The Honors Dorm

The Fall of 1981. I remember the weather, for some reason. We had monsoon -like conditions for the first 2 weeks of classes, and we sloshed through the puddles to get to the staircase for our apartment.

I was happy. I had a steady girlfriend, and was truly feeling like an adult. We passed the time of the rainy afternoons mostly by my girlfriend lecturing me on what a culture-less, unsophisticated, "typical American" I was. Ah --had we married, I can imagine the years of happiness...

Barry and I shared a bedroom, and the other room had Mike the LI Italian, and a new roommate --Jorge. Jorge was from Miami Lakes, the son of two doctors, and out of central casting for upper class, Miami Cuban American Republicanism. I don't think I realized there was such a thing as a college Republican then, but Jorge taught us all quite a bit.

He had a huge Ronald Reagan poster on his wall, looking into the eyes of the Farah Fawcett poster Mike had on his wall. He and Mike got along well, though Mike never really got the cultural diversity thing. One day, he came back after class, and handed Jorge a poster announcing a meeting of the Puerto Rican Students Association. He thought he had done a generous act, and Jorge asked if he understood that he was Cuban, and NOT, for God's sakes, one of those definitely Democratic (and probably even Socialist) Puerto Ricans.

Mike replied, in his classic LI accent "Ah, c'mon George --youse all Spics --is there really a difference?"

Despite his inelegance, Mike studied hard, did well, and ended up getting into medical school in Alabama. I haven't spoken to him since 1984, but when I saw "My Cousin Vinny" I thought Mike in Alabama must be a similar dynamic. Last I heard, he became an Infectious Disease specialist, and was living in Little Rock, Arkansas, where I assume he still cheers for the Mets and Jets and talks like one of Tony Soprano's crew...

Jorge, Barry, and I grew close. I put an ad in the "Hurricane," the school paper, seeking volunteers for the "Draft Ted Kennedy for '84" campaign, and leaving Jorge's name and number. He got many responses from the assorted hippie types, and he'd curse at them in Spanish, and hang up the phone.

Jorge wrote "Al Haig for President" in the dust on the roof of my car, and it baked in the Miami sun. Despite repeated washings, when I finally sold the car years later, I could still see the ad for the famous former Reagan Cabinet member, faintly embedded in my '78 Firebird.

Jorge dated mostly Jewish coeds from the northeast ('they think I'm exotic") and kept a 4.0 GPA in Honors Economics. Barry excelled in his classes, despite my always being succesful in getting him to goof off instead of studying.

Eric spent about 1/2 the nights sleeping on our sofa, also acing his pre med classes.

The prior year, our parents had been billed by Residence Halls for "excessive filth." We had gone the entire year without once cleaning our bathroom. So, one evening, Mike, Barry, Jorge and I had a meeting, and decided we'd each clean the bathroom one time per month.

Not so fast, said Jorge. He had NEVER cleaned a bathroom, had maids do it his whole life, and was not going to do it now. Cleaning anything insulted his wealthy, Capitalist sense of things. He was serious.

We politely told Jorge that we understood, but if he failed in his duty, we'd kick his ass. His month was November, as I recall.

November came, and we all waited anxiously. Would Jorge invite the beat down?

One evening, we all came home to see a tiny, Central American lady in our apartment, in a maid's uniform. "Who the hell are you?" Mike demanded. She answered, "Senors --I am the maid for Mr. Jorge."

She proceeded to clean the bathroom AND kitchen far better than we did. Mike thought Jorge had not lived up to his duty, and we should still kick his ass. Barry and I demurred --the effect of the better cleaning was what mattered --we gave Jorge a reprieve...

Meanwhile, I was taking Embryology. The Professor, at the beginning of the course, asked how many of us were pre meds. About 75% raised our hands. "Great --this class is most like what you'll be doing your first two years of med school."

As the class progressed, I was horrified. I was bored beyond belief, looking at slides, and analyzing what I saw. I was bad at it. I truly hated it.

Meanwhile, I savored my English classes, and History classes, and Religion classes.

One day, in December, I simply walked into an academic counselor's office, asked what was involved in changing my major to English, and that was it. Just like that, I had changed my future. No med school --I was going to become an English professor.

I told my rich girlfriend, and she reacted strangely --how would I support myself? As a writer? Writers starved, and lived in horrible little garrets in seedy parts of town!

I wasn't too worried --I was all of 20 years old. I just knew that med school wasn't it for me. But then, I had to tell my father the devastating news. His dream , like the dream of ALL Jewish Dads, of being able to introduce "His son, the doctor," was not to be...

I drove home to Delray, and we sat in the Florida room. I broke the news and held my breath. His reply "I wondered how long you were going to play with the science thing. You're an English student! You won English student of the year at high school. I always knew that's what you'd end up doing."

Not only WASN'T he disappointed -- he was PROUD of me. We talked for hours, and he said that saying "My son the mentsch" was all he ever wanted to be able to do. If possible, he cautioned, do something someday where I'm my own boss. That was his only advice.

God, how I adored and loved that man. He was truly my mentor, hero, advisor...His age made him like a kindly grandfather AND a father. He was truly the big man in my life.

Of course, I had no idea he'd be dead in less than a year.

I returned to Building 22, and finished out my last semester as a pre med. Somehow I managed Bs and Cs in my science and calculus classes.

I went to the bookstore and looked up the texts and novels I'd be reading Spring, 1982 as an English major. Lawrence, Hardy, Steinbeck...

I was truly excited for January, 1982.