Gerald--Freshman at BYU

10-07-1968 “CHARITY—KEEP GERALD IN SCHOOL FUND”

I apologize for all the spelling and typing errors. I’m doing my best which is not very good. You will all learn from experience why I almost failed typing.

Economics is my most fascinating course and I really put a lot of work in it because I enjoy it. It reminds me of good old RPC. The supply and demand on the economic terminology is familiar in most cases and the case histories are fascinating.

I am now issuing a public challenge: On or about Jan. 25, 1969 (or when ever I get home from semester break) I Gerald Romney, hereby challenge Marshall Romney, the older brother of the challenger to a wrestling match. For just once in my life I’ve got to win----then I’ll be satisfied. (All proceeds will be donated to charity—the keep Gerald in school fund.”

On Thurs. night I got a package from Vickie and wow—do rumors spread fast. Ten minutes later everyone on the floor knew I had a package and wanted to know how I “pulled it off.” When I brought the stuff Dad sent up to the room I checked to make sure that “all was clear.” A week ago I was always hungry at night, but now I’m stuffed. If this keeps on I’ll be as round as a ball by Christmas. Just one question—What am I supposed to do with the tomato sauce and the canned jalapeno peppers that you sent us Dad? Maybe I could use them as samples and set up Romney’s Mexican chile Importing Service.

10/11/68 THE WOES OF RIGHT AND LEFT

Thursday we marched in ROTC for the first time. It was really something I’d rather forget. I had weight lifting class in the morning and my muscles were sore to begin with because I worked out an extra hour. It was also the last game of the world series so I stayed and left for class with 3 minutes to get all the way across campus. Well, I ran full speed all the way across the campus in that darn wool uniform (which includes a heavy coat) in the middle of the afternoon. When I got across campus I found out that they changed the meeting place and I had to run ¾ of the way back to the dorms (only up a hill this time). When I finally got there I was 20 minutes late and sweating like a dog. To make things worse the leader made us fall in at attention for about 30 minutes, while they talked between themselves and tried to figure out what to do. I was just as sore ad I could be----every muscle and joint was tired, I could feel the sweat rolling down my side and that coat sure didn’t make things any cooler. But the very worst part was having to stand there at strict attention while those wool pants drove you crazy with all the itching. WE stood and stood and stood until they finally let us take a step—just to separate us into platoons. Then we stood some more until they finally divided us into squads. Then we did right face, left face, right face, about face, right face, left face etc. This was the only funny part. The poor squad leader didn’t know how to call out commands any better than we knew how to obey them. Brilliant Gerald was the only one in the squad that didn’t know right from left and I turned the wrong way about 25% of the time. It was to where the squad leader just gave up trying to teach me. If only I could see the scars on my thumbs from an attention position I’d never miss.

10/13/1968 MISSIONARY THEORY

The thing that I worry most about concerning my mission is not that I won’t baptize, but rather that the people that I baptize won’t stay with the church. I would rather baptize 5 active and strong members than 50 that stay with the church for just a few weeks or months.

You are right about me falling hard when I fell for Vickie, but I’m not so sure that it is so good for me. It sort of dampens the social get up and go that you have to have up here at the Y. It isn’t that big a drawback, though. I’ve got a couple of prospects that I am trying to decide between to see which one I would rather take to homecoming. This will be the first homecoming dance that I have ever been to. At Ysleta I just never did anything because I didn’t feel a part of anything. All my activities were centered around the church and church girls. I have also amended my ideas that there isn’t anybody to date in El Paso. Besides Vickie there are some real cute girls there that are my age group.

10/26/1968 “PRESSURE”

It is now Homecoming Saturday night and I’m sitting here writing letters. Sometimes I am glad that I didn’t get a date and other times I wish I had—oh well can’t please yourself all the time.

I was too cheap to buy a ticket to the big presidential rally for Pat Paulsen so I wasn’t going until a friend on the dorm said they needed ushers so I ushered for 20 minutes and saved $2.50. He is the most hilarious comedian I’ve heard in a long time. He really was up on BYU too, and cracked many jokes about them too.

