quickly through stories. “That’s your problem,” he said. “You can’t do that with math. With math you take it slowly, almost like reading See Dick run” While I enjoyed each word in a story as though eating a savory stew, each number in math was hard to swallow as I tried to digest the bitter problems.
I made it through basic math, needed to get my associates degree, but only through the grace of God and a kind math professor who let me take the test in installments. When I transferred to Virginia Commonwealth University (VCU), there was no kindly professor and I think God abandoned me too, for I couldn’t seem to get algebra, even in the dumb, dumb class. I may have even ruined the class for others, who were not as dense as I was.
Early in the class, the professor explained how to get numbers in certain problems. After his explanation, he asked if there were any questions. As usual, I didn’t understand, so I raised my hand and said I didn’t get it. “What didn’t you get,” he asked? “I didn’t get where you got the numbers,” I said. It must have been a long, bad day for him (this was a night class), or maybe he hadn’t had supper. Suddenly he exploded with several expletives as he beat his desk with his fists, “Blank, blank, I don’t care where you get them, from your watch, or anywhere.” I sunk into my chair and never said another word. I never asked another question in the class, neither did anyone else.
I was heartened when one of my English professors wanted me to go for a masters degree in English. He said there was going to be a shortage of English teachers and he thought I would be a good one. I decided not to because I knew I could never flunk anyone. Besides, my husband told me I had enough education and was too old to continue. I was 59 when I graduated in May, but I turned 60 two weeks later in June and started on the sixth decade of my life.
Since my degree was in Mass Communications, I went back to newspaper work as an assistant news editor for the Northern Neck News. I loved it. I was still writing and taking photos, but I was also responsible for the layout of my sections and choosing the photos and stories to use. The paper was sold shortly afterwards, a few months later the news editor retired and I was hired as editor. One year as editor was all I needed to learn I didn’t like being an editor. I’m not suited to firing people, or writing hard news stories with bad things about people even if it’s news, anymore than I would have wanted to flunk English students. I much preferred writing feature stories.
I missed news reporting, but did some freelancing for magazines, which I enjoyed. I wrote the Northern Neck section for a travel book and particularly enjoyed doing the restaurant reviews. I edited and did layout for a poetry book by Mary Van Landingham, a Callao poet. Some of her poems about her deceased spouse were so tender, I often cried as I typed. They were real marriage-savers for those times my husband displeased me. All I had to do was read them and I recognized how important my husband was to me.
I realize how I’ve had it all, a loving husband, wonderful children, good education and interesting career. I wasn’t too soon old and too late smart, I was just a late bloomer, who did it her way.
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