Gut Wrenching at Yenching

Today was a rare occasion to pal around with one of my favorite people:  my daughter.  We took in an afternoon showing of Moonrise Kingdom—an adorable, quirky film that she had already seen but wanted to share with me.  Afterward, we debated the merits of various late lunch destinations.  In the end she gave in to my Cambridge doctrine:  if you can find legitimate parking in Harvard Square, you are obligated to eat there.

My favorite Square destination is the legendary Bartley’s Burger Cottage, a decades old establishment that packs people at tables with strangers.  Their burgers are freshly ground, well-seasoned, and cooked properly—with a seared crust like a good steak.  Mrs. Bartley herself still seats people from the long line that forms on the sidewalk, rain or shine.  Today there was an open metered space directly in front of Bartley’s, but our taste buds had us seeking out Chinese.  That could only mean Yenching.

Yenching was the first establishment at which I ate as a college freshman.  It is now as it was then, situated on the corner of Mass Ave and Holyoke Street, directly across from the I-entry of Wigglesworth, where I lived in Harvard Yard.  For an entire year, its red-lettered sign was the view from my window.  For $2.82, you could get a one-time-through plateload of freshly cooked food from their buffet service.  It was here that we hosted lunch with geek-icon Tom Lehrer.  

It has been well over 25 years since I last ate at Yenching.  The food was better than I remembered, and the customers were much younger.  It was not unusual, back in the day, to enjoy a hearty lunch there in the company of Nobel prize winners, notable authors, brilliant scientists, and other assorted dignitaries.   Its good value and swift throughput made it a level playing field for students.  One could mingle among the greats and still make it to the next class on time.  If you were lucky, you could engage in polemic discourse on the way to lecture.

Sitting with my daughter, who, I am told, looks very much the way I did at that age, was as close to out-of-body time travel as I have ever come.  This could have been me.  Seeing her sitting there, with the image of Wigglesworth over her shoulder, the memories and the emotions of the Fall of 1976 came rushing out of their suppressed consciousness, surprising me by their intensity.  I remembered the eager young faces of roommates and neighbors who have since become lifelong friends.  I recalled the serendipity of discovering a childhood friend two doors down.  I smiled to recollect my first “preppy” sighting—predictably clad in khakis, top-siders, a dull blue crew neck sweater, and brandishing a superior attitude.

I had lofty goals in those days.  I arrived on campus confident in my musical ability, determined to pursue the more intellectual aspects of musicology.  I felt proud to join the ranks of Leonard Bernstein, Walter Piston, and John Harbison.  My music theory classes, however, were humbling, to say the least.  Although I persevered, completing my degree in music (even Yo-Yo Ma, who majored in math, joked to me that the Music Department was just too hard), it cured me of any aspirations I might have had to pursue a musical career.  The most important thing I learned was that I was intended for something else.

Fortunately, I found myself drinking from the world’s biggest fire hose.  I discovered my destiny, combining my acquired interest in management with a new fascination for the healthcare industry.  But it was not an easy road.  There were many bumps and bruises along the way.  I looked at my lovely daughter, wishing that I could spare her the trials and tribulations that are likely to conspire against her in the coming years.   But to do so would be to rob her of the self-discovery and enlightenment that comes from figuring it out for yourself. 

I was reminded today how much I fought for the right to make my own mistakes, and to take calculated risks with impunity.  It was that personal journey that was the most valuable aspect of my education.  No doubt, the institution provided a fertile ground while the classes taught me to exercise my analytical skills.  But until I was completely lost, I did not begin to find myself.