College and a 1.6 GPA
Part 2
Enoch Peter Gamoian
First step: Find the administration building. Cynicism correctly drew me to the nicest building on campus. It was right next to the crappiest building on campus: the music department. More on that later.
Every office had a shingle above the door with cryptic initials and bewildering department names. “Secretary of Admissions” looked promising.
Posture checked, tie straightened, transcripts in hand, I walked through the door.
The secretary of admissions did a fine job of perpetuating the stereotypical movie bureaucrat, telling me—with the tiny yet unmistakable whiff of derision—that I would first need two years at Fresno City College.
With my academic track record, there was no way I would make it through two years of general education in a high school with ashtrays.
I walked most of the way back to my car and stopped. This was supposed to be my defining moment. This is going to be my defining moment.
Posture checked, tie straightened, transcripts in hand, I turned around and walked back to the administration building. I walked through every shingled doorway that sounded even remotely related to my mission, only to be directed back to the secretary of admissions and her flat-footed tropes.
I walked the course a third time, both floors, every hallway. I even looked down short halls that didn’t have any shingles, except one with an especially large shingle:
“Dr. Carol Cotton, Dean of Admissions.”
Bathe the shingle in golden light and cue the choir: a true Hollywood moment if ever there was one.
This had to be a person who had some variables he could play with.
So I walked in and asked to see Dr. Cotton.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but I only need a few minutes of his time.”
“He’s in a meeting, and it might be a while.”
“I’ll wait.”
Sitting there, I kept thinking that things could have been different if I’d kept walking a mere thirty minutes ago. Now I was in the office of the dean of admissions at California State University, Fresno.
Crossroads, indeed!
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in his office. This was my shot; I presented my case.
Dr. Cotton listened very carefully. He seemed impressed. Was that possible?
He finally asked why I didn’t want to go to City College. Without thinking, I said, “I think having to attend Fresno City College is cruel punishment for doing poorly in high school.”
This got a laugh. I made a university dean laugh out loud.
He told me about a rather obscure exception in the admissions guidelines that would permit a person to attend regardless of their high school grades, provided they had been out of high school for at least ten years. I hadn’t been out of high school for ten years at the time, but Dr. Cotton said that, under exceptional circumstances, the rule could be bent a bit.
“It’s going to require quite a bit of effort and legwork on your part,” he said. “You’ll have to fill out a lot of forms, take several assessment tests, and I want you to submit a three- to five-page paper on why you want to attend Fresno State. You still might not be admitted.”
He had his assistant bring in an impressive stack of forms, jotted a quick note on the top page, and told me to check in with one more person who would get the ball rolling: the secretary of admissions.
I walked through that first doorway again.
“I was here a few hours ago. I’m the guy who had to attend City College. I just had a meeting with Dr. Cotton, and he asked me to give these to you.”