THE PATH NOT TAKEN

My first summer of work and sweat seemed like it would never end but like all things it did.  And the Saturday after Labor Day mom and I visited several men’s clothing stores for a new outfit for my first day at college.  Madras was big in 1962.  Mom said she thought it was silly buying a new shirt that was already faded!  (Decades later I would say the same to my daughter - buying rip jeans was hard to fathom also - but that was fashion for ya).  I was ready to go to Glassboro State.

But that wasn’t my first choice!  I had applied to several institutions as most college bound high school students do - just in case.  My first choice - The Philadelphia Museum College of Art.  An internationally respected art school of fine arts.  Part of the application process was to put together a “portfolio” of examples of my work.  Ms Pierson, my art mentor who encouraged me to continue my artistic education, was a graduate of that institution - she helped me build the portfolio for most of the last half of the year.  I sent it off and waited but I knew my chances were slim to none.  The Museum School got applications from all over the world and I thought my “art” was ok but…

To my great surprise I received a letter a few months after applying:  “We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to join the class of 1962…(the next paragraph “floored me”).  “And after reviewing you portfolio our Faculty Scholarship Committee has awarded you our top full tuition and expenses scholarship for 1962.  Congratulations….etc.

I was invited to visit the school and meet my professors and the Dean of Instruction as soon as possible to sign several admission’s documents.  So on a hot summer day I took a day off from my summer job and took a bus to Philly which stops at every small town along the way.  The 25 mile trip took two hours!  Being admitted was a surprise but what came next was a bigger one.  A summer student was assigned to take me on a tour of the various classrooms. He had his hair in a long ponytail, wore well worn sandals and a tie dyed tee-shirt. (I had a crew cut, brand new penny loafers that squeaked as I walked and wore a new button down oxford shirt!)  As I followed him I was introduced to the “art world” that I had only seen depicted in movies.  There were bongo drums and some female students singing folk songs. I was in the land of Maynard G. Kreps.  Real beatniks!  They scared me - a straight laced, naive kid from a factory town where long hair was a scourge to mankind.  I lost my confidence in my skills walking to the Dean's office - plus I wanted to be an industrial designer.  I wasn’t ready to have a mission to change the world.

After the usual greetings I blurted out, “I’m sorry Dean X but I can’t accept your scholarship and won’t be matriculating.  He was stunned and with anger informed me that I had just turned down the school’s top prize. That my art work showed real promise that might become “exceptional” if I studied with the school noted artists.  I could only reply, “I’m sorry and I had to catch a bus.”  On the long ride home I pondered if I had done the right thing?  I had gone to college just one day and was already a drop-out".

Now decades later seeing paintings selling for millions I still wonder where I would be now if I had traveled on the path not taken?