University of Illinois

When I applied at colleges in- and out-of-state, there were five on my short list: Arizona State, University of Arizona, Purdue, Northern Illinois, and Loyola. While my class rank and my GPA were pretty good, y ACT's were not. My decision about college seemed to rest on grandparents. My mother's mother lived a few blocks away from Loyola and my father's parents, at the time, summered in Chicago and wintered in Tucson, Arizona. I really wanted to go to either place. Arizona or Chicago. I had received acceptance letters from ASU, U of A, Purdue and Northern, but a "conditional" acceptance at Loyola. It was because of my ACT scores.

In high school, I was drawn to Liberal Arts. I took almost every English and History course I could, and completed only the bare minimum in Math and Science. I'm just not made up that way. When I took the ACT, I scored relatively high in English (something like a 25). However, my math and science scores were horrible. It might have had something to do with the fact that I randomly selected the answers on the test. I consciously sat there, in my extremely uncomfortable chair--the ones with a hard back and a comma or apostrophe shaped table--and made patterns with the scan-tron answer sheet. I'd bubble in a series of answers like C, C, D, A, B, C, C, D, D, E, etc. I was told that C was always the best answer if I was unsure of the question. Sometimes, I made patterns. I pretended I was playing a game of Connect Four and I would use my #2 pencil to shade in A, B, C, D, or the reverse.

Unfortunately, that strategy bit me in the ass. What else would it do? Loyola required a minimum score of 21. I had a 19. I worked very closely with the patient and encouraging Admission Counselor. A guy whose name I've long forgotten, but his gesture still remains vivid, 20 years later. He encouraged me to study for the parts of the test where I was weak. He suggested practice tests and books, and made a serious effort to help me succeed. If I wanted to go to Loyola, I had to re-take the test and improve my score.

I cannot recall why I made the effort. Every school at which I applied was the top of my list. I was already accepted into the programs at the other schools. Smart money would have been to pick one of the others in lieu of another exam. But, I guess I liked torture, because on a sunny Saturday morning, weeks after I took the first ACT, I found myself in the hard chair, taking it again.

When the results came in, they were more than obvious. The letter sized envelope from Loyola University of Chicago was thick (the "of" was dropped from the name my Freshman year. It remains of-less today). I made it because I improved my scores. I made it because of the unnamed Admission Counselor. I made it because it was meant to be.

I subscribe to the "meant to be" philosophy. Sometimes, I'm not sure why. This was something that was on my mind today as I drove to Urbana, Illinois for an appointment to demo the software I sell. The account was not one of mine. It belongs to a colleague of mine, but he lives in Columbus, OH and I live in Elk Grove Village, IL. It was easier for me to take the appointment than him.

As I was driving, alternating between Alan Alda on CD, an actor reading Tim Russert (on CD), and AM radio, it occurred to me that I was driving to the college at which my cousin, Felicia, attended. Felicia was a student at University of Illinois 22 years ago. She actually started there around 25 years ago. When I was 14 years old. She was the first person in my extended family to attend college. My older brother, Darrell, who was three years older than Felicia, was away in England in the Air Force. Ira was still in high school, finishing his senior year. Felicia's brothers--my cousins, as well--Michael and David were in high school and grammar school, respectively.

It was a big deal that she was in college. My aunt and uncle were apprehensive to send their daughter away. Far enough to not have a watchful eye on her at every waking moment. This was the way Felicia wanted it. Distance. Mostly distance from my uncle, but also, I would assume, away from my aunt, who in years before was battling mental illness. I write "battling" because that was what she did. She had demons. Probably still does to this day, but years of pharmaceutical ingestion has subdued the continuation.

Felicia was happy being away from home. She loved my aunt; wasn't embarrassed by her disease, but sympathetic. She did, however, have resentment for my uncle. He was a hard man to live with, I can only assume. Controlling, conditional, selfish, all of those descriptions fit him well. My cousin wanted freedom, independence, a life.

The first couple of years went by uneventful. She took her classes, made friends, came home occasionally. She was happy and it showed.

The one thing my cousin always wanted was a car. She argued that it would make her life much easier on campus. My aunt and uncle protested. They were against the idea because they felt it was unsafe. Felicia was the oldest, so she was subjected to the protections of inexperienced parents.

Eventually, as parents sometimes do, they caved in. Felicia was allowed to have a car on campus and it pleased her beyond her expectations. It offered another level of freedom she was searching for all the while. But, as Spider Man's uncle, Ben, always said, "with great powers come great responsibility." This is where Felicia was weak.

November, 20, 1986 is a day I will never forget. It was a day when no alarm clock could have mimicked the sound of my mother's early morning scream which woke me up out of a solid, sound sleep. I remember hearing the shrill, "Nooooooooooo!" and immediately thinking something bad had happened to my grandmother. Not the case.

November 20 was Felicia's birthday. 1986 marked her Golden Birthday. Being away at college, with the freedom of a student, with the freedom of a car, was Felicia's reality. She was dating a young man, a member of our United States Air Force, based at the Chanutte Air Force Base (the exact place where my brother was based before him). There was a birthday celebration. There was drinking. There may have been an Air Force curfew, or my cousin decided that he shouldn't stay the night. Whatever the case, a decision was made to take him home. A decision that changed many people's lives, especially the three who were in the car that was sideswiped.

This was the thought that was in my head today. I wondered if I passed the spot where my cousin, her boyfriend, and his roommate died. I wondered how the landscape had changed in 22 years. I thought about how my mother insisted that the relationship she had with Felicia was more solid than the one she had with her own children, than Felicia had with her own mother. How my mother insinuated years ago that my cousin got pregnant, had an abortion, and confided only in her mother's sister.

I have no idea if that is a story of my mother's imagination or if it is true. No matter, I thought about the unborn child that may have never had a chance. I thought about him/her, wondering what he/she would be like today if my cousin may have never had an abortion. The child would have been in its early 20's. Done with or in the midst of a college education. Exactly like its mother was years ago when her life was taken away.

I didn't take the time to drive around campus today. I didn't want to think any further about the places my cousin may have visited and I surely didn't want to confirm the place where she died. But my thoughts were with her today. All day. It's embarrassing to admit that my thoughts of her are few and far between over the years that she has been gone. I loved her, like a cousin loves another. I wonder what our relationship would be like today if she were still alive.

Many birthdays have been missed in 22 years. Hers will always be remembered. For more reasons than one.