I have decided that the hardest part of college academics is not how hard the subject matter is---it is easier than I thought it would be BUT I doubt that my grades will show it. The reason is the pressure. I blew a math test bad. The cotton picked professor gives you twice as many problems as you are used to doing, and gives you one hour—no time is allowed afterward, 1 hour and that is all. I knew the material forward and backward, but it sure isn’t going to show up that way. All the guys on the floor came to me for help, and I spent a long time explaining all this stuff and then they out do me on the test. I spent 1 ½ hours showing Sheryl how to do a problem, and then miss the same kind of problem on the test (she got it right). The whole test was just a review and I checked and I might not even pass it. I am really disgruntled----studying wouldn’t help, but I just got to learn how not to blow the thing up. Thank heavens there is a bright spot though. I missed an A+ on an Econ test by one testing unit (2 points or 1 Q). There were only 3 guys that out did me, so it isn’t all black.

Spanish really comes in handy, especially when Elbert Pratt and I play handball against 2 gringos. We usually lose, but we have more fun, cussing them out and patting ourselves on the back when they don’t know what’s going on. One of these days we are going to get an RM and then it will be bad news.

1968-11-02 “I FINALLY GOT INTO A GOOD ARGUMENT”

Wednesday night I had more fun than any other night I’ve been here. I was quietly studying when I heard a bunch of scuffling out in the hall and my reaction was instantaneous. I jumped up, took off my pillow case and ran out the door. Much to my delight it was a pillow fight all right and did I ever knock the sense out of one of my friends. I used the good old technique Marshall always used to clobber me-----grab his pillow with one arm and swing away with the other. Then it went to water. Boy was that dorm ever wet. I got a bunch of guys good and was almost all dry until one of my allies turned traitor and he and his roommate just soaked me. This guy had a small portable, old fashioned fire extinguisher that you pump and all I had was a glass. Oh well, can’t win them all.

At last I finally got into a good argument. It was at the Wilkenson Center, at the George Wallace booth. I went with the specific idea of heckling them and they wouldn’t even listen and debate me, but finally one of his supporters came along and gave me a good debate. He was about 40 and wasn’t too bright (a definite characteristic of most Wallace supporters). We went at it for about 45 minutes and even got a little audience and a whole lot of stares. I contended that George Wallace is too mentally unstable to be President and that he is worse than a 10 year old baby about being able to take criticism. If anyone says that he won’t win he automatically labels them liars. The President I think needs to have a little tact as well as being forceful If he disagrees with the polls he could say “I disagree, or you are wrong, but hot head Wallace comes out and says “you are liars” and “Nov. 5 is going to prove the polls to be the liars they are.” If he can’t handle criticism as a candidate, how will he handle it as President.

11/8/1968 “OVERWHELMING, OVERPOWERING, COMPLETE CONTEMPT FOR MOST CALIFORNIANS”

Marion G. Romney spoke at the devotional on Tuesday and afterwards I went down and met him - and guess what? He remembered Dad, but not me. I thought that was pretty good. He also cracked a couple of jokes about George Romney “who used to be my cousin, now I’m his cousin.”
I am about to starve up here. It has gotten to the point that I am still hungry after I eat. By the way, I have decided that the first meal that I would like to have at home is enchiladas, and then the next one is good old-fashioned beans. The food up here is the same old ordinary American meal all the time. It is usually good but it is too routine.
I am really looking forward to going home and getting warm. Man is it cold up here. It isn’t that bad except at 6:45 am when I have to walk to class and the wind is blowing. Barry, if you have something going on or if you won’t be home please write back and let me know. My telephone bill is about to kill me now.
Mom, at Thanksgiving I am going to bring my sewing home and, if you would, will you sew the stuff for me? I don’t even have a needle and thread up here (my excuse for taking it home). I don’t know how I do it but I have a hole in almost every pants pocket I’ve got. I also haven’t done any ironing; I just wear a shirt until it is dirty and then wash it. If it needs ironing, I don’t wear it anymore. Sheryl Mortensen might start doing some ironing for me because I am probably going to start tutoring her quite a bit since she is almost flunking and she has to keep up her grades to stay on the tennis team.
The biggest thing I’ve learned up here is an overwhelming, overpowering, complete, and total contempt for most Californians. That is the last place in the world I’d want to live. Of course, there a lot of exceptions but percentage wise you could hang them all and the world would be a lot better place. I swear, if they ever invent a 38-23-36 robot that is soft, California girls will be out of a job. They are the most egotistical people on earth.


