A Gift's A Gift by GJ

I was the recipient of a gift that you'll find hard to believe. I actually received 12 semester/credit hours (4 courses times 3 hours over two years) from my alma mater whose name I shall keep to myself. (Those who care can find it.) There I was in 1949, trying to register for college. I was 22, a veteran, husband and father of a one year-old daughter. I was eligible for the GI Bill which not only paid tuition, books, and fees, but $140 per month living costs. Housing was cheap, about $40 per month as I recall. Was the remainder enough to feed a family of three? Of course not. Where did we get extra? First, I tried to take every part-time, temporary job that I could find. The university had sources and the newspaper sometimes offered a few. I drove taxicab, shoveled coal, planted trees, and sold tickets to the annual Fireman's Ball, among other, similar "opportunities." (Each one made me more and more determined to get a degree!) Second, there was my Dad. He had this uncanny habit of knowing when we were probably "up against it," and would send $5 or sometimes more in one of his weekly letters. On registration day, I went to sign up for a foreign language, not ever having one in HS. My first choice was Spanish, because I was told it was easiest. But Spanish was closed already because we applied in alphabetical order, and my V was too far down the line. I asked for options. Somebody recommended Portuguese, because of its similarity to Spanish. "Portuguese," I asked? All I could think of was that tiny nation just west of Italy. "No, it is also spoken in Brazil," I was told, and "Today we are growing closer to Brazil in foreign affairs." What could I do? I signed up. On the first day I was already two weeks behind! (Yes, it was like Greek to me.) A few days later, as the deadline for dropping a course neared, I went to the professor and told him I was convinced I could never make it. He assured me I could. I assured him I couldn't. Finally, he said, "Look, there are 12 in the class, you are number 12, and if I don't maintain 12 we have to drop the class for these other 11!") Well, that was a shocker. (Today, I'd wonder if any of the 11 were armed!) So, I decided to take him at his word. If he flunked me at end of semester, I would only lose 3 hours out of 16 and I planned on going to summer school , anyway. Of course I got further and further behind, totally lost. A classmate informed me one day that I should hang in there. He told me that the "other 11" were LANGUAGE MAJORS, and this was an elective for them! I got a C for that and three more semesters. It helped that the second year was Portuguese Literature, and this was easier for me to "fake." I guess I was the prof's "anchor man?" I give a lot of credit to my classmates. They were quite gracious, really...or maybe they knew how vital I was to their options? It doesn't matter. (They all got their A's and B's, anyway.) I don't know how to spell it in English, but I did memorize one phrase that I used over and over; "Fasu favordi, falar, di vigar." "Please speak more slowly!" Was I lucky? I think I was incredibly lucky. I hit a "hat trick," being in the right class, at the right time, with the right professor. To tell the truth, I probably qualify for the nickname "lucky." (And I've got more memoirs to prove it.)