Applying Yourself

High School Graduation and school choices.

I’m not going in chronological order here, since I write more or less when inspiration strikes me. We now flash back to my high school days.

Here is an excerpt from the Cranford High School Yearbook from 1975. It would appear that two of the guys shared the same jacket, or at least the same taste in clothes. And all of us had terrible hair. For those of you familiar with the National Lampoon's 1964 High School Yearbook parody, I was the 'Faun Laurel Rosenberg' of this class. I am convinced that they based the entire National Lampoon parody on CHS's past yearbooks, unless they are ALL like that. The 1975 issue had no cartoons, because one of the popular girls decided that I shouldn't do any. I never thanked her. Thank you.

I began sending out college applications in January.

Interestingly, my guidance counselor Mr. Notaro had the 1971 course catalogue from Sheridan College feauturing the then-new animation program. I was interested, but Sheridan was only a two year community college. My parents said “You must go for four years and get a degree.” This was one of the wisest things they ever did for me. I never applied to Sheridan, although I remember enjoying the catalogue and being curious about Canada.

I knew that my parents did not have a lot of money. Mom was working full time as a librarian by 1974, but the Symphony schedule was starting to be cut back and Dad was taking on more repair work in his woodwind shop to make up the slack. I helped him in the summertime. Dad told me that if I did not get a cholarship I would have to attend community college in New Jersey. At one point my mother actually suggested that I sign up for ROTC (Reserve Officer Training Corps) since they would pay my tuition. Not only were students protesting having ROTC on any college campus, I could not see myself fitting into any military organization and told her so.

I applied to Cooper Union and New York University in January. Cooper Union was a free art school and was my first choice.

They turned me down and their rejection letter read that my work was ‘too commercial’. In tears, I asked Alice Lindsay, a family friend and a violinist in the orchestra what ‘commercial’ meant. I did a white acrylic string print of a fish skeleton on sponge printed ‘water’. It hasn’t survived, but I remember it did not look that bad. I still don’t know what ‘commercial’ means in an art school rejection letter.

Alice tried to comfort me, saying that I would find a different school that might be a better choice.

Alice was right.

New York University accepted my application and offered a small scholarship.

Now you can go and read “What am I Doing Here” to see what happened afterwards.

It was pretty unlikely, but it all actually happened.