Life after high school? You betcha
The Dallas Morning News
- Sunday, October 29, 1989
Author: Kent Biffle
One night last week, Don Graham told hundreds of
Carrollton High School alums (classes of
1913-1964) -- fortyish to ninetysomething -- that indeed
there's life after high school.
That's easy for him to say. His hot new book about World War II's most decorated U.S. hero, No Name On the Bullet: A Biography of Audie Murphy (Viking, $19.95), is, well, going great guns.
The reviews are stronger than Chinese mustard. People magazine called it "first rate.' This newspaper called it "a fascinating portrait.' Sixteen film makers are reading it.
But Don's keeping his day job. He's a lit prof at UT-Austin, where he occupies the prestigious J. Frank Dobie Chair. Why does that suggest a Laz-Z-Boy and a bumper of bourbon?
Laid back Don is, but lazy he ain't. For example, just before facing the CHS grads, he was hustling books over in East Texas. Audie vs. Eddie Murphy
In Commerce, he performed for East Texas State University's Fall Literary Festival, revealing professional secrets to a couple of hundred students.
At lunch with three ETSU literary Jims -- Byrd, Conrad and Grimshaw -- Don said he worries because people under 30 know nothing about Audie Murphy and next to nothing about World War II.
He also worries because a Texas bookstore buyer was told by an agent of Don's publisher: "Sorry, we don't list any biography of Eddie Murphy.'
After signing every copy of the Audie Murphy biography in sight, Don rushed from Hunt County (where the combat hero joined the Army in 1942) to Dallas.
In a sober suit, standing before the half-century spread of CHS grads at the Doubletree Hotel, Don said:
"I'm reminded tonight of that scene in Giant when Jett Rink rises to address his audience and falls face down in his plate,' he told them. "If I can avoid that, I'll consider this operation a success.'
Don (Class of '58) told the crowd of more than 600: "Being 30 years out of high school has many compensations.
"It doesn't really bother me now that I can't dance worth a flip. I've been used to it for over 30 years, and I don't really give a damn one way or the other.
"It's also nice to know you can drink and don't have to down a pint of straight vodka to prove anything.
"And it's also comforting to know that you're probably not going to get in a fight, or brag that you got in a fight when you didn't, or feel like a wimp because you didn't get in a fight.
"And it's peaceful to know that you won't be taking a ride in a '57 Chevy, hurtling 100 mph down a dark back road with the lights out -- just for kicks. Ah, fiftysomething
"Call it maturity or whatever you like. Or call it the F word: Fifty. I am turning Fifty in January. Sounds like an old car clicking over the 100,000 mark, doesn't it? The big Five O.'
Once at a Class of '58 reunion, Don's girlfriend, Betsy Berry, a UT-Austin teacher, asked to see an old yearbook.
"She wanted to see what I looked like back then. I said, "Come on, let's dance,' and she knew how very desperate I was. So the annuals were passed around and she saw.
"She said, "Hey, you've got more hair now than you did then.' Somewhere along the line I had accidentally on purpose lost my annuals.'
But his yearbook photos have historical value, he insisted.
"They were undeniably photos of a survivor from the Nazi death camps -- the skeletal frame, the hollow, staring eyes, the sunken cheeks, the shaven head. And that lopsided grin could only have been the result of fiendish tortures. Otherwise why would anyone contort his face like that?
"The photos of the girls, on the other hand, were of a different order. The girls looked healthier, more mature, more grown-up, more sophisticated. They looked like women. But you had to wonder -- why did they all dress like Laverne and Shirley?
"They're filled with sentiments of undying love for people whose names we can no longer remember without the aid of name tags -- if we can see to read the print on the tags.'
Although graduates forget, clubs did have a purpose that is never stated in the annuals, he said. "The purpose was to get out of class. If that meant joining the Spanish Club, then you joined it.'
By his senior year, he said, the only thing he was really good at was getting out of class in approved ways.
He added, gratefully, that Carrollton High (ultimately merged into Carrollton-Farmers Branch school district) had given him not only a chance to play baseball and basketball, but "a solid understanding of English grammar and some acquaintance with great literature -- thanks to Corinne Paulser, who was one hell of an English teacher.'
Even so, he has some regrets from those days:
That he took algebra, for one.
"None of it stuck. And it didn't improve my character as the teacher promised. In fact, it probably weakened my character. It was the only course I ever tried to cheat in.
"And I got away with it. What was worse, I felt very good about it. Made an 85 on an exam about which I knew zip. . . . '
And there was the time Don threw up in Mr. Gratky's science class.
Another regret was:
"That the beautiful ex-Kilgore Rangerette who taught freshman English got pregnant and left Carrollton High. I can't remember her name, but she was something. Her replacement looked like one of those female Russian army officers in a James Bond movie.'
Another regret was:
"That I didn't go see a certain entertainer when he came to Dallas in 1956. His name was Elvis Presley and he was at the Sportatorium. The King was 20 miles away and I missed it.'
Too, he rued:
"That I didn't get a bit part in The Killer Shrews when they filmed that 1950s classic at Lake Dallas. I could have launched a major film career if I'd just had the sense to try for it.
"You remember that baby? They dressed dogs up in killer shrew costumes and ran them around Lake Dallas. Gordon McClendon put up the money. It starred James Best, who later played the sheriff in The Dukes of Hazard. This was a great lost opportunity.'
