I am a Golden ID student. That is a program under which retired citizens of Maryland can obtain an education or just take selected courses tuition-free. It is, unfortunately, a tribe whose numbers are steadily decreasing. You can identify us, the survivors, by the usual indicia of aging. That's one of us hobbling across the mall and trying in vain to duck flying frisbees.

Every now and then, we are seen with a spring in our step, with a cheery "hello," with the ubiquitous back pack, and, occasionally, we are seen holding the doors of McKeldin open for a young undergraduate before he/she can hold the door open for us. From time to time, you may spot one of us in one of your classes. That event evokes questions such as:

"I wonder what course he/she teaches and why is he/she sitting in the front row?" (The answer to that one is obvious---if we don't sit up front, the chances are that we will be unable to see the instructor, let alone hear!)

"Is that guy1 still trying to pass that anthropology course?" (What the hell, it has only been 45 years!)

"Do you think that he's a member of the Board of Regents spying on us?" (Hey, man. I know the enemy when I see him.)

"Do you think that he's the instructor's father?" (The less sensitive among you might even wonder if he's the instructor's grandfather.)

"What do you think he's doing here? He makes me nervous." (I could be a student. Naw. That's too far-fetched an idea.)

This could go on and on. But I digress.

Before I retired, I decided that I wasn't going to spend my declining years in a rocking chair with my hand wrapped around a cold beer (before breakfast), clad in a yellowing undershirt, watching (God help me!) daytime TV, unshaven, and having arisen, usually, at noon. I determined to get into a structured situation where I had to be some place at some specific time for some specific purpose to accomplish some worthwhile objective and, above all, to keep my mind (such as it was) active. A return to school appeared to be the perfect solution and, in the event, it proved to be so. At this point, it would be appropriate to mention that I have a B.A. with honors and a J.D. (law) degree without much honor, both from the University of Maryland. It would serve no useful purpose, then, to try to earn additional credits because I have no intention of beginning a new career. Thus, the audited course fairly screamed for me; I would become an audit student. Having spent 7 years in college taking the courses I had to take, I resolved now to take the courses I really wanted to take. And that's the genesis of this tale.

I was readmitted and took my first course in the fall semester of 1991. Although the maximum number of courses a Golden ID student can take per semester is three, I gingerly put one foot in the water and took only one course. In subsequent years, I took three courses per semester and survived very nicely, thank you.

I experienced my first culture shock when I bought my single text book for 60 dollars when I was fully prepared to spend up to $12.50. After popping a dozen Tylenol, I paid for my parking permit simply by mortgaging my car and next came the dining card (for me, Terrapin Express) leading directly to my decision not to eat while I was on campus.

These are exaggerations, of course, and my build makes it all too apparent that I have never gone without eating and was not about to do so here. Finally, realizing that I could not be a real student without a back pack, I invested in a good one and soon had it loaded to its full 60 pound capacity. Having gone through registration without ulcers, a remarkable feat which could not have been accomplished during the era which I am about to recall, and with nothing now standing between me and student status, I paused to take stock of my situation and to look about me at the academic environment which I left so many years ago.

It was quite a different environment. Nostalgia did not envelop me; it knocked me down on my butt and the 1949 ff years returned to me sharply in Marley fashion---the ghost of matriculation past.

To begin with, my girlfriend (who became my wife) lived in Anne Arundel Hall, known affectionately as "Annie A"; the other major women's dorm (Co-ed dorms? Ridiculous!) was Margaret Brent Hall, commonly known as "Maggie B". I was in the College of Arts and Sciences and took most of my classes---where else?---in the A & S Building.

At that time, I lived in "temporary" housing known as VB 8 (Veterans Barracks), and God only knows where on the present campus that could have been located. My best guess would be somewhere in the area now called South Campus. Later, I moved to my fraternity house (ZBT), but there was no Fraternity Row or Sorority Row at that time. In fact, there was no McKeldin Library or Memorial Chapel. There was only a vast expanse of green grass between the Administration Building and Annie A.

The library (the library) was, I believe, what is now Shoemaker Hall. There was the BPA Building (Business and Public Administration) somewhere between A & S and what is now Holzapfel Hall and the Key Building stood where it now stands (barely) without, of course, any such thing as Tydings Hall, Journalism, or H. J. Patterson. There was no Lefrak or South Campus Dining Hall. In fact, I can't remember where the dining hall was and that might be caused by a mental block based on suppressed memories of the food.