November 14, 1968--GERALD AND THE PIE EATING CONTEST
When I came out of forum, they were having a pie-eating contest to promote the Skits-O-Frantic night they will have on Friday. Anyway, I was just watching and they said that they needed one more volunteer and I didn’t lose anytime. I’ve always wanted to be in a pie-eating contest. Well they took the pies out of the tins, they tied your hands behind your back, and then you had to eat the whole thing - 100%. There were 2 flavors (if you call them that) - Vanilla and Strawberry - and I got stuck with a Vanilla. When the announcer yelled “GO!” everybody, myself included, stuck their face in the pie and started to gulp. What a scream; I’m still laughing about it now. That Vanilla cream pie might as well have been flour and water; in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were. I got about 3 gulps down and that was it as far as liking the pie was concerned; that was the most terrible stuff. I was doing well in the race so I kept going, but I gagged on every bite and that slowed me down. The crummy filling was all over my face, clinging tenaciously from my eyebrows, stuffed up my nose and down my neck. I gave up breathing early in the game (through the nose that is), but every time I tried to breathe through my mouth there was the indescribably terrible pie “plugging up the pipes.” My lungs must have got as much pie as the stomach. The guys with strawberry pies had it easier; they at least had some color. I later found out that they didn’t have any taste either, but the color made it a little better (all 3 of the 1st 3 finishers had strawberry). They looked so funny, all this red creamy filling smeared all over their faces and just gulping away on the pie like a rabid dog. Boy do I wish I had a picture of it. After the winners had been announced and our hands were freed, a couple of guys just plastered the announcer. He turned around right after I threw mine and there is nice big round white spot on his black overcoat from my pie. This was when the fun really began. One guy clobbered his friend and then turned around to run and I caught him right in the face.. It was just like the movies. Whatever the results, I’ll never eat another Vanilla cream pie as long as I live. There will probably be a couple of guys that are permanently cured from the habit of wanting a strawberry cream pie too if it was as bad as they say it was and after eating ½ of mine I have no hesitation about believing them. I still think that pie-eating contests are neat.

I just got back from going to a concert at the field house. It was free so I got on the stick and took advantage of the price. The group that played is called “The Happenings” and it was great. They played a variety of songs and they have recorded 3 different million seller records, the most famous of which was “See you in September.” Dad, I wish you were here so you could see a group that is popular with the teenagers that you would like. They played rock music but they also did some ballads, and a few movie themes like Exodus. It was the best group that I have ever heard and they had appeal to all age groups. They did imitations of the Beatles, Ed Sullivan, and Dean Martin that really cracked me up. They were really good.

It is really cold up here and I am about to freeze, especially at ROTC drill. It was 35 degrees outside and we had to march around holding a stupid rifle for 2 hours. We are not allowed to wear gloves unless they are GI and they haven’t issued any. My hands got so cold the first 30 minutes that I couldn’t feel them for the rest of the drill. Just one more to go though.

