Overall, I had a great time in college. I learned exactly what I wanted to, and, to their credit, my parents never pushed me toward things like Business Administration, or Economics... I will admit that I briefly considered switching my major to Psychology, and later English. I don't know what kind of psych practice I might have had, or where, and an English major would have necessitated going for a doctorate, and then, were I fortunate enough to get a teaching post, it might have been at some Podunk college, and then I would have had to move about the country from one place to another, until being fortunate enough to land tenure, if at all. I knew then I did not want a nomadic kind of life; I wanted stability. And, later, I found that that stability I wanted was in New York City. Nevertheless, looking back on college, I can honestly say there were two classes that, to this day, I wish I could have gotten the money back from.
The first was a sophomore English class, an elective, I took in Creative Writing. I had been looking forward to this course, because I wanted to explore writing to see if I had any kind of a literary voice. Not that I planned on being a novelist, though I imagined myself as the head drama or film critic for "The New York Times." Ah, youth. And I came to college from a rather scarred adolescence. Looking back, I wonder how much of that was self-scarring as from my peers.
Now, this Creative Writing class was taught by an adjunct professor. So that was strike one. I have never had an adjunct who was equal to a tenured professor. This particular professor's last name was Paris; I cannot recall his first name, but it was something unusual for that time, like Gabriel. As the course went on, I began to call him, to myself Plaster Of Paris. And this proved to be apt.
Every class we had the man would discourse on two writers, Flannery O'Connor and Gustav Flaubert. He revered them; so much so that I went to the library, read some Flannery O'Connor, and then read Flaubert's masterpiece "Madame Bovary." They, and their authors' writing had a brilliance all their own. The problem was this professor expected, or wanted us, to all write like that, and who among us was capable? The best we could do was our own voice, which he dismissed. But I persevered, for, if there was one thing I did discover was that I had a flair for humor. And two of my classmates noticed and appreciated it. They were Paul McDonogh and Ed O'Toole, both editors of the school newspaper, "The Setonian," and with their blessings, I became the paper's theater critic! So maybe I did get something out of the course. The point is Professor Paris had absolutely nothing to do with it.
Now, Acting was another story. The class was taught by Gilbert Rathbun, a gifted and theatrical man of the world. When he first walked into the class, my first impression was that he would make the perfect Willy Loman in "Death Of A Salesman." Hold that thought. It will be important later.
The class seemed too academic instead of hands on. Maybe others needed that, but I knew my theater history, I wanted to learn acting exercises and techniques. In those days, I thought I had some promise; note I say "some," because I was not bold enough, like many working actors, to drop out of college and pursue the craft on my own.
I hate to say it, but, while I had other courses with Professor Rathbun, and learned a great deal from him, and them, he taught the Acting class like he had to. No one in my class he seemed interested enough in, because I guess he thought there were no potential actors in the room. Well, again, he was wrong, but he can't be totally blamed, because, coming from a scarred adolescence, I could not totally open up. It took me years, maybe seven or eight from then, to get to that point.
Professor Rathburn's true ego showed its head when, in my senior year the Theater Department decided to present Arthur Miller's "Death Of A Salesman." I was foolish enough to sign on as stage manager. It was a learning experience.
Now, we were college students doing an extracurricular activity; we had classes and some of us had jobs in addition to courses. Rathbun rehearsed his cast mercilessly, keeping us there sometimes until 1AM in the morning! I lived in the dorm, but still, during this period, I would wake feeling I was hanging from the ceiling. I went through days like this in a fog, and it was beginning to take a physical and mental toll. Not just on me, but the entire cast, some of whom commuted, so imagine driving alone and tired. Some of us talked about going to the administration and alerting them to what was going on. But we did not have to, because, in the end, Rathbun went there himself, and was screwed.
He was clearly obsessed with this play. I could understand that, because he came from the postwar generation, and so did Miller, which is why his play was incorporated, during my school years, into almost every theater or literature class I would take. I wonder if that is the case now?
Anyway, Rathbun went to the administration, pleading with them to let him play the role of Willy Loman. The irony is that he would have been good, but to play opposite a group of young college kids, who are supposedly are acquiring their training through this experience????? This would have been highly inappropriate, not to mention odd looking. The administration agreed with this.
That experience went on, successfully, but it left its mark on me. Because I became so physically and emotionally drained, I had to give up my role as stage manager. I have never faced anything like this since. And remember, I was very young and, in some ways, emotionally stunted.
Still at now a better vantage point and writing regularly I can look back on all this and wonder, how things might have gone had I not been so scarred. Considering I was, I think it was amazing on what I was able to achieve.
What prompted me to write this post was a series of articles I kept reading stating that the average college student today cannot read or write a sentence. This alarmed me, so I decided to do some digging. I looked at Seton Hall's English and Theater courses via their online catalog, and while I was pleased to see the Theater Department has expanded and improved, the English Department was dismally disappointing. Don't get me wrong; they offered some great courses that I would be ready to take in a heartbeat. Like Victorian Literature. The problem is that today's entering students, before taking Freshman Composition 1, which was standard for all of us back in the Fall of 1973, have to take some remedial courses in reading and writing, of which there are a great many. This is appalling. Even more so was this--there were some courses, advanced ones, that had perquisites before one could take them. The minimum grade for getting into one was a....D!!!!!!!!!!!! D????????????? In my day, a C or below was practically a brand of failure. Especially if it was something in one's major! There was none of that back in my day; students were expected to come to college and be able to read and write on a college level. Today, it seems like the universities have sunk to the level of community colleges, while the community colleges have sunk to the level of vocational schools. If this keeps on, AI will take over everything, and then how will people make a living? All I can say is, I am glad I went through life when I did.
Does college mean anything anymore? I wonder. But the real tragedy of all this is without a degree of literacy, with it goes any interest in the arts and culture, so that the result will be future generations of singularly uninteresting people. Do I really want to be part of that? No.
Even more than then, I am so glad I went to college when I did. Were I to do so today, I might have remained as emotionally stunted as I was as a result of high school and would have felt that I fit in less than I did in the Fall of 1973.
I might have missed out more on my youth now, than I thought I did, back then!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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