fall 2021 | continue the legacy ESSAY A Turbulent Time As President SPECIAL Tidwell Stands Tall & Proud (& Remodeled) FEATURE How A Great Loss Became A God-given Gift VOICES Honoring The Legacy of L. Wayne Tucker, Jr. ADVANTAGEADVERSITYTHE
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Craig GeorgeCarolynCherryColeCowden III Bryan MissyLynnLindseyRandyClaireStacyStanTommyJJenniferSkyeDanielTonyChaseAmyLyndonTomJimDougGwinRobertBrandonBrookeWesRobertKatyDavidKarenShelbaRolandCatieDavidJonathanFonvilleGrantHudsonJacksonJohnsonSheltonJonesWaldenJonesLacyLinkLittleLivesayMercerMillerMoralesMorrisMyersNelsonNesbittOlsonJr.GrahamPagittPalmerPedersonPellegrinPerrymanReedRiceRossonSchlueterMaysSharpStAmantStevensStoverTatumYearyWells @BaylorLineFoundationsupport@baylorline.com Continue the legacy. Fall 2021 | Vol. 85 No. 2 contentsopeningfeatures 03
LETTERS AND IDEAS 06 In the final months of her two-year term as President of Baylor Line Foundation, Laura Hilton Hallmon has been thinking about her legacy as leader . . . and what’s next. ESSAY
Board Members Sharon
Cover photo by Curtis W. Callaway 12 Kaye Callaway’s greatest setback was a 20-foot fall. Her greatest loss was losing her ability to speak clearly. Somehow, though, she thinks it was all worth it.
A FALL IN FIVE SCENES 28 One of the most iconic buildings on campus finally got a makeover. See inside the newly renovated Tidwell Bible Building.
STILL STANDING TALL & PROUD 34 Travel back in time 61 years to a phenomenal article written anonymously by a 37-yearold mother of two who was fighting against all odds to earn a degree from Baylor.
Jackie
FROM 1960: MORE PLUCK THAN LUCK Baylor Line Magazine is published by Baylor Line Foundation (formerly Baylor Alumni Association). Headquarters: 600 Austin Ave. #14, Waco, Texas 76701. Mailing address: PO Box 2089, Waco, Texas 76703. Copyright © 2021 by Baylor Line Foundation. All rights reserved. Printed in Texas, USA. Postage paid at Waco, Texas and at additional mailing facilities. This publication and its trademarks are the property of Baylor Line Foundation and may not be reproduced in whole or in part in any form without the express written permission from the Publisher. Website: baylorlinefoundation.com. Subscribers: If the Post Service alerts us that your magazine is undeliverable, we have no further obligation unless we receive a corrected address within 90 days. Submit these changes: baylorlinefoundation.com/update. Allow six weeks for change of address or new orders. The Publisher assumes no responsibility for care or return of or response to unsolicited materials. Baylor Line Magazine is available to subscribers, including Life Members and current members of Baylor Line Insider. Baylor Line Insider Exclusive is only available to current members of Baylor Line Insider. For more information: baylorlinefoundation.com/insider. The Publisher reserves the right to change publication schedule without notice.
EDITOR’S NOTE 04 So/ many responses came in to the 75th Anniversary Issue that it was hard to choose how to fill our Letters section. Read reactions and memories from Bears across the generations.
Gary
Barnes Jan
3Fall 2021 BAYLOR LINE FOUNDATION BOARD OF DIRECTORS 2020 - 2021 Officers
Nicole
Laura Hilton Hallmon, President Tony Pederson, President Elect Baugh Moore, Past President Williams Robinson, Secretary Chad Wooten, Treasurer McDonald Huggins Barry Marie Brown Burford Adversity/ is rarely something we’re looking to experience, yet this issue is dedicated to the idea. Editor-in-chief Jonathon Platt explains why this topic is so important to consider.
Photo by Jody Smyers
FUNDRAISINGOF DIGITALMANAGERCONTENT DIRECTOR OF MEMBER RELATIONS EDITOR EMERITUS, BAYLOR LINE MAGAZINE CFOCEO JONATHON PLATT
—Jonathon Platt, editor in chief
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Kaye Callaway’s inspiring, death-defying tale of surviving and recovering from a 20-foot fall has probably been the most difficult story I’ve been honored to help tell. From the moment I asked Kaye and her husband Curtis Callaway, whose photograph of Kaye jumping moments before she fell is the cover of this issue, about doing this article, we’ve all agreed what photo should make the cover. It’s hard to look at, but I hope the story inspires you as it does me.
L. Wayne Tucker, whose infectious kindness, tireless support, and servant leadership made so very much possible in the Baylor Family, will be remembered fondly. Read about his legacy and how you can help continue it.
DIRECTOR ROBERT F. DARDENJAMES MCINNISHOLT MARY CATE ARCHINAL COURTNEY FAULKNER KELLIE JUANDIEGO CONTINUE THE LEGACY voices
IN L.REMEMBERING:WITHCONVERSATIONISAIAHODAJIMAWAYNETUCKER,JR.
47 With so much happening in the Baylor Family, you may be wondering how you can fit in. Executive Vice President of Baylor Line Foundation, Allen Holt, summarizes what he thinks the most important places you can get involved.BEHINDTHOUGHTSTHECOVER
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Dr. Isaiah Odajima, associate professor of ensembles and director of the Golden Wave Band, sat down for an interview about struggles, success, and how he has stuck to the things he loves.
CLOSING
EDITOR’S NOTE
I’ve read where Oprah Winfrey said you’ll never see her in high heels again. I’ve heard friends say they’re not going back to an in-person office. You might know someone who lost a job but who is now full-force-into-the-wind in a new role, a new business, or a new passion.
JonYours, J onathon P latt (‘16, M a ‘19) Editor-in-chief, Baylor Line Magazine
I chose this issue’s title as “The Adversity Advantage” for that reason. Adversity is something we all face. Sometimes, though, you find people who take the adversity of a moment and use it to face life from a different, better perspective. We should not neglect the pain we’ve experienced in the past year-and-a-half. It is real and we are worthy of being allowed to hurt and heal from it. But we also should not let it define us. It should not limit us. So, how will your life be different from the adversity you’ve experienced? Here’s to finding your own adversity advantage!
Friends:
One small lesson for me: I have no intention in returning to always, what I call, “yessing it.” That’s where you say yes to everything. Yes to that meeting. Yes to that dinner. Yes to that trip. Yes to that unhealthy friendship. Covid has given me perspective on what kind of life could be possible because — for so much of it — “yes” wasn’t always a possible answer.
It’s on all of our minds: What will life look like when we finally (hopefully, soon) emerge from the Covid-19 crisis? How will things be different? How will they go back to how they used to be? Have you given much thought to considering how your life could not just be different, but better post-pandemic?
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Certainly we’ve all been through a traumatic experience with Covid. We’ve all lost loved ones. All lost out on a year of life, a year of school, or a year of opportunity. There has been pain. There has been deep, deep pain. We should not gloss over that. We should not forget what we experienced, what we struggled through, or what we learned. That’s what this issue is about. There is pain in this world. Different kinds of pain — like Laura Hilton Hallmon’s unexpected term as president (pg. 06), like Kaye Robinson Callaway’s fall and injury (pg. 12), like the harrowing story we’ve reprinted from 1960 of a mom struggling to finish her college degree (pg. 34), like Isaiah Odajima’s family and personal crisis (pg. 38). Like maybe the pain you, your friends, your family have experienced in the past year. We all must go through hard times.
