The Big Texan and my only "C" in college

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I'm currently working on a special project in conjunction with the magazine and yesterday I needed to write a few words about The Big Texan. (I'll spare you introductions because unless you've been living under a rock, you're well aware of our landmark restaurant.)

As I began the first sentence my mind flashed to 1999 when I was a junior studying journalism at Middle Tennessee State University. Spring break had finally come and my future husband and I decided to join a group on a ski trip to Steamboat Springs, Colorado. The group planned to hit the road a few days before mid-semester finals ended, and that meant a few of us needed permission to take finals early so we could leave on time.

All professors accommodated except one. In the kindest, sweetest Southern voice I could muster, I requested to take my geology final one day early, and in a swift, stern voice, Professor You-Know-What said, "Nope. And if you don't show up, you fail the entire semester."

That was unacceptable, and since I was on track to graduate Cum Laude, skipping a final was unheard of. Fortunately WT, our trip director, was flexible and while he and the rest of the ski group left for Colorado on a Thursday afternoon, I stayed on campus for my Friday morning geology exam and caught a flight to Lubbock afterward.

(Geology ended up being the only collegiate class in which I got a C, and I am still not pleased about it.)

I landed in Lubbock that Friday night but my catch-up trip wasn't over. The rest of the group had made it to Amarillo and were staying in - you guessed it - the Big Texan motel. After driving from Middle Tennessee to the Texas Panhandle in two days, WT drove on his own to Lubbock to get me from the airport and we arrived in Amarillo as the group was finishing their dinner. Since I grabbed food on the road, I didn't eat at the legendary restaurant, though I sat doe-eyed at all the mounted deer and other animals. At the time, I was 19 years old and a strict vegetarian and all the steak hoopla was too much for my weak stomach. Oh, the irony!

It was late, and we all soon went to bed in order to get on the road by daybreak. Our return trip to Tennessee took us on another route and I didn't see Amarillo again until late 2008 when we moved here. When my husband and I found out that summer that we'd be relocating to Amarillo, the first thing I thought of was that ski trip nearly a decade prior, my horrible geology professor and all those steaks. Even now, every so often, I return to my first impression of this city, sitting in the middle of the Big Texan dining room, still reeling from a horrible geology exam and weary from my travels.

I have since become a beef-eater and learned more about this city than I ever imagined thanks to working on the magazine. Of course, we went back to the Big Texan within a week of moving here and have taken out-of-town family and friends there when they've visited. And while there's more depth to Amarillo than I once believed, the Big Texan circa 1999 is a sweet memory.

by Jennie Treadway-Miller

Jennie was a columnist for the Chattanooga Times Free Press for eight years prior to moving to Amarillo in 2008. She is an avid reader, runner and writer.