Dr. Lloyd I. Watkins: A Son's Remembrance of a Life Well Lived

On Thursday, March 1, 2012, my Dad, Dr. Lloyd I. Watkins, died peacefully in his sleep following a lengthy battle with cancer. He was 83 years old. He was the fourth President of West Texas State University from 1973-1977, and the thirteenth President of Illinois State University from 1977 to 1988. He was married to my mother, Mary (Caudle) Watkins for nearly 59 years.  Dad had a full and truly remarkable life.

It was somewhat remarkable that Dad was even born. His mother, Lydia Irion, was 35 years old when she married (for the first and only time) Herman Watkins on September 18, 1927. Herman was then 41. Especially for those times, this was a "late" marriage, and children were by no means a certainty. Dad was born less than a year later, on August 29, 1928. He was an only child.

Having been born in the river town of Cape Girardeau, Missouri, just before the start of the Great Depression, Dad was raised in a family that probably qualified, barely, as middle class. Lydia was a school teacher. Herman had a succession of jobs, mainly as a salesman, but never with a great deal of success. Although Herman may not have been a great success, he must have been a great father, because Dad always spoke of him fondly and said he was one of the nicest guys in the world.

A couple of weeks ago, in one of our last conversations, I talked to Dad about his childhood. To me, Dad's childhood in some ways foreshadowed what Dad would be for all of his life: A man who strove to fit in as a regular guy, but never quite was one.  He was always  more than a regular guy. Anyway, Dad spoke of his childhood friends, his Lionel train (which he said he wished he had kept -- me, too!), his BB gun, and his three dogs. He fondly remembered a wealthy neighborhood couple who never had children, but who had a big house with a big yard and who let Dad and his friends play in the yard whenever they wanted.

Dad was fascinated with airplanes, and built balsa wood and tissue paper models from kits. He won a trophy in a model airplane contest (I think he got second place -- we still have the trophy somewhere). Years later, he showed me how to build them, although it was a temporary fascination for me.

Dad lived in a house with his parents, and also with his mother's sisters. This was a bit of an odd arrangement, certainly driven out of necessity to get by during the Depression, but not totally to his liking. I'm pretty sure he longed for a sibling, but that never happened.

Dad excelled in his studies.  World War II ended before Dad would have been called to serve, but due to having punctured ear drums from some poor medical treatment for ear infections as a child, was 4-F anyway. In any event, Dad graduated from Southeast Missouri State in Cape Girardeau in 1949 with a degree in education. 

On August 14, 1949, just before his twenty-first birthday, Dad married my mother, Mary Ellen Caudle. Mary, who was from a working class family that could fairly be described as dirt poor, was intelligent, spunky, and quite a looker. Dad definitely knew a good thing when he saw it, and convincing Mom to marry him may have been the best thing he ever did.

After a short stint teaching, Dad earned a Masters degree in 1951 and a Ph.D. in 1954, both from the University of Wisconsin in Madison. Mom supported Dad throughout his studies, dropping out of college and working as a secretary at Oscar Mayer. She later completed her degree at Drake University in 1970.

In 1956, Mom and Dad moved to Athens, Ohio, the home of Ohio University, located in the foothills of the Appalachians in southeastern Ohio. Dad was a Professor in the Speech Department at Ohio U. until about 1964, when he became involved in Administration. The 1950s and 1960s were a heady time for higher education. As Dad mentioned in one of our last conversations, millions of G.I.s were able to attend college on the G.I. Bill. The economy was booming after the war.  The Baby Boom was also on, and Mom and Dad participated. I came along in 1957, followed by my brother Joe in 1960, and Bob in 1964.   

At some point in the early to mid-1960s, Dad decided that he wanted to become a college president. This led our family on a magical mystery tour across the country as Dad pursued his dream. The first stop was Pocatello, Idaho, and Idaho State University where Dad was Executive Vice President from 1966 to 1969. The next stop was Des Moines, Iowa, where Dad was President of the Iowa Association of Private Colleges and Universities from 1969-1973. 

