The approach of Autumn always brings much increased activity in our neighborhood. We live across the street from Carroll University, which purports to be the first college in Wisconsin; the Carroll Pioneers. Sports camps start happening in late July, followed by Resident Assistant training, followed by move-in day. It signals the coming end of summer, and for me, sparks memories of my college experience.
I was a “commuter student” in the early 80s, which involved taking the 3A Grand Avenue bus, transferring at Snelling Avenue to the 52F “freeway flyer,” which expediently delivered University of Minnesota students to Coffman Union. This meant I never had the on-campus dorm experience that many students have, something I’ve always regretted. Living at home was free though, so enabled me to graduate with zero student debt, something today’s kids can only dream of, unfortunately.
Seeing the students filing up the street toward their 8:00 class stirs up memories, mostly good, of my days at “the U.”
It is a gorgeous September day in 1979, and I am dressed in jeans, a sport shirt, and a maroon Gophers windbreaker. My new backpack is stuffed with books, and I am holding a folder with a campus map on the back, trying to orient myself in the Northrup Mall area. I try my hardest not to look like a freshman, but the fact that I’m referring to the map on the back of the folder every freshman was issued is a dead giveaway. My academic future lay ahead of me, a “solid B” student in high school. I don’t know it yet, but I will change my major by year end to “undecided” until I am forced to declare a major late in my sophomore year. I choose Anthropology and later add a second major in Geography. My mother continues to steer me toward Business. I refuse to listen.
Now it is October and I am playing pool with my friend Pat in the basement of Coffman Union. We are between classes, and studying can wait as we play 8 Ball and talk about the classes we’re taking: for me, Algebra, Anthropology, and Biology. I’m finding that the idea of an 8 hour class schedule is a thing that gets left behind in High school. Between the opportunities for billiards, bowling, and an album listening lounge where you can request a favorite LP to be played, there are enough distractions to keep any 17-year-old from applying himself academically. I do a great job at it.
By the end of this first quarter, I will have dropped the Algebra class, and by the end of the year I will be on academic probation. At Mom’s request, my older brother Tom confronts me and tells me that maybe I need to stick around school and study after classes are done at 11:00 a.m. instead of going home and playing Atari for hours. His advice is exactly what I needed to remind me of the importance of getting an education and applying myself. I spend the next four plus years resurrecting my GPA from the septic tank.
Now I’m frantically riding my Yamaha 350 motorcycle to campus. I overslept and only woke up a half hour before class starts. It is a test day. I’m frantic. The bike stalls for a second time on River Road. I’ve been having problems with spark plug fouling, and today it is especially temperamental and annoying. I kick and kick the starter until it finally starts. I race the rest of the way and get to the classroom ten minutes into the start of the test. I quietly apologize and start speed testing to try to make up time. I end up doing okay on it, but the struggle to get to class teaches me a lesson about preparation that is far more valuable than the Variation in socioeconomic strata of the middle class in the US in the 1960s; that much I know. I realize sometimes college teaches you lessons entirely outside of the books.
I’m sitting at my drafting desk in Cartography 101. I’m listening to Yes’s newest hit, “Owner of a Lonely Heart” as I work away penning the state of Minnesota boundary for a dot map based on the number of farms. One dot equals 10 farms. Map the distribution to see if there are patterns. It is a captivating project, one of four or five maps I’ll do over the course of the quarter. I think to myself, if I could do this as a living, I’d be so happy. I don’t know it yet, but the class will get my foot in the door at a mapping firm in a couple of years. I also don’t know that I will retire from a career in mapping after 37 years doing something I love. I won’t say college made it happen, but it did.
Here I am now, a third-year student playing evening co-ed intramural flag football. Our team, the Juju Eyeballs, comprises four women and four men, all of whom are friends. Tonight our team is playing one that includes the backup varsity quarterback for the Gophers, and Randy Breuer, a 7’3” player on the Gophers basketball team who will later play for the Milwaukee Bucks.
Because I am the tallest on our team, I am charged with covering Randy as a receiver. I struggle mightily as he catches a couple of touchdowns while I flail at the intentionally high passes thrown his way. At one point I’m so frustrated I say something aggressive toward him and he responds equally aggressively but also towers a foot taller over me. I hide my fear. We go on to lose soundly to the backup Gopher QB and the soon-to-be Center for the Bucks and drown our sorrows over pitchers of beer at the Ground Round. We won’t admit it, but we go largely for the free popcorn and peanuts which we enjoy shelling right onto the floor.
Now, somehow, I am on year six of getting my Bachelor’s. This is partly because of my indecision with majors as well as the realization that when I graduate, I’ll begin the 9 to 5 for the rest of my life. What was the hurry? Still living at home. Taking a class or two per quarter, as I was already over the credit requirements. I was learning slow and steady is okay.
Suddenly, I am in Itasca State Park for the annual Anthropology Club conference. I’m serving my term as President of the club, and along with a few peers I’m emceeing much of the whole thing. The conference features speakers, presentations, workshops, and social events over a weekend at the headwaters of the Mississippi. At some point, one of the liberal professors in attendance complains that someone stole his weed from his dresser. I’m unsure how to properly expose this to find the thief. Prof. says not to worry about it; just making it known (as well as exposing his habit.) Before dinner, someone tells me I have to run to town to get ice for the keg. Presidential duty, evidently.
Later that night I meet a cute woman who rode her Honda 400 over two-hundred miles from the Twin Cities to attend. I tell her I have a motorcycle and suddenly we seem to hit it off. We exchange kisses in the shadows. She is cute and, true to the course of my life in choosing short women, is only 5 feet tall. She is a strong feminist, and when I ask her if she minds me opening doors for her, she says, “No. As long as you realize I’m perfectly capable.” It was a wake up call. I date this strong woman for a month until she tells me she’s moving to Iowa to get her master’s, so, “don’t get too attached,” she said. She leaves my life, but only after handing me a want ad that leads to my first cartography job in Minneapolis. The philosophical part of me deduces she was put in my path to help me along, but she also taught me a lot about equality.
It is 2018, over thirty years since I graduated from the U. My wife and I are taking pictures of our daughter who’s graduating from my alma mater. I jokingly tell her I regret not attending my graduation. After almost six years in school, I just wanted to be done. The University mailed my diploma to me. My daughter offers for me to wear her gown so we can relive a moment that never was. I actually think it’s a great idea. I put her gown on, hold her diploma, pose for a picture, and my regret instantly feels lighter. A few years later, my son will graduate from UW Madison. We are a Big Ten family for life now. College is important to all of us.
I find it’s easy to get nostalgic about my college years. It was one of the happiest times of my life. Part-time job, part-time school, part-time girlfriend, part-time socialite. Not a bad gig. I know there are people who will say from an ROI standpoint, college has outlived its usefulness. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a problem WE created and one WE need to fix.
But looking back, college was about so much more than books and tests. It taught me to open my mind, be curious, and learn a bit about what adulthood looked like. Those unexpected intangibles are certainly as important as naming the Roman artists of the Renaissance Period.
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