Mississippi Smiles

By Richard Thorne

From the moment he first saw her, her smile won his heart and his abiding devotion. That endearing smile from Mississippi said to a boy from North Carolina, "I'd like to know you." For forty years, they learned from each other that marriage is a gift. They cultivated a lasting relationship that kept on giving to each other. Indeed, the greatest of Jean's gifts to him were her countless "Mississippi smiles."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098093426

Book preview

Part 1

Our Early Years (1964–1972)

We were all waiting for dinner…

We, being hundred-plus hungry college students, stood outside the staff dining hall at Ridgecrest. It was then and there that I saw…her. She looked across the concrete sidewalk on that warm early June noon where we all stood, waiting for the double-screened doors to open for the midday meal, and she smiled at me.

It’s true about first impressions. They are lasting. However, they are not necessarily true or accurate. They’re just first. I remember her smile like one person saying to another, Hello, I’d like to know you. My fond recollection was that my unspoken nineteen-year-old male response was Not a chance, Richard. She’s out of your league. Don’t even try. It was the summer of 1964, and the place was the Ridgecrest Baptist Assembly Conference Center located in Ridgecrest, North Carolina. It was summer, and as the collective, we were the hired staff of college students working for the gracious sum of $15 a week. And we all were glad to be there. It was a beautiful spot on the map located in the western part of the state, eighteen miles east of Asheville on US Highway 70. Thousands of people from all over the South came to visit or attend weekly Bible study conferences or where they sent their children to spend a few weeks at one of the nearby summer camps for boys or girls. It was an invigorating place nestled in the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains where summer days were warm, not hot, and the evenings were cool and inviting many memorable front porch conversations. I honestly believe that is what’s wrong with America today. No more front porches or time for family storytelling, recounting the day’s events, or just sharing polite conversation. When the advent of window air conditioners entered America’s comfortable environmental consciousness, we all went indoors to be greeted by another American invention—television. Cultivating and stimulating family conversations were doomed.

Well, it was just on such a cool evening that the girl (the one with the smile) and I were forced to meet. It occurred a few days following that encounter outside the dining hall. In this story of real life, I like to think of those events in life as Kodak moments—little instant flashes in time captured forever on our memory screens. Somehow it happened that we were both elected by the staff to be on a committee publicizing various staff events during the summer. In fact, we were indeed the publicity committee.

Our first meeting…

I remember officially meeting her on the mezzanine level overlooking the front porch of Pritchell Hall, the new main office and hotel building for the assembly. It faced the nearby US Highway 70 that would later become I-40. I do not remember my first words to her. Most likely, I tried to be cool and suave and say something poignant, only to have it dribble out as something less than gallant or impressive. Adolescent boys are like that. She, on the other hand, was polite, demure, and cautiously confident with a quiet manner about her—a Southern manner. That degree of competence always unnerves most boys, and I was no exception.

Her name was Jean—Carolyn Jean Brown—from Tupelo, Mississippi. As it happened, our first publicity meeting was brief and to the point. I would be the idea person, and Jean (she preferred her middle name) would execute my ideas. That is to say Jean would produce the posters from my creative and savvy marketing perspectives. That was our unique formula, and it seemed to work all summer long ago at an endearing place called Ridgecrest.

Following our adjourned meeting, we ventured outside in the cool mountain air where numerous white wooden rocking chairs lined the front porch. We slowly rocked and talked and shared interesting insights from our preceding pasts with each other. As we conversed, I became increasingly more interested in her. Yes, we were talking about our past experiences, but somehow I couldn’t help but notice that Jean wasn’t just talking about herself. She recounted events and memories involving others in her life—her high school friends, friends in college, or just friends she’d known from as far back as she could remember. Her family was very important to her too. I liked that. Most other girls I had many conversations with during my late-teen years just seemed to center around themselves. It was always about them. Jean, however, showed a sense of caring and empathy for others. Also, on that same first evening of rocking chair recollections, I learned something else.

One particular edict, which was passed along to Jean as she was traveling with her family that early June to work on the staff at Ridgecrest, came from her father. He specifically told her not to get too interested in any of those preacher boys. Well, her father’s request was safe with me! I certainly did not qualify. My intentions were quite honorable and always positive. I never entertained any ideas about going to a seminary or a Bible school. Just get an education, and stay out of Uncle Sam’s way as long as possible.

Doubly smart…

Another engaging thing I learned from this very attractive girl I had expressed a silent interest in was the recounted fact that she had a double major in her studies at The W. Her acronym reference was to her attending MSCW (Mississippi State College for Women). I also learned that those collegiate letters also stood for Mississippi’s Sweetest Collection of Women. True indeed. Anyway, Jean had a double major in library science and English. Being the smart boy that I was, I knew what the mother tongue was—English. But library science? What was that all about? Something about the chemical compounds or formulations of paper pulp for the production of books? I’d never heard of such a thing. But I quickly learned that Jean not only candidly loved books but also wanted to become a librarian. Well, I must admit my limited experiential understanding of a librarian and this charming girl did not match. To me, librarians were dull, presumptuous, flat-chested, eyeglass-wearing hush-mongers who would rather not let their treasured collection of books out of their sight and into my boyish, clutching, jelly-stained hands. Boy, was I wrong! I always thought that if you could muster the motor skills to use a little rubber stamp and open to the back of a book, anyone could be a librarian. Wrong!

