I was supposed to have been a lighthouse keeper. Seriously.
During my junior year at Dodson High School, I took a career aptitude test that indicated I was best suited for working independently of others in an outdoor setting. Several types of jobs were recommended, but I clearly remember that lighthouse keeper was at the top of the list.
Unfortunately, there were no lighthouses nearby Dugdemona River, so I eventually earned a social studies education degree at Louisiana Tech University to become a teacher.
In 1977, I returned to Tech to get my master’s degree in history. When I met with Dr. Bill Thompson, the department head, I told him that I intended to focus on the Civil War, and he declared that Dr. John Winters would chair my graduate committee and direct my thesis.
Dr. Winters (1916-1997) was an iconic figure at Tech. He had studied under the legendary T. Harry Williams at LSU and wrote The Civil War in Louisiana, an authoritative book that is still considered the definitive study of the subject.
Tall and thin with a bald head and sunken cheeks, Dr. Winters had a commanding presence in the classroom, and he lectured in a deep, eloquent voice with a distinct cadence that would make a Shakespearean actor proud. Winters was also known to be one of the most demanding professors on campus, and his tests were, shall we say, thorough.
I had heard so many stories about Dr. Winters that I purposely avoiding taking his classes throughout my undergraduate years. Now, he was to be my major professor.
As it turned out, Dr. Winters had more influence on my career than any other professor. His classes were as demanding as I had been led to believe, but they were also incredibly rewarding, because his knowledge of Civil War and Louisiana history was encyclopedic.
I also found that as long as you paid attention in class, read the assignments, and did your work, Dr. Winters was a reasonable man. My biggest surprise was to discover that he had a sense of humor and could be the life of the party at social events. One of my favorite memories of Dr. Winters is when he and my wife, Carol, danced a Cajun two-step to a live band at a history conference. It was a side of him that most students never saw.
Courtesy of Terry Jones
Special Collections, Manuscripts and Archives, Prescott Memorial Library, Louisiana Tech University
All of my professors at Tech were excellent teachers, and my writing skills improved greatly under their tutelage. So, it was with confidence that I turned in the first draft of my thesis to Dr. Winters. When I got it back, every page was covered with corrections. He had changed words, rearranged sentences, and even wrote “Damn it, Terry!” in the margin when I repeatedly misspelled the same word.
I remember showing it to Carol and complaining that it wasn’t right for Dr. Winters to be changing sentences that were grammatically correct. By the time he finished with me, however, I realized that a grammatically correct sentence can still be a poorly written sentence. Dr. Winters’ editorial skills made me a much better writer.
As I approached graduation, I told Dr. Winters that I intended to follow in his footsteps and pursue my doctorate at LSU under T. Harry Williams. I thought he would be pleased, so it was a shock when he simply said, “You don’t want to do that.”
Dr. Winters explained that the market was flooded with history doctorates and that I shouldn’t invest so much time and money to get a degree that wouldn’t land me a job. I appreciated his honesty but really wanted the degree, for ego’s sake if nothing else.
Dr. Winters then told me that if I was determined to get a doctorate that I should avoid LSU. He explained that the faculty was very cliquish and factionalized and that more than one student had been ruined because they were unable to navigate the complicated relationships. Instead, he recommended Texas A&M University.
While attending Texas A&M, I continued to see Dr. Winters at historical conferences. Knowing that I wanted to return to Louisiana to teach, he made a point of introducing me to various department heads. His idea of an introduction was, “This is Terry Jones. He needs a job.”
It turned out that Dr. Winters was correct about the poor job market, but ten years after completing my doctorate I joined the faculty at Northeast Louisiana University (now the University of Louisiana at Monroe). The next time I saw Dr. Winters, I was an assistant professor of history. Shaking hands, he smiled slightly and said, “You can call me John.” It was a kind gesture, and I felt like I had been accepted into an exclusive club.
Dr. Terry L. Jones is a professor emeritus of history at the University of Louisiana at Monroe. For an autographed copy of “Louisiana Pastimes,” a collection of the author’s stories, send $25 to Louisiana Pastimes, P.O Box 1581, West Monroe, LA 71294.
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