The Honors Dorm

So I went to my first HSA (Honors Students Association) meeting, and met the President, Joe Durnell. Joe was a Midwesterner and he led the meeting with a dry, sardonic wit. Also, he wasn't a good looking guy, but a bunch of pretty coeds seemed to hang around him. I introduced myself after the meeting, and told him I wanted to get involved in the club.

Although I grew up on LI, I always found NY accents grating, particularly the ones of my peer group. Years ago, Wifey and I found an old cassette recording of my buddies and I sitting around my room, chatting. We sounded like we were in a movie --the LI accents so thick.

Joe didn't speak that way. He had elocution. He didn't drop his rs, or turn his "yous" into "yas." I decided there and then that I'd change my pronunciation and delivery. I was 18 and now that the boy was out of Long Island, I was going to take some of the Long Island out of the boy. I wanted to sound like Joe Durnell.

Joe hosted a party at his apartment at the HD. Although he and his roommates were juniors, to me they were grown men. One was Dave, a large, Jimmy Buffett look alike from North Florida. He wore Hawaian shirts and ALWAYS had a drink in his hand. Another roommate was Mike, also a Midwesterner. Mike had a beard, was a music engineering major, and wrote a wine review article for the UM paper, "Mike's Mondo Vino." These were wordly men. I wanted to be like them.

The Honors Students at UM those days were truly a talented bunch. Most were attracted there by scholarships, or by the world class Marine Science program. They were students who could have gone to the likes of Duke, or even lesser Ivy League schools (in those days, Penn was pretty easy to get into. No one wanted to go to the crappy Philly neighborhood. I laugh, now, to hear that Penn marketed themselves so well, it's a "hot school.").

Looking back, the talent level was high. One friend of Joe and his roommates was Tom Kodadek. Tom was a Marine Bio major, who went on to get a doctorate at Stanford, I think. Last week, he was in the news as the discoverer of a new test to detect Alzheimer's Disease.

The party was great. Joe and his roommates had a killer stereo, and blasted Ramones songs. Everyone seemed to know a dance to "Sheena is a Punk Rocker." Dave kept slipping Jimmy Buffet songs onto the record player. Late in the night, someone had a guitar, and all sang along to Neil Young's "Rust Never Sleeps."

We were all young Baby Boomers. Jimmy Carter had just been voted out, and Reagan was the new sheriff. The Vietnam War had ended 4 years before. We were required to register for the Draft, but no one was concerned he'd have to really serve, unless he joined the military to pay for tuition. The hostages had been released by Iran.

I met an Israeli girl, Dalit, at the party. We talked about Reagan. I told her I had voted for John Anderson, that Reagan was a reactionary. Dalit told me I had it all wrong, that under Carter, America had become a laughing stock. It used to be that an American passport brought awe to someone seeing it, she said. That would return with Reagan. Wow, I thought --a Jewish Republican! I had never met one. I had so much to learn...

I hung with Joe, and over the coming weeks, he adopted me as a protege. I haven't spoken to him in nearly 30 years, and I still owe him a debt of gratitude. He included me in meetings, and then gave me a great gift. He selected me to go to Atlanta, to a NCHC convention. The NCHC was a national group of Honors PRograms.

Joe picked another freshman, Janet, who he was dating. The three of us had a blast in Atlanta, a place I'd never been. I remember a pub near Emory (the host school) named Manuels. Joe was on national committees, and I admired how he handled himself. Coming from Miami, a university not known, in 1979, for academics, we were a curiosity. I remember one young lady from LSU, a gorgeous blonde southern belle, asking me if I studied underwater basketweaving. I decided I did NOT want to copy a southern accent --they all reminded me of Gomer Pyle. But the LSU girl was extremely hot.

Joe hung with Janet, and I palled around with the LSU girl. I felt like Joe's little brother. He knew Atlanta well, from childhood visits, and led us up the elevators of the PeachTree Hotel. We were real grown ups...

Back in Coral Gables, there were more parties at he HD. I hung there every week. I met two fellows who lived in apartment Z. They were both names Mark, and so became known as the "Marks Brothers/" They were also known as Cheech and Chong for their prodigious marijuana use. Mark T was from New Castle, Indiana, and wanted to become a vet. Mark B was from Cincinnatti, and was pre med. Both spoke like surfers. Years later, when I saw Sean Penn playing Jeff Spicoli, I was convinced he took the character from the Marks Brothers.

"Dave, DUDE! You need to smoke more, especially when you fly in an airplane. It's always a good idea to be a little higher than the contraption you're flying in."

The Marks Brothers other 2 roommates were nerdy guys, who rumor had it were gay.

Depite his drug use, Mark B somehow got into med school in Ohio (after his father took care of a possession charge) and became a leading radiologist at a nationally known medical center. Mark T --whereabouts unknown.

Meanwhile, I was living in the Towers, with a nice fellow named Ahmjed, from Karachi, Pakistan. We taught each other about Islam and the Secular Humanist form of Reform Judaism I knew. Ahmhjed was a nice fellow, but he never wanted to drink or chase coeds...

In January, when my Spring semester started, I got a call from Barbara Clark, the Honors Program's administrator. There was an opening in the HD! Barbara, sort of the mother of the program, knew all that went on. "I'm not sure you want to move, Dave. The opening is in Apartment Z --with the Marks Brothers."

I accepted, packed up my 2 suitcases, said goodbye to Ahmjed, who took the news graciously (he did everything graciously) and walked across campus . Z was on the third floor. I opened the door, and, just like a Cheech and Chong movie, a cloud of week smoke came out.

Mark and Mark were on the brown naugehide sofa, totally stoned. It was 10 am on a weekday. Pink Floys's "The Wall" was blasting. Over the rest of the semester, they played "The Wall", no kidding, hundreds of times.

"Hey, you're the nice Jewish Dude from NY, right?. Joe Durnell's buddy? Well, welcome, young Dude."

I was home.