All Is Optional

23 May 2003
Radio City Music Hall
New York, NY

I packed my life and drove it to New York City as the 2003 blackout plagued the city and surrounding areas. Even at the end of my first year, I would silently congratulate myself as I emerged from a subway staircase in Lower Manhattan. From the first time I visited the City as a 13-year-old desperately trying to find an out from the hells of the Deep South, I knew that I needed to make it my home some day. Luckily, I got here sooner than later.

Pace University certainly has its downfalls and I am intimately related with most if not all. Despite these shortfalls, I have no regrets of my decision to come here. I came thanks to the money and the location but, as I have told countless incoming students, I stayed here because of the passion and dedication of my peers and faculty.

Like my time at the University, it only figures so much that graduation itself would be nothing short of an adventure. Our plans changed numerous times and that was only between my family at first. Is everyone coming? Just my mom? My parents? My mom and brother? Oh, grandmother, too? The day before she flew, they settled. Only my mom was coming because my brother broke his clavical and my dad needed to stay behind to take care of him.

Then came the decision of whether my mom would stay in New Jersey with my aunt or with me? She stayed with me. At 2 a.m. – just a few hours before we would rise to ready for the day – my brother called. He was frantic. He thought he had lost his wallet, which included his credit card and driver’s license. It was in his room.

Tyler, Cat, and I had decided to meet by 8:15 at the Prospect Park station for the B train. Accessing it is a simple one stop from the Franklin Avenue 2/3/4/5 station for Cat and I. For Tyler, it’s an additional stop from the Park Place station. Tyler has his own stories to tell about his morning (several change of clothings, dropping of tickets for friends are only two of the hijinks). Finally, we all arrived at the train station between 8:30 and 8:45.

Graduates were expected at Radio City by 9:00. We figured we had plenty of time. Both the B and Q trains are what I call super express. However, a Q train was simply sitting in the station because a Manhattan-bound B train was stalled stations ahead. After waiting for about seven minutes, we decided to switch to the S train to catch the C (to 50th and 8th Avenue), but just as we were settling into the S, the Q announced it was leaving the station. We rushed into it. The train stopped at 7th Avenue and stalled again. That was enough for us to race upstairs and catch a cab.

We emerged from the cab at 49th Street and Sixth Avenue to a herd of polyester blue – our fellow graduates. Because we were too cool to travel in our gowns, this was the time to put them on. Before running inside, we snapped a few pictures to remember what we looked like before we entered the “real world.”

We rushed inside to stand among a throng of look-a-likes. Hunger pangs overwhelmed our bellies so I attempted to go behind the counter to get us some beverages. I spent too much time deciding and was busted by Radio City authorities. This would not have been my last tangle with them. Finally, we located some stale danishes and muffins, orange juice, and cold coffee. Pacetastic! On the outside world, things looked like this:

After spending much too long attempting to line-up, the precession finally begun. I was in between Tyler and Cat with Anel and Judith nearby. Our honorary degrees were awarded to Eugene Lang, Jean Fagan Yellin, and William C. Thompson. Most people enjoyed William C. Thompson (he was the longest speaker so I wasn’t the biggest fan). I felt bad for Jean Fagan Yellin who said she joined academia so she could change the fact that it was comprised overwhelmingly of white men. I guess she didn’t look behind her. My favourite, of course, was Eugene Lang, not because his speech was the shortest but because he didn’t take himself too seriously. I’m becoming increasingly fond of those who can take a step back.

Then, it was our turn. I fumbled across the stage after my hat fell off as I passed Caputo. That damn hat!

We finished in under two hours and high-tailed out of Radio City. This is where I had my second interaction with Radio City security. I tried to open a second door since thousands of people were attempting to exit the building. It was locked. A security guard approached me, ushering me toward the open door. I asked why we couldn’t open the second door. He insisted me toward the open door, saying, “I’m just trying to do my job.”

Finally, we were outside. Free!

If we’ve chatted recently, I’m certain I’ve linked you to Nicholas Kristof’s blog/colum On the Ground. Thanks to my subscription to TimesSelect courtesy of the Honors College at Pace University, I regularly read Mr. Kristof. His May 21 column, “A Short American Life,” is a provoking read addressing issues of healthcare.

Because my mom is a healthcare provider in an extremely poor, underserviced area, I’ve heard a fair number of complaints. Though, now, it is more personal than the complaints of my mother or her patients. Upon graduation tomorrow, I will no longer be insured by my mother’s amazing healthcare coverage because of my age and the fact that I will no longer be a student. I expect to receive healthcare at whatever salaried, entry-level position I gain in the next few months. However, in the in-between times, where I’m at best a part-time employee, I will have no healthcare. I have fairly decent health and forsee no major complications but that doesn’t mean accidents don’t happen.

The American healthcare system is astoundingly dysfunctional. A reader comment by Brian Webster accurately sums up my opinion. Webster said,

Having been a recipient of the British and American Health Systems I must say the British is much better and fairer than the American. Come to that, so is the Cuban.

Health or education should never be under the care of business. These two are tremendously important to the country and to turn them over to business is absurd.

President David A. Caputo will be retiring from his presidency as of 03 June 2007.

 Props to all who were a part of my “nose to the grindstone, always” Pace Press team. I’m going to – without any hesitation – suggest that we played a big role in this. And I am certain next year’s crew will parallel if not surpass this year’s level of success.

Now, let’s get drinks!

“As soon as you meet someone, you know the reason you will leave them.” – Banksy in The New Yorker

In his book of essays, A Man Without a Country, Kurt Vonnegut said, “Do not use semicolons. They are transvestite hermaphrodites representing absolutely nothing. All they do is show you’ve been to college.”

I have used semicolons in this editorial space and I have been to college. Being a staff member of The Pace Press and studying literature and film has taught me much more than proper usage of pretentious punctuation. (Though both have increased my vocabulary and my ability to say the same thing in numerous ways.)

The editorials written when I joined staff are starkly different than those written in the last two years. The Press has improved in countless ways. The most important and invaluable improvement has been solidifying our role within the community.

An unfortunate circumstance of our role is that student journalists meet undesirable situations in all aspects of University life. The Administration treats us like any journalist would be treated. They frequently refer us to the public relations office. In a way, we appreciate that. As frustrating as it can be, it’s nice to know we are considered to be legitimate.

However, the downside is we are never treated strictly as students. When doing a project for a literary journalism course last fall, I felt I had to promise my first born in order to convince administrators their interviews for course-related work were strictly off the record.

Despite these setbacks, our staffers show up to meetings each week. They take tough news stories with the same enthusiasm as the more enjoyable and relaxing arts and features stories. And their passion inspires editorial writers to offer constructive criticism each week.

We enjoy letters to the editors because they help us continue the dialogue. But we certainly don’t need a pat on the back each week, however nice it is. Our paper flies off stands; that’s the only validation we need in continuing the work we do.

We have succeeded in creating the desire for information. People pick up The Pace Press to read about issues affecting the University the same way New Yorkers pick up the New York Times to learn about the city, the nation and the world. So, thank you, readers, for caring; as long as you can do that, we’ll be here to provide it for you.