One point of clarity I’d like to address from the previous issue of Baylor Line Magazine: In the “Long Days Journey Into Night” article (specifically, my closing comments), I mention that David Stricklin conducted the oral history interview with Paul Baker for Baylor University. In my remarks, I said David did not ask Paul about the incident from 1962. This could have been understood as criticism of David — as if he was somehow intentionally leaving out this conflict — but I can assure you that I did not mean it as such. This is my fault. As editor, I should have been more clear with my words. I mentioned David’s role to explain that the issue was never discussed in the interview, as I thought readers might think Paul dodged any questions asked about it. From my understanding (and from David’s memory), it was agreed beforehand that David and Paul would not discuss the incident because a television news crew was there to interview Paul immediately afterward for an extended period about the “Long Days” controversy. I’d like to apologize to David for not better communicating my intent in bringing up his role as interviewer. —Jonathon Platt, editor-in-chief (the 1968 version of getting a fraternity pin). For a moment I thought I was going to drown! Linda (Payne) Massler (far left in the photo, above on the left) , and I — both Baylor grads (1970) and life members of Baylor Alumni Association/Baylor Line Foundation — recently celebrated our 52nd anniversary. Many good memories in that 75th Anniversary edition. — Charlie and Linda (Payne) Massler Winston-Salem, NC Baylor 1970 In a later message Charles explained his first photo this way: The picture was taken by my Kokernot roommate, David Peck, who was (and is) from Garland, Texas. The cast of characters (left to right) are: Linda (Payne) Massler, Weldon Harris, Bert Geeslin, Walter Ochs (hidden), Ken Emert, Ronnie Swanner, Rusty (?), Burl DeLong, and Parker Boyd. I am the horizontal victim! Thanks for writing in Charles. Your memories warmed my heart, and your photos brought a huge grin to my face. Also, happy anniversary to you and Linda!
POINT OF ORDER
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Laura Hilton Hallmon with her husband, Ben.
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Laura Hilton Hallmon assumed the presidency with a mission but then the world went upside down
Baylor Line Magazine12 talking about mending those relationships and rebuilding some of that trust. And again, these are my words, not hers. That was the tone of it. And it was cautious... Cautious from both sides? I think so. I think so. So, my focus when I started this interview, was really to talk about the tumultuous time of 2020 and 2021. Now that we’re in conversation, though, it kind of seems like you’ve been in the “tumultuousness” since your first interaction with Baylor Line Foundation. So what do you think you’ve learned most in the ebb and flows of these crises? I’ve learned it’s better to temper the desire to move forward quickly and, instead, move the organization forward with a healthy respect and caution based on the past. I think one of the things that I’ve learned to do better is to develop that appreciation for the history and that it’s not enough to just say, ‘Okay, we got to kind of move forward. We’ve got to put that in the past.’ It can’t be like that. No one’s told me this outright, but I feel like I’ve been granted a lot of grace in the ways that I, from the beginning, kind of wanted to say, ‘Okay, okay. Okay. But we’ve got to move forward.’ And I’ve had to learn to rein that back and have more appreciation. Appreciation is probably not the right word and it’s not really respect either, but it’s… Reverence? Reverence is a good way to describe it. Yeah. And to temper those two perspectives, because it takes both. It absolutely takes both perspectives for us to move forward. So, when we’re meeting with somebody like Dr. Livingstone, who is new to the relationship, you’ve got to know that history and not just the history, but the way that treatment and the degradation of that relationship makes people feel. Because the way that it makes them feel, it impacts everything that they do with a mind toward Baylor. That’s the thing that I personally appreciate the most that I learned: being able to kind of meet in the middle of those two extreme positions and to recognize that there are many other perspectives among us too, that are not on either extreme end, but somewhere in the middle, and that’s a good place to be.
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“KAYE!” Curtis watched as the fall happened in slow motion, her name erupting from his lips without even realizing it. No matter how fast he tried to move, he knew it was too late. Despite a running leap, Kaye hadn’t fully made it across a five-foot gorge. Before Curtis’s eyes, the woman he had come to love as life itself was falling back from the edge of a cliff 20 feet down — and 20 feet is a very long way to fall. What should have certainly been a death sentence, though, changed their lives (and the lives of many, many others) for the better. The line ahead was so very long, so very full of people, who were all so very full of joy — in fact, beaming because of that joy. All of these very happy people in this very long line were there for two very special people — in fact, two very special people who all these very happy people loved very much. You could feel the excitement in the very happy people’s small talk and in how they shifted their weight frequently backwards and forwards and side to side. These very happy people bobbed, bounced on their heels, all while beaming and trying to catch a glimpse of how close to the front of the line they were. They were trying to see how close they were to the two very special people.
I’ve heard this called “antsiness.” Antsiness is a word that means nervous but happy, as if it were the linguistic intersection of where anticipation meets exhilaration. These people were very full of antsiness. At the front of the line, I knew one of the two very special people who we were all waiting to see. Curtis Callaway, a senior lecturer of journalism, public relations, and new media at Baylor, officed next door to a friend, who I went to see almost weekly. One day, when I passed his office door, Curtis struck up a conversation. He is a photographer extraordinaire and his talent and reputation are well known. I am a writer and not a photographer, so why should he have ever paid me any mind? But Curtis didn’t care. He collects people — interesting, talented, special people — and I had been collected. After a few conversations, Curtis had invited me to a party at Kaye enjoys a contemplative moment writing at Cattail Falls.
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Baylor Line Magazine16 his house in his backyard. He said it was casual, a blue jeans and beer kind of party. Eventually, in line with all these very happy people, I’d learned it was his wedding reception. I didn’t feel I should be there. Standing in line, I was not antsy. I was worried, anxious, out-of-place, stewing in the fear that I would be found out. So, finally, when it came my time to be greeted by these two very special people, I reached out and shook Curtis’s hand, hoping to make it through the pleasantries quickly and then plan a quiet exit. “Hey! Congratulations! It’s so good to see you. Thanks for having me out,” I said. “It’s great to have you,” Curtis replied. “Jonathon, have you met my—”
He was cut off. Two small hands had climbed my face, cupped me on either side. They were farm hands, I recognized this immediately. Growing up in the country, I’d learned of these hands. My grandmother has them. Hands that are rough but soft at the same time. These two small, rough, soft hands were on my cheeks. They began to move my face, angling my gaze downward. I met the eyes of a woman I’d never seen. I could feel my own eyes wide with fear, locked on this stranger. Had I just been found out? One last darting glance back to Curtis and he was just smiling. When my gaze met the stranger’s again, I returned to find tears forming in the corners of her eyes. Her small, farm-worn hands gently pulled me in close to her. “Tonight,” she spoke softly and sternly, “why don’t we just turn it off? We can be imperfect together tonight. Deal?” I melted and began to sob into this small stranger’s shoulder. We hugged, I knew she knew me, I somehow now knew her. I had just met Kaye Robinson Callaway (JD ‘09) and, if you’ve ever met her, you know this experience is not an uncommon one. She can read you, know exactly what your fears are, meet you in those fears, and walk with you back to safety. She is not afraid to cry with you, though this has not always been the case. She is this way because of several reasons. Some people say she is magical, some that she has unimaginable strength, one told me Kaye is Kaye because she has somehow convinced Jesus
Kaye takes in the majestic view on Dom Rock. “
Some people say she is magical, some that she has unimaginable strength, one told me Kaye is Kaye because she has somehow convinced Jesus to be very good, very close friends with her.”
