Old Missoula

Herb Carson – founder of CSD program at the University of Montana / WWII Vet

Written by Jim Black, an MCHS senior, the story below is taken from the 1953 issue of The Kopee, which was a student magazine sponsored by Missoula County High School. This little magazine was given to me by my sister, Terry, who was a student there at the time. The introductory statement to the magazine reads as follows:

“Published by the English Department of Missoula County High School, Missoula, Montana, and sponsored by the Margaret Ronan Chapter of Quill and Scroll Society.

“Kopee is an Indian word meaning The Owl. The staff is indebted to Dr. Frank B. Linderman, writer of Indian folklore, for suggesting this appropriate title.”

Mr. Black’s story is the last one in this volume, appearing on page 48. Many of the stories and poems are interesting and a couple are exceptional – Black’s article about Herb Carson being one of them.

 

Have a Heart

Our teacher, Miss Farley, a woman of wisdom as well as patience and understanding, prepared to have a little oral reading. She announced her plans, and all the other second graders eagerly placed their much-used texts upon their desks. I didn’t see what they were so excited about. There was nothing big about a little reading. I hated it. I got out my book and slammed it down rudely on my desk.

Miss Farley appointed a page of the text, and all the kids paged eagerly through their books. What was their hurry? They made me tired the way they were acting so smart. I finally found the page myself, only to shudder at the looks of it.

Miss Farley began by asking Jane Anderson, who sat in front of me, to begin reading. Gee whiz? I would have to read next. Why did we have to have reading anyway?

“That’s fine,” interrupted Miss Farley. “That was very good.”

By this time I had about worn my book out by picking it up and laying it down constantly upon my desk. This reading was sure worthless. All it did was embarrass a lot of people. Darn it! I wished I could stop my stupid shaking.

Then Miss Farley called on me! I pretended I didn’t hear her. Maybe she would get mad and skip me. Wouldn’t that be just terrible? Nuts, she called again. Why didn’t she leave me alone? Of all the people in the room she had to pick on me to read.

“W-what?” I mumbled.

“Will you please read next?”

I thought that would be what she’d say. It looked like she was just going to wait. I guess she was just as stubborn as I was. Finally, I decided to get it over with. Cripes.

“A-all right,” I said.

I stood up, feeling my knees were about to buckle under me. Dismally I walked to the head of my row. I slowly turned around and faced the class that I once had called my friends. Now I hated them all. The class was unusually quiet with all eyes focused upon me. I looked at my book, shut my eyes for a moment as if in silent prayer, and then began to read.

“J-J-Jo-o- -“ And then the noise ceased as I stood there with my mouth wide open – open wide – trying to say one word – one word! My tongue worked, my lips formed the words, my eyes were squeezed shut, but nothing came out. I stopped, choked, and practically strangled over something. I gasped for air. My muscles relaxed a moment, only to tighten up again. I got mad for an instant, so mad I could cry.

Then, determined that I was no different from the rest of the children, I sighed and decided to try the next line. The room was silent as I continued.

“Da-Da-Dad-dy ca-ca-ca-called Ja-Jan-Ja-Jane to c-c-c-c COME!” I screamed at the top of my voice and burst into a cry that could hurt anyone around. It was the cry of a boy who was trying to keep his place in class, trying to be popular and to do good work, but had the handicap that he couldn’t even talk. Oh, he could talk, but how! I ran down the hall toward the door. Miss Farley made no attempt to stop me. She understood.

At first I hadn’t known what stuttering was or what it meant. But now I was beginning to realize why my playmates teased me and expelled me from their groups. I knew I would have to do something about it.

I suffered and cried through the greater part of grade school. When I would come home crying and exhausted, my mother would soothe me and my father would talk with me. Dad would give me an entirely different outlook temporarily, but I still had my own opinion and it was hard to believe him. I began to worry about high school. Many a time I thought about running away from home so I wouldn’t have to go to school.

My parents in the meantime were looking all over the United States for help for me. They spent time and money to take me to Sioux Falls, South Dakota, where I got my neck and backbone rubbed down by some quack doctor. Another time I was taken to Denver where a doctor thought that if he could relax my muscles and joints he could cure my stuttering. I have never been so beaten in all my life. Instead of being relaxed and at ease after I left, I could hardly walk. I was tired of being a guinea pig, and returned home for good.

