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Godfrey “Mac” McAllen graduated from Jim Bowie High School “Home of the Fightin’ Knives” in ’50. The type of student best suited for trade school instead of college, sports were his forte, hitting lineman on the other side of the ball instead of the books.

A handsome young man, he was as popular with the ladies, affectionately known as the “Butter-Knives”, for his talents off the field as he was with the coaching staff for his abilities on the field. Instead of trade school, he made the decision to sign up and serve, a choice that surprised his friends but felt right to Mac.

Those same folks didn’t recognize him when he came back to Fort Stockton. The heroic act of trying to save the lives of two buddies in Korea nearly cost Mac his own. He never considered himself a hero when he returned, but the community did. Well, at first anyway.

Funds were raised to purchase the empty lot at the end of McKinley Street and fundraisers held to park a brand new 1953 Spartan Manor Series A Trailer on it till he could get on his feet. His disabilities allowed for limited job opportunities, but the school board was pressed to offer him a position as janitor back at the school he’d played for just a few years earlier, Jim Bowie High. The first few years students at school treated the war hero with respect because they knew his background. As years ticked off the calendar, Mac was forced to put up with cruel jokes and demeaning taunts because humans generally can be their most unkind right before they are forced out into the real world and see the struggle it can be.

Mac never married, of course. The Spartan ended up not being a ‘transitional’ home, but a permanent one. He raised a garden out back. Strung lights around the trailer every Christmas that reflected in the aluminum and made quite a display. Sometimes he’d bundle up and sit in a chair out front and just gaze at it, thankful he was even able to be back in Fort Stockton. He was the first employee to show up at the high school every morning, the last to leave. After every event he made sure the last piece of confetti was swept up, the last Play Bill collected before he locked up and walked the three blocks back to the Spartan.

For a treat every other Friday or so he’d walk over to the Dairy Twin and get a cheeseburger basket instead of heating up a can of soup or Spaghetti O’s on the little Dixie stove. He always stuck around the parking lot after he ate and picked up the trash left behind by others, often the same kids he picked up after at Bowie High. It seemed he had a talent to leave every place he went just as neat as the inside of the birch walled little trailer he called home.

Mac passed back in ’83 or ’84. He knew he didn’t have much time left before he departed and left instructions with Prairie View Loan & Trust what to do with the half million bucks he’d saved over the decades. He named seven students from the high school who would get full ride scholarships to the college of their choice. They were the seven that had been the cruelest in the last years of his life. It paid for the Bachelor’s degree at UT, the Masters at Tech, and eventually the Doctorate Pastor Peterson earned before he moved back to town to pay it forward.

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