19Fall 2021 to be very good, very close friends with her.
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Find the boys. Find the boys. Find the boys. That was Jody’s job: find the boys and tell them to go for help. Curtis was still back with Kaye, holding her head and neck steady. She was conscious, but not fully coherent. They’d done a brief test to see if she had broken any bones. As Jody would press on a part of Kaye’s body, Curtis would ask, “Kaye, does that hurt? Tap your fingers twice for no.” She’d tapped twice every time as Jody carefully navigated up and down her frame. Somehow, two taps every time. It was a miracle. He couldn’t believe it. Jody’s view of the fall had been just to the right of Curtis. He’d watched the same tragedy. He knew the odds were against them. As he ran to find the boys — Drew and Robby — he prayed. Find the boys. God, please, help this poor lady. She’s hurt bad. Find the boys. God, please, help this poor lady. She’s hurt real bad. Find the boys. Please, please, help this lady. Find the boys. Jody was certain Kaye would be dead when he got back. Kaye’s fall happened in early 2015 in a place called Tuff Canyon. That’s in Big Bend National Park out near Terlingua. About a decade before, she had fallen in a skiing accident, damaging her knee and requiring surgery to mend the injury. That’s the closest she had ever come to a life-threatening incident. She walked — or, rather, limped —
Soon after meeting Kaye, I learned of the tragic fall she experienced. Though painful and heartwrenching when it happened, she and Curtis now tell the story often, so full of joy and not regret. In a journal entry from 2015, just after her fall when she was finally out of the hospital and in physical therapy, she explained it this way: “I jumped between two rocks at Big Bend, fell and injured my brain.” At the time she wrote this, a therapist corrected her, made her scratch out “brain” with three rough scratches and begrudgingly replace it with “head.” (Six years later, she told me she still meant “brain.”)
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away with a torn MCL and continued walking on it for nine months, putting off any medical help before finally having corrective surgery. Kaye is tough. On the ski slope, after she fell, she made everyone leave. “I said, ‘Y’all go on down.’ The students, my girls, everybody left, my husband at the time, too. Everybody left. I said, ‘I’ll get down
3 Why is Curtis calling me? It was late — 11 o’clock at night. Melissa was tired. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. The phone was vibrating in her hand with Curtis’s name scrolling across the screen as she reached forward with a finger. She almost declined the call, but something nudged her to answer. “Hello?” she said. “Melissa, it’s Curtis. Your mom and I are out in Big Bend, and she’s had a really bad fall.” At first, it didn’t register with Melissa. People fall all the time. She thought Kaye had maybe fallen down some stairs or slipped off the curb. “Okay,” she said. “Is she okay?” Curtis’s response shook her.
21Fall 2021 jump. Eventually, Jody and Robby arrived, Jody joining Curtis in shooting, while Robby joined Drew in jumping. Where was Kaye? Observing, encouraging, laughing, and whooping for each jump. Remember how Kaye had told her mother she had 13 brothers, though? How she’s rough and tough and a Tomboy? At around three in the afternoon, Kaye had done enough observing and scaled the trail to the top of the jump site to follow in her tradition of fitting in with “the boys.” As she got there, Robby made a final jump and Curtis saw through his lens the heel of Robby’s shoe just barely make the full leap. “Okay,” Curtis said, marking the end of their detour. “That’s enough. Come on down. No, Kaye. I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “Pssf,” Kaye spit. The next few seconds weren’t how they were supposed to go. She made three long, good bounding steps. She was supposed to make it across. She was supposed to show the boys she could fit in. She wasn’t supposed to get hurt and need attention or help or to become a burden. But she didn’t stick the landing. In photos captured by Curtis and Jody, you can see her eyes and her hands — as she’s balancing on the verge of falling backward down the 20-foot fall — they’re grasping. What to grab for? What to cling to? What to do now? “Crud,” Kaye thought. From below, Curtis watched in absolute horror. That’s probably an understatement. Eight months earlier, he had met this woman in jail — literally, in a jail. Kaye owns the old, two-cell jail building in downtown Clifton. She turned it into a bedand-booze, as she calls it. When it was time to have it photographed, two names were recommended to her. Guess who she hired. She met Curtis at the site, which she named The Cell Block, where he took photos. They spent a whole afternoon, evening, and late night together. As client and contractor, they learned how much they had in common. Both divorced. (“We both said we were never getting married, again,” Curtis will tell you.) Both had two daughters. Both enjoyed travel, adventuring all over the globe. Both had made life so very full with the friends, experiences, and memories they’d made in those adventures. And, now, both were exceptionally interested in the other. Over the ensuing months, they’d begun hanging out then dating. They met each other’s families, took a few trips together, but both were still explicit on never getting married again. They had told each other they loved the other — Kaye volunteered that information first, naturally — but they were both content simply dating and falling in a different kind of love. As Kaye fell, Curtis shouted her name: “KAYE!” He doesn’t remember this. Kaye remembers the entire thing. Except the thud. On the way down, Kaye hit her head on a boulder. It made her brain ricochet against her skull, and she blacked out for a moment. She hit the ground, one arm tucking behind her, the other and her legs sprawled out like a ragdoll. Curtis was there immediately. Kaye came-to within seconds. Her first memory back in consciousness was Curtis cradling her head in his hands. As Curtis instructed Jody how to check for injuries, he held Kaye’s head, now so precious and so fragile — the one thing she hated to be more than anything. As Curtis instructed Jody and held Kaye’s head, he came to a realization.
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“We don’t know,” he said. Melissa listened as Curtis explained the severity of Kaye’s fall and injuries. Melissa’s mind raced and she could feel herself beginning to grow scared, beginning to break down, beginning to wonder, worry if she’d ever be with her mom again. But she had to be strong, had to get it together. Because, next, she had to call her younger sister, Andrea. She had to be strong in case Andrea needed to be weak. In the ensuing weeks of Kaye’s surgery and recovery, they passed that responsibility back and forth. One would be strong, so the other could be scared. Then, without a word of indication, they would swap. Of course, Melissa didn’t know that when she called Andrea. She just knew she had to be strong. Somehow — “and this is where the miracles began,” Kaye says — Robby found cell service. Over a painstakingly slow two hours, the paramedic team carefully, carefully brought Kaye out of the canyon; had carefully, carefully driven her out of Big Bend; and then doctors in Alpine carefully, carefully weighed options on what to do and where to send her for the advanced level of care she needed. Next came the deluge of logistics. Curtis had a big question to answer: Who to call? Craig, Kaye’s older brother? Helen, Kaye’s mom? Andrea (MSEd ‘11) or Melissa, Kaye’s daughters? He was still an outsider to them, though they had met a few times. He knew if he made the wrong call, it could ruin any chances of being trusted by them. It was 11 pm by then, so when Craig didn’t answer, he called Melissa, the older sister. There was pain in that conversation and in Melissa’s call to Andrea and in Melissa’s call to Craig and in Craig’s call to Helen. A chain of pain. All hurting and praying for Kaye. Once Kaye’s girls were informed, they began to book plane tickets, plan travel, and would arrive in the morning. Overnight, Kaye was moved from Alpine to San Antonio. When the girls arrived, they were able to see their mom. “We showed up and maybe she was in a holding room to get to the ER,” Melissa remembered, “but we were in this tiny little room. And then that’s where Curtis met us. And then they were going to take her to the ER, I think, and it was sort of like they weren’t going to let us see her again.” Decisions had to be made about Sharing a laugh in the hospital.
