In junior high, I studied Latin. I don’t remember any special reason. I didn’t especially like the idea of French, German or Spanish and Latin probably seemed intellectually promising. So I learned “agricola” for farmer and “puella” for girl. When it came time to go to high school, I found the only school where I could make my year of Latin count was the Baltimore City College, then an all-male high school. It meant a long streetcar and bus ride but I did it for three years.
It took a little while before I found out that I was enrolled in an academically advanced class. It was a pleasant group of guys and we were in that same homeroom for all three years. I had many adventures and pleasures at that school. During my first few days there, I attended an assembly where the football team was introduced on the stage. I had thought I would join that team. But the coach introduced the smallest player and noted that he was the lightest at only 150 lbs. At the time, I weighed 120 and I realized no football for me. I did wrestle and I did play the drums in the drum and bugle corps. I won the role of Captain Queeg in my senior year and very much enjoyed showing my mental infirmity during cross-examination by Lt. Greenwald.
Various members of my homeroom took the SATs and were congratulated as they won college scholarships. I didn’t think I was bright enough for such things. I didn’t have money or savings toward college. I didn’t think my parents did, either. So, when my homeroom teacher asked us to write on an index card about our post high school plans, I wrote that I planned to join the navy. I knew very little about the navy but I figured I would get a little pay and save it toward later schooling. A few days later, I was told that the guidance counselor wanted to see me.
He told me my teacher had informed him of my stated plan for the navy. He said I would not like the armed forces and that I should find a way to go to college. By then, I had decided my strongest pleasure was understanding people. I had read about becoming a psychologist or psychiatrist. My mother had wanted to become a teacher all her life instead of the business work she had gotten into. She asked me to look into Towson State Teachers College.
I did and found it cost $67 a year for tuition and $267 a year for room, board and tuition. Those amounts I knew afford myself. That was all I needed to know. Towson was totally wonderful. I began to dislike holidays that would take me away from campus.
My homeroom teacher asked me my plans and followed up on his opinion about how they should be modified. Had he not done that, I don’t know how I would have spent my life. Thanks very much, Mr. Chubb!
