06-19-2013, 03:19 PM
Dang it. Redrum stole my "In a Volkswagen" line.
January 1, 1972 - Watched the Rose Bowl on our brand new and first color TV sitting in a snowbound Colorado basement. I was 8 years old. Stanford won, the sky was bluer than blue, the grass was greener than green, and as far as I knew Stanford was a school located in some place called Pasadena in exotic southern California.
Sometime in the early 1970s - Laird Rollins' sister graduated high school and was off to Stanford. Not to be sexist or anything, but as far as I knew Stanford was a school full of smoking hot Laird Rollins' sister look-a-likes located in California. I asked Laird where exactly. "Monterey I think."
1980 - Went to a college fair hosted by South High School (go Rebels) in Denver. I remember going to Michigan's presentation, MIT's (yeah right), possibly Oregon, possibly Tennessee (and wth is Tennessee doing recruiting high school kids in Colorado during ski season? Oh yeah.) Hey Stanford is on the list. I wonder if Laird Rollins' sister recruits for them? (Laird moved out of state years before this.) Worth checking out. Fun facts: Stanford is actually located in Stanford, which is a postal code for an area immediately adjacent to Palo Alto in Santa Clara County, California. It is located closer to San Jose than San Francisco, but (at the time) in San Francisco's area code. Vincent White from right here at Mullen High goes to school and plays football at Stanford (lots of boos - we were sitting in a room at South after all); nobody gets into Stanford - nobody (OK I'm done here); and their regional recruiter is Mr. Rogers' doppleganger right down to his hushpuppies. Yeah, I'm really done here.
1984 (November) - Mini-recession job prospects so far include going back to the Denver area and working for the civil engineering firm where I had spent the summer prior (lukewarm, although I would spend the following summer there); a job for Exxon pretending to be a petroleum engineer in Andrews, Texas ("Don't worry, we'll train you." "Where do you go for fun?" "Midland or Odessa." "Where do they go for fun?" "El Paso or Dallas."); a job designing nuclear power plant piping in Cherry Hill, NJ (that sounds way cooler than it is); and a job with General Dynamics Electric Boat Division in Groton, CT that would probably entail designing submarines, although it was hard to discern exactly what we would be doing since I did not have clearance during my interview to see anything more than locked filing cabinets and more 'don't worry we will train the you that is a civil engineer not a naval architect.' But our cab from the airport was rolled by an angry mob protesting anti-union stances taken by good ole GD, so that was pretty exciting. The guy from U Cincinnati sharing the cab with me said it best. 'This might be a sign to find a different job.'
Anyway, why not grad school? I asked my favorite professors to list the graduate schools other than GT they would attend or be on faculty if they could do so simply by asking. (I doubt it would happen, but I didn't want one school on every list to be Tech for fear I was a mole working for the Dean of the School of Civil Engineering; heck I even asked the Dean.) Pretty universal: MIT, Berkeley, Stanford.
I applied to those three. (I gained entrance to those three.) MIT called first, offering a two year RA in transportation engineering. Full ride. "But I'm interested in water resources." "Well, we don't have anything there right now. I'm sure you will come to love transportation. Cambridge is really nice. Not so much right now (February), but, and that reminds me, you should really visit a program before signing up." Hmmm, good advice. I was sort of thinking about just throwing a dart on the map and seeing if I hit the Pacific or Atlantic Ocean, but he does have a point. Sooooo....spring break is coming up. I have four real choices:
1. Stay in Atlanta. I've never done that for spring break. Second cheapest alternative.
2. Go to Panama City with everyone else. I've almost always done that for spring break. Cheapest alternative. (And why that is, is another thread.)
3. Boston
4. San Francisco
Boston....San Francisco.....Boston.....San Francisco..... I have two choices at one location; one choice at the other. San Francisco open your Golden Gate.
March 1985. I visit the University of California at Berkeley, which is honestly my first choice of the three. (Respect points through the floor!) I hang out on Telegraph, eat at Harry's Hoffbrau (?) and spend an evening in Larry Blake's Rathskeller. Memphis Guitar Slim. Freaking awesome. I tour the campus the next day and meet with the CE department chair at the appointed time. "Good news! You have been accepted!" (Awesome. Based on last night alone, I love this place.) "Not as good news....there is no money.....well, I mean you never know, but sorry, I tried." (Booooo! Estimated tuition + living expenses were something on the order of more than zero, which is what I had saved in the bank.)
