Chico State College
Chapter 19 from Bill Owens' upcoming book "Chicken Heads"
On September 25, 1957, I turned 19 years old and was enrolled as a freshman at Chico State College. I was one of 113 students admitted to a provisional-status program designed for farm kids who didn’t test well.
In a small office, I met with the student counselor to review my college placement tests. The results were not good. My IQ was 101, and my SAT score of 640 was low for a college student. I was told my test scores indicated it would be very difficult for me to pass college English 1A. After the meeting, I knew what to do and went downstairs to the registration office. I dropped freshman English and signed up for swimming and Stunts and Tumbling classes. The first year there were 113 provisional students. The second year there were 13 of us, and the third year only three were registered at Juniors.
I also was sent a letter saying I had to register for English 1A. I knew the writing was on the wall. I took English1A and failed the class
During my freshman year at Chico, I was the cop on the clown and cop tumbling team. We traveled around Northern California, exhibiting our skills to high school students. I somehow had made it through my freshman year without taking any academic classes. I did take a Shakespeare class and failed the class
In my sophomore year, I was a cheerleader for the Chico State College Wildcats football team.
During one of the “cheers,” I was tossed into the air and did a backflip, landing on my feet. This was easy, as I had been doing backflips since I was ten years old.
During a Friday night football game, we waited for the right moment to do the backflip routine. The cheer would be done just as the football was being kicked for the extra point.
The vision was my white buck shoes flying in the air just as the football flew between the goalposts.
The football was kicked, and we did the backflip routine. In the excitement, I was over-tossed and had landed flat on my back. I was rolling around on the ground and heard the crowd cheering; it wasn’t for me. It was for the extra point
The experience was like being bucked off the mule, but this time, instead of landing on my head, I landed flat on my back. A week later, I was over-tossed again, and I quit being a cheerleader.
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