And now Don's too old to play Audie Murphy.
That's easy for him to say. His hot new book about World War II's most decorated U.S. hero, No Name On the Bullet: A Biography of Audie Murphy (Viking, $19.95), is, well, going great guns.
The reviews are stronger than Chinese mustard. People magazine called it "first rate.' This newspaper called it "a fascinating portrait.' Sixteen film makers are reading it.
But Don's keeping his day job. He's a lit prof at UT-Austin, where he occupies the prestigious J. Frank Dobie Chair. Why does that suggest a Laz-Z-Boy and a bumper of bourbon?
Laid back Don is, but lazy he ain't. For example, just before facing the CHS grads, he was hustling books over in East Texas. Audie vs. Eddie Murphy
In Commerce, he performed for East Texas State University's Fall Literary Festival, revealing professional secrets to a couple of hundred students.
At lunch with three ETSU literary Jims -- Byrd, Conrad and Grimshaw -- Don said he worries because people under 30 know nothing about Audie Murphy and next to nothing about World War II.
He also worries because a Texas bookstore buyer was told by an agent of Don's publisher: "Sorry, we don't list any biography of Eddie Murphy.'
After signing every copy of the Audie Murphy biography in sight, Don rushed from Hunt County (where the combat hero joined the Army in 1942) to Dallas.
In a sober suit, standing before the half-century spread of CHS grads at the Doubletree Hotel, Don said:
"I'm reminded tonight of that scene in Giant when Jett Rink rises to address his audience and falls face down in his plate,' he told them. "If I can avoid that, I'll consider this operation a success.'
Don (Class of '58) told the crowd of more than 600: "Being 30 years out of high school has many compensations.
"It doesn't really bother me now that I can't dance worth a flip. I've been used to it for over 30 years, and I don't really give a damn one way or the other.
"It's also nice to know you can drink and don't have to down a pint of straight vodka to prove anything.
"And it's also comforting to know that you're probably not going to get in a fight, or brag that you got in a fight when you didn't, or feel like a wimp because you didn't get in a fight.
"And it's peaceful to know that you won't be taking a ride in a '57 Chevy, hurtling 100 mph down a dark back road with the lights out -- just for kicks. Ah, fiftysomething
"Call it maturity or whatever you like. Or call it the F word: Fifty. I am turning Fifty in January. Sounds like an old car clicking over the 100,000 mark, doesn't it? The big Five O.'
Once at a Class of '58 reunion, Don's girlfriend, Betsy Berry, a UT-Austin teacher, asked to see an old yearbook.
"She wanted to see what I looked like back then. I said, "Come on, let's dance,' and she knew how very desperate I was. So the annuals were passed around and she saw.
"She said, "Hey, you've got more hair now than you did then.' Somewhere along the line I had accidentally on purpose lost my annuals.'
But his yearbook photos have historical value, he insisted.
"They were undeniably photos of a survivor from the Nazi death camps -- the skeletal frame, the hollow, staring eyes, the sunken cheeks, the shaven head. And that lopsided grin could only have been the result of fiendish tortures. Otherwise why would anyone contort his face like that?
"The photos of the girls, on the other hand, were of a different order. The girls looked healthier, more mature, more grown-up, more sophisticated. They looked like women. But you had to wonder -- why did they all dress like Laverne and Shirley?
"They're filled with sentiments of undying love for people whose names we can no longer remember without the aid of name tags -- if we can see to read the print on the tags.'
Although graduates forget, clubs did have a purpose that is never stated in the annuals, he said. "The purpose was to get out of class. If that meant joining the Spanish Club, then you joined it.'
By his senior year, he said, the only thing he was really good at was getting out of class in approved ways.
He added, gratefully, that Carrollton High (ultimately merged into Carrollton-Farmers Branch school district) had given him not only a chance to play baseball and basketball, but "a solid understanding of English grammar and some acquaintance with great literature -- thanks to Corinne Paulser, who was one hell of an English teacher.'
Even so, he has some regrets from those days:
That he took algebra, for one.
"None of it stuck. And it didn't improve my character as the teacher promised. In fact, it probably weakened my character. It was the only course I ever tried to cheat in.
"And I got away with it. What was worse, I felt very good about it. Made an 85 on an exam about which I knew zip. . . . '
And there was the time Don threw up in Mr. Gratky's science class.
Another regret was:
"That the beautiful ex-Kilgore Rangerette who taught freshman English got pregnant and left Carrollton High. I can't remember her name, but she was something. Her replacement looked like one of those female Russian army officers in a James Bond movie.'
Another regret was:
"That I didn't go see a certain entertainer when he came to Dallas in 1956. His name was Elvis Presley and he was at the Sportatorium. The King was 20 miles away and I missed it.'
Too, he rued:
"That I didn't get a bit part in The Killer Shrews when they filmed that 1950s classic at Lake Dallas. I could have launched a major film career if I'd just had the sense to try for it.
"You remember that baby? They dressed dogs up in killer shrew costumes and ran them around Lake Dallas. Gordon McClendon put up the money. It starred James Best, who later played the sheriff in The Dukes of Hazard. This was a great lost opportunity.'
And now Don's too old to play Audie Murphy.