Then Dad got his first Presidency at West Texas State, a small state school just outside of Amarillo in Canyon, Texas, in 1973. Although our family came to really like Canyon and made many wonderful friends there, I don't think Dad ever felt fully accepted. There were some who felt Dad was a "Yankee" (pretty silly since he was Midwestern to the core), and after four years he had the opportunity to move on. The opportunity was as President of Illinois State, located in the heart of the Midwest in the somewhat humorously named town of Normal, Illinois.

ISU certainly seemed like an ideal job. However, in the final stage of the interview process, Dad was asked what he was going to do about "Rites of Spring." Dad's response was,  in essence, "What is that?" Rites of Spring was an annual drunk fest that, although highly popular among the students, created a lot of property damage and consternation in the local community. It was a festering problem and something had to be done. Dad's predecessor had courageously passed the buck to his successor. Dad made the decision that had to be made and shut it down. 

The decision did not endear him to the student population for the first few years, and there are a few choice words I could use to describe the buck passing, but "unfair" will do for now. It was particularly unfair in Dad's case. First, he was hardly a prude. Dad loved a good party and a cocktail, but he could not support what Rites of Spring had become. Second, Dad always yearned to be popular with the students. He wanted to increase their involvement in the university and their educational opportunities. Eventually, I think most of the students understood this. If you want to hear it straight from Dad, he was interviewed about the decision in 2010, and the video is available on You Tube. If you are interested, click here.  

After a bit of a rough start, Dad and his team accomplished a great deal during his tenure. Enrollment increased from 19,000 to 22,000. Opportunities for international studies increased. The athletic program for women made substantial advances. Redbird Arena was built. The academic standards and overall status and reputation of the university increased.

That said, things were not easy. By the time Dad was President of ISU, the booming 1960s were far in the rear view mirror, and funding for education was tight. Dad was always in Springfield seeking more funding for the university.  It was difficult for ISU and the other universities to compete with U of I, the state's flagship university. By 1988, there was some faculty unrest over salaries and funding (pretty ironic given Dad's steadfast efforts to increase funding for the school). By then, Dad decided it was time to pass the torch to a new leader. A couple of weeks ago, he told me that he was just thoroughly exhausted at the time. He stayed at the university and taught for a couple of years (which he seemed to thoroughly enjoy), and then retired completely in 1991.

Dad had a long and enjoyable retirement. He and Mom briefly toyed with moving to Florida, but Mom put her foot down about staying put in Bloomington-Normal. The compromise was to move "south" to Crestwick, a golf course community on the Bloomington side of town. Mom and Dad lived there for a number of years, playing golf, walking, and traveling. Spurred on by Ken Burns' series on the Civil War on PBS, Dad became very interested in Civil War history, and he and Mom visited a number of battlefields. In 1999, the family gathered at Crestwick to celebrate Mom and Dad's 50th wedding anniversary. Mom and Dad later moved to a townhouse in Normal, largely to be closer to my brother Bob and his young family.

Dad also stayed active in community affairs, serving on the board of a number of local institutions. The local newspaper, the Pantagraph, appropriately remembered Dad as a community leader as well as a leader of ISU.

In 2008, my wife and I visited in April for Mom's 80th birthday. She seemed to be in good health, although Dad seemed a little frail. In May, Mom got a case of pneumonia, from which she never fully recovered. In late July, Dad went to Mayo Clinic for testing regarding some cancer his local doctors had found. Mayo told Dad that he had four months to live without treatment and perhaps nine months with treatment. Dad was literally told to take one final trip to France and to get his affairs in order.  The next week, Mom died, just eight days short of their 59th wedding anniversary. 

In so many instances, when a spouse of many years dies, the other quickly follows.  And in Dad's case, no less than the Mayo Clinic told him that he would quickly follow. Thanks to the treatment of Dr. John Migas (a man I have yet to meet but to whom our family is grateful), Dad beat the odds. After chemo treatment, Dad went into complete remission and scanned clean for over two years.