Her love of…

Jean taught me many things that summer, but the first consequential and endearing thing I learned was her genuine love of books; the stories they contained; the writers who wrote them; and where, upon reading them, your life could travel. Books and the things they contained consumed her and later radiated from her life like light from the darkness. Well, I concluded that if I hoped to have any impact on her, I would have to change my sorely misbegotten understanding about librarians and get right with the printed word in order to get right with Jean. That personal revelation didn’t take long to occur. I may not have been a preacher boy, but I wasn’t stupid either (far from it). Thus, I got with the program.

Our summer assignments at Ridgecrest had our working hours filled with divergent tasks that did not allow our paths to cross except during mealtimes or after-work assignments at the end of the day. Jean spent her working hours in the crafts shop, teaching conference-attending children and adults how to make things when they were not in conference sessions or other meetings. Mostly, Jean spent her days up to her elbows casting plaster making molds for people to paint and take home with them. When she wasn’t doing that, then she was burning something into little pieces of wood or perhaps hammering designs into leather to make belts or other treasured trinkets for attendees to take home. Not the best use of her library skills, but she enjoyed the creative aspects of it all and the fact that she could work with other people and interact with them during the day. Jean was very good at her assigned summer’s task at Ridgecrest.

I, however, was a lobby boy. That precarious and dubious distinction had me hauling luggage all day (lots of it). Each week, thousands of people from all Southern states and often many foreign countries would descend upon that little town in Western North Carolina for a particular week-long conference. It was the responsibility of the lobby boys (stationed in the lobby of Pritchell Hall where we got minute-by-minute assignments from the front desk) to meet people and take them to their respective rooms located in Pritchell or drive them to one of the many other places of residency located throughout the sprawling mountainous assembly grounds. It was a physical task hauling luggage and demanded nothing more of our mental dexterity than to be able to read an address or pronounce a guest’s name correctly. The real perks to the job were us getting to drive the assembly cars all over the assembly or to and from Asheville, and we got tips! Tips were important and indeed very welcomed to a college student working a summer job. Often, they made the difference between staying at the assembly or eating another PB&J and going off-campus and enjoying a real dinner in a restaurant with friends or better yet, a date.

Among the many amusing encounters the staff had with guests was an instance when I was walking down a hall of the main hotel building. A guest room door was slightly open, and I heard a woman ask me if I could zip her up. She called me Sonny. I dutifully did and got a $5 tip for my efforts. I smiled joyfully.

Her love of…

I remember our first real date—that is, a time away from where we worked to relish a different environment and enjoy each other’s company over a real meal. I always thought big and planned accordingly, so I drove Jean into Asheville for dinner at The Grove Park Inn. Anyone who has ever been to or heard of that grand and esteemed place knows it was not a truck stop or some greasy diner on the side of the road. The million-dollar view from the restaurant on the Dogwood Terrace overlooked all of downtown Asheville and the seemingly countless mountain ridges beyond to an unforgettable sunset that would last a lifetime in our memories. Why, I can even remember what I ordered for my entrée that evening—grilled rainbow trout. I liked it, and I’ve never had it before or since.

So when and how does love enter this summertime romance? As Jean so often reported, for her it was love at first sight that very first day while waiting outside the dining hall. Her life-altering response has always amazed me. As for me, well, it took a little longer to make such a pledge. In fact, it took a couple of weeks longer following that Mississippi smile and our first date and a few other rocking chair conversational encounters. It occurred to this boy from the other end of the state that if I didn’t do something soon, some sho’nuff preacher boy would step in and take her away regardless of her father’s prior edict. And besides, I reasoned, what’s not to love about this girl? Not only did she possess a true beauty and charm about her, but she was also smart, and she had a spirit I had never seen before in any girl. Jean had a poised countenance that drew me in like the proverbial moth to a flame. It was later that summer when I learned what that countenance really was.

Special people.…

Ridgecrest was owned and operated by the Southern Baptist Convention and at that time was a place of inspiration, education, and relaxation. It was very well managed by a unique husband-and-wife team, Mr. and Mrs. Willard K. Weeks. They were lovingly called Dad and Mom by the staff, and both of them lived up to that accolade and endearing distinction. They had been a vital part of the assembly for many years and the two nearby affiliated summer camps. Mom and Dad Weeks were authentic Christians, and they lived their lives in an exemplary manner that spoke clearly to all who were ever near them. They lived their lives and managed the assembly on the premise of one word—others. They were real people who lived in the real world and yet were able to give of themselves, their time, and their love in ways that quite showed Christ in their lives. They were a godly, loving couple.

When Jean and I weren’t working, we were quickly becoming a campus item. Not to be too melodramatic, but we were a couple too. That summer, we purchased two identical plaid short-sleeve shirts for ourselves (see front cover). That way, we were a matched item on campus. Isn’t young love amazing to witness and sometimes silly?

We enjoyed each other’s company and spent countless hours just talking together. Sometimes our talks took on different forms. There were a few places on the assembly grounds where a couple could find solitude and be by themselves. One such place was a small lake behind the main auditorium, and another place was near the staff dormitories—a tranquil location called The Prayer Garden. That particular place was quite quiet except for a small stream running down the mountainside and through the rhododendrons and the fragrant mountain laurel that filled the garden. Jean and I shared a lot of quality time there that summer, talking and sharing. It was there where we learned to pray together, something most couples never fully grasp. It was also there where the true germination of our love grew for each other and God. It was there where I first recognized the countenance of the Spirit. I clearly saw it in Jean, and I began to observe it even in myself like never before.

Just the two of us…

A place not far from campus that we became very fond of was a particular winding highway called the Blue Ridge Parkway, a masterful piece of engineering built in the late 1920s and early 1930s. It coursed countless beautiful mountain ridges for 469 miles from Cherokee, North Carolina up to Virginia and the Shenandoah