ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Rodger Lyle Brown

After moving around as a kid -- my father was in the Army -- we settled in Savannah, Ga., when I was 10. I attended Casmir Pulaski Elementary School at the corner of Derenne and Montgomery. I attended Barlett Jr. High for one six weeks period before they redrew the busing districts. From that point on, seventh grade through graduation, I attended Alfred Eli Beach Junior and Senior High, transported by bus to help facilitate the process of racial harmony in Savannah. It seemed to work. I recall nothing but sun-dappled days and the earnest strivings of young scholars.

I joined the Air Force during my senior year in high school. I was excited about the future. I was going to be working in "photographic interpretation and analysis." It was a part of the intelligence service. I thought I was going to be a spy. Unfortunately, three days before I was to report for duty, I was involved in an accident. I was unable to report for duty, and by the time I came to my senses, I had decided instead try door-to-door sales. I trained for my new job in a motel room at the foot of the Talmadge Bridge, which crossed the Savannah River between Georgia and South Carolina. When I had mastered the technique of inserting my foot in the door, I was sent out into the wild marketplace.

I didn't knock on the first door. I couldn't do it. Instead, I spent the summer hanging out at a leather shop on the river where former hippy revolutionaries tooled belts and haversacks and at the house of an older friend who taught me how to be witty.

I enrolled at Armstrong State College that fall. I wrote for the college newspaper, The Inkwell, and bought wire-rimmed glasses. I dropped out of a philosophy class because I didn't understand a word, but an older bearded student (I couldn't yet grow a beard. Still can't.) told me that I had to live a little first and then I would understand. I thought he was a condescending ass. I have since learned he was correct.

Savannah at the time was not a place where too many young people really wanted to stay. The buildings had not yet been all fixed up like they are today. There were no art students. It was old people and dock workers and soldiers from the nearby military bases. It was fine, in that tattered elegance kind of way, but what 17 year old wanted that?

So I transferred to the University of Georgia in Athens. Lucky for me. It was 1977.

The rest is history.