A Blessed Life (15)
After two and a half years attending school at Bourbon County High, and six and a half in elementary school, there was a change in January of 1963. We were moving back to Harrison County where I had lived the first seven years of my life. I would be enrolling mid-term as a junior in the school which had for the past few years been our arch rival. It was with mixed emotions that I walked through the doors of Harrison County High School on that cold day in January. I was blessed with a warm reception and a positive beginning to the final chapter of high school life.
Because of such a warm welcome from faculty and fellow students, adjustment to a new school was easy. Two of my cousins with whom I had grown up attended school there, as well as several other friends from my younger years at the Salem Church of Christ. I enrolled in the required courses, and also took vocational agriculture. I especially enjoyed being a member of the Future Farmers of America, or FFA as it was more commonly know. That organization afforded many opportunities for development of leadership skills. It was through the FFA that I also gained some valuable life lessons.
In the fall of 1963, my senior year, our local chapter attended the National FFA Convention in Kansas City, Missouri. It was my first trip any further west than Louisville. Two carloads of young country boys excitedly headed out for the big city. One of our officers was a fine young man named Joe Lynam. He was our treasurer, and the only African American in our chapter. Our school was integrated, but segregation and extreme prejudice was still very prevalent. As we traveled across Missouri, we stopped at a little diner. My friend, Jerry Lail and I were concerned about what we might encounter, so we hurriedly went inside and asked about who was welcome to eat there. As we expected, we were told that it was whites only. Jerry and I quickly returned to the car and told our advisor, Mr. Martin, that this place looked dirty and we should look for some other restaurant. I look back on that event with sadness about those who held such prejudicial attitudes, but with gratitude for those in our group whose friendship and care for our friend was deeper than the color of his skin.
– Terry A. Morrison