October 2014, Wisconsin - Cheese Days are over and it is "quiet time" around here for awhile. As I awoke Sunday morning without a topic for my next column, the announcer on NPR reminded us of the 50th anniversary of an event that shook the nation. Bingo. Problem solved.
September 1964, Berkeley, California - the flagship campus of the sprawling University of California system is serene in the gray overcast morning. The sweet scent of the giant Eucalyptus trees gracing the campus is always pleasing. With lifting of the Bay Area morning fog, the majestic Golden Gate Bridge would be visible to the west.
California's flagship campus is among the most prestigious in the nation - indeed, the world. Membership on UC's Board of Regents is California's equivalence to knighthood. Being a mere graduate student at UC Berkeley is an honor and privilege accorded to only a few.
UC-Berkeley's morning serenity would be short lived.
March 1956, Tent Camp no. 2, Camp Pendleton, California - I had never figured on going to college. I had evaded the draft by joining the Marines. Maybe that's why we were considered to be a bunch of teen-aged dummies - and why we tend to stick together and go through life with a chip on our shoulders. Anyway, I had made it through the arduous months of boot camp - even fired "expert" with the M-1. I was now part way through infantry training. It would soon be over and I would return to San Diego for Radio Operators School.
On that Sunday morning, most of our training unit was rousted out for guard duty. Several of us remained behind as the roster was filled prior to getting to "W" - one of the few benefits of being at the tail end of the alphabet. It was a rare time for reflection.
Guys join the Marines for various reasons. It's a Hollywood myth that only "John Wayne types" and tough guys join the Marines. And I don't recall ever hearing the word "patriotism" throughout my entire enlistment. Any numb nut claiming he joined the Marines out of a sense of patriotism would have been laughed out of the barracks. Even if one really thought as much, it was prudent to keep your mouth shut about it.
Most of us were just ordinary guys who survived extraordinary training and the iron discipline that goes with it. Some, like those of us who weren't tough enough to make the high school football team, had something to prove. Like we could survive boot camp and wear the eagle, globe, and anchor as well as the tough guys.
So, having got that far, it dawned on me that other things might be possible - maybe even going to college some day. I decided that very morning that if I ever got out of there and back to "normal life," I was going to college, University of Wisconsin-Madison's College of Agriculture.
Autumn 1958, Madison, Wisconsin - it was hard to believe, actually being a UW student. The Corps would actually let you out a couple months early if you were accepted for college. With that, I had shaved about 10 weeks off my enlistment and saved the Department of Defense a couple hundred bucks.
As I walked into the initial UW orientation session, a Marine Major and a swabbie were handing out information on Navy ROTC. I was elated to reply, "No thanks, I've served my time."
Although excited to be a UW student, I was not at all confident that I could make it. I was a fair student in high school and conscientiously did my homework. However, like most teen-agers, I didn't really exert myself. But now, I would give college the "old college try," no pun intended.
Being a 21-year-old Marine veteran yielded many advantages over teen-agers away from home for the first time. My grades as a freshman well exceeded what could have been expected based on my so-so high school record. As a sophomore, upon taking my first economics and agricultural economics courses, I decided that's where I should be. I found economics fascinating and relevant.
I admired my advisor in the agricultural economics department. As a junior, my academic record was looking quite good. During one session with my advisor, we discussed the possibility of graduate school. He suggested that I consider UC-Berkeley, the institution from which he had received his Ph.D. I had never heard of Berkeley at that time, but if it was good enough for him, it was good enough for me. We made sure I had the right preparatory courses, including a couple of courses in calculus that were necessary for advanced economic theory.
I was laboring under the illusion that I was a good student.
Autumn, 1962, Tucson, Arizona - with undergraduate degree in hand, and newly married the past summer, I would go for the M.S. at the University of Arizona. I loved UW-Madison, but was tired of it, and Wisconsin winters. I convinced my wife that Arizona would be an adventure. She graciously agreed, although her parents were not thrilled with that decision.
A couple of the UA-Tucson key agricultural economics faculty members were UC-Berkeley graduates and, depending on my performance in the M.S. Program, they would support my goal of eventually going to UC-Berkeley.
The M.S. program went well and I continued to labor under the illusion that I was a good student.
September 1963, Berkeley, California - my wife had preceded me to Berkeley, lining up housing and finding a teaching job in nearby San Leandro. Having completed my M.S. at Arizona, I had at last arrived at the Mecca for Berkeley's elite but strenuous Ph.D. program.
One can never predict the future. A lot of things were to happen at UC Berkeley. Among other things, I quickly found that maybe I wasn't such a good student after all.