Dad's neighbor across the street, Kay Bloomquist, was with Dad through every step of the cancer treatment. Dad and Kay fell in love. In September of 2009, instead of traveling to Bloomington for Dad's funeral (as predicted by Mayo Clinic) we attended Dad and Kay's marriage. Although Dad and Kay did not have as much time as we all wished, she was a rock throughout their marriage, and especially in Dad's last days. Kay will always be part of our family and we will always be grateful for all that she did for Dad.

Late last year, Dad began feeling a little run down. A new scan showed the cancer had returned. At first, it appeared limited. We expected, and Dad expected, that he would fight it off again. A few weeks ago, Dr. Migas ordered another scan and this time the chemo had not worked. The cancer had returned and spread. Fortunately, we were able to visit Dad one last time, as was my brother Joe. Dad remained lucid, and maintained his sense of humor. We are grateful that he died peacefully and without apparent pain.

I would be remiss not to mention my brother Bob. Bob lives in Normal, and, as such, was on the front line for Dad's final weeks. Bob has a young family and a demanding job. Like Kay, he was also a rock and somehow found time for Dad. Thank you, brother.

Having given the narrative, I'd like to share a few final thoughts about Dad. First, what were his best qualities? I would list them as follows:

• Intelligent. Dad was always one of the smartest guys around. Dad was never a knee jerk thinker. He thought things through and from different sides.
• Enthusiastic. Dad was enthusiastic about just about everything he did. He enjoyed his career, despite the inevitable frustrations, his family and his life. Trust me, Dad did not want to go. He would have liked to have lived to 100.
• Great sense of humor. Dad was a great joke teller, and could always see the funny or ironic side of just about anything.
• Outgoing. My parents had more parties and social gatherings than any people I know. Dad was one of those rare people who could not only remember names, but would  also remember intimate details about his many acquaintances. 
• Courageous. We didn't always see this side of Dad, but it sure came out when he had to make tough decisions and when he battled cancer, and, for a while at least, beat it.

 Second, what did he care deeply about? What were his passions? I would include the following:

• ISU. Dad was very proud of having been President of ISU. He was proud of what he and his team were able to achieve, and was proud of what others achieved after he left. Dad was very grateful for the contributions of his colleagues at ISU, and it would be remiss not to say that again now.
• Bloomington-Normal. After having moved around the country, Dad found his home in Bloomington-Normal. Whenever we would visit, Dad would insist on driving us around and showing us any new buildings, restaurants, subdivisions, etc. He really loved the community.
•  Friends. Dad had so many friends, some who have gone before him and others who are still with us. He really enjoyed people and he enjoyed knowing people of different ages. 
• Pets. We always had cats and dogs in our house. In recent years, it became family tradition to make donations to local humane societies for holidays instead of exchanging gifts. We agreed that there will always needy animals, and that we all had enough "stuff."
• Cars. This may be a new one to some, but not to family members. Dad seemed genetically predisposed to purchase a new car about every three years. This created some consternation because, as Dad said, if Mom had her way, they just would have kept that 1948 Hudson. Last year, even though Dad had given up the keys due to his deteriorating eyesight, he pretty much insisted that he and Kay buy a new car. He told her that it was really great to buy a new car without having to argue with his spouse about it! Shortly before he died, Dad was dreaming and talking  in his sleep about driving. Maybe it was a new S Class down Highway 1 in California. But that's more my dream. For Dad, it was probably a new Lincoln through the Illinois farm country with the corn growing under a blue sky on a summer day.
• Family. Dad got really lucky when he married Mom. He then got lucky again when he found Kay. Although our family is not without its faults and issues, there was never any doubt that Dad loved all of us deeply, including my wife, my brothers and their spouses, the grandchildren, and, most recently, the step children from Kay.

To sum it up: Not bad for a boy from a lower middle class family from Cape Girardeau. Dad lived a great life, enjoyed his life, and left the world better than he found it. 

Particularly in his last years he fought the good fight, finished the course, and kept the faith. 

We will miss him dearly.