But I digress again.

Incidentally, there was a low brick wall between the A & S Building and the BPA Building and for some reason which eludes my memory, it was the between-classes meeting place for the male and female Number 1s. It also served as the place for meeting unattached people of the opposite gender.

Curley Byrd was the President of the University and Maryland boasted national championship football teams with victories over the Charley "Choo-Choo" Justice-led University of North Carolina powerhouse. In fact, if my memory serves me correctly, Maryland won the National championship by defeating Tennessee in one of the outstanding bowl games.

There were few blacks on campus and even fewer Asians. Religious affiliation was a barrier with respect to membership in fraternities and sororities although this rule was never, to my knowledge, articulated. Foreign languages were rarely heard on the campus. As I stand astride the threshold of two eras, I much prefer today's cosmopolitan atmosphere.

There was no Stamp Student Union and the largest structure on campus was the newly-constructed Glenn L. Martin School of Engineering complex. The Cole Field House was the center of athletic events and the Armory served as an armory. Performing arts events, as far as I can remember, were held at the Ritchie Coliseum. Route 1 was, then as now, the time-honored demonstration field. It was a badge of honor if you were tear-gassed by the College Park or PG County police (I am not very sure that there was a body known as the College Park Police, but I seem to remember that there was a campus police department named Dan and he was, even in those days, an imposing presence).

As I recall, Testudo stood on his pedestal on a slight hill behind the brick wall on Route 1. Despite all-night vigils by our students, he would be stolen from time to time, by students from rival universities just a day or so before the schools were to meet in football

combat in the stadium. He was, however, always recovered after a few days because a half-ton (Am I in the ballpark?) bronze turtle --- whoops! --- terrapin, is not easy to conceal.

Speaking of Route 1, the popular hangout in the pre-'Vous days (that's a pun!) was the Hut which was, not surprisingly, a quonset hut from the war surplus stockpiles. These were the days before the blue lights and date rape had not been invented or, if it had, it was a carefully preserved secret.

Have you ever looked at the remnants of "the tunnel", in the shallow gully to the left of the Chapel when you are facing the Chapel? In the days of which I speak, this was a hallowed spot with sidewalks running into and out of the tunnel. It was here that you took your #1 girl and she, innocently ignorant of where she was being led, demurely followed. If it was day time, you kissed her quickly on the cheek, she giggled and the two sinners emerged and went their ways.

At night, however, when the tunnel was as jammed as the 'Vous, you would squeeze into the tunnel, hug your girl closely, with one hand resting lightly on her butt, and there followed a passionate kiss. This procedure was known as "making out" although there were, assuredly, more intimate encounters bearing that appellation. In any event, when you whispered at the top of your voice to your fraternity brothers that you had "made out" with #1, they ooo'ed and aah'ed, correctly disbelieving every word.

Another popular tryst for lovers was behind Morrill Hall where my #1 and I would sit on a bench or on the ground and feed washed salted peanuts to the squirrels. But more of that anon.

Finally, the greatest achievement which a fraternity brother could claim was a date with a Tri-Delt (Delta Delta Delta sorority). Tri-Delt enjoyed a reputation for having the most beautiful women on campus and they consistently produced the Homecoming Queen. I don't know whether there is a sorority on campus today which has such a reputation, but almost any of the Tri-Delts could be expected to arouse the envy of the brothers. Consequently, a date with a Tri-Delt was considered a triumph, irrespective of what occurred or didn't occur on the date.

Finally, I must confess to narrowly missing ejection from campus. That is, perhaps, a bit of an exaggeration (I DO get carried away at times, don't I?)

My girlfriend and I were walking down the sidewalk parallel to the Mall with my arm around her waist and chattering away to one another, completely oblivious to anyone else on campus. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to face---Adelle Stamp, Dean of Women, who made known, in no uncertain terms, her displeasure with this shameless public display of affection. She had a way with words and I, uncharacteristically, found no words. Number 1, at least, found the courage to mutter "Yes m'am".

Despite my misgivings, we were neither whipped nor shot, for her displeasure was not something to be taken lightly, but we survived the episode. Obviously, I have not forgotten. No wonder I get indigestion every time I eat at the Stamp Student Union!

In the fall semester of 1995, I will have spent four years on campus and I still take a freshman course now and then. Within the next several years, I should become a fixture on campus, much like Testudo. I am gratified to report that I have been accepted by my fellow students as one of them, even to the extent of being handed a Safe Break bag. We discuss professors, books, courses, and the usual subjects about which students talk (with the notable exception of sex).

