I was a Missions major with a Communications minor.

I realized so much was just not right with that place...

Yet I would not be who I am today without having spent so much of my

time there....

I was never asked to leave...but always teetered closely...

My last semester there was when the lectures began about the big “rule”

about not being able to have your Bible open publically on campus...

That was the last straw.

The God I believe would never have that “rule"...along with so many

other unwritten “rules"...at least now there is this site where you can

read what the school is REALLY like.  http://www.pensacolachristiancollege.com/

Over the years my stories of this place called PCC have gathered crowds

and shocked hundreds...fellow believers and many non-believers.

I would not even be surprised if there were some new rules made up

because of my presence there!  I have heard that they banned communication

students from performing a poem called “The Fly” by Karl Shapiro

(b.1913) [p.  321 in the 8th edition of Sound and Sense-an introduction to

poetry by Laurence Perrine and Thomas R.  Arp]...I grossed too many fellow

speech students out when I performed it for lab in the blackbox

theather...

And who knows if walking back and forth on the little brick wall in

front of the huge glass windows of the Commons building is even allowed? 

I used to do that for hours...at night, alone, studying my peoms for

classes...or in the miday...in the pouring rain...my silent protest...I

know that some remember...

So many stories I could tell...

I still dream of it...or are they nightmares now? 

I wish there was a list of the students that were forced to

leave...that I knew...that never got a chance to even say goodbye or explain why

they had to go...

I dreamt of that place last night...but in my dream there was even

more...more secrets...more underground happenings...experiments being done

on students...mind control experiments...like in Brave New

World...silent chantings and repitions of campus ideals and rules being played all

night...you could hear the sounds coming through the vents in the dorm

rooms in Bradley...

So...

How many of us are there?

Survivors...

And what are they up to now?

How do we connect to one another...to finally share our stories and

have them be completely understood by the listeners?

Let me know if there is a way...

Or what else you know...

Our Voices may not conform...and may not be listened to by anyone there

at the school...but it does not mean we are not strong and may be heard

in the future...

Survivor of 2 years at PCC