Autobiography - Coast Guard or College?
When I was 17 years old I had a vision of joining the Coast Guard and retiring in 20 years at the age of 38. Priscilla “suggested” I consider going to college. I had not thought much about college but I wanted to continue to be her boyfriend so I decided I should check it out. There are dozens upon dozens of colleges in Boston so I decided to get some opinions. One of my tender service customers at the marina had the biggest boat in the marina. I thought, he is rich so maybe he had some good advice. I asked his opinion and he agreed a college education would be a good thing and in addition if I was a college student I would get a draft deferment and not have to go to Vietnam. The Vietnam war was in all the newspapers. This college thing was starting to sound better and better. He told me that Northeastern University had a co-op work study program. It was possible to earn enough money working on the alternate semesters to pay for college. My first semester tuition was $325. Then he told me the president of Northeastern University was his friend Asa Knowles. He suggested I buy a long sleeve dress shirt and tie for my college interview and he would pay for it. He also said he would send a letter of recommendation to Asa on my behalf. I applied to four colleges so I would have a good chance to get into one of them. I applied to UMass, Boston University, Wentworth and Northeastern. I was accepted at Wentworth and Northeastern. I am sure it was letter of recommendation to the president that resulted in my acceptance at Northeastern. The value added of the five year co-op program was a plus so I would be a student for five years with a 2S student draft deferment. There was an incentive to not flunk out or get fired from a co-op job. If either happened I would be draft eligible. I saved my draft card. I did not burn it.
The decision was made to attend Northeastern University as a commuter student. In the fall of 1969 I drove to school in rush hour traffic in my Mercury Comet for the first three semesters. A semester is 12 weeks. I had my first co-op job at the end of the first semester. This was timely because my father paid for first three semesters. Then he told my mother to tell me he was done and was on my own. I was grateful for his help during that first year. I managed to graduate debt free on my own. Co-op is good.
On my first day of Northeastern I drove through the Roxbury ghetto to get to the commuter parking lot. As a naive freshman I wore my high school letterman jacket. Nothing screams FRESHMAN louder than wearing a high school letterman jacket to college. As I pulled into a parking spot next to the MTA tracks another student pulled in next to me. He was wearing a Dedham high school letterman jacket. We said hello out of courtesy and climbed the stairs to cross over the train tracks to the main campus. We both kept walking to the same place for the freshman orientation. It turned out that Jay Ferriter and I were both in the NU business administration program. We are still close friends to this day.
My ability to be an unremarkable student in high school carried over to college. I never once went to the college library to study or take out a book. At the end of each semester I would sell my text books back to the book store for a fraction of the price I paid. Most of the books still crackled when opened for the first time.
The commuter students congregated in the commons building. Most arrived early because traffic was somewhat unpredictable. Dormitory students could time when they rolled out if bed and get to class on time. The downside of the commuter camaraderie was we passed the time before class playing cards. Hearts was the game of choice. After driving an hour or more to get to school and sitting in the commons playing cards for a half hour it was time to go to our first class. On way too many occasions we kept playing cards and skipped our first classes of the day.
As the Vietnam war raged on the protest movement gained momentum in the summer of 1971. The Students for a Democratic Society (SDS) and Black Panthers protested in Boston Common regularly. Then the protests moved to the college campuses. On my first day of the summer semester I went to the Quadrangle in the center of campus and saw protesters blocking the stairways to all the classrooms. Campus security suggested we go home that day. This went on for several days. Then the university announced the campus would be closed for the semester. Every student would get a “P” passing grade for the four classes we paid for but did not attend. Even though we had paid for the semester getting guaranteed passing grades was all good for not having to go to class. By this time we had a group of 10 business students that hung out and partied regularly. Someone had the epiphany that we should meet on campus every day and car pool to Cape Cod. That is how I spent the summer of 1971. The downside of getting a guaranteed grade is who would think that you should still read the text book and learn on your own. My friends and I missed that memo. The following semester the school opened up. I think it was too cold to protest. I took accounting 3.0. This course was based on accounting 2.0 for which I had received a “P” but never bought the text book. I was not alone in my ignorance and several fellow students and I received an “F” to go along with my “P” in accounting. This became big issue as I approached graduation. The dean of the business school sent word that my school chum Joe (Brownie) Bowen and I should meet him in his office. Joe earned the nickname brownie because he never spoke or raised his hand in class in five years. When we met with the dean it was only a few weeks until graduation. He said because we both had an F on our transcripts we could not graduate. There was a rule about it. Brownie was mute but I mentioned I was unaware of any such rule if in fact any such rule did exist. I asked when this rule came into effect. He said in 1973. I said I received my F in 1972. Was this rule retroactive to years prior to the rule coming into effect? He paused for a moment and said congratulations you will graduate with your class. This was a huge win when I explain what I did instead of attending graduation or going to summer school to make up the grade. I also saved Brownie’s bacon for the second time. Brownie’s father passed away in our junior year 1973. He and his family were in mourning for several weeks. A term paper was due in few days and Brownie had yet to type a single word. He asked me to ask the professor if he would accept a dual term paper from two students combined. The professor said that is a bit unusual but he would. I turned in the term paper with both names. We received a grade of C with the comment this term paper seems like it was written by one person.
While Brownie was a man of few words he gave me some advice that perhaps saved my life or saved me from bodily injury. Who could ask for more? Brownie lived in heart of Roxbury which was the black ghetto. He lived on a dead end street with 10 houses with white families. The only white families in Roxbury. They refused to sell out to the block busters that turned over the other neighborhoods. I had moved to an apartment building in Dorchester on the dividing line of the Irish on one side and Roxbury on the other side. The most direct route from my apartment to Northeastern University took me within a few hundred feet of Brownies home. He commuted with me for three years.
In my Junior year (1973) I was working at a Rust-Oleum warehouse on Blue Hill Ave in the heart of Roxbury and one block from Brownies house. One day Brownie said when they rob you don’t chase them. Note he said when and not if. He knew the neighborhood. It was just a matter of time. Yes, after a few months I forgot to lock the front door of the office when I went into the warehouse to pack some orders for shipment. Within minutes I heard the door buzzer and ran to the office as a person of color ran out the door with the cash box. My reaction was to lock the door that I should have locked before. I heard Brownies voice in my head and there was no chase after the perpetrator that could only have ended badly for me. The gentleman had looked me straight in the eyes as he turned to run out the door. I said “have a nice day.” He got $50 of Rust-Oleum’s money and I got a story to tell thanks to Brownie. On another occasion one of the local residents tried to break into the warehouse by smashing a skylight. He fell 20’ onto the concrete floor and broke both legs. My supervisor opened up the warehouse on Monday morning and heard moaning in the back of the warehouse. He found the gentleman in a compromising position and called the police. Just another day in working in Roxbury.