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September is the traditional month for the start of elementary school and freshman college move-in. Do you remember your first day in first grade? I do, and it had an unusual twist.
I was a late arrival in my mother's life, unexpected at her age of 42, and 48 in 1939 when I entered Gaysport Elementary School in Hollidaysburg.
Mothers were usually the escorts of their children to first grade, but my mom was concerned that she would look out of place, being so much older than other mothers who were probably in their late 20s or early 30s. So she asked my 20-year-old sister, Alma, to do the escorting.
Everything went well and the teacher, Miss Kephart, received us with obvious enthusiasm. After some introductory remarks, the mothers all departed and several of the children shed a tear, not having been left alone before. But that emotion soon subsided.
What came next caused some upset for me.
As a class bonding effort, Miss Kephart asked how many new students knew how to whistle. Hands went up all over the room, except me. I didn't know how to whistle but I didn't want to admit the deficiency. She then asked that we whistle in unison. I puckered up with everyone else but faked my whistle. Miss Kephart was satisfied with our unified effort and went on to other things.
I have my report card from first grade, where I was an average student, but deficient in music appreciation. Throughout the year, I was graded as "Cannot carry a melody alone." But I was also praised for clean fingernails.
My move-in at Penn State had no such drama.
It was early September 1953 when I arrived at Penn State College (it would become a university later that academic year) for Orientation Week. The ratio of men to women on the Penn State campus at that time was almost 6-1. There was only one girl for every six boys. Competition was fierce.
Orientation Week activities included getting a wallet-sized photo identification document called a Matriculation Card, or Trick Card in the campus vernacular. We also learned our way around campus, signed up for courses and got briefings on campus life from upperclassmen. One such was junior Jesse Arnelle, a greatly admired and highly respected Black football and basketball player who was the epitome of college achievement. He was an academically gifted student, a superb athlete, tall, muscular, handsome and possessing a blinding smile and captivating personality.
Arnelle addressed my group and stressed Penn State traditions and history. I knew of his athletic prowess and was star struck.
My freshman year came to an end with final exams in English composition (C), geology, which was nicknamed "Rocks for Jocks," (B), three physical education courses (2 A's and a B), sociology (D) and Air Force ROTC (D). My grade point average for that first year was 1.01, or a 71 percentile. I was barely passing, but determined to return for my sophomore year.
Fast forward: After graduation in 1957, and with maturity and ambition born of Navy experience and family responsibilities, I gained an MA from the University of Wisconsin-Madison and a Ph.D. from the London School of Economics, both with A+ averages.