Kaye quickly. The pressure was building in her head. What were they going to do? “There were just so many things, I mean, that I don’t even know if I still really understood until way after the fact of what actually happened, what was actually wrong with her,” Andrea said. “I just never really understood what the problems were. Like that it was a brain injury, sure. But then this is what a brain injury is?” Surgery to remove part of her skull was the decision finally made. A craniotomy. While all this pain and chaos was occurring, while all this late-night, cross-state travel and overwhelming decisions were being made, Kaye was in-and-out of consciousness. She doesn’t remember much but has pieced together what she knows happened from the memories of her family. One experience Kaye’s family did not recount to her — one of the few, vivid, personal memories she has of the time is when she met God. While sedated, Kaye left this life. She approached God. Tried to walk further forward but found she could not. He told her it was not her time. She had to go back. So she did. The craniotomy was a success, and the next few days allowed some much-needed relief not just for her brain, but for those gathered around her. Besides doctors and nurses, only four people were allowed into her hospital room. Kaye is from Clifton, Texas — population 3,391. As small towns go, the word of Kaye’s injury spread quickly. “So we put her on blacklist,” Andrea said. “Basically, like they do celebrities, there was no record of her being there. So when people called, they wouldn’t even say she was there.” Only four people were allowed back: Melissa and Andrea during the day, Craig on the nightshift, Curtis there 24/7. Sometimes, though, Kaye would ask who the man in the corner was. She meant Curtis, the girls assumed. That wasn’t right, their mother argued. He wore a wool sweater, she told them. Talked to her and comforted her. Oh, she means the minister who came by. “Dadgumit!” Kaye remembers thinking. They couldn’t understand her. He was the guy she was talking with some time when they came back in. No one understood. No one else had been there. They’d never seen anyone else. “I had always prayed to meet an angel,” Kaye said, crying with joy from the memories. God didn’t call her Home, but he did grant that prayer. He gave her someone to watch her in her time of greatest need. 4 It had already been a long day. Andrea woke up in San Antonio early that morning, took a flight to Dallas, left straight from the airport to head back south with her car, and then finally arrived here: her childhood home. It was the same four numbers — the same four buttons — she had always pressed to open the gate. They seemed heavier this time. The gate seemed to open more slowly this time. The driveway seemed to stretch out forever this time. She knew her job was important, but she didn’t want to be home this time. She had to get her mother’s things together and take them back to the hospital in San Antonio. Walking in, the house was quiet, lonely — Andrea felt comforted to be back in her home, but uncomfortable for why she was there. Every sound echoed off the tile. She wished Melissa, her sister, had come with her. But, like all of us when there’s a job to be done, Andrea quickly snapped herself into business mode. She had her job, she had her list, she had her marching orders. In a one-day, whirlwind roundtrip from San Antonio to Waco and back, Curtis had left some of Kaye’s things from the trip at the house. Her mom’s bag lay on the floor. As Andrea tossed the contents out, a shirt caught her eye. She laid it out on the bed, looking at it. It was the
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Baylor Line Magazine26 IF YOU’RE STILL ALIVE, YOU STILL HAVE A PURPOSE. —Kaye Robinson Callaway CALLAWAYCURTISBYPHOTO “”
27Fall 2021
shirt Kaye had been wearing when she fell. The paramedics had cut it right up the middle to take it off. It was surreal. The dirt and damage still there, looking back at Andrea. Her mother was alive, but it would be a long road to recovery. It’s amazing what the brain can do. It keeps us breathing, processes complex problems, instructs our muscles and movements all day long. When, suddenly, it won’t perform properly, we can feel useless. Think about the last time you couldn’t remember a word or how you knew someone you recognized in the grocery story but couldn’t place exactly how. Think about what you go through: You know you know that guy over in the lettuce section. Oh, come on. Where do you know him from? Traumatic brain injuries can leave one in a constant state of that feeling. Sometimes, even today, when Kaye talks, she gets to a word that leaves her grasping, like you feel when you can’t remember the guy over in the lettuce. What’s worse: She knows she knows the word. Sometimes she hunts for it, says words that are close but not precise. For someone who values the immense importance of language, that’s hell. Kaye was a teacher in younger years. An English teacher at that. One of her greatest joys is in reading beautiful works of literature. She’s been working on-andoff on her own books since 1986. Kaye loves words. But she now struggles with them. What’s amazing is, though she misses her “old” brain, she has come to see the brain post-injury as her “new” brain. And she loves it. She sees it as a newfound source for empathy toward others. She can connect with people in different ways. Her father, Ralph, before he passed away, suffered from dementia. In those final months of his life, Kaye, still healing and suffering from her traumatic brain injury, could relate to him. Another form of Kaye’s empathy is that Helen, her mother, now uses a walker. Having had to learn to walk again and use a walker to assist herself, Kaye loves that she can relate to her mom in this way. “What brand is that one, mom?” she said she will jokingly ask Helen. “Ah! That’s the good kind!” An injury of this magnitude can leave one cynical, victimized, even just stuck. Kaye has never seen it this way. “I was dead, and I was going to see God,” she recalled from her earliest time in the hospital. “I told him I was coming home. I’m happy to die. That’s fine. It wasn’t because I was unhappy to live. Then when he told me, no, it wasn’t my time, then I had to rephrase. Okay. If I’m still alive, there is a reason I’m alive. There’s a different purpose or a further purpose. That’s why I never asked for anything I lost to come back, because I thought there could be a purpose that I can’t read anymore. I’ve learned what it’s like for people that can’t. There could be a purpose that I can’t write anymore. I’ve learned what it’s like for people that can’t. I remember when I couldn’t see well, all month it was furry, fuzzy. My granddad was blind. I’ve learned what it’s like. I never asked for those things back, even my brain. I don’t ask for it back. “The whole point is, anything He takes from someone or allows to be taken from them, if you’re still alive, you still have a purpose. That should give you joy. It’s a weird combination of: the more love I feel, the more joy I have, no matter who I am now. I’m learning to love myself, which I did not do well. I liked myself a whole lot but loving myself is just the joy in who He has created me, as the new me. It’s more like a kid and it’s more fun in life, instead of accomplishing and success and helping other people. Just relax, breathe deep. Still work, still improve, but have joy in who you are, no matter who that is.” Out of such trauma, this is her perspective. Out of such pain, this her way forward. Out of her greatest loss, this is her God-given gift.
