Another day, another solicitation from Cornell, the university that I attended back there in the Bronze Age 1950s. I've got to admire their tenacity -- they've been holding out the tin cup for fifty years and I've never dropped in a nickel. Not even a copper.
Why so negligent? Well, there are a number of reasons. The first, and probably most important, is that I took my education so seriously that I became a teacher, and as a result, I never accumulated the kind of dough that would make the least impression on a multi-billion dollar endowment. A second reason: I sent my daughter to Cornell during the 1980s (at what now seems like the bargain rate of only $20,000 - $25,000 a year), and the total four-year cost of her stay was a sufficient contribution to the ole alma mater. And finally, other causes felt more pressing (last year, for example, Obama, and this year, helping to keep our state legislature blue). But these reasons are mere rationalization and excuse, for, truth to tell, I bear a grudge against Cornell. Let me unclasp a secret book and tell you about it.
In my first year at Cornell, I shared a room in an all-freshman dormitory. It was not gracious living, but I hadn't expected it to be. Cinder-block walls, composition floors, cheap extruded-aluminum furniture. Worst of all, the doors were fragile, hollow-core, and were always busting. I busted one -- I slid a piece of furniture and sliced a hole into the 1/8" plywood sheathing of Room 2117. (Whose brilliant idea was it to put fragile doors in the way of a thousand adolescent males?) Anyway, some guys came to fix the hole, which they did by gluing a 2" by 6" piece of plywood ONTO THE SURFACE OF THE DOOR. Talk about craftsmanship!
But here's the rub. I was billed $10 for the so-called repair. $10.00? Not so much, you say? Well, I was then employed at $1.25 an hour, so the perfunctory repair, which couldn't have taken five minutes to complete, represented the before-tax wages of a full day's labor. (Further context: the rent for my half of the room was $315 for the 32-week school year, or less than $10 a week.) Plus the bill was sent directly to my father, who was scrimping to send me whatever bucks he could afford and didn't need to know that I had wasted $10 laying waste to the elegant decor.
I was outraged. I'm still outraged.
Hey, Cornell. Make it up to me. Do the right thing. When you've contrived an apology and a recompense, well, then, maybe we can start to talk about possible donations.
Perhaps Dr. M should send Big Red this post in response to their next request for a contribution. Also, not sure what I have done right, but they only contact me every three or four years with a request.
Posted by: The Real EP | February 03, 2010 at 08:58 PM