I’ve been absent for a while during and after my recent trip to Europe. Perhaps it is time to reengage.

I suspect we all have points in our lives when our lives change direction … sometimes in a dramatic fashion. Surely, one for me happened in 1984 when I entered a treatment program and kicked my addiction to alcohol. But another equally dramatic change occurred two decades earlier, in January of 1964. That was the moment I started my college career at Clark University in Worcester Mass., my home town. And it was all remarkably serendipitous and shockingly transformative.

I suppose that is the point of this short essay. Unanticipated events can have large consequences. I developed as a child without any freaking idea of my self-worth (it never occurred to me I had any) or what I might do in life. In fact, I can recall thinking that I might join the military when I grew up. My rationale? I thought they took anyone … a fact that just might save a talentless screw-up like myself from living on the streets. For the life of me, I could not conjure up a single skill that I might contribute to society, much less prompt anyone to hire me.

And so, I wandered through my early years without direction or goals. Thank God this was before we morphed into a mature Republican dog-eat-dog, Darwinian struggle for survival. Today, kids and their parents consider a C in the 2nd grade the end of all their life’s future dreams. I was no star in the classroom, far from it, but it never occurred to me that spelled doom in the future. It never dawned on me that my early schooling might lead to anything meaningful in life. In fact, I never considered the possibility that I had much of a future at all.

And so, I just went with the flow. I did not stand out in my early years as a student. I thought of myself as an ordinary kid at the Upsala Street elementary school, an ancient building that catered to the ethnic, working-class kids on Vernon Hill in the mostly factory town (at the time) of Worcester. As I recall, the kids around me seemed destined for non-descript adult lives. We spent our days playing sports or marauding through the streets causing general mayhem. I felt totally average among this neighborhood gang of quite ordinary kids.

So, I was shocked when the Principal called me in at the end of my days there to say that she would recommend me for an advanced class at Providence St. Junior High, a nearby institution that also catered to working class kids but from a broader geographical area. This advanced class was comprised of 5 boys and about 20 (or more) girls. I suspect the 5 boys were the few males who had not yet run afoul of the juvenile authorities. I cannot recall how I compared to the girls … though they all seemed smarter than me, or at least studied harder. In truth, I really never got to know any of them. Among the handful of boys, my memory is that I might have been next to last in terms of academic performance. As I recall, my grades reflected my undistinguished performance. Funny, I still recall each and every one of the guys quite clearly while I can’t recall my doctoral program mates with much clarity at all.

After 8th grade, I took the exam for what was called St. John’s Preparatory school. It was a Catholic boys school with an excellent reputation run by the Xaverian Brothers, an order focused on teaching. I’m not sure I felt any confidence in my prospects and was amazed that I made the cut. In fact, I was placed in the top freshman class based on my entrance exam performance. Go figure!

At the time, the school was located in the worst part of town in a dilapidated couple of buildings (though they would start migrating to a gorgeous suburban campus in my senior year). The physical plant had nothing to do with the excellent education. They only admitted smart kids, had a rigorous and fixed curriculum (no electives), and demanded obedience. Screwing around would get you wacked upside the head. Complain to your parents, and they would wack upside your head on the other side.

I must admit, though. While I went on to get Doctorate at a prestigious R-1 university, I felt more academic competition there (at St. Johns) than at any other educational level. Though I worked all four years, I did try rather hard in my classes. Yet, I remained mired in the middle of my class by my senior year. Once again, I was average, below average in anything involving math. On one algebra exam I scrawled Veni, Vidi, Flunki at the top of my answer sheet (I came, I saw, I flunked in Latin). The instructor wrote almost in response.

But I did graduate. Here, I took a fortuitous detour. Rather than matriculating at the best local Catholic College (Holy Cross), I entered the Maryknoll Seminary outside of Chicago. I would study to be a missionary priest and save the world. Why I thought I was up to this modest task now seems the height of hubris, if not folly, to me. That seminary had a good academic reputation but, in my mind, it was not a real college. Still, before I came to my senses and left during the 1st semester of my 2nd year, I had once again been placed in an advanced class. Again, go figure! Others saw some hope in me which remained totally hidden from my view.

When I got back home, I faced a decision … where to enroll in school. My first thought was Holy Cross which, if you recall, had been my choice upon finishing high school. That’s where several of my HS friends had gone. But they did not take new applicants for the Spring Semester. what to do?

So, I looked at this other local institution called Clark University … a very decent school, but one not favored in my community. I had been enveloped within a Catholic, conservative working class culture all my young life. Clark, on the other hand, was seen as a den of atheists and Communists by many in my community. In fact, though virtually all graduates from my high school went on to college, I can not recall any matriculating at Clark in that era … not a single one. Perhaps that was why they seemed eager to have me.

