I've noticed that when the older grand-kids talk about their college years, it's always good. Great memories. Great bars. Great parties. Great friends. Wow! I'm happy for them, of course, but perhaps a little jealous at the same time. My memories are so different. Back in my day, it was a much more conservative world. No men in or near the women's dorms. Women must be safely inside the doors of their living quarters by 10:00 p.m. Monday through Thursday. The doors were locked precisely at 10:00, and if you were late, and had to knock, there was hell to pay. Friday and Saturday nights, one could carouse until 1:00 a.m.; Sunday night--until 11:00. No excuses, no exceptions. But, even in my day, that was a lot more freedom than I ever had at 206 East Oak. Although, I nearly forgot the "Sign Out" sheets. Kansas State and the Kappas, in those days, did require that we sign-out every time we left the building. Name, time, where we were going and when we would be back. Onerous as that might seem, they never told us we couldn't go, and all we had to do was come back. On time. Not really a bad thing...but, rules weren't what broke my spirit...
When I went to college (and, trust me, I couldn't wait), I was hot stuff. I had graduated from St. Mary of the Plains High School third or fourth, maybe fifth, in my class academically. Any of those numbers are pretty good considering we had 36 people in our class. Or, was it 26? I don't remember. I had been a cheerleader, third page editor of the school newspaper, and editor of the school yearbook. Those are all hot things. I had also chosen the theme for the Junior-Senior Prom--Bali Ha'i. South Pacific, the movie, had been out for a few years but must only have reached Dodge City, because I was totally enthralled with it and the Bali Ha'i concept. Pile those things together and I was, obviously, ready for college. The Big League. "Kansas State University of Agriculture and Applied Science: Get Ready...I Am On The Way!"
On the second day of class at KSU of A&AS, I was hurrying to my Freshman Honors English class. Yes--Honors. And how, you may ask, had I qualified for Honors English? I have no idea. I did test rather well, but I was as surprised as anyone else on this one. But, no matter. I found the class in the basement of some non-descript building toward the center of the campus. I was dressed (per Seventeen Magazine) in my oh-so-new plaid wool skirt and matching sweater. Green, I think. I was feelin' g-o-o-d.
His name was Ralph Adamany, and all of his tall, dark, handsome gorgeousness was draped over the lectern at the front of the room. Without hesitation, I took the seat immediately in front of him. I was 210 miles from home, I'd just pledged Kappa Kappa Gamma, and God had dropped my ticket to heaven right in front of my eyes. It could not get any better than this.
This was a smallish class made up (as I remember it) of a lot of kids from Kansas City. Big City kids from Big City high schools. I, however, was undaunted. Whereas, these KC Kids may have looked down on St. Mary of the Plains High School...Home of the Crusaders...and, perhaps, even looked down on Dodge City, I was fine. I could run with the best of them--especially in that plaid skirt.
Finally, the oh, so handsome Mr. Adamany began to speak. He was recently returned from a year of study in Italy. Oh! This is so definitely not Dodge City. His studies had been of the literary sort, and as he went on in that magical way of a gorgeous someone recently returned from Italy, I become lost in visions of Tuscany and Firenze and Roma and...what? What was that? Hello? Mr. Adamany seems to be giving an assignment. Our first reading will be Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms which we will, of course, compare to Remarque's All Quiet on the Western Front.
What! What? We are going to do what...before when? Are you sure that's possible? Big City Hotshot Guy on my left is already spouting off about Hemingway's style. I do recognize Hemingway's name but who the hell is Remarque? Does anyone else think it's hot in here? Big City Girl behind me is now rebutting everything Big City Guy has just said about Hemingway, and presenting her own theories. Mr. Adamany is looking at her with a slight smile and a bit of interest. Can someone please open a window? I don't know what these people are talking about and I can't breathe. I don't think we knew about Panic Attacks then, but I was on the cusp.
To make this sad story sadder, I must tell you that I struggled with Remarque and didn't get Hemingway. I struggled with metaphors and totally missed similes. Frankly, I was in completely over my head. In deep trouble. I assume it was Mr. Adamany's pity or, more likely, his total ennui, that let me escape his class with a C, just before I quietly requested that he place me in a regular Freshman English Class. I didn't marry this handsome English teacher, nor did I see Italy until I was near middle age. In fact, within the week, Mr. Adamany not only forgot my name, he forgot I was ever in his class. Mr. Adamany broke my heart and my spirit. I was never that young, nor that hot again.
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