Baylor Line Magazine28 5 Eyes closed, she said the words that felt right. “Thank you for letting me drop the way you had me drop,” Kaye prayed, holding Curtis’s hands. “And thank you for Curtis being here and for all the people that came down to get me out and then helped me get better and got me back down to this place.”
Kaye and Curtis were standing at the bottom of Tuff Canyon in the exact place her life had almost ended five months earlier. “I just thank you for life,” she concluded. Being back, they had explored where it all happened. How high was the cliff, actually? Where did she hit her head? How did she land? Surreal didn’t describe the experience. It was beyond description to be there together where such an awful tragedy had occurred and to have Kaye there so whole and healing. Curtis said he wanted to pray next. “Dear Lord, we’re thankful for you keeping her alive. Thank you for bringing us together. Thank you for letting her live,” he prayed. Kaye was grateful for his patience and for his consistency. She was grateful he had offered a prayer and as he finished his words, she opened her eyes to look at him. She was tired, ready to climb back out. She knew the hike would take work, but she was so grateful to be making that hike back up with Curtis from the place he almost lost her forever. They began to let go of each other’s hands. Then, swiftly, she saw Curtis dropping. It was sudden, as if someone had pushed down on his shoulders. In total surprise to them both, Curtis asked simply, “Will you marry me?” “Well, yes!” was Kaye’s own simple reply. Two people who met in jail one afternoon married just two years later — but they were not short years, mind you. On the day of their wedding, they did what Kaye and Curtis do: they went adventuring. Each year out along both sides of the Rio Grande, people gather for music, food, dancing, and celebration for the Voices From Both Sides festival. Bands from the neighboring areas around the small, border town of Lajitas, Texas, take turns serenading friends from across the border and the even smaller town of Paso Lajitas, Mexico. Then, those on the Mexican side of the river, pick up their instruments and play. In the water and along the banks are people enjoying the festivities. In the middle of the crowd, on May 21, 2016, was Kaye. Curtis showed me a video of her crossing the river. She wobbles a little. “Were you worried about her?” I asked. “Not at all,” he said. “You know her. As soon as she saw it, she had to do it.” Mid-stream, a large man reaches his hand out, he takes one of her small, rough, soft hands in his own and helps Kaye cross the waist-deep water. She crests the bank and immediately makes friends. She dances with a Mexican woman to the beautiful music. The video cuts off as she turns to face the Texas side. She is smiling. She is full of Youjoy. can hear Curtis laugh. He is happy. He is full of joy. They are together, sharing in this joy just a few miles from where Kaye fell. But that’s not important. They are together. That’s all that matters. In a few hours, they will stand with a different crowd and take each other’s hands. They will say some words a minister asks them to repeat. They will listen to words explaining their love for each other. They will kiss and be married. But they are already together now in this scene of chaotic joy. They are together. And that’s all that matters. Neither of them knew this day would come — they even told others countlessly how they’d each never
29Fall 2021 marry again. But something changed at the bottom of Tuff Canyon. While Curtis held Kaye’s head, so precious and so fragile, he came to a realization. This was the woman he loved. “It was then when I was holding her and there for her. That’s when I realized: this is for life. That moment is when I knew I was never leaving her side,” he said. When he told me that, he choked up again, looking down the table to Kaye. And, again, she was already teary-eyed, smiling back at him so very full of joy. She didn’t need me to ask. She knew my next question. “For me,” she said, “it was the day I came back to Waco, and I told him he didn’t have to keep coming back.” She said Curtis ruffled at the suggestion and told her he would be coming back, that he always would be coming back. “I thought he would come back to me,” she explained. “It wasn’t meant like I doubted him, but it was my gut. He needed to work. He had to do his job. And yet he was apologizing to me because he wasn’t going to be there 24/7. And he hadn’t even been to his apartment. He needed to sleep. He needed to go. And that’s what I meant, he didn’t have to come back. Go rest is what I meant. And when he said that, then it was like, ‘Oh, he means, means it in the way I didn’t.’” As Curtis came to a realization holding Kaye’s head at the bottom of Tuff Canyon, Kaye came to a similar conclusion in a rehabilitation center in Waco. “That was my moment, when I knew he really loved me,” she said. And that became the moment she knew she could really love him. Kaye told me that as she walked the aisle on their wedding day, approaching Curtis in his dashing blue suit, she saw a smirk grow across his face. Nothing inappropriate. Nothing anyone else would notice. But she didn’t catch or, at least, didn’t know what his expression meant. As she came within reach of him to be joined together in marriage, she learned what his little smirk was about. Curtis opened the right side of his jacket in a way no one else could see what was inside. Embroidered there against the contrasting deep, navy blue of his suit, Kaye read the words: “Don’t jump.” And they laughed together. But the thing is, sometimes we have to jump. Sometimes we even have to fall. Because while many will tell you the jumps are worth it — the adrenaline, the excitement, the irreplicability of doing something wild, free, and careless — it’s the falls with all the pain and setbacks and heartbreak that so often teach us who we are and make us into who we need to be. The Old Testament author recorded that Joseph, upon seeing his brothers again for the first time after they sold him into slavery, said to them, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many people.” Sometimes, it turns out, the falls are worth it.
CALLAWAYCURTISBYPHOTO Always smiling.
30 CAMPUS
Miller Chapel — for generations of Bears one of the most beautiful and sacred spots on campus — now encompasses levels of offices and teaching resources.Wehope you’ll stop by Tidwell on your next jaunt to campus and soak in the renewed, renovated beautiful of a building so many Bears have loved throughout the generations.
Throughout the building, visitors can see an increase in technology in existing teaching areas and the complete remodeling of other spaces.
Among the guests were donors, administrators, past and current students, and the professors who now call Tidwell their new (or newly remade) home and those who spent their careers teaching and mentoring from this building.
“At some point in their Baylor journeys, practically all of our students have taken a class in Tidwell, which houses some of our core disciplines, and we are grateful that this Baylor tradition will continue on for future generations because of their generosity.”
These remarks, delivered by President Linda Livingstone at the re-dedication ceremony for the newly renovated Tidwell Bible Building on August 25, were met by smiles, nods, and a few outright affirmations from the crowd assembled.
Thanks to the generosity and leadership from the Sunderland Foundation and a completion gift by Barbara “Babs” Baugh before her passing in 2020, Baylor’s 67-year-old Bible Building just completed a major, multi-million-dollar renovation. And — WOW! — is it astounding. Beginning in May 2020 and completed ahead of schedule, the remodel of Tidwell improves not only the look of the storied building, but also the useability of one of campus’s most trodden structures. Originally dedicated in 1954 and named after the long-serving religion professor, Josiah Blake Tidwell, the building has roots all the way back to 1936, when its inception was originally conceived by a large group of students. Over the years, Tidwell has housed a number of departments and served as classroom units for even more disciplines, including religion, history, foreign language, music, philosophy, sociology, and nursing. Now, fully renovated and gleaming with potential for generations of students to come, Tidwell will serve as the on-campus home for religion, history, and sociology.
