Both were Southern boys. Eddie was born and raised in Shreveport, the son of Centenary college professors. In spite of growing up in the South, somehow he’d escaped Southern prejudices. One would have to say that he’d been liberated by his parents, who you could say without hesitation came from the North, in his mother’s case, Long Island, and in his father’s, New Jersey. Eddie mostly didn’t even have a distinguishable Southern accent, or anything that could be recognized instantly and unmistakable as Southern, and the little he did have he could turn on and off.”
In most circles he came off as an erudite upstart. He had the manner and the confidence of one- a lean, engaging, studious personality that insured him a post on the Lariat, where he soon became editor, but he was inflexible when it came down to choosing a college (his father preferred Princeton, while his mother lobbied him for Columbia). But to him the Ivy League was as toxic as poison ivy, and he simply wasn’t about to go where he was expected to go. He had his choice of schools too. He could always go to Centenary, a Methodist school. He could’ve gone almost anywhere, and, since he wasn’t particularly religious, almost anywhere would’ve made more sense than Baylor, the largest Baptist University on the Planet, where he never pushed himself so academically he wasn’t much more than an average student. Of course, his parents expected more from him. Both had their Doctorates, his father in English (Old English) and his mother in Social Work (abused kids). What one first noticed when they entered their home was a clutter of books, so Eddie grew up reading and writing, though for a time he appeared to read nothing but comics. It just was his way of declaring his independence. He actually loved to read and could write very well, but, as a boy, he concealed it when he could. In comparison to Columbia or Princeton, Eddie figured that if he went to Baylor he could coast.
But that wasn’t evident because being the editor of a daily newspaper, on top of everything else, meant that he had to push himself. Actually he was a bright, outgoing fellow, a year ahead of Tom, with a campus-wide following. Why he chose Tom for a close friend, the freshman never knew.
“Well, what do you say Shake Spear?” bellowed Eddie, as they met where they usually did on the steps of Brooks Hall. “How about a shake?”
The grin on Tom’s face widened, as they immediately headed cross campus to the drug store. Neither young man dated. Neither thought about it.
And, while they saw each other everyday, about once a week they went for a shake. They both liked chocolate shakes. Chocolate, and not vanilla. Who didn’t like chocolate?
And they’d talk about all sorts of things: music (the Beatles and with Eddie coming from Shreveport, Leadbelly and the Louisiana Hayride), television (Mister Ed), film (Lolita and To Kill A Mockingbird), sports (the Dallas Texans won 20-17 over the Houston Oilers in double overtime), and poetry (Tom’s beloved Whitman).
By this time they would’ve finished their shakes, and Eddie would’ve had another deadline to meet.
“Ah-h, Sport, you’re always filling my ears with something new. I’ve never had a better friend.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
Eddie wrote a review of the movie Lolita, staring James Mason, Shelley Winters, and Sue Lyon: “Seldom among students here at Baylor has a movie drawn so much attention as Lolita…still because of the quality of the acting I consider it worth seeing, though I admit that many of you will be turned off by it…Throughout the movie there are expressions of passions and tenderness, and of suffering and distress, that seem very genuine.
From San Francisco, Eddie wrote Tom: “Since coming here, I haven’t had a real conversation with anyone, but the effect on me hasn’t been bad. There’s too much to see and do for that. And yours truly yesterday went to Alcatrez. It seemed like the thing to do. By the way, the fresh air has kept me healthy.” Eddie went on to describe The Rock as “brutal and punitive.” “Now I know what it felt like to be a Louisiana slave, standing on the auction block.”
Eddie knew Shreveport once had a slave market and thrived on the backs of slaves. A lot of them worked as stevedores on the Red River, which had been opened up for commercial traffic, after previously being blocked by a logjam.
Randy Ford
