The Journey to the West 17

My rather pathetic journey to the west continues. I think the first few years after you graduate from High School may well be among the most difficult and unpleasant of all. Certainly they were for me.

I cannot imagine anyone more unprepared for the University experience than I was. First of all, I did not really want to go. Second, I knew absolutely nothing about it. Third, I was a terrible student. And finally, I was burdened with not only my father’s feelings of inferiority, but my own as well. Of course no self-respecting University would have admitted me. But our University, a Land Grant College, was required to admit anyone in the state who had graduated from High School. That, I had finally managed to do. So, one fine day in September of 1947, my father, having arranged for me to have money enough, drove me the 150 miles or so to Moscow, Idaho, where he left me on a street corner with one large, ugly, green metal suitcase. I knew no one there, had never been there, did not even know where the University was located, had no place to stay, and was about to turn 18 years old. I found a local paper, looked in the ads, found a room for rent, called, hired a taxi to take me there, and found myself in a pleasant enough house, with a pleasant landlady, who, bless her, immediately pointed out that we were about as far from the University as it was possible to be, and there was no adequate bus service available. She wondered why I had not found a dormitory room. Living in a dormitory had never even occurred to me as, in fact, I had never heard of such a thing. But after one night in her home I managed to find such a dormitory room. It was in Pine Hall, a large, not very well constructed dormitory, built on the periphery of the campus, and even further from the center of University life. But it was okay, and not only that, I discovered immediately that someone I knew was also staying there. Leonard W., one of the boxers from our High School team, had been awarded a boxing scholarship. I had known him all through High School and although we were were never truly close friends, we were friends. We decided to share a room in Pine Hall. It was a perfectly adequate room although certainly nothing fancy. The cafeteria food was edible, certainly for us, as we knew no better. Leonard was from Burke and was no better a student than I was. I soon learned that his Brother Norman, also a boxer, was also there, as were a few kids from Kellogg, our traditional rivals in the Panhandle of Idaho.

University registration at that time was a nightmare. It took place in the gymnasium where rows of tables were set up with faculty members handing our registration cards for various classes. It literally took up to three days to complete, especially if you were a freshman. You had to take whatever courses were open at whatever times were available with whatever instructor was available. Somehow we managed to register. Leonard and I were in the same English 101 class that all freshman were required to take. We had managed to get an early morning class three mornings a week (somehow escaping a Saturday morning one). On the first day we sat together in a class of about 40 students. I do not know how the topic came up, but the instructor raised the subject of the Jews, and what did we think a solution to the Jewish problem might be. Thinking back on this, I believe it probably had something to do with the creation of Israel. Anyway, I was far too inhibited to say anything, but not so Leonard, who said out loud, in front of the class, the Jews should be lined up and machine-gunned. There was a stunned silence, and although I was scarcely more sophisticated than Leonard, I knew this was not a proper thing to say. I wished fervently that I was not with him. We managed to get out of class without further ado. I cannot claim to any particular insight into prejudice or its causes at that time as, frankly, I had not thought much of anything about it. It was an interesting introduction to the subject because I knew that Leonard, having come from a large and poor Irish family living in Burke canyon, could not possibly have known any Jewish people, and, in fact, could not reasonably be believed to have ever even seen a Jewish person. I wondered how he could have such an intense prejudice.

I managed to pass English 101, barely, even though at one point, when I had to read a paper I had written out loud in front of the class, I had stage fright so bad the instructor told me to sit down before I could finish. This was terribly embarrassing to me. I also was required to take a class in American History. This class was taught by an older Professor who always seemed to wear a red, white and blue tie of some kind. It was a large class, probably about a hundred students, and was, hands down, the single most boring class I have ever experienced in my entire lifetime. The old guy didn’t lecture, he droned... on and on and on, with names and dates, until it was virtually impossible to stay awake. To pass the tests you were expected to regurgitate the names and dates and that was about all. I passed, living in dread fear I might have to take it over again. I don’t remember what else I took during that first semester, except ROTC, which I failed, miserably. As a Land Grant College we were required to take two years of ROTC. We were issued uniforms and lockers and three mornings a week were expected to show up spic and span and ready to learn to march and bear arms, and whatever. I loathed it. I despised it. I hated the uniform, hated the classes, and just plain refused to attend. So I failed. I believe I finished the first semester with a D average, continuing my stellar performance as a student. I was put on probation. My parents, for whatever reason, seemed to pay no attention. I guess they thought that having sent me there, their responsibility ended. I don’t know why they did not supervise me more carefully, but they didn’t.

Pine Hall was, of course, the equivalent of “the wrong side of the tracks,” as far as University life was concerned. We did not participate in exchanges between dorms or sororities and fraternities, had no dances or parties, or whatever. We did participate in intramural sports and did well, especially as many of the “jocks” resided in Pine Hall. Although I was aware of our second-class citizenship, I do not recall being particularly upset over it. Through Leonard and his brother I began to meet football and basketball players on scholarships, many from places as far away as Alabama and Tennessee. Virtually none of them had any serious interest in academia or learning, they were there to play whatever sport they excelled at, and they did not waste a lot of time on their schoolwork. I was the only non-athlete among them but I got along with them just fine. While I did not do well in my classes, I did have an interest in at least some of them, and, as I had done in High School, I did well in some and terrible in others. I discovered things like psychology, sociology, and anthropology, subjects I had never heard of in High School, and subjects I found of considerable interest. Philosophy, too, was new to me, and appealed to whatever little bit of “love of learning” I might have begun to experience.

My next lesson in prejudice came about in my zoology class (that I had to take). We all had lab partners and mine was a football player named Dombrowski. I think he was from Michigan and was an end on the football team. Unlike most of his colleagues, Dombrowski was smart, and he was interested in his education. In zoology we had to dissect things and observe things through the microscope and such, and then draw pictures of what we saw. I didn’t like it at all, but I did what was required and submitted my drawings that seemed always to get a “B” grade. Dombrowski did the same and his drawings always received a “C.” Even students as green as Dombrowski and myself could not help but recognize that his drawings were superior to mine. So we decided to switch them. And sure enough, our respective grades stayed the same, I received “B’s” and Dombrowski received “C’s.” After three tries we confronted the teacher about this, a kind of strange but pleasant enough woman who was in charge of the labs. She finally confessed that as Dombrowski was a football player, she merely assumed that he and his coaches would be perfectly happy with C’s. University life was beginning to become downright educational.

I confess that my memory of my first few years at the University is not as good as I would like it to be. Nonetheless, I don't believe I am truly falsifying anything. Some of the chronology might not be perfect, and some events may have occurred either earlier or later than I think they did, but all in all I believe it is coming back to me fairly distinct. After my second semester I did well enough to at least get off probation although, again, I failed the hateful ROTC. Although I was aware that I would never graduate without it, I still could not bring myself to attend.