31Fall 2021
TALLSTANDINGSTILL&PROUD
Baylor Line Magazine32
Above: President Linda Livingstone and representatives from the Sunderland Foundation and Eula Mae and John Baugh Foundation cut the ceremonial ribbon for a newly renovated Tidwell Bible Building. Right: Where Miller Chapel once was now you’ll find offices and academic space. The beautiful stained glass is still present, making the space feels both modern and historic.
37Fall 2021 a list of duties that occupied four hours every afternoon during school days, suppertime help and cleanup, all day Saturday, mealtime help on Sunday, and babysitting for their three children every night of the week except occasional Monday nights.
it with a string, and left Colorado without a goodbye to my tangled family, never to return to Ilive.had never bought a train ticket, never cashed a check, and had never been more than 100 miles from home. It was easy getting from Greeley to Denver, but in Denver I ran into trouble at the station when I tried to cash a check on a Greeley bank to buy a ticket to Abilene. I tried again at a nearby bank and was refused by a kind-looking bank teller. I couldn’t help it, but I started to cry. I’ll never forget what he did and said: “It’s the honest ones who get in trouble.” With that, he cashed the check and told me if it bounced, he’d take the money out of his own paycheck.Sunday night I reached Abilene and spent part of my remaining $3 on taxi fare to the campus. That’s when I found out that Texas colleges run a week ahead of those in Colorado and I’d already lost a week of classes. The next day I learned that Christian schools are also private schools, and I had to find a way to meet the tuition costs. I decided not to tell anyone that I didn’t have enough money for board. The administration gave me work in the library for room and tuition, which at the rate of 33 1/3 cents an hour added up to plenty of hours. The remaining couple of dollars and few cents took on even greater importance. I realized it represented board for an indefinite length of time. I already was a day behind in eating; now I had to ration the money to go as far as possible. I didn’t have a roommate, so I could be sure no one would find out about my state of affairs. I bought a loaf of bread, some cheese, and a quart of milk. I was so hungry at first that I drank all
Originally published: July–August 1960
It was good to have the experience of living and working there just to see how people of culture lived. They didn’t seem to lack one comfort. I enjoyed working with real silver, real china, and real crystal — and getting to play a piano. Back on the farm I had taken music lessons one year. I walked a mile to my teacher’s house and paid her one dozen eggs and a pound of butter for each lesson. After a year I could play for our little church. It made me very happy.Ilearned a lesson in humility at this Greeley home. I shall never forget scrubbing other people’s floors, cleaning other people’s bathrooms, serving other people’s guests. “The Doctor” and his wife were wonderful employers, but I knew my place was not on their social level. The children and I learned to love each other, and when their parents were gone for the evening, I became “big sister” to them. Those were the days before TV, and my hands were full until the trio was asleep. I always felt sorry for their parents because they were missing so many bedtimes, stories, baths — all the little, wonderful incidents only children at evening have a talent for creating. Toward spring, I began desiring the experience of a religious college and investigated several Texas colleges. I remember praying for guidance. I had no money, and I worked too much to be a part of the college crowd. I decided upon Abilene Christian College for the summer — a decision based purely on faith in the problemsfinancialpresentedthatdidn’t“Christian.”word,Irealizethedecisiontoo difficult for me to solve. The cardboardallJune,examsfare,$18Irelatives.andgrandparentsmealienatedpermanentlydecisionfrommyotherSomehowearnedthefortrainandwhenendedinIpackedIownedinabox,tied
lights on after midnight, so I’d go to bed at midnight, and after everyone was asleep, I’d study in the bathroom until 3 a.m. This routine, interspersed with dormitory fun, showed up on my grades. But having my sparkling friend for a roommate now led me to decide to continue the fall session at ACC. She and I worked between sessions and earned $30 apiece; school cafeterias were closed, and we had quite a time eating. One time we settled on a can of soybeans and split it for supper. At my roommate’s suggestion, I went to the Abilene Reporter-News to ask for a job in the mailing room. I waited two hours in the editorial department to see the managing editor who was an acquaintance of my roommate. The longer I waited, the more my suit seemed to show its age. Everybody in the department seemed to have a selfassurance new to me. The managing editor, at first, was rather abrupt and said there were no openings. He asked me why I was in Abilene, and I gave him a straightforward answer. He asked me a lot of questions, and when he found out I had no family it must have melted him a little. He promised to give me a job but said I’d have to wait until he called me. I waited for six long weeks and finally he called. The job was in the editorial department, not in the mailing room. My pay was $26.40 a week, the most money I had ever made — and doing, of all things, reading proof. It seemed paradoxical to be paid for reading, something I’d always done for pure enjoyment. It was the first time I worked for just eight hours a day. My roommate married during the Christmas holidays, and loneliness closed in on me. At the end of the spring semester, I decided not to attend summer school, paid off my $400 debt to the college, and shared a two-room cottage with a girl who was a reporter on the paper. I saved $5 a week and enrolled in HardinSimmons in the fall. I’d been dating a new employee, a typesetter, at the paper, and in November we became engaged. The newspaper had a strike shortly afterward, and my fiance’s job went first, then mine. I landed a job in Fort Worth which meant I had to leave HardinSimmons. My mother lived in Fort Worth with her second husband. All my life I’d built up a clay-dream that some day we’d be together and I’d have a mother and could show her what a wonderful daughter I would be to her. A few moments in their home made me finally realize that this idea was only a fantasy left over
Baylor Line Magazine38 the milk the first day. It would have soured anyway, I reasoned. Then began a routine that tested my selfdiscipline and faith to the limit. I’ll never forget those days. I rationed out the cheese and bread over a period of three weeks. I experienced the ache of true hunger, but I didn’t get sick. Meanwhile, I learned of a job — typing and card indexing for churches — that paid 25 cents an hour for one or two hours a day. With 25 cents a day for board, I felt wonderful. Paid For Reading! Breakfast became a cup of coffee, loaded with cream and sugar, skip lunch; soup or a hamburger for supper. On the days I made 50 cents, I hadThelunch.girl who gave me the job turned out to be a wonderful friend, the first I’d ever had in college; we soon allowedthat10thethenhelptheclasses,glasses,it,breakfast,helpatofdownboardthatthemeLaterroommates.becameshehelpedtogetajobincafeteria,andsolvedtheproblem.Lifesettledtoaroutinegettingup5:30a.m.toprepareservewash200gotobacktocafeteriatoservelunch,toworkinlibraryuntilp.m.AfterIstudied.Weweren’ttohave
Originally published: July–August 1960
39Fall 2021 from childhood. They had no place in their lives for me. I’d always vowed to have a church wedding, so I borrowed scissors and a machine and sewed every evening for two weeks to make my wedding dress, veil, and tiara. Three weeks after the wedding, my husband got a job in Decatur, Ill. I’d intended returning to school that summer, but 10 months after our marriage we became parents of a babyWhendaughter.shewas two years old, I began a correspondence course at my old Colorado college. For the next four years, cross-country moves, housing problems, financial hardships, child care, and housework blotted out everything but hope of ever getting back to college. In 1954 our son was born. For the next two years we were plagued with illness. Winters were a nightmare of illness for our boy who was susceptible to viruses and was sick all the time in the damp, cold weather. In our dingy Illinois apartment, we received a job offer in Waco that seemed a miracle to Ius.took a half-day job teaching in a Waco kindergarten — after eight years of strict confinement to my home. Two months later, excruciating pain hit every bone in my body, and I couldn’t bend or walk. Two days later I couldn’t even get out of bed. I thought I had polio, but it turned out to be rheumatoid arthritis. After a month of taking 20 pills a day, the attack gradually subsided, to return spasmodically in succeeding years. The doctor told me to remain as active as possible. My mind flashed back to the old desire to finish college. Everything had pushed it back, but if I was ever going to finish, it would be now — even if I could only take one course at a time. From 1959.springcourseBaylorit,IDefenseofinformedRossEnglishnowyearsroommatecoursework,IBaylor.coursecorrespondencepay,teacher’smyItookafromIn1958,beganresidencestilloneatatime.Myoldcollegeofpast,teachingatSulCollege,metheNationalLoan.appliedforenrollingatwithafull-loadinthesemester,Itishardtorealize that I’ve done 43 semester hours in a year’s time — after getting only nine hours’ work done