College. Unlike many people I meet, I don’t have particularly fond memories about that time in my life -- not that I feel negative either, just mostly indifferent.
Two exceptions. First, meeting Hal Miller, the professor of my first undergraduate psychology course. Second, Andy Gibb. Yeah, that Gibb. The one who sang, “I just want to be your everything,” and, in the space of two years, dated Tai Babilonia, Pam Dawber, Tanya Tucker, Victoria Principle and Marie Osmond.
I didn’t want to take “Intro to Psychology.” It was a required “general education” course. Given that I was an accounting major, I really didn’t see the point – you know, numbers, ledgers, tax and business law. By the third lecture, I’d changed my mind. I knew exactly what I wanted to be when I grew up.
Hal Miller.
He was so interested.
(Did you read that correctly? Interested, not interesting – although he was that as well. In fact, I was attending another section of the course taught by someone else when I happened upon a bunch of kids sitting in the stairwell outside Dr. Miller’s class, listening in. They weren’t even registered)
Over the next four years, I took every course he offered, attended all his seminars and tutorials, and volunteered in his rat and pigeon lab. Throughout, the subject matter was less important than Dr. Miller – his passion, bold questions, academic rigor, and breadth of interests would have been equally appealing to me had he been, “Professor of Turnips.”
It’s a bit embarrassing to admit, but somewhere along the way, I adopted a number of his habits and mannerisms – a book always under arm when walking, head tilted to the left as though the side of my (and his) brain associated with speech, comprehension, arithmetic, and writing weighed more.
I joined the honor’s program exclusively because he would supervise my Honor’s thesis. “Pedantry is not the same as precision,” he wrote in his evaluation, “although the former is often rewarded, only the later serves the interests of progress.” It’s a standard I strive for to this day. Indeed, I cannot think of anyone who had a greater impact on the direction of my life – even my parents who, if truth be told, were none too pleased when I ditched Principles of Accounting for Walden Two. “If you are going into healthcare,” my mother lamented, “why not become a real doctor?” I couldn’t tell her the truth at the time as I didn’t know it myself: choosing psychology was not about psychology, but rather about a psychologist.
OK. Back to my brush with Andy Gibb, or more precisely, being Andy Gibb. I was working as a resident assistant in the dorms. The performer was coming into town for a concert. Rumor had it he’d be spending time with his latest crush, a celebrity who happened to live in the area. The story seemed plausible. They were both busy people. I assumed they’d want take advantage of any opportunities their schedules or proximity permitted. That said, I was skeptical, when a couple of the guys on my floor said they’d heard the couple planned on stopping by the dorm to visit a friend.
“No way,” I said.
“It’s true,” they insisted.
“When?”
Leaning forward, “We haven’t been able to figure that out yet. It’s a secret. They don’t want to cause a scene.”
It took me a few minutes, but eventually both admitted to fabricating the entire story. Truth was they had no idea whether the woman was actually in town, much less coming with Gibb to the dorm for a visit.
The ruse likely would have died then and there had a black limousine not pulled up outside our building at that exact moment. When the chauffeur opened the door, I instantly recognized the passenger who stepped out. Stylishly dressed, with curly brown hair and sparkly eyes, it was Jenny T. Her family was wealthy, sending a car and driver to pick her up whenever they flew in to see her.
In the time it took for me to look at Jenny and then back at the two conspirators, a plan was hatched.
Around midnight the following day, the limousine once again pulled up in front of our building. I was floored by the size of the crowd that had gathered. Three or four hundred at least. I’d expected ten or twenty. After all, we’d only told a handful of people, swearing them to secrecy and qualifying the visit as, “probably untrue.”
An absolute frenzy ensued when the chauffeur opened the rear passenger door – the din of chanting, screams, and competing Bee Gees tunes blaring from dormitory windows filling the late-night air. Our heads obscured by a large, fur blanket, Jenny T. and I exited the vehicle, hurriedly trekking a path to the dorm cleared by the driver. Even after he returned to the car and drove away, the crowd lingered – some roving up and down the halls in search of the elusive couple, others waiting outside to catch a glimpse of them leaving.
“Were you there? Did you see them?!” people asked each other the following day, their excitement barely diminished.
“They weren’t here,” I replied whenever the question came my way, a response interpreted in every possible way save one.
Some things never change. Even now, decades later, I’m aware my head is tilted to the left as I recall and write about these experiences.
This quote & the fact that Hal Miller "was interested" are what stood out for me as aspirations. “Pedantry is not the same as precision,”...“although the former is often rewarded, only the latter serves the interests of progress.” In a personal development workshop in the 1980's I took to heart the saying "If you want to be interesting, be interested."
Thanks for the smiles - great story!