Dr. Ferrol Sams died this week at the age of 90. If you don’t know who he is, then shame on you.
He might have said something to the effect of “You ain’t got a lick-a-sense if you’ve never read my books.”
The author of “Run With the Horsemen,” “The Whisper of the River” and “When All the World Was Young,” is one of Georgia’s best-known and best-loved writers. His passing this week reminded me of my discovery of his work and my dealings with the mischievous and sometimes profane Southern literary luminary.
It was January of 1993, six months into my stint as a features writer for The Macon Telegraph. I was given the assignment of researching and revealing Macon’s “secret places” – those rumored and legendary haunts around town that many had heard of but few had ever seen. It was a great story that took several weeks of interviewing and reading to pull together. It was in the reporting for this story that I first learned of Ferrol Sams and his work.
One of the secret places I was including in the piece was a room at the base of the spire of Mercer University’s administration building where Porter Osborne Jr., Sams’ main character from the “The Whisper of the River,” lost his virginity. Incoming Mercer freshmen are required to read “The Whisper of the River,” but since I had not matriculated at that fine institution at the time of my story assignment, I hadn’t even heard of Ferrol Sams.
I devoured the book – a thinly veiled autobiographical novel of Sams’ time at Mercer. In the book, Osborne, a country boy, goes off to Willingham College in the fictional version of Macon, and mad-cap and bawdy adventures ensued, including, of course, the chapter when Osborne has his fledgling sexual encounters in the secret room in the bell tower.
It was just such chapters that led my friend and fellow church member, the late Dr. William Shirley, to tell me one day after church “Lance, that’s a dirty book.” Dr. Shirley was a classmate of Dr. Sams at Mercer, and although I went back and re-read “The Whisper of the River” looking for him, I couldn’t figure out which character represented Dr. Shirley.
It was somewhat awkward the day I went with Telegraph photographer Maryann Bates to Mercer to do interviews about the room. A young, rather attractive woman from the University Relations Office escorted us up to the room where she told us all about the space and how it achieved notoriety.
I remember blushing and stuttering the question “So, is this the room where… you know… IT happened?”
Maryann couldn’t suppress a laugh at my poor attempt at euphemism.
When the story appeared, I received a letter from retired – and now deceased – Macon attorney Hendley Napier. Mr. Napier insisted my story had incorrectly identified the location of the secret room as the Kappa Alpha fraternity’s chapter room, and he was most offended.
My editor, James Palmer, and I went back and forth over how best to respond to Mr. Napier. It was this experience that taught me there is no one more tenacious than a retired attorney with time on his hands. James determined that Mr. Napier reached his conclusion about my story erroneously. I had not said the KA chapter room was the secret room, but some imprecise language, specifically the antecedent of the impersonal pronoun “it,” was the source of the confusion. We did not run a correction or even a clarification.
This didn’t sit well with Mr. Napier who proceeded to carry out a one-man campaign against me and The Telegraph until justice was done and the KA chapter room exonerated. In one of the letters, Mr. Napier threatened to contact Dr. Sams himself to set the record straight.
About a month later, as I struggled with writing original prose about the 1993 Macon Cherry Blossom Festival, the phone at my desk rang. (The following is a loose transcript based on my memory, not the actual notes.)
“Macon Telegraph, this is Lance Wallace,” I recited.
“Is this Lance Wallace?” came the agitated response.
“Uh, yes… yes, it is. How may I help you?”
“You the one who did that story about the secret room at Mercer?”
“Yes… yes sir, I’m the one.”
“Well, I don’t know what you did, but you sure got Hendley Napier all stirred up.”
“Oh, I see. I’m sorry.”
“This is Dr. Sams up in Fayette County. It seems you have written something about my book and have Hendley Napier all out of sorts. He asked me to give you a call to clear this up. You got a pen?”
“Uh… yes, yes sir, right here.”
“Good. You take this down: The Kappa Alpha Chapter Room at Mercer University is a hallowed and sacred place. Many significant rites and solemn vows were made in that room where the bonds of brotherhood were firmly established with the utmost fervor and conviction. No male human could possibly attain an erection much less consummate the act of sexual intercourse in so grave and somber an environment. Furthermore, any rumor contradicting the widely-known and indisputable fact that Hendley Napier graduated Mercer University anything other than a virgin is an egregious and bald-faced lie.”
“Uh… Dr. Sams… uh… I can’t…”
“Son, you ain’t got no hair on your ass if you don’t put that in the newspaper.”
“Well… I don’t think…”
“If that Hendley Napier calls you again, please tell him I called. Have a good day.”
Stunned, I slowly returned the handset to the base and stared down at the scribbling in my reporter’s notebook. When I relayed the conversation to my editor, James laughed so hard he nearly had tears. Shaking his head he said to me, “Yep, that sounds like Ferrol Sams. You be sure to keep those notes.”
Well, I’m sure I have those notes somewhere in my basement, but the memory is so vivid they are unnecessary.
I’m sorry to learn of his passing, but at 90, it can be said that Ferrol Sams lived a full life. I’m glad he shared it with us through his books.
Have you read any of Ferrol Sams’ work? If so, which is your favorite? Leave a comment with your assessment of his writing. You don’t have any hair… well, you get the idea… if you don’t leave a comment!
New South Essays 
Down Town is by fa my favorite Ferrol Sams book… I “escaped” New Jersey at the age of five, and I rememeber my parents struggling with local dialect here in Atlanta (“custard” is something you order at the Dairy Queen up north… not so much south of the Mason-Dixon, as my mother was made aware on several occasions). As time went on, despite my family’s trips “home” and my parents’ steadfast Jersey ways, I felt considered myself a Georgian, and not a transplant. 20 years after we moved to Atlanta, I met a small town southern boy while attending Georgia Tech, and married him. And his small town southern family. It was he who suggested I read Sams’ works, just a few years ago. I voraciously consumed the Sambo trilogy, and then moved on to Down Town. When I finished it, I had so much better an understanding of the South, and could relate so much better to those I lived and worked amongst. Ferrol Sams taught me what it means to be Southern, and I wear that badge proudly now. Thanks, Sambo.
Every couple in premarital counseling should be required to read the short story, “Harmony Ain’t Easy.”
One of my prized possessions is a framed photo of a MUCH younger and thinner me, perched on Dr. Sams’ lap, both of us laughing.
I had driven from Florida to somewhere in the middle of Georgia to meet him and hear him read at a book signing. He was captivating and it was worth missing work the next day, driving back through the night. I’ve never driven that far or worked that hard to see another author.
“The Widow’s Mite” is my favorite of all his books – I’ve bought and given it away so many times, I can’t even count – everyone should read those short stories! .When the church-going lady writes into her Bible, in red ink, what she thinks Jesus MIGHT have said, if he’d had time to think of it – – well, that stuck with me. (And makes me feel less goofy when I do something similar!)
Thanks, Lance, for bringing his passing to my attention, so I can dig around tonight in my photo piles and memories and have a good little happy-cry. – Cindy