in the preceding 10 years. An Act of Congress Returning is not easy. Students seem immature. I feel like a misfit sometimes: too old for the students and not on an equal footing with professors of my own age. The worst part is having to take courses I have no use for but must take to fulfill degree requirements. Math and foreign language have been particularly difficult because of the lapse of time since high school. But these negative thoughts register little importance when I dare let myself glimpse ahead. I catch myself feeling the nearness of graduation and can hardly believe it. Moments of complete despair still do happen. Only a few weeks ago I cried longer and harder than in all the 15 years so far. I’ve had to learn that more is expected of me than of a little mascaraed coed 12 years my junior. This, with washing and ironing, house cleaning and child care, getting everybody to school and to work every day, the constant studying, and the extra hours outside of class required of a journalism major, all seems too much for me sometimes — when I least expect it. All the same, I may be the first Baylor student who can say it took an Act of Congress to get me through. I owe Baylor much for allowing me that, and for making it possible for me to satisfy the impulse to create — the real drive that has been pushing me all these years. No discouragement can erase that, nor can I let down the girl who 14 years ago literally hungered to go to college. Originally published: July–August 1960
Baylor Line Magazine40 IN CONVERSATION
KINNEBREWJENSENBYPHOTO
WITH
ODAJIMAISAIAH
Isaiah Odajima: I am the associate director of bands and maybe more famously known as director of the athletic bands and director of the Golden Wave Band, the marching band here at Baylor. It means I oversee all of those pep bands and the marching band for all the athletic events, that’s one of my main priori ties. But, also, I’m a professor and teach in the school of music and am involved obviously with our music majors from performance to education working mostly with our instrumental students. I teach classes like conducting and some methods courses. I have a concert ensem ble that I do, which is made up of primarily music majors. There’s a lot I’m dealing with, a lot of stuff that I’m really excited about. Lots of things that are very fulfilling in my job.
What’s your favorite part of being director of the Golden Wave Band? The students. It’s so easy to talk about that. I think everyone knows that if you’ve been to Baylor and if you have any experience working with the students that we have amazing students. I feel super blessed because I get to experience the best of the best when it comes to the students that have come to our group. Statistically speaking, when you talk about the marching band, what you’re talking about is a collection of students who are extremely high achieving students, who have music in their background. It’s scientifically proven that those students do very well academically, but also very well socially. Many of them are very adept at reading and understanding their environment and making adjustments to be effective in that environment. The students I work with, they’re leaders in their community. Most of the students in the athletic bands and the marching band, over 80 percent of them are non-music majors. The students who might be presidents of science clubs, or organizations for nursing, or leaders of their biochem group, or leaders of their religious groups, or engineering — I’ve got tons of engineering students — those leaders just happen to be in the band. It’s exciting for me to be able to work with them.
The Associate Professor of Ensembles and Director of the Golden Wave Band sat down for an interview about struggles, success, and how he has stuck to the things he loves. This interview has been edited for clarity and space. To hear the entire conversation, baylorline.com/isaiahinterview.visit
41Fall 2021
Jonathon Platt: Isaiah, could you tell us just a little bit about yourself and let our readers know who’s on the other side of the page?
Isaiah, you’ve been with the music school and the various band groups that you’re in charge of since about 2009, correct? Yeah. This is actually, starting 2009, in my current position, I’ve been at Baylor four different times total. I think it’s always strange to think about how Baylor came into my life. Baylor wasn’t ever on my radar. When I was an undergrad, I went to SFA, Stephen F. Austin State University, and I was a music major there. As I was coming to an end at my time there, I was going to be a band director. I was ready to go out into public schools and my goals at
Baylor Line Magazine42 that time were, I wanted to probably teach a little bit of middle school and teach beginners and get that experience. Then go on and teach high school and have a kick-butt high school marching band program.
Then I got a call from the Director of Bands, Michael Haithcock here, who had taught at Baylor for 21 years. He was here through the ‘70s to the ‘90s or 2000s. He said, ‘Hey, I heard you’re a great trumpet player and we need a good trumpet grad assistant. I want you to come.’ I said, ‘Great. I love playing trumpet, but my passion, if I want to get a degree, a master’s degree, I’m really interested in conducting.’ I remember back at that time I was thinking, I’m not really interested in being a trumpet grad assistant. I had an idea about going to University of Texas or some other place to do a master’s degree in conducting. After I taught public school, I wasn’t going to go straight into my master’s. But I decided, all right, let’s go check it out and see. And what happened once you made that decision? First I came to Baylor and I auditioned on trumpet. They said, ‘Great. We want to give you an assistantship,’ and I said, ‘Great. I’m only interested if I can do conducting.’ So then two weeks later, I came back and did an audition in the conducting and they’re like, ‘Yeah, we can do this.’ They created a hybrid role and did that. Then I didn’t have a chance to finish it. We had some family issues. We had three kiddos in college and my father lost his job and he was having some trouble making things happen and we needed a source of income. I felt like, actually, really, honestly, it was a very troubling time in my life. It was really, really challenging. I had done a lot of things in preparation for graduating, and also I was trying to get married to my current wife. I’d saved a lot of money to buy a ring. I came from a very modest background. At that time, I had made a name for myself writing college marching band shows and halftime drills for other folks. I was probably the youngest person in America writing for University of Michigan, and the University of Texas, and SFA, and a bunch of other places — writing halftime shows during that time. I was making some money doing that and I’d saved up all this money. Then it just all seeped away because my family needed some help. There were a lot of other things in play, and I just felt like I needed to leave. How did that feel to have to make that decision? It was very traumatic. I wasn’t doing as well in my class load as I wanted to. I mean, it wasn’t terrible. I just wasn’t doing as well as I wanted, and that was irritating. Then there was this other thing of all this drill writing for colleges that was taking off and I was feeling the stress of that, and it was challenging. Becky, my wife, and I were doing a long-distance relationship, me in Waco while she was in Nacogdoches at SFA. And I was one semester shy of being done with my master’s and I just felt like I just needed to finish it. But I’ll never forget, I was just in turmoil about it. I was having a lot of pressure put on me, or I had a lot of pressure I put on myself maybe. I was starting to experience anxiety attacks that I’d never experienced before.Iremember I left my apartment one day and I was walking down the street over by where Clay Pot used to be. I was walking around there, and I was just praying. I was in deep prayer. Just a desperate kind of praying, and I’ve been praying for quite some time. What do you qualify as desperate praying? I love that term. I think everyone probably knows that. I think you’re right. Everyone does. Everybody understands that there’s maybe your everyday prayer and there’s the needy prayer and the hopeful prayers. Then I think maybe that desperate praying where your life might feel like it’s falling apart. You’re unable — you’re not sure what to do. Before we started talking, you described yourself as generally a happy person. I’ve picked up on that just from the little time that we’re together. Do you think your colleagues, your peers, other students that you were working with in this period
Let’s imagine that you now are walking behind that kid who is maybe half a block ahead of you and is praying in despera tion. What do you walk up to that kid... what do you come beside that kid and say? What’s that lesson that from 20 years down the road you’d want that younger Isaiah to know? I think it’s: Take a gut check and understand what’s in your control and what’s out of your control. Then: Trust in the Lord. I mean, I think back then I just felt like I had to take care of all these things when in fact I just had really little. I took ownership for things that didn’t belong to me. Yeah. I would tell him that and to slow down, slow down. I was in such a rush to be the very best, I was in such a rush to fix my problems.Ifeltlike I owned my problems. Like I knew A family man, Dr. Odajima takes time to get away with his wife, Becky, and their three children.