March 1985, one day later. After arising from a no-tel motel bed off El Camino somewhere in the vicinity of the Millbrae-Burlingame border, I drove south through the heart of the Peninsula wondering if I'd wind up in some place like Groton, or Cambridge counting cars for credit after all. Hell, I didn't visit, but this is plain old monetary fate. Damn this place is gorgeous. "Climate Best by Government Test." You got that straight. It must be room temperature. Slight breeze. The humidity actually feels good. Aha, Santa Clara County line. Hey remember Mr. Rogers? Yeah, forgot about that guy. Look at me now! Oh yeah, nobody but nobody gets into Stanford. Yeah, well I got into MIT Mr. Rogers. Suck on that!!! Hey now, gather yourself, the sign for Stanford University is just up ahead (leaving El Camino and swinging right on to University....) Holy shit.
After touring the campus with a young professor (wow this place is nice, they sure dig sandstone and tile, look at all the open space, this place is huuuuge, hey check out those bear paws running all over the place....that must be what they do with their money in Berkeley rather than giving it to grad students), we meet with another young professor. "This is Jeff." (Jeff? you call professors by their first names?). "Jeff will be your adviser. I think this makes the most sense because he runs the hydraulics lab." Wait, what? That sounds like good news. Professor 1 (laughing): "Oh I'm really sorry. I dragged you all over the place and never told you the good news! Here, you might find this interesting." Hands over a letter (which is still ensconced somewhere in my personal effects). Congratulations.....your credentials......pleased to offer....teaching assistant......full fellowship......water resources.....fluid dynamics lab.....new equipment.....we think you will be challenged.....exciting opportunity.....monthly stipend to cover all anticipated expenses.....signature by May 1.......we look forward to you coming......California......good luck.....future endeavors...Sincerely......
I know I did a touchdown dance in my head. I may have done one in real life right then and there. Hard to tell, and if I did my professors never let on.
January 1, 1972 - Watched the Rose Bowl on our brand new and first color TV sitting in a snowbound Colorado basement. I was 8 years old. Stanford won, the sky was bluer than blue, the grass was greener than green, and as far as I knew Stanford was a school located in some place called Pasadena in exotic southern California.
Sometime in the early 1970s - Laird Rollins' sister graduated high school and was off to Stanford. Not to be sexist or anything, but as far as I knew Stanford was a school full of smoking hot Laird Rollins' sister look-a-likes located in California. I asked Laird where exactly. "Monterey I think."
1980 - Went to a college fair hosted by South High School (go Rebels) in Denver. I remember going to Michigan's presentation, MIT's (yeah right), possibly Oregon, possibly Tennessee (and wth is Tennessee doing recruiting high school kids in Colorado during ski season? Oh yeah.) Hey Stanford is on the list. I wonder if Laird Rollins' sister recruits for them? (Laird moved out of state years before this.) Worth checking out. Fun facts: Stanford is actually located in Stanford, which is a postal code for an area immediately adjacent to Palo Alto in Santa Clara County, California. It is located closer to San Jose than San Francisco, but (at the time) in San Francisco's area code. Vincent White from right here at Mullen High goes to school and plays football at Stanford (lots of boos - we were sitting in a room at South after all); nobody gets into Stanford - nobody (OK I'm done here); and their regional recruiter is Mr. Rogers' doppleganger right down to his hushpuppies. Yeah, I'm really done here.
1984 (November) - Mini-recession job prospects so far include going back to the Denver area and working for the civil engineering firm where I had spent the summer prior (lukewarm, although I would spend the following summer there); a job for Exxon pretending to be a petroleum engineer in Andrews, Texas ("Don't worry, we'll train you." "Where do you go for fun?" "Midland or Odessa." "Where do they go for fun?" "El Paso or Dallas."); a job designing nuclear power plant piping in Cherry Hill, NJ (that sounds way cooler than it is); and a job with General Dynamics Electric Boat Division in Groton, CT that would probably entail designing submarines, although it was hard to discern exactly what we would be doing since I did not have clearance during my interview to see anything more than locked filing cabinets and more 'don't worry we will train the you that is a civil engineer not a naval architect.' But our cab from the airport was rolled by an angry mob protesting anti-union stances taken by good ole GD, so that was pretty exciting. The guy from U Cincinnati sharing the cab with me said it best. 'This might be a sign to find a different job.'
