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A Hal Haralson Trilogy
Law
School at Thirty-Three
My friend looked at me and asked,
"What would you do if you could do anything you wanted to do. . .
money is no object?" I was thirty-three years old, married with
children ages 1, 5, and 10. "I'd go to law school." "How
much would you and Judy need a month?" This was August, 1968. We
could probably get by on $750.00 per month." "How about a
thousand?" "Okay . . . let's make it a thousand." Within
two hours we had worked out a contract whereby he and his partner bought
my interest in the business, paying me $1,000.00 per month for thirty-six
months.
Monday morning (the third week of August) I was looking at the sign on the
door of Dean T. J. Gibson at the University of Texas School of Law.
"Do not knock . . . come in."
I introduced myself to the man who was always there for students. He
looked like he had slept in the clothes he wore. He always looked that
way.
I introduced myself and told him I wanted to go to law school.
"When do you want to start?"
"When does school start?"
"Two weeks. When did you file your application?"
"I haven't filed an application. I only found out two days ago I was
going."
"What did you make on the LSAT?," Dean Gibson asked.
"What's the LSAT?," 'I replied.
The Dean looked at me and shook his head from side to side.
"Look Dean, I'm thirty-three years old and married with three
children. I've been out of college over ten years. I had a 3.6 grade point
average while holding down three jobs. I've got enough money to do this
over the next thirty six months. If I'm going to do it, it's got to be
now."
"Okay, I'll tell you what I want. You write me a letter. Put what you
have told me in that letter. I'll present it to the admissions committee
on Thursday. I'll call you on Friday."
The call came. "You're admitted. You have to pass the LSAT in
November."
I was on the admissions committee during my third year of law school. I
found that between 1960 and 1970 there were three times as many applicants
as there were openings at U.T. Law School . . . except the Fall of 1968.
The Viet Nam War had taken so many under-graduates that there were still
openings when school began.
There are times when the presence of God is felt in events that cannot be
explained as coincidence.
This was one of those times.
Searching
for Judy Christian
It was the Summer of 1955. There weren't
many summer jobs in Loraine, Texas (population 700.) My brother Dale and I
needed to make some money to pay our tuition at Hardin-Simmons University
in the fall. Dale would be a freshman and I would be a junior. Dale was
studying to be a lawyer. I was studying for the ministry.
Our Uncle Dell had forty acres south of town with an irrigation well on
it. We talked him into letting us farm it on the "halves", i.e.
he got half of what we made. We moved in and began moving the water.
The shack we spent the summer in was made of concrete blocks. It had no
windows, no door, and no floor. There was no plumbing. We moved the
irrigation pipes at 8:00 p.m., 2:00 a.m. and 10:00 a.m. The ground was
always wet so we bogged through the mud and fought mosquitoes.
Since we had no light, the 2:00 a.m. move was the most difficult.
It was a long, hot summer. But the cotton grew and we knew we would make
money for college.
Sometime during August, a friend of ours named Lanny Curry came by to see
us. Lanny worked as a recruiter for Hardin Simmons University and spent
the summer calling on prospective students. He told us he had been in
Littlefield, Texas, where he went out to the municipal pool and met the
lifeguard who was to be a freshman at HS-U that fall. Lanny's description
of Judy
Christian in her bathing suit captured the attention of both the Haralson
boys.
"You guys want to be on the lookout for Judy Christian when you get
to school. She is really a beauty."
Neither of us said much about the conversation with Lanny. We were both
planning our strategies to be the first to find Judy. Dale found her the
first day and had a date with her that night. . . and the next night . . .
and the next night. She was 5'2", very blond, with an enormous smile
and contagious enthusiasm. I really fell for Judy, but there was nothing I
could do since she was going out several nights a week with my brother.
Judy and I became close friends, but it could go no further.
The Thanksgiving holiday was upon us and Dale and I headed toward Loraine
in our old green 1952 Plymouth. The conversation turned to Judy and Dale
complained about all the money he had spent on her over the past three
months without getting his first kiss. He was obviously not very pleased
with this situation.
"That's not a very good return on your investment," I replied. I
encouraged this line of thinking and on the way back to the campus, Dale
decided he was going to date some other girls and gave me permission to go
out with Judy. I was so excited I could hardly contain myself and told
Dale to be sure because if I ever started dating Judy, she would be his
sister-in-law. That may have been somewhat presumptuous on my part. Dale
said go ahead.