43Fall 2021 of time, would they have described you as a happy person? Were you putting on this air, were you putting on a different sort of wardrobe to go into public than you were in private? Keeping that happiness out there meanwhile in turmoil underneath? I think we all have to do that in a level of selfprotection. At that time, I had too much on my plate. I was dealing with too much. I was realizing that, but I didn’t know until it was too late. Until I was already knee deep in it. It was coming on and I just didn’t know. But I was putting up my defense mechanism of, ‘Oh, everything is fine,’ but it clearly wasn’t.
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45Fall 2021 WE’RE ROLLING OUT THE RED CARPET... JUST FOR YOU Our brand-new membership community is open for registration. You can become a VIP with just a few clicks. Members of Baylor Line Insider get the red carpet treatment, access to exclusive content, a one year subscription to our new digitalfirst publication, and more. All for just $75. Register today! baylorline.com/redcarpet
47Fall 2021
Donate today at baylorline.com/waynetuckerfund
working alongside Wayne knows of the way he made everyone around him feel special, and how he demonstrated care and humility in every task he undertook.”
As I got to know and develop a friendship with Wayne, I witnessed his great sincerity and strength of character — the way he always lifted others up and, in doing so, made them want to do better, to be better. His kind and humble leadership style and gentle sense of humor were so endearing. Wayne brought such light to me, and to all who knew him, and he will live on in our hearts and minds, forever.”
“I could always count on Wayne to not only care about what we were trying to accomplish, but take an active role in making it happen,” Holt said in closing. “He was a true servant leader.”
“ —Laura Hilton Hallmon (‘96, JD ‘99) President, Baylor Line Foundation
Wayne’s commitment to bettering the Baylor Family was an inspiration to so many. He will be remembered for his encouraging words, his innumerable, selfless acts of service for others, and his dedication to always showing appreciation. There are certainly more than a few people in this world with a thank you card from Wayne in a desk drawer.
Family and friends attended a larger-than-life service for this larger-than-life leader on July 21, 2021, at First Baptist Church at the Fields.
Hallmon agreed, saying, “Wayne was a true team player, quick to notice and give credit to others, and a devoted steward, committed to selfless service and Christian kindness. The way that Wayne lived by example is his legacy, and that legacy will continue to guide us as we onward go, in all the important work we have yet to do.”
Wayne made the lives of so many better and, in doing so, made the world a better place. We are so grateful to have known him. We miss him so much in large and small ways. Please, join us and many of your fellow Bears in honoring Wayne’s legacy by donating in tribute to the L. Wayne Tucker, Jr. Memorial Scholarship Fund.
Another of Wayne’s many treasured commitments was to his brothers in the Sigma Chi International Fraternity. Wayne served the community with great dedication and joy throughout his 36 years as an alumnus, serving in numerous volunteer capacities, including as a chapter advisor, Grand Praetor (regional governor), dean of the Praetorial College, Grand Quaestor, Grand Pro Consul, and Grand Consul (international president) from 2009 to 2011.
Wayne was also a member of Baylor University’s Louise Herrington School of Nursing Board of Advocates and served as chair of the Going for the Gold Gala Sponsorship Committee and as Gala Financial Reporter.
Baylor Line Magazine48 AN ALL NEW MEMBERSHIP EXPERIENCE IS HERE FOR THE BAYLOR FAMILY But it’s not the whole Baylor Family without you. Members of Baylor Line Insider get exclusive content unavaible anywhere else, first-dibs to upcoming event tickets, and a direct connection to Bears across the generations like never before. baylorline.com/enter
Giving to these funds or the scholarship program in general is simple. Visit baylorline.com/give today. I cannot thank you enough for your generosity and support. We’re so proud to be your home in the Baylor Family. Thanks for being a hero for us all!
Another very important way you can be a hero in the Baylor Family is through supporting Legacy Scholarships. We have been providing scholarships to 50 or more students each year, totaling more than $100,000 annually. Your generosity has made this possible. Will you help us continue your family’s (and the Baylor Family’s)Throughlegacy?theBabs
a llen h olt (‘80) Executive Vice President, Baylor Line Foundation
Joining Insider is just as easy! Visit baylorline.com/joininsider and we’ll get you set up swiftly. If you join before January 1, 2022, you’ll be locked into our founding rate of $75 per year. With that comes an all-access pass to everything Baylor Line. After the new year, we will raise the price to $100 annually, so don’t miss out on this early bird opportunity.
With so much happening in the Baylor Family, I thought I would take this opportunity to provide clarity on the most important ways you can play your role in making it even better. Because of you, we’re doing more than ever! It is exciting to see the Baylor Line team performing at such high levels and then to hear or read your responses to our events, content, and programming. If you have not heard, we have launched a new membership program called Baylor Line Insider. This program centralizes all of our content offerings into a single package. You no longer have to track down podcasts, magazines, newsletters, eBooks, blogs, and whatever else across the internet and our different social media channels. Insider members have this all curated right inside our membership portal. Could it be any easier?
Fellow Bears:
49Fall 2021 CLOSING THOUGHTS
Baugh Memorial Scholarship Fund, we are investing in first generation students — we call this our Begin The Legacy program. And, through the newly created L. Wayne Tucker, Jr. Memorial Scholarship, we are extending the reach of future leaders in the Baylor Family. What a great way to honor these two legends. Thank you for helping make these memorials possible!
AllenOnward!
THE BAYLOR PROMISELINE
We believe in community. We believe in transformation. We believe in you. Because when we all come together in support of each other, there’s nothing that can stop the Baylor Family. We believe that everyone has a place. We believe that your life matters. We believe you are leaving behind an important legacy. And all of our efforts aim to keep this single promise… We promise to make the Baylor Family ever-better by investing in a future where everyone can carry the torch, live with purpose, and lead with confidence.
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