We were in Nashville during spring break to start exploring the colleges on Autumn's list of desirables. Vanderbilt was number two on her list, just behind Duke, and this was her first campus tour. Autumn's expectations were quite high as we embarked on the tour.
I believe in the power of a campus visit; you can never decide if a college will be suited to you without one. As I began my own college search, I was thoroughly sold on Smith College as my perfect school. The catalog featured the courses and majors that I wanted. The local Smith alumnae club reached out to me frequently by phone and I attended a very nice tea at the home of a graduate. In early October 1985, my parents took me to New York city for a few days before we boarded a train bound for New England to tour colleges on my list. We visited Smith first, since I was absolutely convinced that I would apply Early Decision there.
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| My New England college tour, Mt. Holyoke 1985 - wearing a navy, polished cotton skirt that I made for the trip. |
My mother visited admissions and the financial aid office while I toured the campus with a student named Cassandra. It was a spectacular, New England fall day. As Cassandra led me around campus, I noticed students hanging around alone, mostly inside the library looking glum and blasé. None of the students seemed happy to be there. Smith residence halls are called "houses" and are a cross between a dorm and a sorority. During the tour of her house, Cassandra introduced me to her housemates as "Samantha from GEORGIA;" one word, heavily laden with subtext of REDNECK, KKK MEMBER, BUMPKIN and HICK. The housemates all nodded in unison after the word spilled out of her mouth. I looked around for a fire escape and tried to remember if I knew my way back to the car. But, I didn't bolt. I decided to let Cassandra continue my tour back to admissions so as not to make a scene and live up to their worst expectations of southern girls.
When I met my mother in a parking lot at admissions, I began to cry. How could this hell-hole of depression and condescension be the same institution that seemed to perfect in the brochures? My mother ordered me into the car and said "Dartmouth is on your top-ten list, it's less than two hours away, let's go." I was still crying, at this point, and screamed "I'm not going to college!" "Well, I don't care, I am going to drive to Dartmouth anyway" she replied.
Those were the last words uttered in the car for the entire 90-minute drive to Hanover. Mom parked the rental car in front of the Hopkins Center for the Arts. "I am going to admissions and financial aid. You can sit here in the car, suit yourself" she said as she pitched the keys into my lap. I fumed. I thought of all kinds of really good retorts, excuses and justifications. As I stewed, I looked around at the gorgeous October day. I saw dozens of students outside enjoying the weather. They were walking in groups, laughing, playing soccer and frisbee on the green. I looked at the stately buildings surrounding the green.
Then, I decided that teenaged indignation was thirsty work and decided to go look for a Coke. When I got out of the car and started walking toward the Hopkins Center, two students stopped, then smiled and asked "Are you a prospective?" "Can we help you find something?"
I walked around, taking in the activity of the arts center, the satisfied air of the students, and my Coke from the Hopkins Center cafe. I circled around the building and stopped in front of the window of the drama department's costume shop. It was as if the dress forms and gravity-feed irons told me that there was a place for me at college... that college. I applied Early Decision and I consider it my first great, mature, independent decision.
Autumn's visit to Vanderbilt did not end in tears and fury, but Vandy did drop a few places down her list. She was disappointed in the main library as it seemed dark and dismal. She was let down by the separation of first-year students into their own section of campus with its own commons and dining hall. She would prefer to be mixed with upperclassmen in the dorms. So, we will continue to search for the right fit and tour more of the colleges on her list.
Some selections inspire you and some disappoint; so it is with the Lemon Tunnel-of-Love Tea Cake. I will admit that I baked it a little too long, but that was not the problem with this cake. It is an oil cake instead of a butter cake (which I prefer). But the main problem is the lack of bright lemon flavor. I have a recipe for a Lemon Picnic bundt cake that I make for many pot lucks and other occasions. It has that tangy lemon flavor, so despite our love of the cream cheese "tunnel," I will stick to my Lemon Picnic cake.Next Saturday: Snow Cake
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