The Story of My Comb

My guess is that not a lot of people have stories to tell about their combs.  I have a story about mine, though, and it will tell you a lot about me and how I cling to the past and avoid change.  Here it is.

THE STORY OF MY COMB

In August 1966 Judy and I moved from Denton, Texas, where I'd finished work on my MA at North Texas State University (now the University of North Texas), to Austin, where I was going to pursue my Ph.D. in English at The University of Texas at Austin.

Digression #1:  Did you know that the word "The" is part of the official title of The University of Texas at Austin?  Well, it is.

Digression #2: I've always liked the phrase "pursuing a Ph.D." because it gives the impression that the degree is elusive and has to be chased down and caught.  Some people catch it, and some don't.  I knew a few who didn't.

Digression #3:  Judy and I packed all our possessions into two cars, ours and her parents', which we'd borrowed for the occasion.  We moved from our apartment at 308 Normal Street in Denton to our new one at 104 East 32nd Street in Austin.  I liked both those addresses.  Here's why.  For six or seven years of my childhood, I lived in Mexia, Texas, at 308 East Hunt Street, after which we moved to 401 South McKinney.  The street numbers should explain everything.

Digression #4: I like digressions when I'm the one doing the digressions.  I try to avoid them in my books, but this kind of thing is different.

Back to the story of my comb.  I was a teaching assistant, and when the fall semester started, I was assigned to a bullpen office in Parlin Hall, the English building, with eight or ten other people who were pursuing their degrees.  It was an interesting environment, and I enjoyed it.  I still remember coming in the morning after LJB announced that he wouldn't seek another term.  One guy climbed up on his desk and addressed the others of us who were there.  He yelled, "We can't forgive him just because he's not running again.  He was a son of a bitch yesterday, and he's a son of a bitch now."  Anyway, after I'd spent two years in that office, a new wing of the building opened, and many of the full-time faculty members moved into offices in the new wing.  Those of us in the bullpen were than moved into the offices vacated by the full-time faculty.

Thus I found myself in an office formerly occupied by Dr. Joe Kruppa.  He'd been a member of the department for three or four years by that time.  He was young, had long hair, and was a flamboyant dresser. And he was already one of the most popular instructors in the Department of English.  He'd left his office entirely bare, except for one shelf in the tiny coat closet.  On that shelf was a comb.

Some people might have taken the comb to Dr. Kruppa's office and given it to him, but I don't do things like that.  I thought it would be kind of dumb, to tell the truth.  So I took it home.  Judy wasn't one to adopt someone else's comb, but I was.  It was much nicer than the one I'd been using.  Judy soaked it in hydrogen peroxide before she let me use it, though.

We moved into two other apartments in Austin during our stay there (711 W. 32nd and 1304 Mariposa, in case you were wondering), and we've lived in two houses since then.  A bit of time has passed.  Forty-seven years, in fact.  And I'm still using the same comb.  I have less hair to comb, but I still comb it.  The comb lost a tooth a year or two ago, but that didn't affect its performance.  It's been a good and faithful servant.  I've never considered getting another one.

And that's the story of my comb.  The end.