Go ahead I did. I had my first date the first week of December and another
the second week of December. I was invited to go to Littlefield (45 miles
north of Lubbock) the day after Christmas. On December 27, 1955, I
proposed . . . Judy accepted and we were married on December 27, 1956.
Now, we celebrate that date 43 years later.
Judy laughs and says God called her to be a preacher's wife and Dale was
going to be a lawyer. She knew she could never be married to a lawyer.
Someone said, "You want to make God laugh? Tell Him your plans."
Depending on who is telling the story, it comes out like so:
Judy: "I dated both the Haralson boys and picked the best one."
Dale: "I dated Judy and decided I could do better, so I let Hal have
her."
Hal: "I took Judy away from my brother."
It's 43 years later and my search for Judy Christian became the beginning
of that many years of marriage. She and Dale have been friends all these
years. We all chuckle when we recall her saying, "I could never be
married to a lawyer."
A
Grease Rack Prayer
I pulled into the Texaco station on
Fredericksburg road at Wonderland Shopping Center in San Antonio.
I was in a hurry.
My father had called from Abilene to tell me he had a listing on a 7,000
acre farm in the valley. He wanted me to help him find a buyer.
Since I was selling farms and ranches for the Guy Chipman Company (a San
Antonio real estate firm), this was exciting.
This sale would involve millions of dollars and I'd get a share of it.
As I filled my car with gas, the owner came out to talk.
I had traded at Hal Taylor's Texaco for some time and knew Hal well. He
was a burly ex-marine, with tatoos of hula girls on his arms.
His language was sprinkled with profanity. He was comfortable around me
even though I had approached him several times about his relationship to
God.
"Never had time for that God stuff. My wife and kids go, but it's not
for me."
I had invited him to go with us to Trinity Baptist church and hear Buckner
Fanning, also, an ex-marine. Hal was impressed with the idea of an
ex-marine preacher, but always put me off.
"Where you headed? You seem to be in a hurry."
I told Hal about the farm near Harlingen.
"That sounds great. I hope it works out for you. Could I talk to you
for a minute?"
I started to say I'll get with you when I return from the valley, but
something about the tone of his voice made me feel I should listen.
We went over to the grease rack. Hal seemed to want privacy.
Hal blurted out, "You know what you told me the other day, about God
loving me and wanting me to be his child?"
"I don't understand how God could love me with my drinking, bad
language, and besides, I never go to church."
"Hal, this acceptance of God's love doesn't depend on what kind of
man you are. It depends on your willingness to invite Jesus Christ to come
into your life and give your life to him."
"You see, Jesus Christ died to pay for your sins. You have to believe
that and trust yourself to him."
"Okay," Hal replied, "I've been thinking about this a lot
the last few days. How do I do it?"
"All right, Hal, you pray after me."
"Dear God, I know I'm a sinner. I believe Christ died for my sins. I
believe you love me. I know I can't change my life -I tried that. Please
come into my life, forgive my sin, and accept me as one of your
children."
There were tears in Hal Taylor's eyes when I looked up. big ex-marine, in
a very uncharacteristic move, gave me a bear hug and thanked me.
We bowed again and thanked God for Hal Taylor's new life.
"Gotta go, Hal. I'll talk with you when I get back. I want to
introduce you to Buckner. You ex-marines will like each other.
Things moved quickly in the Valley (Harlingen). My father and I operated
out of our motel room and were talking millions of dollars and showing the
ranch to prospective buyers.
A phone call from Judy brought all this to a screeching halt.
There was a robbery at Hal Taylor's station. He was shot in the head and
was in a coma. He was not expected to live.
I returned to Austin in three days and went to the hospital where I met
Hal's wife. I told her about the prayer at the grease rack.
"Could you come to my home and tell Hal's mother and father and our
children about the grease rack prayer?"
"Of course," I replied and a time was set.
Hal's father was an elderly man, a cab driver from Kerrville. When I
recounted my conversation with Hal, he stated, "That's the answer to
40 years of prayer."
Hal never came out of the coma. The family asked me to assist Buckner
Fanning with the funeral and I told this story. Then, and now, Hal Taylor
in life and in death shares his faith in God.
I'm thankful I wasn't in too big a hurry to listen to Hal by the grease
rack.
Updated Wednesday, December 27, 2000
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