Frankly Doctor, the end of
the war may have solved the world's problems, but not all of mine. Let me
explain.
Yes. I was home, alive, a
hero of sorts, clutching a four year free ride at the University of Michigan,
thanks to the GI Bill.
Yes, the home of the Victors Valiant, where athletes were
students, where winning was a tradition. Where campus life is everything that a
battle weary soldier might desire. I wanted to become one of them. A victor, a
winner.
A man.
But it really didn't work
out that simply.
First my girlfriend Rita and
I broke up. Once I shed my ribbon draped uniform the glamour was gone. That
hurt, Doctor. It really did! Was I less handsome? Less masculine? Inside I felt
okay. My hormones were raging. Perhaps hers weren't. You know what they say
about Jewish girls.
Dr. Freud looked up at me
through his squinting eyes.
"Son, you should know
that is a myth," he said with a knowing smile.
("That little old guy
was a fount of wisdom," I remember telling myself a couple of years
later.)
Rita moved with her family
to Waukegan, Illinois and attended the University of Illinois. (More on that
later.)
I told myself that campus
life in the coveted Ann Arbor, would heal the wounds of my fragile sense of self,
as I made the transition into civilian life.
The first psychological blow
was my assignment to live in Willow Run Village, a make-shift development built
by the government to house laborers in Henry Ford’s Willow Run
Bomber Plant, where they built the B-24 Liberator bombers that helped win the war. Now it was empty and the university,
desperate for housing, grabbed it.
When I arrived in Ann Arbor I
found the town and university swarming with ex Gl's, most on the GI Bill. I was
one of them; just another number at the very overcrowded university.
The "village"
looked very much like the barracks back at Indiantown Gap where I did my basic
training. It was in Ypsilanti, an ugly town, 12 miles from Ann Arbor.
Can you imagine Doctor, my dream of campus life, relegated to a barracks and riding a school bus to and from campus? Maybe that was it, Doctor. Was that it? There weren't many women at Willow Run Village.
Can you imagine Doctor, my dream of campus life, relegated to a barracks and riding a school bus to and from campus? Maybe that was it, Doctor. Was that it? There weren't many women at Willow Run Village.
He grunted. Put down his
pipe and and picked up his pencil.
"Ya" he said. “Tell
me some more."
What I saw of the campus was
through the window of a rattling school bus. The high point of the barracks
life was listening on my radio to the Cleveland Indians play the Boston Red Sox
in the World Series.
Even that didn't rock my
soul.
I wound up the session by
telling the doctor, of my difficult experience with class registration. We gathered in
huge, impersonal classrooms (lecture halls) where professors, some well known,
read from their so called scholarly books.
For example, our European History
class with Professor Reichenbach was held in the lobby of the University
museum. There were, perhaps, 500 folding chairs in this cavernous space. Since
the bus from Ypsilanti was usually late, I always sat near the back. I could
barely understand or hear what he was saying as he read from his book, which I
am sure was a great literary document. I rarely took notes. It was uninspiring,
to say the least.
I knew that something
unsavory was happening. I couldn't concentrate. I was depressed.
Finally, I went to the
University Health Service to see a "counselor". There was what he
called a “Worry Bird" on his
desk.
"Give your problems to the
bird. Maybe you will feel better".
I scoffed.
Can you imagine that, Doctor?
A worry bird!
Instead I headed back to
Cleveland for a serious mid semester rest and visit to a real therapist, who I
had known. That, and the change of scenery helped and I soon made it back to
Ann Arbor, just in time to finish the semester with acceptable grades.
There was hope.
Next: My major campus
achievements in Ann Arbor...