Next Week: The UC Berkeley campus explodes.
- John Waelti's column appears every Friday in the Times. He can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
September 1964, Berkeley, California - the flagship campus of the sprawling University of California system is serene in the gray overcast morning. The sweet scent of the giant Eucalyptus trees gracing the campus is always pleasing. With lifting of the Bay Area morning fog, the majestic Golden Gate Bridge would be visible to the west.
California's flagship campus is among the most prestigious in the nation - indeed, the world. Membership on UC's Board of Regents is California's equivalence to knighthood. Being a mere graduate student at UC Berkeley is an honor and privilege accorded to only a few.
UC-Berkeley's morning serenity would be short lived.
March 1956, Tent Camp no. 2, Camp Pendleton, California - I had never figured on going to college. I had evaded the draft by joining the Marines. Maybe that's why we were considered to be a bunch of teen-aged dummies - and why we tend to stick together and go through life with a chip on our shoulders. Anyway, I had made it through the arduous months of boot camp - even fired "expert" with the M-1. I was now part way through infantry training. It would soon be over and I would return to San Diego for Radio Operators School.
On that Sunday morning, most of our training unit was rousted out for guard duty. Several of us remained behind as the roster was filled prior to getting to "W" - one of the few benefits of being at the tail end of the alphabet. It was a rare time for reflection.
Guys join the Marines for various reasons. It's a Hollywood myth that only "John Wayne types" and tough guys join the Marines. And I don't recall ever hearing the word "patriotism" throughout my entire enlistment. Any numb nut claiming he joined the Marines out of a sense of patriotism would have been laughed out of the barracks. Even if one really thought as much, it was prudent to keep your mouth shut about it.
Most of us were just ordinary guys who survived extraordinary training and the iron discipline that goes with it. Some, like those of us who weren't tough enough to make the high school football team, had something to prove. Like we could survive boot camp and wear the eagle, globe, and anchor as well as the tough guys.
So, having got that far, it dawned on me that other things might be possible - maybe even going to college some day. I decided that very morning that if I ever got out of there and back to "normal life," I was going to college, University of Wisconsin-Madison's College of Agriculture.
Autumn 1958, Madison, Wisconsin - it was hard to believe, actually being a UW student. The Corps would actually let you out a couple months early if you were accepted for college. With that, I had shaved about 10 weeks off my enlistment and saved the Department of Defense a couple hundred bucks.
As I walked into the initial UW orientation session, a Marine Major and a swabbie were handing out information on Navy ROTC. I was elated to reply, "No thanks, I've served my time."
Although excited to be a UW student, I was not at all confident that I could make it. I was a fair student in high school and conscientiously did my homework. However, like most teen-agers, I didn't really exert myself. But now, I would give college the "old college try," no pun intended.
Being a 21-year-old Marine veteran yielded many advantages over teen-agers away from home for the first time. My grades as a freshman well exceeded what could have been expected based on my so-so high school record. As a sophomore, upon taking my first economics and agricultural economics courses, I decided that's where I should be. I found economics fascinating and relevant.
I admired my advisor in the agricultural economics department. As a junior, my academic record was looking quite good. During one session with my advisor, we discussed the possibility of graduate school. He suggested that I consider UC-Berkeley, the institution from which he had received his Ph.D. I had never heard of Berkeley at that time, but if it was good enough for him, it was good enough for me. We made sure I had the right preparatory courses, including a couple of courses in calculus that were necessary for advanced economic theory.
I was laboring under the illusion that I was a good student.
Autumn, 1962, Tucson, Arizona - with undergraduate degree in hand, and newly married the past summer, I would go for the M.S. at the University of Arizona. I loved UW-Madison, but was tired of it, and Wisconsin winters. I convinced my wife that Arizona would be an adventure. She graciously agreed, although her parents were not thrilled with that decision.
A couple of the UA-Tucson key agricultural economics faculty members were UC-Berkeley graduates and, depending on my performance in the M.S. Program, they would support my goal of eventually going to UC-Berkeley.
The M.S. program went well and I continued to labor under the illusion that I was a good student.
September 1963, Berkeley, California - my wife had preceded me to Berkeley, lining up housing and finding a teaching job in nearby San Leandro. Having completed my M.S. at Arizona, I had at last arrived at the Mecca for Berkeley's elite but strenuous Ph.D. program.
One can never predict the future. A lot of things were to happen at UC Berkeley. Among other things, I quickly found that maybe I wasn't such a good student after all.
Next Week: The UC Berkeley campus explodes.
- John Waelti's column appears every Friday in the Times. He can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
