This son of a sharecropper earned a Doctor of Philosophy degree in zoology and physiology, had a successful career as a university professor of biology, enjoyed lots of international and national travels and became an informed layperson in the world of poetry. My research on the physiology of wild animals was published in scientific journals and, in retirement/ redirection, several essays--to date--have been accepted by literary journal editors. Seems quite a jump in careers, but there were some highly motivating early life experiences.
Some came in small packages. For example, during my high school years the questions sometimes put to me by some friend, or the nature of advice requested concerning some personal problem, suggested that I carried an understanding beyond my years.
The life-altering moment came on 8 February 1951. During the Korean War, two buddies and I had gone to Topeka, Kansas, to enlist in the U.S. Navy. Each recruit had to take a general knowledge exam. When the recruiting officers burst back into the room after grading the exams, their only question was “Who is Nathan Bolls?” My first thought was “Here I am, already in trouble and I’ve not even been sworn in.” They said I had scored 92 out of 98 possible on the exam. Their second question was “Would you be interested in serving in the Naval Air Force?” A former model airplane builder with a deep interest in planes, I -- the only one of the 35 recruits in the room to be asked that question -- easily said “Yes.”
That question brought a separation from both my earlier life and my two buddies; I felt a sharp and dramatic change in my image of myself. After all, I had just been invited to join a group where intelligence was expected, where precision and attention to detail was a life-or-death matter, where the margin of error was very narrow and life inherently dangerous.
I had always been a serious reader, but unlike in high school, I soon became a dedicated student. After boot camp came an 8-week Air Force Preparatory School, during which I chose to attend the 14-week Aviation Structural Mechanic School. An aviation structural mechanic was responsible for diagnosing and repairing or replacing absolutely everything about an airplane except the engine, electronics and armament. Academically, I ranked either first or second in each school, and I had my choice of duty stations when it came time to be sent, as they say “to the fleet.” I chose, as my first assignment the Patuxent River Naval Air Test Center in lower Maryland. Eighteen months later, the Navy sent me to Anti-Submarine Squadron VS-36 at the Norfolk Naval Air Station.
During both assignments, words said or positions granted told me that my work was highly regarded. Early on, I realized I could compete academically. With the G.I. Bill for financial assistance, I considered myself college-bound. Eight years after being discharged from the Navy, I was awarded the Doctor of Philosophy degree.
Guided by a powerful memory from the spring of my ninth year, choosing an academic major never was a problem. The farm boy in me liked to hide in a patch of dogwood and watch the wildlife in the two-acre woodlot at the far end of our pasture. A mother bobwhite quail once walked by just five feet in front of me, followed by her six baby chicks. I had never seen anything so small, so exquisite -- so perfect! Tiny digits and claws held onto things. The feathers were microscopic and incredibly precise. A dew-drop-sized brain directed a Lilliputian symphony of muscle and bone, of sensory reception and organ reaction. I heard the mother’s clucks and the baby’s chirps. What were they saying to each other?
I pondered for the first time how great it would be to get paid for studying wild animals. But I had no way then of knowing that focus, much good fortune, and many years of study would permit me to live that dream (or, as Joseph Campbell, the late, great mythologist, liked to say, “follow my bliss”) for my entire career. I am deeply grateful.