How My Former College Found Me

How My Former College Found Me

It all happened because my family and I had ventured into the depths of the Appalachian Mountains to witness the redneck representation of Renfro Valley: a smaller, slightly cornier Dollywood without the drawing card of voluptuous Dolly.

During the four hour drive, my five-year-old brother Caleb relentlessly whined for strawberry milk until my father heaved a sigh and pulled into a tiny, dark gas station whose roof was bowing under a mound of Kudzu and rotting leaves. Inside, I slid the change across the counter for the strawberry milk, and an elderly man, sitting on an overturned barrel in the corner of the store, flashed a Pepsodent smile and asked how old I was.

“I’ve been 16 for two weeks,” I replied.

At my words he stood and hobbled his way to my side while using the support of a crooked cane. He wore wrinkled overalls, scuffed work boots, and — despite his age — had a farmer’s tan that made the skin peeping from beneath his stained undershirt paler than a frog’s belly.

“Well, now, lil’ lady,” he drawled, “if’n you’re that age ya need to hear ’bout Cumberland College (now University of the Cumberlands). My boy went there and loved every second of it. It’s a fine school and tucked right up there in ’em mountains.”

The retired farmer punctuated his statement with callused hands spread wide, creating a picture of a campus that seemed to unfold from the crisp pages of a storybook. Beyond his description of the campus I cannot recall the words we exchanged, but once I’d recanted the details to my parents, they — always on the lookout for Divine Appointments — deemed Williamsburg, Kentucky our next destination.

Williamsburg, the town where the college was located, nestled deep into the mountains like a shy toddler getting lost in the folds of his mother’s shirt. One chipped, gray road meandered through it, and on both sides were ramshackle restaurants, dingy motels, and thrift stores hawking the same mantra: College Students Welcome!; College Students 50% off!; CC Family Discount! Even from a glance it was obvious the college was the only reason the town still existed, and later I would come to learn the college only came to exist because of the monetary and educational needs of the town.

Once our black conversion van climbed out of the dusty little town and chugged into Cumberland College’s campus, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The college differed so vastly from the surrounding community it was like having a prince and a pauper within a crown’s throw of one another. Colonial style buildings topped with turrets, surrounded by hardwood trees and carved landscaping covered every square inch of the campus’s grounds. One whole brick wall outside of the Rollins Gymnasium was crowded with ornate, circular clocks depicting times zones from around the world. (My sophomore year, this cultural awareness lost its charm when my Communication Arts professor told our class the clocks were donated, and the college didn’t have a better idea on how to use them.)

But it wasn’t until I came upon the freshmen girls’ dorm, Gillespie Hall, that I knew without a shadow of doubt that this place was the college for me. Standing on the sidewalk curving past the beautiful, brick and crown-molded mansion, I watched a resident of the dorm as she reclined in a whicker chair on the green stamp composing the dorm’s front yard. The wind tasseled her long, blond hair as she languidly flipped through the pages of her textbook. It was in that melding of the moments I knew I wanted to come to University of the Cumberlands to embark upon my own voyage into the unknown. I wanted to be that girl sitting in the chair, perusing text in the pursuit of knowledge found both within and without the bounds of the page.

And, so I did.