Clark had been founded in 1887 as the 2nd Graduate School in the U.S. after John’s Hopkins. It quickly expanded to include undergraduates and soon found it’s bearings. It’s Psychology department was quite strong with Sigmund Freud choosing it to give his only lectures in the U.S. (See statue below). It also developed a strong Geography department while Robert Goddard, considered the father of American space travel, developed the first liquid fuel rockets while a member of the Physics Department. In fact, he launched his experimental rocket in a farmer’s field that later became a golf course on which I wasted a good deal of my youth.

Still, there was no way I would have considered Clark had I gone on to college directly from High School. Only my ill-considered digression into a Catholic seminary opened that possibility up to me. I presumed it was serendipity. But maybe more than chance was involved, perhaps something like fate. For at Clark, my life trajectory changed.

Still, there were some reservations expressed in my family at this choice. Would I be corrupted by the insidious brainwashing of a satanic faculty. In truth, that sounded both exciting and a bit dangerous to me. In my view, alas, no such brainwashing occurred. However, I did lose what remained of my religious sentiments in two weeks, three at most. No one challenged my beliefs. They merely melted away as my brain exploded with new ideas and questions. What happened? Finally, I was in an environment where I could unleash my full intellectual curiosity. What a relief and a blessing and (most of all) an exciting adventure. I was finally encouraged to think and figure things out on my own.

I was cautious for a while. I actually studied that first semester while working many hours on the night shift at a local hospital. I was making my own way through school (no financial help from parents), which was quite feasible in those idyllic days. Still, I had grave doubts about how I would do in a real university. If you remember, I felt I had not stood out at any point in my educational career to date despite getting some feedback to the contrary. Thus, I was astounded to find myself toward the top of my class rankings after the first semester. How did that happen? For one thing, learning became a joy, not an onerous task.

I’m not certain I learned the proper lesson from that initial success. I can do this, I concluded. For someone with my limited attention span, read restless mind, this was bad news. I started paying more attention to the issues and debates raging around me in society. Soon, I found myself getting more and more involved. I could still handle my classes but discovered that much of my learning happened outside the formal classroom.

I think, for the first time, I was in a school setting which prized independent thought. I loved that. Despite my limited free time, I would spend hours debating the issues of the day with fellow students. And this was the tumultuous 60s after all, there were endless issues to debate. Over the next 12 to 18 months, I would question, explore, and reevaluate virtually every aspect of the fixed dogmas that had dominated my life to that point. I confronted each or my presumptions about life. Soon, I experienced a series of struggles, then epiphanies, as I erected a new normative framework and personal philosophy. It was not easy, but it has lasted me a lifetime.

It was not long before I joined the (Vietnam) antiwar movement when it was yet an unpopular thing to do. Even now that I’m an octogenerian, my youthful transformation on matters of war and social justice strike me as correct and proper. Most importantly, I never simply accepted the beliefs of others. I first had to convince myself that what I believed and did made sense. That was not always easy to do given the encrusted beliefs of my early cultural cocoon and when taking any stand that involved controversy and risk contradicted the world in which I had been raised. I recall returning from Peace Corp service in India to find college kids merely repeating slogans they had heard from others. To me, they had not experienced the crucible of personal change I had. That struck me as profoundly shallow, if not disappointing.

Years later, when I was involved in the hotly contested debates about welfare reform at the national and state level, I was uniquely prepared. Much like the issues we faced in the 60s, welfare was a nuanced political struggle that raged in the 80s and 90s. There were no easy answers even when the combatants appeared to possess firm convictions. You had to think things through, come to a reasonable set of conclusions amidst contentious theories, evidence, and norms before arriving at your positions. All wicked problems demand such a struggle. That is what makes them so much fun.

And that is what I learned at Clark. I discovered and refined my ability to think on my own. I could bore you with many vignettes from those years. Be satisfied with one. The best psychology undergrad students (perhaps the top 4 or 5 as I recall) received National Science Foundation grants to do original summer research. Amazingly, I got one (another go figure moment). Another young man (who really was brilliant) also received one, and we shared a work space. There came a day when we didn’t work on our research. We debated the Vietnam War for hour after hour. He was dead against it while I tried vainly to find some justification for our involvement. At the end of the day, we agreed to disagree, but I knew he had won the debate. Soon, I was leading the leftist movement on campus. These were the kinds of intensive and emotional dialogues that really educated me during those years.

Thank God I stumbled into Clark University. Not long ago, some neighbors mentioned reading that it had been identified as an institution where relatively average students enter who later wind up studying or working at elite schools. Hmm, that was me. I blossomed at Clark and eventually wound up having a remarkable career as an academic and policy wonk at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. I had escaped being average, seemingly by accident. Not bad for struggling working class kid from the mean streets of Worcester.

Below is my college graduation pic!