How I Finally Got My College Education Right
Way back in the fall of 1975, after graduating from high school three months earlier, I entered college at Illinois State University in Normal, Illinois. This was roughly two hours, and from my family home, but it may as well have been on another planet for me.
My parents and I took two trips to ISU to set up my college dormitory housing and to meet my to-be advisor. The highlights of both those trips included stopping at the Gartner Restaurant along I-55 for breakfast. You could smell their country biscuits from the highway – even with the windows closed!
The third time down was when I made the trip to move into my dorm room, which was located on the top floor of Watterson Towers, offering a clean view of the quad. Like every other student moving in, I could not get my folks out of there fast enough.
College Dorm Life in the 1970s: Culture Shock, Friendships, and a New Kind of Education
Considering I never went to a class, let alone bought textbooks, I received a life-lasting education at ISU.
A college education that lasted through one trimester of my sophomore year. The other education can be considered Adult Education and continues to this day.
I learned quickly that there were cliques everywhere and that I was an outsider. Being a white Jewish kid from then-famous Skokie helped allow the racism to rear its ugly head. What made it worse was that all my suitemates were part of the same clique. I ended up spending as little time in my dorm room as possible. The Hitler Youth were alive and well.
I was able to change both dorms about a month after I asked for the transfer. It wasn’t like I feared for my life or anything, but considering what was going on, one would think they could have moved faster.
By the start of the second trimester, in November, I was moved to a new dorm as if I were a brand-new student just arriving at the university. I may as well have been, as I had yet to attend a class or purchase textbooks. I was using all that book money on marijuana.
It was the 1970s, after all. The dorm to which I was moved was most welcoming and, while not quite Animal House, well, you can fill in the blanks from there.
The weed was literally mind-opening, and my brain got to explore life outside of Skokie, Illinois. I was thrown in the mix with others from all over Illinois and the Midwest, especially those from southern Illinois. Wow, talk about a culture shock from the Northern Suburbs of Chicago hanging with people my age from Effingham, IL, 225 miles apart. And a thousand miles apart culturally.
And that was just it. We weren’t a thousand miles apart culturally; rather, in our backgrounds. Upper class, lower class, lower middle class, upper middle class… no one cared. We were just people, and more importantly, friends. I spent several weekends at one of my newfound friends’ homes for the weekend, getting some home cooking.
When my grandfather died, Steve Kull, an art student on my floor (who had painted the inside cover of Yes’ Close to the Edge album in liquid detergent on my ceiling – an incredible sight in black light!), let me borrow his van to go home for the funeral.
Education Beyond the College Classroom: Racism, Acceptance, and Belonging
Culturally, we were all the same. We ate together in the cafeteria or at the off-campus pizza spot, we played basketball together, and we were on the same dorm team for softball (spoiler alert… we sucked). This is likely because we would get wasted together, sharing a bong before the game. But that was OK. No one cared. We were that original Band of Brothers.
Speaking of which, I broke the code on Rugby. One of my friends, Eric, and I met some girls from Springfield at a dorm party. Springfield, the Illinois capital, was an hour south down I-55. Being the 70s, we felt relatively safe hitchhiking down the highway to meet up with the girls.
Less than ten minutes after putting out thumbs out, this windowless white van pulls over, and the side door slides open, with a massive amount of pot smoke escaping the van. Once the smoke cleared, we saw a bunch of rugby players gathered around an 8-hose Hookah, all wearing white shorts, spikes, and red and blue rugby shirts, blowing their fucking brains out on the way to a match in St. Louis, another three hours south.
“Are you getting in?” one of the players asked. We jumped in headfirst, literally. These guys were dressed to roll out of the van and go play. NOW, I understand rugby! Another lesson learned.
The lesson that college taught me was how to interact with others, regardless of race or religion.
No one cared, likely as none were anything like those bigots I left behind. It was about who we are on the inside that makes us who we are. The outside is just what everybody sees.
College for me was that stepping stone from high school to reality. Other than meeting my best friend, Gary, there in our sophomore year, I hated high school. All those assholes making my life miserable even though my stuttering was less by my junior year. At least I walked into college with a clean start.
My favorite class (likely as it was the only class I attended) was sociology. It was led by a late 20s-to-early-30s-woman teacher who had a few of us over to her off-campus house to “get high and talk sociology.” I even changed my major from “Undecided” to Sociology.
A Different Kind of College Education: Finding My Place Through People, Not Grades
Then the bubble burst. Starting my fourth trimester, Sociology 2.0 was the first class I signed up for, fantasizing over what this woman teacher would look like. Imagine the shock when I entered the classroom and saw an 80-year-old curmudgeon behind the teacher’s desk. “I must be in the wrong room,” I said. “I am looking for Sociology 2.0.”
“This is Sociology 2.0,” was his reply. I had a pretty strong feeling I wouldn’t be partying with him anytime soon. He never saw me again.
I finished the first trimester of the new school year with a GPA very similar to that of Bluto Blutarsky. I wasn’t as under the radar as I had hoped. The Dean of Students called me in to meet, armed with the transcripts of those first four trimesters.
We mutually came to an understanding. He had a waiting list, and I was wasting space. My college career was officially over. But that was okay. I got the social education I needed. This ability to relate and react with people from all walks of life was all the education I ever needed.
That, and a kick in the ass from my dad, I guess!
Like the book says, “It Worked for Me!”
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To learn about this entire journey, pick up a copy of 𝙄𝙩 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙁𝙤𝙧 𝙈𝙚: 𝙈𝙮 𝙇𝙞𝙛𝙚 𝙎𝙚𝙞𝙯𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙊𝙥𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙪𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝘽𝙪𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙎𝙪𝙘𝙘𝙚𝙨𝙨 today! Also available now in audiobook format!
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