Entering Mississippi State College in the fall of 1952, I had arrived by commercial bus from Natchez via Jackson.

No sooner than I had unloaded, I was met with by a self-appointed “welcoming hazing committee.” My first impression, of course, was to ignore their invitation to have my head shaved, and I figured I could whip any one of them and maybe two or three, but there was a dozen or so and my big brother had informed me that this was a tradition.

I submitted and resented the $1 fee for their indignity demanded by this mean-spirited sophomore. So much for my first 20 minutes at State. However, it was good to be able to identify all the freshmen of my class.

The next few days were taken up with orientation, matriculation, room assignment, adjusting to a roommate, meeting doctors who weren’t medical doctors but professors of many different fields of knowledge. That in itself was a marvelous revelation that knowledge could be compartmentalized that way. Later in life, it was comforting to know all truth in every field of knowledge was in complete harmony with every other truth.

During enrollment, I had set my sights on being in the U.S. Air Force ROTC as my father had been in the “Air Service” in World War I in France and Germany. To this end, I had taken flying lessons in the Civil Air Patrol from Ted McCarstle from Natchez.

I was gung ho to be in the Air Force. To my disappointment, the Air Force sergeant at the enrollment desk didn’t even touch my papers but glanced at them gruffly answered that I couldn’t get in the Air Force.

I asked, why not? He motioned me away with the comment that the Air Force was for engineering majors and agriculture students went to the Army.

I was disappointed, but who was I to argue with a highly decorated sergeant?

However, the good Lord knew the desires of my heart, and in 1981 I retired from the U.S. Army as a master Army aviator, having spent a goodly share of my service on flight status in the States and Europe flying fixed and rotary winged aircraft.

The first semester courses were stuff I had taken at Natchez High School. I remember hitchhiking home with my brother at Thanksgiving, and boy did I ever fall in love with saving money and meeting so many good, generous, interesting people. In fact, at spring break in 1953, I ventured to hitchhike to Pensacola, Fla., to visit my sister Mary Ethel who live at Warrenton and had married a WWII veteran of the China-Burma-India campaign.

This trip was over highways I had never traveled, and I was unsure if I would get to my destination. Rides were not long but short hops from small town to small town. Nightfall was a big fear as I expected no one would pickup a hitchhiker after dark. However, with luck I could still make it to Pensacola before dark.

My fifth or sixth ride ended at State Line, near Waynesboro. The traffic was sparse to say the least. I was sure I was stuck. No cars in sight.

Much to my surprise, the first car stopped and offered me a ride. I got in thanking him, and the first thing he said was, “Nobody around here will pickup hitchhikers.” I pondered that, and he continued. “Back during the 1940s, two hitchhikers killed one of our officials, robbed him and stole his car.” That was pretty much the conversation.

I made it to Pensacola and enjoyed my visit with Ethel and Andy. That was the first time I ever ate pizza pie. Andy’s brother was an expert cook, and we consumed pizzas as fast as he could bake them.

On the way back to Mississippi State, my ride again ended at State Line. This time, I was sure I was in trouble.

To my pleasant surprise, the first car stopped, and before I could say thanks, he said, “Nobody around here will pick up hitchhikers, cause during the war two hitchhikers killed one of our sheriffs.”

Many years later, I met a retired solider who was a fellow member of the state guard at Camp Shelby who was from Wayne County. I told him that story and he told me the name of the man who was killed.

Now, Walt Grayson has documented that event, and I want to share it with my family.

Ethel and Andy have passed on to the other side, and I don’t have much time left either. I just want everyone to know I appreciated every ride and hate it that hitchhiking is almost a thing of the past.

It could save a lot of gas if we would all be willing to share a ride. Maybe carpooling is part of the answer.

Maybe we need to ponder all bad things in a different light. Those good people in Wayne County knew what a hard time hitchhikers would have after that horrible event and had compassion for folks needing a ride.

God bless those folks who shared a ride. Now, folks are afraid to help strangers because of so much criminal activity. It’s such a shame. Perhaps there is a bright side to this situation too.

Pray, because we need more light and knowledge on God’s plan for all of us.

We still need to gather more stories from veterans for our veteran’s book.

Erle Drane is the veterans’ affairs officer. Contact him at the City Council Chambers.