Staring out the front door of The Oglethorpe Echo, I could see Hondas, Jeeps, BMWs and SUVs streaming though Lexington. Every UGA-bound vehicle was jampacked with stuff for dorm rooms and off-campus living spaces.
This year, more than 6,200 UGA freshmen will be bringing with them an average SAT score of 1384. Considering today’s admission standards—compared to 1966—I’m lucky to be an alumnus, let alone past president of the University of Georgia Alumni Association. Today, the admissions office would snicker at my application.
Others snickering would be 2022’s freshmen reading this.
Fifty-six years ago, freshmen couldn’t have cars. My parents hauled me and my stuff to UGA in their 1964 Buick. Jesup is 215 miles from Athens. My dad said that was too far to travel in one day. We stopped short and spent the night in Greensboro.
The next morning, I met one of my roommates. I give Bill Cabaniss of Maxeys credit for introducing me to Oglethorpe County. And now—decades later—I sit at my desk at The Echo.
To get back home for visits, I hitched rides on Peede and Bramblett Cabinet Company’s flatbed truck. The firm was doing exquisite millwork in the law school’s expansion. The father of Randall Bramblett, a boyhood buddy and now an Athens musician, owned the company. In return for the rides, I helped Lester Dixon unload materials on Sunday nights.
To stay in UGA, you followed rules that had nothing to do with academics. Women couldn’t wear shorts, except to PE classes. London Fog did a big raincoat business—covering legs of coeds—rain or shine.
Laugh if you will, but Dean of Men William Tate prohibited coeds inside the downtown Varsity, where Chick-fil-A is today. Your girlfriend had to wait—outside on the corner or College and Broad or over by The Arch—while you bought the ice cream cones.
Dean Tate was “The Law,” a one-man enforcer. If he confiscated your student ID card, you might as well call your parents and warn, “I’m coming home early.” Thousands of students wrapped around the coliseum, trying to register for classes. There was no “online.” You were “in line.” And if Dean Tate saw you break in line, uh-oh. You didn’t want to see the old guy in the red cap scowling and storming your way.
By today’s standards, here’s another snicker. There were curfews in 1966. On weeknights, women had to be in the dorms by 11. You could party until midnight on Friday and Saturday. One of my classmates was kicked out of school for taking an unauthorized overnight trip to visit her boyfriend at an out-of-town campus.
For freshmen and sophomore guys, ROTC was required. You might have been a long-haired hippie, but on drill day, you spit-shined your miliary boots.
In the 1960s, Clarke County was dry. Bootleggers kept whiskey within reach for the Jack Daniels-thirsty. Arcade was the beer mecca. And Sanford Stadium wouldn’t have held the drained Pabst Blue Ribbon cans after each football season.
Speaking of Sanford Stadium, there were no reserved student seats, just a section. As fraternity pledges, we went to the games early to sweat and stake out spots for the brothers and their dates. We wore starched shirts; ties; burlap-like, itchy wool slacks; and blazers. Don’t look for that student apparel when the Georgia Bulldogs welcome Samford University’s Bulldogs into Sanford Stadium on Sept. 10.
Add these to the list of things the Class of 2026 won’t see:
Snack Shack, Tony’s Restaurant, Charlie Williams’ Pinecrest Lodge, Harry’s, Davis Brothers Cafeteria, Swamp Guinea and Poss’. I ate my way through UGA at those places.
If I had $10, I’d take my date to Tony’s for lasagna. If I was borderline broke—which I usually was—we dined on buck-twenty-five UGA hamburger steaks at Poss’.
Yep, UGA freshmen, I can imagine your snickers.
But as Mary Hopkin sings: “Those were the days, my friends … we thought they’d never end.”
And they haven’t, at least in our minds