Anyway, why not grad school? I asked my favorite professors to list the graduate schools other than GT they would attend or be on faculty if they could do so simply by asking. (I doubt it would happen, but I didn't want one school on every list to be Tech for fear I was a mole working for the Dean of the School of Civil Engineering; heck I even asked the Dean.) Pretty universal: MIT, Berkeley, Stanford.
I applied to those three. (I gained entrance to those three.) MIT called first, offering a two year RA in transportation engineering. Full ride. "But I'm interested in water resources." "Well, we don't have anything there right now. I'm sure you will come to love transportation. Cambridge is really nice. Not so much right now (February), but, and that reminds me, you should really visit a program before signing up." Hmmm, good advice. I was sort of thinking about just throwing a dart on the map and seeing if I hit the Pacific or Atlantic Ocean, but he does have a point. Sooooo....spring break is coming up. I have four real choices:
1. Stay in Atlanta. I've never done that for spring break. Second cheapest alternative.
2. Go to Panama City with everyone else. I've almost always done that for spring break. Cheapest alternative. (And why that is, is another thread.)
3. Boston
4. San Francisco
Boston....San Francisco.....Boston.....San Francisco..... I have two choices at one location; one choice at the other. San Francisco open your Golden Gate.
March 1985. I visit the University of California at Berkeley, which is honestly my first choice of the three. (Respect points through the floor!) I hang out on Telegraph, eat at Harry's Hoffbrau (?) and spend an evening in Larry Blake's Rathskeller. Memphis Guitar Slim. Freaking awesome. I tour the campus the next day and meet with the CE department chair at the appointed time. "Good news! You have been accepted!" (Awesome. Based on last night alone, I love this place.) "Not as good news....there is no money.....well, I mean you never know, but sorry, I tried." (Booooo! Estimated tuition + living expenses were something on the order of more than zero, which is what I had saved in the bank.)
March 1985, one day later. After arising from a no-tel motel bed off El Camino somewhere in the vicinity of the Millbrae-Burlingame border, I drove south through the heart of the Peninsula wondering if I'd wind up in some place like Groton, or Cambridge counting cars for credit after all. Hell, I didn't visit, but this is plain old monetary fate. Damn this place is gorgeous. "Climate Best by Government Test." You got that straight. It must be room temperature. Slight breeze. The humidity actually feels good. Aha, Santa Clara County line. Hey remember Mr. Rogers? Yeah, forgot about that guy. Look at me now! Oh yeah, nobody but nobody gets into Stanford. Yeah, well I got into MIT Mr. Rogers. Suck on that!!! Hey now, gather yourself, the sign for Stanford University is just up ahead (leaving El Camino and swinging right on to University....) Holy shit.
After touring the campus with a young professor (wow this place is nice, they sure dig sandstone and tile, look at all the open space, this place is huuuuge, hey check out those bear paws running all over the place....that must be what they do with their money in Berkeley rather than giving it to grad students), we meet with another young professor. "This is Jeff." (Jeff? you call professors by their first names?). "Jeff will be your adviser. I think this makes the most sense because he runs the hydraulics lab." Wait, what? That sounds like good news. Professor 1 (laughing): "Oh I'm really sorry. I dragged you all over the place and never told you the good news! Here, you might find this interesting." Hands over a letter (which is still ensconced somewhere in my personal effects). Congratulations.....your credentials......pleased to offer....teaching assistant......full fellowship......water resources.....fluid dynamics lab.....new equipment.....we think you will be challenged.....exciting opportunity.....monthly stipend to cover all anticipated expenses.....signature by May 1.......we look forward to you coming......California......good luck.....future endeavors...Sincerely......
I know I did a touchdown dance in my head. I may have done one in real life right then and there. Hard to tell, and if I did my professors never let on.
Yeah, I just stare at my desk, but it looks like I'm working .I'd say in a given week I probably only do about fifteen minutes of real, actual, work. Peter Gibbons