Update 12-16-03

Hi,

Three short notes and a long one. In Morse Code, that's a V.

First, insight from Steve Gootzeit: A neighbor of mine mentioned that he was going to his high school reunion. I told him I had a great time at mine, and asked how many years it had been for him. When he said, "37," I replied, "That's a remarkable coincidence, since my class also had a 37th reunion, and it's such an odd number." He then told me that 37 is a popular reunion year because the alum are turning 55. To quote Johnny Carson, "I did not know that."

More insight, from Zelda White Nichols: In response to the lack of participation at the Long Island mini-reunions -- unfortunately, for some, such as myself, distance is a problem. Not all of us can afford the time away from work for the reunions. Then, there is the, "Oh, God, I'm not going just to sit around and talk about the old days" thought process. But I have learned something recently from meeting with old friends again.
Yes, we have changed, evolved, and, for the most part, bettered ourselves since our childhoods. But the basic personality that we were born with is still there. The reasons we liked each other as kids are the reasons we like each other as adults, and -- wonder of wonders -- upon renewing friendships, we learn that the first meeting is a reminiscing one, but then we can pick up that friendship and can continue it in the present and future. It isn't just "Gee, remember when;" we are all the richer for renewing our long-ago friendships. Seeing Ellen Epstein Silver again, as well as seeing a few other old friends, has brought it all home. I would have known Ellen anywhere, for her wonderful smile if nothing else. Lucky her though -- she has hardly aged at all.

Third, a number of people have asked if there was a memorial fund for Vince Tampio. There wasn't, but I've been thinking about it, and talking it over with Barnet. This morning, I phoned South and asked if we could create a small annual prize for the best drama student -- in acting or in tech. Barnet and I were thinking about 500 bucks a year, and the school said we could either donate this annually, for as long as we chose, or raise some funds which they'd administer, contacting us each year to tell us how much was still available. Before we go ahead, I'd like to take some pledges ("Oh, Jeez," you're thinking. "What is this, Public Radio?") The point is, I don't want to get us into something that we can't continue. If we raise a little money now, we don't have to think about this again, and South can just use the fund till it runs out. I'd rather not have to raise 500 bucks every year. So if you're interested, please write me. The donation information will not be public.

Finally, part of a speech Nancy Garfield made in early August. Its presence here is self-explanatory.
It’s an honor being here today and to have been selected as a Fellow of the Society of Counseling Psychology. It’s also an unexpected acknowledgment of my contributions, given my non-traditional career path. I’d like to share briefly with you a bit of my history, as it reflects on one unlikely path within Counseling Psychology.
My being selected as a Fellow would certainly have been a surprise to my high school guidance counselor. She earnestly told me I wasn’t college material, and that I’d never get into college. Earlier in my academic career, my elementary school principal worried so much about my inability to spell that I was called to his office any number of times. In high school, I also struggled mightily in Math, Science, and foreign language classes. I spent many summers going to school, retaking one, or several, of these classes. Despite my guidance counselor’s prediction, I did get into college -- OK, it was the only one that accepted me. But I was accepted.
Still, it was nothing to write home about -- I went to Parson’s College, in Fairfield, Iowa. Like many small colleges, it’s since closed. However, it’s now the Maharishi University -- you know, David Copperfield, transcendental meditation, and a lot of very peaceful cows. While it was still Parson’s, there was one pizza place, a movie theatre with a single screen, a dress code dictating what we could wear into town, and a housemother who both inspected our rooms weekly with her white gloves on, and who also locked us in at our 10:30 PM curfew.
I was one of the many students, who, when forced to declare a major, chose Psychology, because it sounded interesting. Then, I found that I’d have to take Statistics. However, the “talk” on campus was that the head of the Sociology Department would allow the girls in the department to avoid taking Statistics. So I availed myself of that discriminatory practice and became a Sociology major. I’m not proud of that, but I figured I’d never need Statistics, and I did want to get a degree.
As I approached graduation, I faced the age-old question: What do I do now, especially with a degree in Sociology? I decided to become a teacher, and I took several additional classes, as well as a semester’s student teaching in a junior high. I learned very quickly that I did NOT want to teach students of that age. Besides, in Iowa, to teach Social Studies, you also needed to coach some sport. Since I hated sports, I knew this wasn’t a good career match.
To help make my next decision, I decided to fall back on my experience as a residence hall counselor. Still, with a college GPA of 2.77, and a school that had recently lost its accreditation, I had a little trouble finding a Master’s program. Fortunately, I scored well on the Miller Analogies Test and was accepted at Western Illinois University.
I spent a very long year in Macomb, Illinois. Macomb was bigger than Fairfield, but it was still very small. Again, I had to face Statistics, though, this time, I managed to get a B in the class, even though I refused to sleep with the professor for a promised A. I was horrified, but told no one, sure I’d done something to elicit his behavior.
After getting my Master’s, I was hired at a Catholic college, where I worked in the Counseling Center and developed a Career Center. It was an interesting place for a young woman who knew nothing about Catholicism and had to balance the strong patriarchal society that imbued both the religion and the college. There were only two of us in the Counseling Center. When the male director left, they immediately hired another man, one who’d previously just been a high school counselor. Well, I may have learning disabilities, but I quickly realized that if I wanted to advance in my field, I was going to need a doctorate.
Luckily, I was offered a graduate assistantship by the University of Missouri-Columbia’s Department of Counseling Psychology. Better still, I was selected to be an advisee of Dr. Richard Caple. Dick was a scholar, mentor, gentleman, and role model. I learned many things from him, but the one I tried hardest to emulate was his commitment to the profession, and to giving back to it.
During my three years as a doctoral student, Dick helped me through many academic challenges, including a C in Statistics for which I again attended summer school to raise the grade to a B. He also supported me through the trauma of failing the Statistics section of my comprehensive exams, and through taking the make-up test that was required. I kept telling them I’d hire a statistician when I did research, but they weren’t impressed. I also had another offer from a faculty member on my committee to “help me” improve my statistical competence on a quid pro quo basis. I’m sorry to say these attempted boundary violations weren’t unusual in the early 70s. In fact, one of our faculty members was well known for this type of behavior, but no action was ever taken by the department colleagues or the university.
Times have changed -- and yet they haven’t. Two weeks ago, I saw the movie Whale Rider. It’s the story of a young Maori girl, Paka, who develops strength, determination, and leadership skills despite being told by those important to her that a girl can’t be a leader in their culture. Even though she was told again and again that she couldn’t learn to be a leader, much less be one, Paka persevered. Following the movie, I spent quite a bit of time thinking about what makes a leader, about who determines that one is a leader, and about who were leaders, mentors, and role models for me. I was reminded of my educational trials, and that I, too, had worked very hard to achieve my professional goals. I believe that, given better, earlier advice, I might have walked the career path that, instead, I stumbled on. Psychology was never my intentional choice, and some of what directed me was poor counseling, as well as attempted boundary crossings by misguided faculty members. How much easier it could have been for me, then, and can be for others, now. But we have to allow that. Even so, over the years, the support I’ve received from colleagues and friends has made the journey easier, more interesting, and most rewarding. For this, I thank you.
Next week: a holiday cookie recipe from Larry Rugen.

The home page: http://hometown.aol.com/falcons1965a

Rich