I hadn’t planned it that way. Growing up, it was always assumed that I would graduate from high school – Franklin D. Roosevelt High in Hyde Park, NY – and then attend Dutchess, the local community college, for two years. I would major in English and get an Associate’s Degree, and then transfer to the nearest state college, in New Paltz, to finish my Bachelor’s Degree in English and Journalism.
But I abruptly changed my plans during my senior year. I was feeling overwhelmed by some family problems and wanted to get away and out on my own. And then Scott, my boyfriend during that time, had been accepted to Northeastern, as a journalism major, and he told me about their co-operative education program – a unique curriculum where the academic courses of study are interspersed with paid internships that give students hands-on work experiences and also helps to offset their tuition expenses. I was interested, and as I learned more about NU, I saw that this was an opportunity to go away to a private university in a city atmosphere.
There wasn’t enough time to apply for the Fall, so I applied for the Winter instead. I remember getting the acceptance letter, and feeling like the path of possibilities was wide open. I would study journalism and communications, and hoped that I could get a co-op job at the Boston Globe.
During the Fall and the holiday season, while most everyone I knew who went to college was involved with adjusting to classes and campus life, I was busy working at a retail catalog center, so I could earn some money for school. NU would be expensive, even with a grant and student loan. Scott came home from time to time, and told me about his classes, the campus, and his new friends. But it seemed so remote to me, and I couldn’t wait until the new year, so I could start my new life as a student.
Because of its co-op program, NU operated on an academic quarter calendar, rather than the traditional semesters. So, I was college-bound on the first weekend of January – a couple of weeks earlier than most students. I remember that it was a cold but clear Sunday, and my parents drove both Scott and I and all of my clothes and dorm furnishings, on a 4-hour trip straight across the Mass Pike, until we got to Boston.
My family and I had only been to Massachusetts once, on a camping trip to Plymouth and Cape Cod, but had never been to Boston. I had applied to Northeastern sight-unseen. In hindsight, it was kind of risky, to decide to go to the college without even having a campus trip. But as we got closer to the city, and Scott pointed out some of Boston’s landmarks, like Fenway Park; the “T” trolley trains moving alongside the thruway; the Prudential Tower, known as the “Pru;” and the John Hancock skyscraper, the tallest building in the city, I felt a rising sense of excitement rather than apprehension of moving to a strange place.
Finally, we arrived on campus – gray concrete buildings lining each side of Huntington Avenue; with academic buildings on one side and dormitories on the other side – and my assigned dorm, Stetson West, one of a cluster of 4-story student housing buildings.
My parents and Scott helped me bring all of my stuff inside and up to my dorm room – a basic double, with built-in dresser, twin bed, and desk lined up along each wall and a large picture window facing the grass and concrete courtyard below. My roommate hadn’t arrived yet – she didn’t show up until the next day because she lived nearby – so I just picked a side and got everything settled.
I remember that we walked back down to the parking lot, and I hugged my parents goodbye. My mom was a bit teary-eyed, but I told her not to worry – I’d be just fine. Scott and I hung out for a little while, but then he went to his dorm to catch up with his friends and to get to bed early, because classes started the next day.
I was tired, but too excited to get any rest. I had brought some of my favorite books, and I remember organizing them on the built-in shelves above the desk. I could hear the sounds of students talking as they filled up the hallway outside – of course, they’d started together in the Fall and already knew each other. Then there was a knock on my door.
It was the floor’s resident advisor, a blonde upper-classman – I can’t recall her name right now, but she was nice and welcoming. She said there were a few other girls who were new Winter students on the floor, and beckoned me to follow her down to a dorm room down the hall. She knocked on the open door, and introduced me to the dark-haired girl inside.
Her name was Tracey, and she was a business major from Maryland. Her roommate hadn’t arrived yet, either, so we just hung out together and talked, until it was late. Our backgrounds were different, but we shared similar tastes in books and music, and of course, our Winter student status. I remember turning in for the night, feeling that I’d made the right choice to go to NU.
Classes started the next day, but first I had to get a student ID. I remember exactly what I wore – a cream and burgundy pinstriped shirt; high-waisted baggy jeans with off-white suspenders; and brown high-heeled Candies clogs. I tamed my frizzy hair with a curling iron into the winged style that was still so prevalent then. The picture isn’t very good – the harsh flash made me look really pale, I think – but my smile shows that I was glad to be there.
Right from the start, it wasn’t easy to be away at school in Boston. Classes were a challenge compared to high school – I remember one history class assigning ten books to read and ten papers to write during the 10-week quarter. And the remedial math class that I was required to take was still above my numerically-challenged head. The stresses of over-caffeinated all-night study sessions made me an always-tired insomniac, and didn’t help my ulcer. I didn’t have much spending money, so I couldn’t go out to enjoy Boston as often as other students did. Within the first few weeks, Scott and I broke up, although we did stay friends for awhile. And a couple of weeks after that, my mom called to tell me that my dad was in the hospital after having a heart attack. That was the one thing that made me question what I was doing so far away from my family and home. But when my mom said that he’d be OK; he’d just have to have several months off from work to recover, I decided to stick it out, as long as I could. I felt that it was worth it, and it was.
I really liked my English and communications classes, and did well in them. I read some great modern and classic literature and wrote papers that got good grades. I had some interesting professors – one of my English lit profs was an Ireland buff, and one day, he tossed aside the syllabus to lecture us about the Irish Republican political prisoner Bobby Sands, who’s just died on a hunger strike. Then the professor sang “Danny Boy” as a tribute to the fallen rebel, as us students just sat there, dumbstruck.
I got to see the Museum of Fine Arts and the Museum of Science, with reduced student admission. I saw a couple of hockey games (the Northeastern Huskies were on a winning streak that year); basketball games, and a football game. I wrote for the campus newspaper, and contributed to a student literary journal. And there were always dorm parties, nearby frat parties, and a lot of ongoing campus drama, so my friends and I were never bored.
I ended up staying through the Spring, Summer and Fall quarters, until the financial aid requirements changed the following year, and I didn’t have enough money to stay. I did remain in Boston for two more years, before I moved back home. At the time, it felt like a setback, but I slowly grew to appreciate living in the Hudson Valley. It's good to live near my family and to be able to see them whenever I want to. And I've met a lot of great people, and have some good longtime friends.
Ironically, I ended up taking some English and communications classes at Dutchess Community College, as I’d originally planned. And about ten years ago, I completed a two-year journalism program at NYU. And I’ve taken an ongoing small-group writing class and several writing workshops over the years.
I sometimes wish things had turned out differently, and I sometimes think about moving back, especially whenever I visit Boston and realize how much I miss it. But looking back, I’m glad I had that year of school, and that time in Boston. As brief as it was, I learned a lot, both in and out of the classroom. And that’s an education I’ll always appreciate.
(finished writing on Friday January 6)
No comments:
Post a Comment