Memories of college in a file folder in Daydreaming on the Porch

Somehow over the years, despite all my moves and jarring dislocations, I’ve managed to hold onto a number of boxes of precious memorabilia, going back to the 1960s, 70s, and 80s. These include letters which I can’t bring myself to throw away; report cards; algebra, geometry, and English tests and quizzes from high school; clippings from my newspaper days when I was a reporter and editor ( in another life, it now feel like); magazine articles; black and white photographs which I developed and printed in various darkrooms over the years; essays, tests, and creative writing from my English and journalism students going back 30 or more years; and copies of journal entries written sporadically until I began regularly posting entries in my first online journals beginning in 1998. The above catalog of items barely scratches the surface of all the different kinds of memorabilia that’s included in those storage and file boxes, but it gives a representative idea. Those priceless artifacts from my past allow me to tap into my memories. Without those tangible, physical objects, the memories would be much harder to access, if at all, and then only if I was randomly daydreaming or reminiscing about my past, which I do often.

The other night, going through a file box, I came across a folder of papers I’d written in college, most of undergraduate critical essays and papers, but also a few from my lengthy graduate school sojourns over decades (in fact, one might say I was practically a “professional student” at times in my life). Most of the papers go back to the early 1970s when I was an English major at the University of New Orleans. To this day, I count my decision to major in English among the wisest I have ever made. The serious, 19-year-old youth in 1970 just “knew.” Also, I could have majored in journalism, but my college didn’t have such a major.

The last two years of undergraduate college became progressively more rewarding, and the reading more fulfilling, particularly in my American literature courses. I will never forget that senior year in my first apartment, lying in bed reading unforgettably beautiful short stories and novels such as Thomas Wolfe’s “Look Homeward Angel.”

In that folder were carefully typed 5-10 page essays on a variety of topics from several of the courses I had taken. Almost all of my Shakespeare papers were there because the professor in that course was among the best I have ever had, then or since. He made Shakespeare’s plays come alive with his enthusiasm; he liked my writing and interpretations; and he encouraged me with many generous comments on my papers. “King Lear,” “Henry IV Part 1,” “Othello.” T

Then there in the folder was my lengthy, and, to me at least, terrific art history paper titled, “The Realist Qualities of Courbet’s Landscapes In Contrast to Constable’s Romanticism.” – the Constable of the great 19th century English landscapes with huge billowy clouds, haystacks and farmer’s carts. I had never studied art before, so this was an eye-opening experience. I worked so hard on that paper. I even brought a draft to the instructor to critique. It turns out he was quite indifferent to my subject and topic and insultingly called the laboriously composed paper “well written but dry as toast.” I never forgot that callousness, but I didn’t care because despite the instructor, I loved the subject and course, and remember many details of it these 40 years later.

Other papers include English romantic period essays on works by one of my favorite poets, William Wordsworth ( I even wrote a long paper on him in high school, which I also still have). The papers on Wordsworth I saved for that college course were on the River Duddon series.

I have blue book exams and a long paper from a philosophy course I was greatly influenced by. It was a study of the American pragmatist philosophers William James, Charles Sanders Peirce, and George Santayana. This was the first time I had studied philosophy in depth, and the course was taught by the chairman of the philosophy department. Again, looking back on what I wrote at age 20, I can see that the professor’s numerous comments were probably correct in pointing out all the deficiencies in my reading of the works of those thinkers, but at least she took the time to comment all over my papers. Not many professors do that, and I should have been more grateful. I just wish there had been a few more positive comments. The point is, I remember that course vividly and it inspired me in the years since to look into the work of other philosophers, even if I didn’t read much of their work.

In graduate school a few years later, my most memorable professor taught English composition theory. She admired what I was trying to do as a novice teacher of composition and literature back then, and I never forgot that, either. She even wrote a note on one of my papers asking if I might be interested in switching to a Master’s in Composition degree program. I was very flattered.

A number of years later, in another graduate program when I was studying journalism and mass communication, I took an elective course on American social and intellectual history, a subject I have long been interested in. On one of my essays, the professor remarked on how much she enjoyed my “graceful” style of writing. That nice comment stuck with me, and I have recently even gone back and reread some of those essays. One was on the classic text in the genre, “Main Street on the MIddle Border” by Lewis Atherton. Another was “Gates of Eden: American Culture in the Sixties by Morris Dickstein.” The books and course reminded me of a pre-Internet age and a period in my life (1989) when I had time to soak up those books on intellectual and social history. Now I have those kinds of books in my stacks on the floor, and on my shelves to read, but I don’t have the time to read them. Time to read slowly and carefully is a great luxury for me. College and graduate school gave me time to focus on reading. That thick folder of papers reminds me of those days when I had golden opportunities to really think about and ponder issues that transcend time and history.

Now that I am near retirement, I want to go back to college and repeat those experiences with the advantage of many years of living and working behind me. This time it will be purely for enjoyment and enlightenment and not for grades or a degree. Whole new worlds will open up. Sometimes, that’s only possible when you must read something for a course and share what you’ve learned. I’m looking foward to those new experiences.

Last updated February 12, 2015