 by Dr. Jeffrey Lant Author's program note. Did you see Barbra Streisand in "Funny Girl" in 1968? Then you saw (and heard) a woman absolutely determined to shape her destiny, rise above, seize the moment... And when she jumps on the tugboat and serenades New York and the world, Statue of Liberty rooting her on, you know that nothing, absolutely nothing is going to stop her... "Don't tell me not to fly, I simply got to." Why am I reminding you of this soaring cinematic moment? Because at the same time this film was in the making in New York, I too was living one of the most important moments of my life... and I, too, had a ship of destiny to board... in the very harbor she glided over. I was 20... I was sailing to Europe... the world was my oyster... and no one was going to rain on my parade. Thus, to start this article go to any search engine and let one of the greatest voices ever immerse you in her unbeatable positive. "I'm gonna live and live NOW/Get what I want, I know how... Get ready for me love, 'cause I'm a 'comer'." I was a "comer", too, and Dr. Kerr helped me make it. Even in California today I suspect the name and achievements of Clark Kerr (1911-2003) are too little known and fading. But a great state became an educated state, and so greater still, in large measure because of his work. I am happy to acknowledge my debt now... because, like most students, I wasn't paying much attention to such matters at the time. He was a "brain" and looked the egghead role. He went to prestigious institutions and they suited him -- Swarthmore College, Stanford University, and U.C. Berkeley. He started his career as an associate professor of industrial relations... but his metier was not in America's industries but with America's uneven higher education system. And he knew exactly what he wanted... and by the time he was appointed U.C. Berkeley's first chancellor when that position was created in 1952 he was ready for his monumental work. I was only 5 that year but Kerr was already working hard for -- me. As I grew up, Kerr's achievements became legion, until he graced (in October 1960) the cover of "Time ", a feat few educators ever reach. By then his great plan was well along, the plan that directed only the certifiable elite of California's students to the great universities (including U.C. Santa Barbara where I matriculated, Class of '69). Lesser students were sent to state colleges, whilst lesser still found their justifiable place in what were then called junior colleges. The elite. Kerr was an unabashed elitist. He knew that all the great nations on earth -- England, France, Germany, Japan -- catered, first and foremost, to the students who would undertake the greatest deeds and so achieve the greatest results, the results that would advance and perfect society. It made sense to him such students should get superior treatment ... because they would become, in due course, the movers and shakers of their time, benefiting all. The key to selling this idea was a single word -- "merit." Everything was open to every California student and as you achieved merit so you reaped its great advantages. For students at the top of the heap, this meant tax-payer subsidized tuition -- and, for the creme de la creme, even enrollment at many of the world's most celebrated and rigorous institutions at in-state subsidized tuition. The University of the Andes. Because of my perfect 4.0 grade point average, putting me at the top of my elite class, it was inevitable that I would participate in this superb program if I wanted to... and I most assuredly did. But where? This called for parental conference. My father was keen I become either a criminal lawyer or a member of the Foreign Service. We decided that enrolling through U.C. Santa Barbara as a student at the University of the Andes made the most sense, as I wanted to specialize in Latin America... and learn what was commonly adjudged the champagne of the Spanish language as found in Bogata. The fact that my Spanish fluency was not adequate for university lectures was thought immaterial, though it was most assuredly not. In the event it did not matter... because I didn't go to the (not yet) venerable University of the Andes (founded 1948) after all and so never mastered the language's limpid clarity and grace, the pride of the nation. There had been, you see, "enormous changes at the last minute", a wonderful line that belongs to Grace Paley. Viva La Revolucion! Viva! Two things made a change of plans advisable. First, there was Russell Fitzgibbon, the professor I would have had to study with on matters of Latin American politics and history. I found his books pedestrian, without insight and nary a gracious phrase to be had. The fact that his lectures were nothing more than readings from his out-of-date texts only made matters worse. I was young, brash, and outspoken. Fitzgibbon was a hang-over from the days before Clark Kerr elevated Santa Barbara into a university. Old and uninspired he was simply going through the motions prior to retiring. It goes without saying, he hated me on sight. There wasn't room in the same department for us both... and so my certain rise to a string of embassies to South American nations glad to have me died forever... the coffin nailed shut by the second factor. Due to a student uprising at the University of the Andes in 1967-68, the prior class of University of California students enrolled were able to attend no classes for the entire year. No doubt their Spanish became limpid, but they had lost a year towards their U.C. degrees. Parents of these the best and the brightest were understandably dismayed. The fates were conspiring but to what end? Brian Sealander. On what slender threads do events of the greatest significance depend? You are about to see. Here they hinge on a kind and gentle man named Brian Sealander. He had the job of organizing all the elite students about to leave for destinations worldwide. That was supposed to include me... but Bogata was not to be. I was in despair, not just because I wasn't going to Bogata... but because it looked like I wasn't going anywhere at all, 4.0 or not. But that, too, was not the end of this story... For on the very last day before the U.K. college places closed, literally hours to the deadline, Brian (a friend I never knew I had) entered me for the jewel in the crown, Scotland's University of St. Andrews (founded 1413)... and because of my class standing I got the place... sadly at the expense of some fellow named Ingoldsby from U.C. Riverside. He was now an alternate and I, having taken his place, was on my way to my future via the MS Aurelia, a ship that catered for students only. But even now this tale is not over... for just as the little Aurelia (rumored to be the smallest ship crossing the Atlantic) moved gracefully into New York Harbor, cheered on by the raucous cries of her young, privileged passengers, there was a thump, thump, thump down the narrow staircase and into our sardine can, narrow accommodation for four. First a thump, then an open suitcase, then a cascade of a rich man's travel kit (I had never seen an electric shoe polisher)... then, immaculately dressed but squarely on the floor, William Powers Ingoldsby, with that shy, wistful smile all his own... ... the man I had displaced and did we but know it my almost instantly best college friend and confidante. I had lost the uncertainties of South America for my ancestral home, its oldest and proudest university, and the best friend man ever had. Even la Streisand couldn't have sung it better... "Hey, Mr. Arnstein, here I am..." |
