I believe the comic strip Doonesbury is one of the great achievements in the history of American humor and satire. The fact Garry Trudeau has been able to sustain this franchise while continuing to maintain high quality and relevance for 40+ years is nothing short of astounding. I don’t read it religiously as I once did, but thanks to the interwebs it’s pretty easy to seek out what I missed and catch-up. Trudeau always seems to get to the essence of what he’s talking about, all the while cloaking it in sophisticated humor. It’s really quite remarkable. It’s also remarkable I didn’t discover Doonesbury until it was about ten years into its run. Here’s how it happened.
– were far, far away from New Jersey.
– offered reasonably reputable Journalism programs, my intended new major.
– had big, self-contained, traditional campuses.
My first choice – indeed my dream – was to go to USC. What young American man could resist the opportunity to attend classes, spend evenings studying in the library and complete stimulating course work in the teeming intellectual Petri dish of southern California? Oh sure, it may have crossed my mind the co-eds were probably of southern California pedigree, but that was irrelevant. When I even bothered equating these fellow pursuers of academic excellence with USC I laughed it off as mere coincidence that the university’s sports teams were known as the Trojans.
However, like many dreams, the USC one died an inglorious death. The murderer: cost of tuition. Oklahoma was far more affordable. The gap was as wide as the Grand Canyon which, I thought, might have something to do with it. Someone had to pay for the effort it initially took to get past that giant earth chasm all those decades ago. It might as well be college students. What other possible explanation was there? I mean seriously, how much more expensive than Norman, Oklahoma could Los Angeles really be? Well, apparently a lot. So with a dash of melancholy and a pinch of regret about all the stirring lectures and late night intellectual skull sessions I would miss on the University Park Campus I applied and got accepted to OU.
I don’t think my folks were thrilled I was going halfway across the country, but they were gracious enough to let me make my own decision. However, switching from the relative comfort of a school 120 miles from home to one 1,500 miles away came with unforeseen financial consequences. For one I would have to take out student loans to help pay for the privilege of living in Indian Territory. Although it was far less expensive than USC, the OU experience was still more expensive than that of the Pennsylvania coal mines. Also, since my parents apparently thought I considered myself mature enough to move half a country away they also thought I was obviously ready to assume responsibility for any other expenses my new adventure would bring. Like buying a reliable car to get there and back.
You see during my two years in the coal mines I was shuttled to and fro by parents or friends or parents of friends since many of the people I knew also hailed from Jersey. In fact my closest friend also took the PA plunge and he lived within walking distance back home. So transportation had never been an issue. Now it was.
I took the fall semester of what would have been the start of my junior year to earn enough green to see me through the following summer. I bought an old, sturdy Plymouth Fury which probably got about 4 miles per gallon. I saved whatever else I could, ready to start junior year not only in January, but in a place granted statehood in the 20th century! I thought I had enough cash to cover, at a minimum, anything not associated with the school meal plan and free movie screenings.
I can’t tell you how it happened, but within a month of arriving in Norman I was cashed out. Broke. Without coin. The dreaded reality I’d have to get a part time job slapped me like it was Nicholson and I was Dunaway and we were in Chinatown.
I eventually landed a gig at a store which sold knick-knacks. I was the counter guy/cashier/one man show. Aside from owner there was one other employee. Her name was Denise and she was probably around 30 at the time. She did the Monday-Friday weekday thing and I did the Saturday and occasional weekday evening thing. We never worked together because the store didn’t merit more than one employee at a time. It usually didn’t merit one, but someone had to be there on the off chance a customer would pop in. Nevertheless, it was easy and provided spending money.
I soon understood Denise and I served one purpose and one purpose only – to allow the store’s owner, a good old boy named Sam, the luxury of never having to work there so he could spend his time pursuing the important work of alcohol consumption. He would come breezing in at closing and clean out the register, leaving about $30 in the till so there would be change for the inevitable crush of customers which would never arrive the next day. I also quickly realized I was stuck working football Saturdays which, in Norman, are more sacred than a year of Sundays rolled together. I believe whatever annual profits the store generated came exclusively from football Saturdays.
Actually, I managed to do a lot of reading on the job. I first read The Grapes of Wrath while tending the empty store and felt all sorts of youthful insight since I was reading it while living in Oklahoma. Sam also had material stashed behind the counter and that’s where I happened upon a volume of Doonesbury. I devoured it and asked Sam if he had any others to share. He did and I was hooked.
I never did see Sam again, but I will always be grateful to him for turning me onto Doonesbury. So Sam, if you’re out there buddy, I just wanted to say “Thanks.” And you should’ve let me take that week off.
I love your writing. I’m putting you on my highly coveted and incredibly prestigious blogroll (though I can’t guarantee it will get you any traffic at all).
Awww, thanks! I am honored and humbled. I can do without increased traffic as long as there are fabulous prizes instead.
Brave or perhaps a bit insane!
What an interesting post! I loved hearing about your ‘growing up’ days…I think this is why I like blogging so much – my few (blog) friends are so different from each other – I find it fascinating to read about everyones different life experiences. Everyone has a different story to tell. Loved it.
Ah, the stories we all could tell!
So you have had a job where you were paid to read – and you quit? Tsk, Tsk.
Gentle Giant! Love them. OU? Boomer Sooner, lived there when Billy Sims and Barry Switzer were all the rage. Born in Midwest City. And yes, your life could have been different so many times.
How about that? That’s when I was there too.
Cool. Late 70s OK. Yeeee haw.
Gosh, think of how many twists and turns your life coud have taken that would have directed you away from Doonesbury.
It could’ve been epic tragedy.