About this time a friend of my father suggested that we might get help from Dr. Carson, a professor of speech at our university right here in town. My father went out to the university one day to see about it, and he returned home very cheerful. It was enough to make me feel that hope was still with us.

The next Saturday morning – it was in the fall of 1949 – my parents and I drove out to the university. They let me out at a place where the sign over the door said “Mental Hygiene Clinic.” Here I was given a series of tests covering everything from putting blocks in a certain order to finding the height of a flagpole at three o’clock in the afternoon when the shadow of the pole was twenty-three feet, two inches. Then I was taken across the campus to meet Dr. Carson.

“Dr. Carson. I wonder what they are going to try on me now,” I thought to myself nervously.

A middle-aged man, short but powerful in build, got up from behind a table and came over to greet me as though I were a king. He was dressed in a plain pair of slacks and a sport coat, and he had a pipe in his mouth. He suggested that we go over to the Student Union to have a coke and chat a little. I jumped at the chance.

I addressed Dr. Carson formally, as I had been taught; but right away I was informed that Herb was the name. From that time on Herb and I were the greatest of pals.

I worked with Herb for several years. We did everything you could think of to combat stuttering. I’ll bet that for a boy with a speech handicap I got around and talked to more people than any boy in Montana. For instance, at our little coke meetings I would be introduced to ten or twenty students as well as several faculty members. When I was with Herb I had the feeling that I had a carload of bodyguards protecting me. I was relaxed. I could talk and mingle with strange people with all the ease and carefree enjoyment in the world.

We really started when I began making speeches. I’ll never forget my first one. I spoke before a group of fifty or sixty English teachers at a summer conference at the University. I was terrified at first, but relaxed somewhat as soon as I found Herb at my side. Questions were thrown at me. “How should we treat children in our classes who stutter?” “What should we do – try to help them or let them fight their way through?” I answered these questions and more of their kind. You see, I was an experienced specialist on the subject and could answer them better than anyone else. Whenever I got stuck on anything to say, Herb would always be ready to pop an emergency question. Thank God for that!

I made speeches of this sort – for classes, clubs, fraternities, lodges – for Herb’s friends and for mine. I made several trips out of town with Herb. Once I spoke before three hundred teachers from the Northwest in Kalispell. He permitted me to drive the car both ways, making the trip immensely interesting and enjoyable for me.

This was one way Herb and I fought my stuttering. The battle was showing results too. We were accomplishing a lot of things, and I was losing some of my fear.

I used to be scared to death to use the telephone. As soon as Herb found out, he had me tackle the problem. Night after night I would sit by the telephone, starting with the A’s and working toward the Z’s, calling and asking if a fictitious name was there. I remember Hazel was my favorite. Were you ever bothered by a jangling telephone, only to be asked if Hazel was there? You would be surprised at some of the answers I got. I was surprised one time, too, when, after asking for Hazel, I got a polite, “Just a minute, I’ll call her.” As a matter of fact, I ran across several Hazels, only to remain and talk with them until they got impatient and hung up. I never did give my name, even though I was asked quite regularly.

Herb and I worked on many theories and ideas of his. Other boys came with the same troubles and we all worked together. Sometimes we would go up town, stop people on the street, and ask them what they thought of talking to a stutterer. We went in stores and asked prices and directions. Herb was usually with us, but when he couldn’t be with us we kept on working just as though he were.

Today in high school I have an entirely new outlook on life. I belong to many clubs. My work on apparatus equipment – specializing on the parallel bars – is a great source of satisfaction to me. Music and instrumentation are also taking up a large part of my time. I work at the Safeway store for about thirty hours a week – after school and on weekends.

All of this and more I would not be able to do had it not been for Herb’s efforts in helping me. My life would be very different if I had not met Herb. I worship him and would give my life for him without hesitation or question.

I hope you realize what an awful thing it is not to be able to talk. To me it seems almost as bad as being blind. If you ever come upon a person who stutters or has any kind of speech problem, please, for God’s sake and his, have a heart.

