How Not to Choose a College

Two events this week pulled me back to the first pivotal year of my life, 1985. That spring was high school graduation. That fall was the start of college. Endings and beginnings.

On television that same year a pop culture phenomenon was unfolding on NBC - Miami Vice. Living alone, I don't like too much silence. Usually something (podcasts, Pandora, Spotify) is playing in the background. This week it was Jan Hammer. Hammer was the architect of the Miami Vice sound. Listening to the synth-heavy music made me feel 18 again - the future still unknown and still ahead. Limber and loose, full of juice. Ew, that might be as gross as it sounds, right? Meh, I'm keeping it in.

This nostalgic return to the 80's was preceded by a phone call Monday night with my son Drew. Still barely 18, he has mildly surprised me with how thoughtful he is regarding his academic and professional future. 1,500 miles away in Boston, he is taking deliberate steps in the right direction right away, always with one eye on the big picture. I'm sure there is still a fair amount of procrastinating and cramming on a semi-weekly basis, but so far so good.

So, not surprisingly, that phone call - combined with Crockett and Tubbs - unearthed my own memories of how I selected a school to attend in the fall of 1985. Or as I call it - How Not to Choose a College.

My first (and only) college visit was to a small farm town in west-central Minnesota - Morris -  220 miles away. Why I chose to visit the campus is a forgotten mystery. Nonetheless, the day of the scheduled tour - April 17, 1985 - promised to be a memorable one.

My parents and I left my hometown of Carlton, Minnesota (twenty miles south of Duluth) around 7am. The first 1/4 of the trip was familiar. But after we got off the freeway in Hinckley, MN nothing else would be recognizable.

With my parents chatting easily in the front seat (a single bench seat - remember those?), I was alone with my thoughts and the music playing on the radio. The most popular song at the time was Everybody Wants to Rule the World, by Tears for Fears. Whatever FM stations we were picking up along the way clearly had this tune in its heavy rotation. I must have heard it at least a dozen times that day.



By 9am we had driven through St. Cloud and were heading into Minnesota farm country. With Tears for Fears crying out, Welcome to your life, there's no turning back. . . . I began seeing strange, giant contraptions dominating the large, open tracts of land, water spitting out across brown fields. "Where the hell am I," I wondered. Nothing ever lasts forever, Everybody wants. . . . 

By the time our Dodge Dart had cruised past Avon, Melrose, and Freeport (with its smiley-faced water tower), I had silently concluded the trip was a waste of time.  Despite a clear blue sky and brilliant sunshine, my mood had turned dark. Morris was out. The final nails of my decision were driven in as we passed through the tiny villages of Starbuck (before the coffee) and Cyrus (before Miley). Regardless of the local Starbuck bank sign that read 88 ˚ F (still a state record for April 17th), I was completely cold to the notion of the next four years in the middle of nowhere. Acting on your best behavior, turn your back on Mother Nature, Everybody wants to. . . .

And then we turned into the campus of the University of Minnesota-Morris.  Of course, school officials didn't know or care that I was coming that day. They had a university to run. I was just some punk kid. But then why did they position those sunbathing co-eds near the parking lot that my dad pulled into? Coincidence? To this day I'm still not sure. "Sun-tanning in April. Is every day of college like this?" my 18 year-old brain wondered. Help me to decide, help me make the most of freedom and of pleasure. . . .



To be fair, I didn't have a clear idea of what a college campus should look like, but I immediately concluded that Morris must be the template. A central quad ringed by dormitories and classroom buildings. I'm going to school here. I was stunned by how quickly my mood changed from darkness to light. And I'm not even bipolar.

After a brief tour cemented my opinion, my parents met with a financial aid representative, leaving me to wander the campus some more on my own. After a five minute search, I found the PE Center. In an otherwise empty facility, there were a few adults (presumably professors) playing basketball. Having an odd number, they asked if I wanted to join them. "Seriously," I thought, "is the University trying to completely set the hook of my decision? First girls in bikinis - now this? Friendly professors inviting to play my favorite sport?"

45 sweaty minutes later, my parents found me. We had lunch, attended one more meeting, strolled the quad. My enthusiasm was evident. I would become a Cougar. That was easy.

Fast forward to the Monday evening conversation with my son, and I am reminded that the 21st century is no place for such whimsical decisions. According to the Huffington Post, higher education costs have risen by 1,120% in the last 30 years. That is not a misprint. Sadly, graduating high school seniors don't have any margins for error or whimsy. No room for mistakes or indecision. Distracted by quads and co-eds? Uh-uh. So glad we've almost made it, so sad they had to fade it, everybody wants to rule. . . .

I have never regretted my decision to attend the University of Minnesota-Morris. Oh sure, I wish I'd made more of a plan for my academic future. Still, Morris memories occupy a special place in my mind. But now - almost 30 years later - I am stunned by how little meaningful thinking I put in to choosing a college. I just got lucky. Morris was the right fit for me. Its size (2,000 students) was a comfortable transition from my small hometown. My dorm mates were friendly and  welcoming. There was genuine friendship. A happy oasis.

I suppose that is why all of my communications with Drew since he left for school last August include both 20th and 21st century reminders. The Modern Me is concerned that he stays safe, stays on top of his studies, and stays on track to graduate in four years. The Morris Me always seems to sneak in, however. Every phone call, email or text ends with the same five words. Don't forget to have fun. After all. . . .

. . . . Nothing ever lasts forever, Everybody wants to rule the world.