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'There is Always a Way' - Thank you, Mr. Galloway

By Gary Carden
Gary Carden

Gary Carden

 This past week, I was saddened to learn that one of my favorite people in the world, Henry Galloway, had died while I was away. I was immediately flooded with memories of "Mr. Galloway," the principal of Sylva High School when I graduated in 1953.

Much to the disappointment of Henry Galloway (and myself), my class has never had a reunion, and each time I met him in recent years, he invariably mentioned the fact. "Your class was my favorite," he would say. "Get on the ball! Set up a reunion!" Of course, we never did.

He was also one of the first petitioners to show up when an unsuccessful effort was made to save the old Sylva High School building, always talking about the building's unique design.

I'm sure that Western North Carolina is full of residents who have fond memories of Mr. Galloway, and a significant number of them owe him a considerable debt. I am one. I would not have gone to college if Henry Galloway had not made it possible. I often wonder what strange turn my life would have taken if it had not been for his interest. It is a story worth telling and I would like to recount it.
In 1953, shortly before graduation, Mr. Galloway called me into his office and asked why I wasn't going to college. The majority of my fellow students were spending the majority of their time talking about distant places like Lenoir-Rhyne, Carson-Newman and Gardner-Webb. Some were even going to UNC, Duke or State. I wasn't going anywhere except maybe to join my grandfather on the Esso oil truck route.

For me, the future was pumping kerosene, hanging out at Troy's Drive-In and attending the Ritz Theatre every time the feature changed. The reason was simple. My grandparents couldn't afford to send me to college.

"What if I found a way for you to go to college?" said Mr. Galloway. "Would you go?"

Well, of course I would! There would be books and music and girls there! He told me to ask my grandfather if he had any objection. He did. In fact, my grandfather had serious doubts as to my ability to drive the oil truck.

However, a few days later, he changed his mind. He said he had been thinking about it and maybe I should go to college. I knew better, of course. My grandmother had decided that if it were possible, I should go to college and become a teacher. I don't know when she informed my grandfather, but he didn't object since he knew that she had a hundred ways to make him miserable. Suddenly, he thought my going to college was a great idea.

Perhaps I could teach. He doubted that I would ever learn to pump kerosene, much less drive without endangering pedestrians and other motorists.

When I told Mr. Galloway, he immediately told me that I had to go to Bryson City on the bus. Wow! That was an exciting trip, sort of like visiting a foreign country. He sent me to a doctor in Bryson City and gave me a sealed envelope addressed to "Dr. Bennett."

Of course, before the bus was to Gateway, I had opened the envelope. It said: "Dr. Bennett, find something wrong with this boy." I gave the doctor the letter and he gave me a terrifying physical examination that left me shocked and subdued.

Afterwards, he gave me a slip of paper with a single word on it. The word was "scoliosis." He also taught me to say it. Then he told me that I had a "severe spinal curvature" that was probably the result of a mild form of polio. I objected. He said that a generous number of children had a "touch" of polio, which didn't paralyze them or wither a limb. It simply left a single defect. In my case, it simply affected a vertebrae. Consequently, I had one leg that was approximately 1 inch shorter than the other.

When I told Mr. Galloway, he was delighted. "I thought so," he said. "There is always something, and there is always a way."

Then he bought me another bus ticket and gave me another envelope. This time, I was going to Asheville! The letter contained directions to the North Carolina Vocational Rehabilitation Office. The director was Mr. Galloway's brother.

The next thing I knew, I was enrolled at Western Carolina Teachers' College on a Voc-Rehab scholarship. I wasn't much of a student, but I finally graduated and taught in high schools and colleges for 15 years before becoming a storyteller.

In recent years, each time I saw Mr. Galloway, he would ask questions about my life. When I wrote a book or a play, he wanted a copy of it. Of course, it is quite possible that none of the books or plays would have ever happened if it had not been for Mr. Galloway. I still remember what he said when I told him I couldn't go to college. "Oh, yes, you can! There is always a way," he said.

For many with bright minds but no money, he found scholarships. For others, there were "patrons" and funds for special training in medicine. For me, it was Vocational Rehabilitation funds.

Thank you, Mr. Galloway.

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