Not just for a weekend concert.
Or a family get together.
I mean pack up your shit, hit the road, and don’t come back for at least five years, if then.
I get it.
Not everyone can do it, and some people thought I was a big asshole for doing it.
I didn’t, and still don’t care.
People have plans, I understand that.
Plans had been laid out for my future: on a fly fishing trip to the high Sierra mountains, over a quart of Canadian V.O., my Dad laid it all out for me.
“First, mijo, after Notre Dame, it’s on to Harvard or Yale, whichever you can get into. I can get you lined up with a large law firm in Los Angeles where you can spend a few years, ascending the ladder,” he paused between gulps of whiskey.
“But Pop,” I started.
He dismissed my interjection with a wave of his strong hand.
“You’ll need to learn Spanish. I can see you opening up Spanish-speaking law offices for the firm. Fast track to partner,” he winked.
“Next step”, he continued “Politics.”
I was kind of amazed. I had received thirty-three letters of acceptance (only Penn State turned me down because they had fulfilled their quota of out-of-state students). It had been my number one choice.
Number two, and there wasn’t even a third or fourth choice, was UCLA.
I had been to several parties there and in North Hollywood, and I thought the film school was a good place to start on the millions of blonde babes that seemed to start at Thousand Oaks, and end down in San Clemente.
But as soon as I got the acceptance letter from ND, it was as if, it was a done deal.
I was going to Notre Dame.
I remember hearing a story from my father’s lips about how he and his brothers all went to a Catholic school and on every Friday during football season, the children would all assemble in the playground and march into classes with the Notre Dame Victory March blaring through the school speakers. I bet if those nuns had any pools going, their money was on the Fighting Irish.
So, it was understood I would go to South Bend, Indiana to learn law.
Understood by everyone but moi.
I had just purchased an awesome Fender Bandmaster amp and my little rock band was in full swing. I really liked the idea of UCLA film school.
And the blondes.
But no.
Off I go to the most prestigious Catholic university in the world, with one eye on school and the other wandering aimlessly anywhere but there.
It was only after I had gone through all the orientation and got settled into my dormitory room that I found out.
“No women? Are you serious?”
I heard two students chatting as they moved in.
The first one said, “this University has seven thousand students and all of them are male.”
I was stunned.
I felt a little betrayed actually.
If I had known it was all male at the inception when I was making my selection for college, it would not have made the top twenty.
The next year, the university would actually go co-ed for the first time in their long history.
358 women. 7000 students.
I lasted one semester and then ……
Stay well.
