We are told that things happen for a reason. When we have no earthly idea while someone or something has dealt us a setback, we refer to the above.
So, therein lies the reasons why at the age of 18 in 1969 I faced a shocking reality while getting ready to start my college career at what was then called Dixie Junior College in St. George.
About three months prior, I had been granted a scholarship to attend Dixie, where I would pursue a career in journalism. My family and friends attended graduation ceremonies for Rancho High School at the old Las Vegas Convention Center, and I was proud thinking that the journey to Southern Utah was lined with promising times.
However, everything started going haywire when we discovered that the landlord decided at the last minute we would not be allowed to rent an apartment across from the cemetery even though three of us had made arrangements earlier in the summer.
Thankfully, the father of one of my roommates quickly shuttled an 8-by-30 trailer from a lodge in Panguitch to St. George, where we found ourselves living up on a hill behind the old Sands Motel.
Making the situation even more interesting was the fact that the trailer was brutally warm in early September and ice cold when the temperatures dipped. A five-gallon hot water heater ensured us that only the first one to take a shower was certain to have warm water.
The real issue, though, was the key that the scholarship I had been granted was actually far less than anticipated. When I arrived to register for classes in the fall of 1969, I was suddenly informed that the full-ride scholarship was actually an $80 semester award – hardly enough to offset the price of attending Dixie.
When I combined the mistaken amount of the scholarship with the fact that the living quarters were questionable — not to mention the fact that we were many times living on fruit cocktail — it was determined that it was time to return home to Southern Nevada after the fall semester.
Truthfully, I had enjoyed St. George and Dixie College. I covered various athletic events for the school newspaper and found the city not only friendly but pretty at the same time.
The only problem was that I was running out of money fast. One thing I could count on was food at the Dixie Cafeteria, so I’d get up early in the morning, run through the area near the cemetery and arrive at the school both hungry and out of breath.
One trip to pick apples in New Harmony proved that I would never make a living as a farm laborer especially considering that the apples were about the size of ping pong balls. I mean, the apples were so small that we didn’t’ even try eating any of them.
The owner of the apple orchard determined that me and my roommate weren’t working quickly enough, so he told us we might as well go home. With that I figured it was also time to head back to Las Vegas, where the country was not as pretty but the job market was more plentiful and the schooling was actually cheaper.
I didn’t have a vehicle, so I either ran back and forth to Dixie or hitched a ride with one of my roommates who both had cars. I generally rode in the back when the three of us were all in the car.
After saying farewell to St. George and Dixie at the end of the fall semester, my former roommates continued attending the school. A short time after I headed back for Las Vegas, they headed home on weekend in a two-door ’57 Chevrolet.
Somewhere near Mesquite on I-15, the Chevy blew a tire sending the car into a roll while also throwing my former roommates out the doors of the vehicle. Both were hurt although they thankfully survived the accident.
However, had I stayed at Dixie, I would have been in the back of the ’57 Chevy and the chances of me surviving the wreck would have been slim at best.
So, while I was certainly shocked by the turn of events in September as it related to my scholarship, the loss of the full-ride award probably saved my life and thereby proved that things do happen for a reason.
If ever I could find the woman in the registration department who informed me of the bad news, I think I’d give her a big thank you. After all, she probably saved my life and proved to me that things do happen for a reason.
Mike Henle is a Las Vegas-based freelance writer and author of the book “Through the Darkness: One Man’s Fight to Overcome Epilepsy.” He can be contacted at mhenle@aol.com or through his Web site www.mikehenle.com.
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