"Don't forget who you are and where you come from." ----F. Scott Fitzgerald, American author.
Though it has been more than a decade since I have pounded the pavement at Disney World, the song lyrics from the iconic boat ride "It's a small world" continue to reverberate. It is true what they say. And I have learned, through the years, that the reach of Washington Parish is far and wide, making our great, big world exceptionally small.
I believe my first lesson in this regard came at LSU in the early 1980s in a classroom on the Quad. An indelible memory - a night class, what was supposed to be an easy elective in psychology, for which my Tri Delta sorority sisters and I registered. In that group was one of my dearest friends and roommate Beth Bradford (Favrot) from Covington. Her father Dr. James Bradford, the well-known Ear Nose and Throat specialist, and mine also had been good friends.
Digressing, it was in 2018 that Dr. Bradford revealed how vividly he recalled my dad, the longtime administrator (CEO) of the Bogalusa Community Medical Center, and Don Varnado, my dad's assistant administrator before becoming administrator (CEO) of Riverside Hospital when it was built, coming to New Orleans to meet him back in the day, as he completed his medical training. They took him out to dinner - their best effort to lure him to Washington Parish. Unfortunately, Dr. Bradford had already committed to St. Tammany Parish Hospital, where initially he was the only ENT from Baton Rouge to the Mississippi Gulf Coast. Interestingly, later in his career, he wound up in Bogalusa one day a week, training residents and performing surgery. Unknowingly, Daddy eventually got his wish.
But back to my college days in the 1980s, it wasn't until one weekend at the onset of the semester when I disclosed to my parents my class schedule (complete with professors) that they perked up, unraveling an incredible story. While they had not seen him in years, they were crazy about Hubert, as they fondly called my psychology professor, a stern man well into his fifties. You could have knocked me over with a feather. Unbeknownst to me, he hailed from Washington Parish.
Born in Bogalusa in 1930, Dr. Orion Hubert Campbell, Jr., was the son of Orion Hubert Campbell, Sr. (1892-1946), a prominent businessman who had once owned a lucrative lumber business, sawmill, and store. But in 1946 Campbell, Sr., was killed, on his way to work, in a tragic car accident. He and wife Terrelle Dees Campbell (1898-1977) had three children: Lois Campbell (Mattox), Beth Campbell, and his namesake, Dr. Campbell who became a full Professor at LSU. And as it turned out, he and his sister Beth, who was well known at the game of golf, had been very close friends with my parents, back in the day in Bogalusa. In fact, Beth Campbell (1920-1991) had been on the Board of the Bogalusa Community Medical Center where my dad was at the helm for decades.
Apparently long before my appearance in 1964, there had been plenty of good times in the 1940s and 1950s. "We partied with the Campbells in Bogalusa," my folks informed. As a college student and the daughter of older parents, who at that time were in their fifties and sixties, I was not sure exactly what this meant. And I was pretty sure that I did not want to know. Ignorance is bliss, especially in one's youth. But before I knew it, they had tucked a gift in my LSU backpack with specific instructions, "Take this to Hubert." I remember replying, "I think you mean Dr. Campbell." Yet, nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, I did as I was told, handing the package to my professor after class that week. I always wondered what that note said. He smiled just before I raced out, like I was on fire, to catch up with my friends.
For the record, that psychology class turned out to be a tough row to hoe. Certainly, it was not the breeze that my cohorts and I had expected. And in all candor, I was no slouch of a student. On the Dean's List each semester, I had been elected by my Delta Delta Delta sisters to the office of Librarian, managing the books and study guides for our sorority. On exchange nights, I was often one of only a couple students remaining on my hall in the Tri Delta House. The other was Ann Hay Conn, who not only was a Golden Girl but also an engineering major. Brilliant, she later went to medical school, becoming a physician and, for a while, my neighbor. But the point is I was studying, not "partying." Seeking admission to law school, I was diligent in my studies, graduating magna cum laude from LSU in under four years. But before that, I had to excel in both the core business curriculum and the electives. As we all know, electives billed as an "easy A" sometimes trip students up - and so it was with that night psychology class which had real potential to mar a transcript. Contrary to popular belief, my classmates and I soon discovered that Dr. Campbell was not handing out "A's" like candy. His class required time and effort.
But much as life, it turned out to be a subjective endeavor. My comrade and classmate Beth Bradford (Favrot), a superb student going on to do intelligence work in our nation's capital, was the first to catch on - there was some favoritism in the air. I think I reminded Dr. Campbell of an earlier era, happy times in Bogalusa. Now, in the end all of us stayed the course and received good grades. To the best of my recollection, there was a substantial curve. Accordingly, college kids continued to line up in droves, registering for the night class.
Still, the path in psychology wasn't paved quite as smoothly for those who were not from Washington Parish. I learned what it meant early on, at LSU back in the 1980s. My mother and father received a Christmas card that year, signed "Hubert." It is an especially small world for Washington Parish natives.
More on this concept in a future column.
