First, I was a Southwestern Central High School Trojan. I never ascertained how or why my school adopted as its mascot the name of a condom-maker or a soldier of hapless Troy. To this day I remain wary of Greeks bearing gifts.

My undergraduate work was completed at Allegheny College. In 1961, Allegheny was one of those small classical liberal arts schools with a grand total of 1500 students. There I experienced the most talented teachers imaginable. I ended up majoring in English Literature although I probably ought to have spent less time indulging in frat capers and adding a second major in history. If I could repeat my undergraduate experience, I'd return to Allegheny again and again and again. I truly loved that place.

In 1965, the year I earned my BA, President Johnson sent 650,000 young Americans to a far-off place called Vietnam. Alternatively, I chose to teach high school English in the Cleveland Public Schools. Romantic that I was, I believed I could make a bigger difference working with inner city kids. That idea ended up being an entirely positive, life-changing experience. By sheer coincidence I even met Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Later, when he was assassinated, my students and I mourned his loss together. The Kent State riots happened just south of Cleveland. I also lived them up close and personal, and the burning of Hough, and the SDS protests, and the whole confounded Vietnam era.

Together, Allegheny College and the Cleveland Public Schools established a work/study Master of Arts in Teaching program. I completed an MA in Counseling through that arrangement and was quickly recruited out into the suburbs. With mixed feelings, I abandoned the inner city and joined the English Department at Cleveland Heights High School.

In 1966, I gathered up my resolve and convinced my college sweetheart to marry me. In March 1970, our older daughter Amy was born. And the same year, after my beloved 1965 Mustang Fastback was stolen, our apartment in Shaker Heights broken into, and the Cuyahoga River burst spontaneously into flames, we decided it was time to leave "the best location in the nation." I decided that I wanted to counsel students at a small New England college. Initially, I was forced to accept a high school guidance position in New York State's Lower Hudson Valley. Then in 1972, I responded to a job announcement in the New York Times and applied for a position in the Counseling Center at SUNY Potsdam in faraway upstate New York. Moving north to the foothills of the Adirondacks completed my jump from secondary education to the college level.

From the very beginning, Potsdam was a terrific place. It had good feel about it. Soon the Director of the Counseling Center was encouraging me to go off and earn a terminal degree. I enjoyed counseling but administrative ambition pushed me onto the fast track -- a Ph.D. program in higher education. I found one with full tuition waivers at the University at Buffalo. One of my first teachers at UB was Al Brown, a former President at SUNY Brockport. Al liked me, respected my writing skills and educational background, and ended up nominating me for a fully-funded internship in SUNY Buffalo's President's Office. Soon I was happily ensconced on the top floor of Capen Hall on the Amherst campus writing speeches for Steven B. Sample. In my student role, I studied the history of higher education. I breezed through my coursework and qualifying exams, then started researching my dissertation.

The dissertation focused on the Free Thought Movement. I explored the demise of Enlightenment thinking and the rise of religious enthusiasm at three early 19th century frontier colleges: my alma mater, Allegheny College; Oberlin College on the Western Reserve; and Transylvania University in the horse country of Lexington, Kentucky. Interestingly, America's political/religious conflicts then continue to be frighteningly similar today.

Settling into that big paper and getting to know Dr. Sample were Buffalo's high points. I drove back and forth to Potsdam on weekends to spend time with my family or, if that wasn't possible, stayed in town studying, spending time with classmates eating beef on weck, drinking German beer, discussing Voltaire, and cheering on the Buffalo Sabres. Finishing my year's residency requirement and reluctantly turning down a full time writing position offered by the President's Office at UB, I returned to Potsdam with three chapters of the dissertation already written and approved.

It was my intention to quickly finish the Ph.D. and utilize my new degree with the goal of improving Potsdam's Student Affairs Division. Unfortunately, administrative changes above me had altered the terrain significantly during my absence. Rather than breezing along under a cooperative new president, I had to dig in my heels, hang on tenaciously and fight my way back -- after all, I now had two children settled in the community and schools, and a spouse engaged in her own satisfying career. Sadly, it became evident that the dissertation would be compromised. Time passed and life has moved on. I no longer regret that I was unable to accomplish an important personal goal. One does what one must do. In a few short years, the administration had changed again and I was flourishing with new responsibilities.

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry in a very different context concluded: "What's happened there on his planet? Maybe a sheep has eaten the flower... Sometimes I tell myself, Of course not! The little prince puts his flower under glass, and he keeps close watch over his sheep... Then I'm happy. And all the stars laugh sweetly." [The Little Prince, p. 81]

Last edited: 13 Feb 2011