I nodded off in class once, and he said loudly that everyone could see his point, “unless you’re a redneck from some hick town in Arkansas.” The class’ laughter would have awakened the cemetery. What we learned was worth it. The ocean is calling and I must go swimming poster. I could go on like this for days and I bet you could too. I hope the reunion becomes in part an excavation of lost encounters with our professors. When I showed up at my freshman dorm room, 225 Loyola, my roommate from Long Island, Tom Campbell, was already there and had plastered a Goldwater for President sticker on the door. I was surprised and curious but not outraged. A division like that today might be too much to take. Some students, right or left, might even insist on another roommate. If he or I had done that, we might have missed a lifelong friendship, including an evolution of our political conversations.
The ocean is calling and I must go swimming poster
He called me one night at the White House during my epic budget battle with Newt Gingrich. By then Tom was an airline pilot, and he and Jude had two fine sons who grew up to serve our country in uniform as their dad did, and an adopted daughter with cerebral palsy. The ocean is calling and I must go swimming poster. He told me that he was able to care for his daughter, but her best friend was the child of a single mom who rode a bus an hour to and from a minimum-wage job. He said the girl required an expensive wheelchair and six pairs of special shoes a year.