Every summer dozens of students would serve as summer missionaries, traveling across the state and country. A few went overseas. Those selected braves several rounds of interviews, were commissioned, and held up as the best BSU could offer. The crown jewel of summer missionaries was a spot on one of the two four person Youth Revival Teams that traveled around the state leading worship services. You had to be a good speaker as well as musical. Jeff Yearwood, Tom Jennings, Donna Freemon, and Robin Perdue all served on the YRT.
All year we’d dream up fund-raising activities to raise money for summer missions. One day Mary Deaton raced up to me and exclaimed “Murf, let’s swallow a goldfish to raise money for summer missions!” Back then I wasn’t good at swallowing pills. I would chew up awful tasting pills. But to see Mary swallow a goldfish, I had to say yes. Doug Kleppin drew up a huge poster of my open mustachioed mouth, with an innocent goldfish swimming inside – similar to the Jaws movie poster (which I kept for years). We got the goldfish and named them. One was called Sparky. A “save the goldfish” fundraising campaign was started. The $600.00 was raised, and at a Thursday night meeting we swallowed the goldfish. Nothing to it.
An annual fund-raiser was the 24 hour marathon basketball game against UGA. We’d host the game at Tech one year, then travel to Athens the next. We’d keep a running score, and play 24 separate hour long games as well. The intramural men’s team would play the first hour, and follow that with different hours: all-girl hour, freshmen hour, alumni hour, coed hour, and even the dreaded chicken fight hour (with girls on guys shoulders). Tech would win most of the games. I wasn’t the best basketball player, but tried to play more hours than anyone else – as many as 17 out of the 24 hours. My senior year I realized it would be neat to start the marathon game – so I told everyone I was starting, and that was that. I didn’t contribute much against the players much better than me. Once during “memory verse hour” all my shots were falling. For the basket to count the player scoring the goal had to recite a memory verse. By the end of the hour I had recited almost every verse I knew.
The statewide conventions at Rock Eagle in the fall and spring were also big events. Students from BSU’s all around the state converged at Rock Eagle. Long before social media, this was one of the few ways to make friends outside your own school (or meet girls). There were seminars and worship services and family altars where all the Tech students had a time of sharing. There was plenty of fun to be had as well: cookouts, long midnight hikes through the woods so freshmen could get their first look at the majestic eagle made of rock.
I had never taken part in the BSU state convention talent show. I wasn’t particularly musically inclined. But one year it was decided we would perform Steve Martin’s hit song King Tut. I had “sung” King Tut at a GT BSU meeting (wearing sunglasses and an olive army jumpsuit I liked to hang out in back then). A picture of me as King Tut was featured in the Blueprint, Tech’s class yearbook, with my roomie Don Sells on guitar.
Some crafty soul fashioned an outfit for me, a costume similar to the one Steve Martin had worn on SNL. Gold stuff on my head, shoulders and waist (over shorts). You could tell I wasn’t wearing a shirt. And the piece de resistance: roller skates (borrowed from the old Second-Ponce gym). Not my strong suit.
I remember standing backstage. The curtain opened and the band started playing. Then I pushed off something and launched myself onstage, rolling out and grabbing hold of the mic stand to stop. The crowd – one thousand strong - went wild. I had to hold onto the microphone so I wouldn’t roll away. During the bridge I tried to skate around the stage. As I sang I looked out into the audience. A special guest speaker at that convention was Keith Parks, the older stern-looking head of the Southern Baptist Foreign Mission Board. He was sitting on the front row with campus ministers and other leaders. Parks was not smiling. At that moment any thoughts I might’ve had about going into full time Christian ministry went down the drain.
As expected, the performance was the talk of the convention. There may still be an old scrapbook in the Baptist Center with a picture of me in costume, with a dancing girl behind me. I probably need to find that picture. Not sure if the talent show rules were changed after my performance, but they may have been.
The next day, since I held the statewide title of Area Representative (along with current Public Commission Chairman Tim Echols, then an ambitious young UGA student with political aspirations) I had been tasked with giving a prayer. Beforehand I stood backstage – right next to Keith Parks. It was probably just my imagination, but it seemed like his eyes were glaring through the back of my head.
