I write a lot about my incredible college experience. It certainly exceeded my expectations in many
surprising ways. Even more than the
classes, or the professors, or the Boston-Cambridge electricity, nothing has
been more valuable in the last thirty-something years than the friendships that
were forged in dining halls, lectures, practice rooms, and hallways. Back then, we were a combination of
personalities from every walk of life. There
were the preppies, the public school standouts, the legacies, and the
internationals. Some of us were brash,
over-confident, over-achievers. Others
of us were intimidated and certain we were admissions errors. In time, we would see each other hung over,
tiptoeing down the walk of shame, in our skivvies, or saluting the porcelain
throne.
College campuses are the greatest of all melting pots,
making a mystery stew from an assortment of random ingredients. That’s how it came to be that I was assigned
to a freshman suite at the top of Wigglesworth I-entryway that shared a
bathroom fire door with the guys in Wigglesworth H. What this meant was that the bathroom I shared
with three other girls had a door that opened directly into the bathroom of
three other guys. Even more bizarre was
that our bathroom window, instead of opening directly out onto Mass Ave, opened
into a triangular compartment that faced the guy’s own bathroom window, both of
which were enclosed by an architectural element—a fixed decorative round window
that faced the street. It created a
pass-through from one bathroom to the other—perhaps too intimate for a
mixed-gender living situation. It was,
nonetheless, the hand we were dealt.
So it was that I became friends with the guys next
store. They were three of the most
different people I have ever known. Today,
one is a prominent juvenile and child welfare attorney in the Boston area. One is a retired classic professors who
helped establish the Ukrainian Catholic University in Lviv. And the other is Norb Vonnegut, former Wall
Street warrior turned best-selling author.
Norb was one of the first true preppies I ever met. Fresh from Phillips Exeter Academy, he made
the khaki-bottomed uniform look as natural as one’s own skin. He arrived on campus along with dozens of well-worn
friendships. He was at home. But the best thing about Norb is that he was
always a nice guy. While others
qualified their friendships by social class, or religion, or political affiliation,
or secondary school (it was not uncommon for some people to ask “where did you prep?”) Norb took everything and
everyone at face value. His “southern
gentleman” was always showing.
That is what makes this evening’s entertainment so
gratifying. Tonight I attended a book
signing at a local independently-owned bookstore. Norb was talking about his third novel in
four years, The Trust. I had already
read his book, but I could not resist the opportunity to show my support to an
old friend. The critics love his books
and so do I. He began writing in his
spare time with a financial career in full swing. His love of his craft shows in his easy
style. The appeal of his protagonists
reveals something of the author himself—true of heart, self-deprecating, sharp
as a tack, and a little bit clumsy.
I am grateful to Norb for inspiring me to write every
day. I want him to be successful,
because it brings hope to all of us who aspire to be writers. But even more important, I cheer for him
because, in this crazy mixed up world, I want to believe that nice guys can still
finish first. Please let it be so.
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