Four And A Half Decades Gone By

 So my college friend Jean, who waited until the last possible seconds on her biological clock to have kids, is moving her daughter into UM this week. She posted pictures of unloading stuff in the rain -- she had to drive all the way from Weston, where she lives.

At the same time, Miami New Times had an article about the new, luxurious freshman dorm, Centennial Village, so named because UM celebrates its 100 year anniversary in 2025. They've just finished demolishing MY freshman dorm, then called the 1968 Complex, on account of it opened in 1968. When I moved in, it seemed far older than 11 years -- prison like, co-ed by floor, with prison-like central bathrooms.

Later on, they turned it into a "Residential College," where a faculty member and his or her family lived there, hosting cool events. Two of my favorite professors, Steve and Ross, were "Masters" early on. Steve is retired now in the D.C. area, and Ross is mostly retired after serving as Provost of SMU.

Of course, the news drew me down Memory Lane, a street quite boring to all except those who traveled it together. Poor Wifey has to endure it all the time -- most recently last Friday as Barry and I drank together on Zoom and told stories hilarious to us.

I met Barry in the Honors Dorm, a WW II era apartment building much nicer than 1968. I moved there in the Spring of '80, when someone dropped out of the Honors Program, which meant no living in Building 22. Barry had a similar experience -- he started in 1968, too, with an roommate I think was nicknamed Sharkey, with a state of the art stereo who told Barry he was allowed to only touch two knobs: off/on and volume. I think "Spinal Tap" used Sharkey as an inspiration years later, when the character told the narrator, about his special guitar: "Don't even LOOK at that one."

But back to 1968. My roommate was a small, dark fellow who was very shy, and foreign. Me, Mr. Welcoming Committee even then, thrust out my hand and said "Hey roomie, I'm Dave, from Long Island!" He shook my hand and said he was from Pakistan -- Karachi, specifically. I asked his name and I swore I heard "I'm Jed." Ok, cool -- he took his American nickname from "The Beverly Hillbillies," but whatever.

I said "Hey Jed!" and set about introducing him to the guys I had already met. Three Trinidadians, one Black, one Chinese, and one Indian: Gary, Fred, and Ved. I learned quickly that Trinidad was diverse, and in the case of at least the Chinese guy, anti semitic, too -- but that's a whole different story.

There was Peter, a Queens Irish guy who wanted to be the next Pete Breslin ("We have the same name!"), and the Daves, one Jewish guy from Shaker Heights, and the other a country boy from rural North Carolina. There was Chris Evert (his real name) a tall, blonde beach bum looking guy from Lauderdale, who was quickly expelled after trying to bring his Harley to the 11th floor via a pulley system he designed and built (he was an engineering major).

There was Bill, a VERY nice nerdy Jewish guy from Miami Beach who was a senior, and never wanted to move to a different dorm and ended up in med school. There was another Dave, from PA, and Timmy, another Irish guy from Pittsburgh, who flew home for every Steelers home game, via his rich Dad.

There was Kevin, whose Dad owned an oil distributer in New Hampshire, and who early on fell asleep drunk with his hard contacts in and woke up blind, which he yelled as he maniacally ran down the hallway, banging into the walls. I had a car and drove him to South Miami Hospital -- just scratched corneas, and his sight returned.

Another guy nicknamed Bo, from Philly, who only lasted 3 months before missing his dealer in Philly, and transferring to Temple.

There were more, of course, but those come to memory. And the point is, to each I said "Hey -- this is my roomie, Jed -- he's from Pakistan!"

I swear it was late September, 1.5 months into the semester, when Jed said we needed to talk. He was so quiet and polite. "Um, David," he said in his subcontinent accent, "you are so friendly and nice, and I appreciate how you introduce me to everyone, but I must tell you, my name is AHMJED, not Jed."

What? How was that possible? He explained when I asked his name he replied "Ahmjed," but I heard "I'm Jed." Holy Allah -- why didn't you tell me earlier? "I felt bad, and kind of started to like the nickname Jed."

I felt awful, but he said it was cool. Right before break, I came home to find him crying on the phone -- his Uncle, a government official was assassinated in Islamabad. I tried to console him, but as a Muslim he didn't drink. Poor guy.

He was an electrical engineering major and transferred to Auburn -- apparently they had a better program. We remained pen pals for a few years, and lost touch. I tried to look him up, but Ahmjed Mohammed Khan is like John Smith over there. I wonder if he introduces himself as "Jed."

I grew up with little diversity, in white, ethnic, New York. The vast majority of my peers in Levittown and Wantagh were Italian, Irish, or Jewish. There was the occasional Protestant -- I remember one friend, Lee Ann, saying she was Episcopalian, and we all found that hilarious since her denomination had the sound "piss" in it. Yeah -- real cosmopolitan. 

But at UM, it was instant diversity, and I took to it. I learned there were particularly exotic creatures called Latin Jews. What??? Jews lived in the Northeast, Chicago, California, and South Florida. Colombia? Venezuela? Cuba? Get the F out of here!

Fate would hold that 45 years after learning of these black swans of the Hebrew world, to my naive self, at least, both of my Ds would marry them! And boy has that been an amazing blessing.

So four and a half decades ago, I was carrying my Pioneer receiver, turntable, and two speakers, and one suitcase, to my room. I let Jed, later Ahmjed, play whatever records he wanted -- I was no Sharkey! And he did -- his family sent him a few LPs of dudes singing in Arabic. Did my American friends and I play them when Ahmjed was away, and laugh our asses off? Maybe...

So here's to the new crop of Baby Canes -- may most, if not all of them, enjoy the U nearly as much as I did. And I will continue those strolls down that boring Memory Lane -- sorry, Wifey.