Charge on, charge on Bradley…. (my school’s song)

No my wife’s name isn’t Bradley and we have only one charge card and it’s under lock and key from me.
There has to be a problem with a university that makes it into the sweet 16 (round ball) and also graduates a person that can’t put things down on paper in a proper manor, yours truly.
It’s been 45 years since the spring day that my father and I paid a visit to Bradley University’s vice president of student affairs.
His name was Frenchie Hassler one of dad’s old high school buddies. Prior to this through many years of schooling, one to many, all of my teachers liked the effort I put into class work. The only problem was the effort’s outcome. So here we were in Doctor Hassler’s office with humility in hand as my father almost begged his old pal to look the other way and let me in as a freshman. Pop assured Frenchie that I’d toe the mark. We had our fingers crossed.
We left that afternoon with an admissions statement and a green freshman beanie parked on my head…. After five years and many a varsity round ball game, I felt like Midshipman John McCain at his graduation, relieved. 1,800 student names were read before mine and only a few afterwards.
At the time there were many schools that didn’t look after there own ( Parsons?) But not Bradley University. Freshman guys had to live in dorms and had hours and there were study halls on Saturday mornings for those that needed an extra shove. The school’s staff felt that if they took you in, then there was a partnership in getting you graduated and not flunked out too dig foxes in Vietnam. However, if was a betting man 45 years ago I would have bet against myself but not our basketball team, they did that.

Charge on, charge on Bradley