Charles Judson Harwood – One of my favorite Jud stories occurred when we were freshmen at MBA in 1956 or ’57. Some may recall this differently, but what I remember took place in a general science class taught by Dr. Lee Merriweather. Jud was sitting in the back of the classroom in what is now the Carter Building. Dr. Merriweather was a serious teacher who expected and generally received his students’ full attention. He often carried a hardwood meter stick, one meter long and about a half inch square, with which he would point to the blackboard, but which also conveyed a certain amount of authority and discouraged potential frivolity. But Jud was Jud.
I was sitting a couple of desks in front of Jud. Several minutes into the class, Dr. Merriweather suddenly stopped his teaching and started walking quickly down the aisle, with a clinched jaw, his meter stick firmly in his grasp. As he brushed by me, much to my great relief, I and the rest of the class followed his movement to the rear of the classroom. There sat Jud in his own world, with a large white handkerchief held out with both hands in front of his face, moving it back and forth in front of his eyes, as if he were managing a puppet show -- so he could not possibly have seen what was coming. At Jud’s desk, Dr. Merriweather raised his stick as if to strike a mighty blow at about the same time that Jud suddenly became aware of his presence. With Jud’s shriek of terror and quick leap out of harm’s way, the entire class erupted in laughter. Even Dr. Merriweather couldn’t keep from laughing. I’m sure Dr. M. had planned just to whack the desk, but you could probably not have convinced Jud of that. I don’t recall how many demerits he may have gotten for that little bit of class entertainment.
That was one side of Jud. Another side showed a first class mind with a wide range of interests. Jud was co-pilot of the first plane I ever flew in – a twin engine Aero Commander piloted by his Dad, who had been a pilot instructor during World War II. We were 15 or 16 years old, barely old enough to drive a car, and Jud flew the plane and aided in navigation and radio communications for much of the trip from Nashville to Florida. My knuckles were probably beyond white, but Jud showed complete competence and composure. Still, as we crossed into Florida, when his Dad jokingly, but in a serious manner, said “I think we’re running out of gas. Jud, can you land this thing?” I was not amused.
Jud was a vital presence in our MBA class and was often the topic of conversation. He could go goo-goo eyed over a girl faster than anyone I ever met. And the object of his affection would take on the qualities of Venus de Milo, Helen of Troy, Joan of Arc and Elizabeth Taylor, all at the same time, to hear him talk about her. He also had musical talent, and I thought he and Chip Hutchison would soon be giving the Kingston Trio a run for their money.
Jud still stands out in memory, a wonderfully convivial guy and good friend with whom, unfortunately, as our lives developed, I lost touch. His last few decades seem unreal to me, but I can still see him and still hear him from that brief time long ago when life was so different. Rest in Peace.