PICAYUNE — In the early winter of 1941 two dramatic things happened and one of them changed my life forever. They came within a week of each other and the joy of the second took away the bad taste of the first. The unhappy first event began in the Oklahoma Baptist University business office. It started as good news, but ended in anger. One of the students who worked in the business office sent me a note asking that I come by because he had good news for me. When I showed up, he explained that one of the community's leading business men had designated a monitary gift for me as a worthy student. He explained that the man, a banker, a devout church member, and a supporter of the school wanted me to come to his bank to get acquainted with him.

"You mean that he wants to interview me for a possible scholarship?"

"No, not at all. He has already designated the money for you on the recommendation of the school. He just wants to meet you."

I have always been a little sensitive about getting anything that smacks of charity and was less than enthusiastic about this "gift". Some people see themselves as rescuers and can be downright paternalistic in which case the recipient experiences a real put down along with the gift.

When I needed to go downtown I usually walked up to Kickapoo and raised my thumb to passing motorists. Today it was misting with occasional showers so I caught a bus. Besides, this was a business trip and I had an appointment at exactly 10 a.m.; I had to be on time. Getting off the bus I stopped in the doorway of a department store to avoid the rain. Impulsively I decided to go inside and kill the extra fifteen minutes by looking for a cheap raincoat. I had no raincoat and had never considered an umbrella. Umbrellas were for sissies and no man I knew ever carried one.

Once inside the store I spotted a rack of raincoats that doubles as overcoats. They were made of some sort of rubber material but with a brown pattern on one side and a solid gray on the other. The coat was reversible and inexpensive considering that it served two purposes. I tried one on, it looked fine and hid the signs of wear my suit was beginning to show so I bought it. That coat and I were about to experience a new dimension in my young life.

I entered the bank and asked for the man the student in the business office had named. It might have been Brock, but I am not sure. Anyhow, that name seems familiar and I'll use it. The bank was typical of the average with an open lobby, tellers cages and a receptionist outside the office of the president. I informed the receptionist that I was here to see Mr. Brock and she ushered me directly into his office where he was busy talking on the phone. No one had offered me a seat, so I started looking at the pictures of western horses on the wall, pretending not to be hearing the animated half of a conversation. Mr. Brock was obviously angry and his voice rose from a growl to a shout.

"What I'm telling you is that you don't make that decision, I do. Listen to me. This is going to go the way I explained to you before or it don't go a-tall and you better believe it!"

Suddenly I wished that I were somewhere else. I could have booted the receptionist for thrusting me into the middle of a personal confrontation between the banker and heaven knows who— his wife? His lawyer? A business associate? Maybe a patron, but whoever it was I had no business being there. This became even more evident when he slammed the phone down and gave me a look that would have withered a cactus. His "State your business" didn't inspire confidence but I was only slightly encouraged by the fact that he didn't add: "and get out of my office."

"My name is Jack Watson and I'm a student at OBU," I began. His glare turned into a bold stare. “I got a message through the business office that you wanted to see me."

"Oh yeah, about that student stipend they've been after me about. What year are you in, what are your grades like and how are you getting by?"

The barrage of questions took me a bit off guard. Recovering I answered,

"I'm a junior, my grades are A's and B's and, what ws that last question?"

His impatience was clear when he responded, "How are you getting by? Where do you get the money to go to school?"

"Oh, I'm working my way through. I am a janitor at University Baptist Church. I do work on the campus through the NYA and I'm pastoring a little half time church down at Alma."

"And how much do you make all told?"

"Well, the church pays ten dollars a month, the NYA pays fifteen, and the church averages eight to twelve dollars a trip."

"Anything else?"

"Yessir, that's what I make. But I also have a brother in the Navy who sends me seventeen dollars a month out of his pay."

As I continued to stand there looking into his piercing eyes I realized before he told me that my trip had been a waste of time.

He cleared his throat and picked up some papers and, without looking up dismissed me with these words, "Hell, son, I don't see why you should get a stipend. Go on and take care of your business. It'll make a man out of you."

While I knew he was right, his blunt words made me angry. I stood glaring at the top of his head for a minute and walked out. I was on my way to confront the student in the business office that sent me on this snipe hunt.

That was the bad news but the good news came when the business offered me the invitation from the First Baptist Church Warner to preach next Sunday in view of a call. That was the event that changed my life and the lives of each of my descendants forever.

Through my many years of counseling I have asked hundreds of married couples to recount the circumstances under which they met. Well, on Saturday night when I stepped down off the bus with my brief case in my left hand and opened the door to Butler's grocery, I looked into the eyes of the woman that I would marry.