Jim Black, Senior

The scope of Herb Carson’s influence in Missoula is probably something we will never know, but rest assured it was far reaching. I can attest to his efforts in at least one case personally – my own. He visited my grade school (Willard), when I was probably in the second or third grade in the 1950s, (I cannot remember for sure which) and I was part of a group of students that met with him for a while. I can’t even tell you for certain why I was part of this group of kids, except that I seemed to be having trouble reading. I don’t think I had trouble speaking, but as I said, I don’t remember clearly. What I do remember is that Herb Carson was dynamic and had a knack for creating excitement. In reading Black’s commentary about him I agree that he seemed to be able to convince you that he wasn’t much older than you were, and led you to think you could have some fun together. I know that I seemed to enjoy reading after my sessions with Herb Carson.

Below is Herb Carson’s obituary from the Missoulian:

Herbert Marshall Carson

Missoula – Longtime educator Herbert Marshall Carson passed away of natural causes on Nov. 14, 1999 at St. Patrick Hospital in Missoula.

Herb was a storyteller, a beekeeper, an actor, a tree-grafter and a poet. He built a log-and-stone home in the Rattlesnake, using only hand tools. Herb always had time for people, whether removing a bothersome wasp nest or listening to someone in trouble. Herb touched many lives, and believed in the worth and potential of others.

Born Jan. 2, 1914, in Herrin, Ill., to David Henry and Nellie Neill Carson, Herb was one of eight children, now all deceased. Herb graduated from high school in 1932, during the Drepression. Herb felt fortunate to find a job at a cannery. He worked long hours and lived frugally to be able to send money home. He graduated from the University of Illinois in Urbana in 1938 with a degree in speech and drama. Herb then worked for U. S. Rubber Co. in Chicago during the day, and taught drama at the downtown YMCA and at Roosevelt College in the evenings.

Herb served in the U.S. Army during World War II, primarily in the Pacific, from 1942 – 46, when he was honorably discharged, with many honors, as a master sergeant.

Following the war, Herb gained a master of arts degree in speech pathology from the University of Iowa in 1950. He taught from 1948-53 at the University of Montana under H. G. Merriam. During his years at UM, Herb’s work included going into rural communities to identify speech problems in children, which helped establish a need for services in those communities. He was at one point president of the state Mental Health Association, and helped lay the groundwork to establish regional mental health centers throughout Montana.

Herb was the director of special education for Missoula’s School District 1 from 1953 until his retirement in 1977. During that era, Herb was a pioneer in providing educational services for students with special needs. As an educator and speech pathologist, Herb received many awards from his colleagues, and appreciated them, but no award was as important to Herb as were people. He engaged in volunteer work for many years, while working and after he retired: He told stories to preschoolers through adults; he worked with young people in Boy Scouts and 4-H; he directed a summer camp for developmentally disabled children and adults; and he acted as a resource for many teachers district-wide.

Throughout his life, Herb was active in community and university theater. His roles were many, including Willie Loman in “Death of a Salesman,” the Devil in “Damn Yankees,” the Stage Manager in “Our Town,” Norman in “On Golden Pond,” and Grandpa Job in “The Grapes of Wrath.”

Herb is survived by his wife, Mimi; their children, Navan and Mina of Missoula, and Neill, currently in the Navy; and his children with his first wife, Margaret Carson: Gretchen Bennett of Toronto, Canada, Boyd and his wife Andrea of Bozeman, Brian of Toronto, and Heather Torgenrud and her husband Don of Arlee; grandchildren Quinton, Bridget, Tara, Annick, Olivia and Ara; and grandsons Jacob and Ryan.

As one of his friend said, Herb was the ultimate man of words. His leprechaun spirit, warmth and smile brought out the child in everyone, even the most damaged and jaded. His sense of humor, passion for poetry and zest for life were contagious; the gift of Herb touched so many, so deeply, that his spirit lives on.

A memorial service for Herb will be held in the spring.

Donations may be made to a charity of the donor’s choice, or sent to the Herb Carson Memorial Fund, 2540 S. Seventh St. W., Missoula, Mt. 59804.

Below is a link to testimony given at a hearing in the state legislature in 1989. Herb Carson’s testimony at this hearing can be found on pages 25 – 26. He discusses his founding of the CSD (Communication Science and Disorders) program at the University of Montana in 1947 and its continuing importance to Montanans.

http://courts.mt.gov/portals/113/leg/1989/specsession/06-22pm3-ssjsenfin.pdf

An obituary for Jim Black can be found at the link below:

http://www.deseretnews.com/article/936802/Obituary-James-M-Black.html?pg=all