I don't usually mention that I am an audit student because the result is highly predictable. I do not, however, make any attempt to conceal that fact. When it comes up in the course of conversation, of course, I simply state that I am auditing. It must be remembered that, sooner or later, it would become apparent because I am always missing from class on exam days. When my classmates learn that I generally turn in no papers and that I take no exams, the inevitable reaction is: "Man, are you lucky! " My stock response is simply "Been there. Did that."

I do, however, participate vigorously in class discussions and, now and again, when I really get caught up in a subject, I will ask the instructor for permission to turn in a project paper. This permission is always granted with, I suspect, a quizzical grin and no little amusement. I do my assigned reading assiduously, and I keep up with my homework assignments. You see, I have an incentive that others rarely encounter.

One of my sons earned his Bachelor of Science degree here at UMCP some time in the 70s and went on to graduate school in New Mexico, but he kept in touch with his professors at Maryland. He was, if I may be permitted to indulge in some paternal pride, highly regarded in the department. When he learned that I was returning to Maryland as a student, he so informed his professors. This situation posed no immediate threat to me until I registered for a course in that department.

There then ensued a severe filial admonition that I take care not to sully the family reputation in the department by earning less than an A in the course. I assured him that I would not get less than an A in the course because, as an audit student, I would get no grade at all. I suppose that I could have tried to get away with the assurance that I would certainly get an "A" (for "Audit") , but one must be careful in using humor in a highly charged situation such as this one. The prospect of no grade whatsoever seemed to provide little comfort to him .

Frankly, I had never considered the possibility that some professor would first teach the son who would set the standard for the father who followed. Believe me, there is an incentive there to do well, grade or no grade.

The University of Maryland squirrels enjoy a special relationship with me. If you see an older man (how's that for a charitable characterization?) walking on one of the pathways between Lefrak and Jimenez, pausing to watch the squirrels frolic and then slowly reaching into his back pack and withdrawing a white tube filled with unsalted blanched peanuts which he tosses to or at the squirrels, that's me. They are interesting to watch and fun to feed. Some will flee instantly, others will approach with caution and still others will dash toward me with abandon, stopping, however, at a safe distance and waiting with what serves as squirrel patience.

From time to time, there will occur a dispute over the peanuts, notwithstanding the fact that there is plenty for all, and, to avert a "squirreled war" (Man, that was a zinger!), the feeding session is terminated. Do you suppose that they recall the events behind Morrill Hall 45 years earlier?

You will remember that I said earlier in this work that, after 8 or 10 years of taking classes on the campus, I would likely become a fixture not unlike Testudo. Like Testudo, I will have been around a long time; I have stood outside of McKeldin in the soaking rain, in the bitter winter wind, in the driving snow, on the hazardous ice and through the beauty of the spring and fall.

I don't know how well I would tolerate having my nose rubbed before midterms and finals, but otherwise I am as qualified to be a symbol as is Testudo. I want to be the University's icon! If that requires the overthrow of the Testudo Cult, so be it. I want to be pointed out to the groups of visitors and/or prospective students. I want my photo to appear on the cover of the Undergraduate Catalog. I say DOWN WITH TESTUDO! It's time for a new mascot and that mascot should logically be me.

NOTES TO THOSE WHO ARE UNFAMILIAR WITH THE UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND, COLLEGE PARK (UMCP):
"Testudo" is the name of the half-ton bronze terrapin (turtle) which sits atop a concrete pedestal in front of the McKeldin Library on the University of Maryland College Park (UMCP) campus. Tradition has it that a quick rub of Testudo's shiny bronze nose will bring good luck. This tradition is seen in feverish practice chiefly before mid-terms and finals, before football games, and in more recent years, before basketball games.

"'Vous" is the abbreviation for The Rendezvous, a beer joint along US Route 1 in close proximity to the campus.

Most of the proper nouns are the names of classroom buildings.

"Blue lights" refers to the emergency call boxes scattered throughout the campus, each marked with a blue light.

A "Safe Break bag" is a plastic bag given free to students a few days before the Spring Break. It usually contains printed material dealing with the use of drugs or alcohol, speed limits in the neighboring states, the dangers of exposure to the sun, and responsible sexual activity. It also contains a pen, a pencil, a few candies and a supply of condoms with instructions for their proper use.

March 1995

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