12/7/1968 “TIGHTWADS UNLIMITED”
I have been asked to join a fraternity up here at the Y. Three of my good friends are members and I wouldn’t mind being a member but I am just not much of a club lover. The main reason I didn’t join the frat (Alpha Phi Omega) is because I figured up that after I paid the fees, bought a blazer, etc. that it would cost me $60 to get in and that is just the beginning. Once you get in, it doesn’t do you much good unless you attend their parties, dinners, etc. and that would be even more expensive. Besides, I don’t date much up here anyway. Still, I would like to be a member of something up here, and I like the idea of being a fraternity member, but I like the idea at about $10 or maybe $15 worth at the VERY MOST. The heck with the whole thing if it costs $60 just to get started. Besides that, you would need a car to get to most of their activities and you must put in 2 hours of service to the University per week. I wouldn’t mind the service; in fact, that part sounds good - the fraternity is a service organization. When Marshall gets back, I think that he and I ought to form our own little club, and I’ll even let him be President. I’ve also got the name picked out TIGHTWADS UNLIMITED. Sound cheap enough? It ought to be an instant flop.
Speaking of money, I am broke. I sure hope my paycheck comes in Monday in the mail. I am writing this letter in my room instead of in the laundry room because I don’t have $.30 to run the cotton-pickin washing machine. I could have written a check earlier in the day (provided it wasn’t bigger than $3.30) but I’ve decided that college is too darned expensive and I’m not going to write any more checks until next semester. I figured that despite my scholarship, it would cost $1,000, and I am going to have to cut a lot of corners to do that. I am going to get, me a job for next semester, even if it’s shoveling snow at 4 am. When I come home at Christmas, I am going to write Mr. Baker the VP of Sales for Nesbits and see what I can come up with there, and also see Mr. Rodriguez of Der Weinersnetzel (sorry, I never could spell) and get a letter of recommendation; if I can’t work Nesbitts, maybe I could work for them. Who knows maybe I’d make a first rate Hot Dog chef.


4/20/1969 FIRST PARACHUTE JUMP

Well, I finally did it. Saturday, I made my first parachute jump. Dad, you were almost right—I almost chickened out. We had gone through training all day long and drilled over and over what to do, but when we got up in the airplane, 3,000 feet off the ground it sure is a long way down. When we got our chutes on, I was excited and a little bit scared too. That is when the adrenalin started flowing. We climbed in the airplane (a Cessna 182) and it took the thing a long time to get off the ground. We circled the airport once so that we could see what the target looked like from the air and then came over again to jump. Ordinarily all three jumpers get out of the plane in one pass, but with two beginners we went one at a time. All I saw of the other guy was him when he went zipping past the window. That was when I really got scared. I was facing the tail of the airplane with my back to the pilot. I had to scoot over by the door (or rather where the door would have been and when I looked out I was really shaking in my boots. We came over the airport and the instructor said “feet out.” The plane was going about 120-130, and it was hard to force my legs against the wind. I finally got my legs out, and the jumpmaster said “swing out “ I grabbed the wing strut with both hands and swung my body out of the plane and got one foot set on the wheel and the other on the leg of the wheel. Then the jumpmaster said “go.” I thought that I heard something and turned and looked at him and he said “go” again. I hesitated for just a moment and he said go again just as I pushed off. You are supposed to “hit an arch” (bend your back as far back as you can and spread your arms and legs) and count “Thousand one, thousand two, thousand 3, thousand 4, thousand 5. After I left the airplane all I could think of was “Oh Lord, please help me,” and then I felt the opening shock. Now I did what you were supposed to—look up and see if the canopy is fully deployed. It was so then I had to find the toggle handles that you use to steer the thing with. It seemed like forever before I found them, but it wasn’t more than a second. After I had them, I looked down to find the airport. Once I did that, all I had to do was steer the thing down, and enjoy the ride. You can’t imagine what it is like up there. It is so neat!!! I didn’t get to enjoy it as much as I would like because I had to spend most of the time making sure that I didn’t land on top of the terminal, or in a housing district. Next time, I’ll be able to see more and be aware of more. When you get close to the ground you have to put your ankles and knees together and look up at your parachute. If you look at the ground you will get “ground rush” and won’t be ready for it and get hurt. I got set, looked up and wham before I knew it I had hit the ground. They drilled us so much on how to land that it was just a reflex. First you hit your feet with the knees bent slightly, and with your muscles tight so that you don’t wind up sitting down. When you hit then you shift the body and fall on your calf, then the thigh, then rotate the shoulders as you fall on them. It is rather hard to put into words. It is an unnatural way to fall, and while they are teaching you, you really feel like a spastic. Unlike when you jump off of a chair or something you don’t feel like you hit the ground, but like the ground hit you. I had a medium landing, but it didn’t feel hard at all. Some of the advanced guys can even land standing up. All in all, it was quite an experience. It was scary at times, but the only time I was really scared was just before I had to get set to jump. Once I was out of the plane, I was never scared—I didn’t have time or sense enough to be before the chute opened, and after it was open there was no need to be. It was a lot like the time that I soloed. It was really something.