I started college as an 18 year old. I was going to be a Math/Physics double major. I did well in math and physics in high school. Actually, I did pretty well at everything in high school. The last thing I mean to do is cast a dispersion on my high school; it's not their fault that at that time there were more cows than people in Calumet County. I gotta tell you that when the Gehl's had their 9th child and the population sign could finally roll 1,000, it was a big deal. It's kind of like the first time your odometer hits 100,000 miles.
And I really mean it. I do consider my high school education excellent. I count Pat Eischenbach as that teacher who really made me love the process of learning. Terry Fondow was a leader, a man's man, and an excellent example for us boys. When no actual teacher would take the initiative to start a physics class (he was actually the principle)(and yes, for a while no physics was offered), he taught the class himself. I know that he was no idiot and I know that he didn't know physics well. I also know that he would go home after school and learn that which he was to teach the next day. Looking back now I see that there was a lot of group teaching that actually went on, but that in itself shows a quality not often found.
So I went to college. What I hadn't expected to find, however, were girls and cable TV. At home we didn't have a TV. All of a sudden there was a 24-hours-a-day gift of entertainment manna. And the girls! Somehow monied Chicago chicks had a more worldly component to them than those from home. My first semester was a learning experience but my grades suggested otherwise.
So I moved off campus, got a little more serious, and changed majors. Five more times. After Chemistry, Anthropology, Philosophy and Computer Science didn't fit, I became an English major. I think I even held out in this field for two semesters. And my academic grades did improve although my social grades took a serious hit.
I knew I wasn't happy though, and I knew I had no interest in sitting inside doing 'adult' stuff the rest of my life. So I convinced myself that the best course of action was to drop out. Ironically, as time would show, I was right but that is another story for another day.
My parents weren't going to go for the drop out thing without some careful planning, so I took some preliminary steps. The summer before I had worked in Door County and I really wanted to go back. I took off one Saturday and headed north. I met up with my boss from the prior summer but he needed no help. Instead, he sent me over to two sisters who did some commercial fishing. In his style, he called ahead and made introductions.
I drove the few miles over and met with them. They were very interested in my background and, when the more vocal of the two found out I was an English major, tried really hard to get me to go over to their other property to look at some books they had bought from a dead lawyer's estate. All first editions, I was assured. Worth a lot of money. If I saw them I would really like them and want to buy them, I was told. But she didn't know if she could sell them. They meant a lot to her and she knew she'd regret it if she sold them to me.
I was running out of time as I needed to get back home that evening. I somehow pried myself out of the invitation to book shop and queried about their need for help. Again the answer was fairly clear. Maybe in summer, but definitely not in late winter and spring. However, the ice was about to break in the bay. Possibly the Weborgs could use me.
Again, the obligatory call was made and I drove as fast as I could further north. My meeting was short, very gracious, and, best of all, fulfilling. They were happy to hire me as soon as I could move up.
It took a few days to get my ideas together enough to tell my folks. That too went better than I thought. I remember three things in particular; first, neither seemed surprised and I know my Dad commented that they knew I wasn't happy. The second was that he wrote out a page of recommended disciplines that he wanted me to practice and incorporate into my life. And the third was my mom taking me to an auction at the big tavern in Brandt where we bought some pots and pans and a set of silverware for me to take.
On March 23rd, 1986, I drove back up to Door County. I moved into the most run down excuse for a house you can imagine. While it technically had running water, it was all outside including the front-stoop shower stall that faced the rough gravel road that ran 20 yards in front of the house. The old man who rented it to me explained that it was totally understandable that there was no shower curtain as it would have just blown off anyway. And, as my father-in-law later commented, it pays to advertise.
No comments:
Post a Comment