College and a 1.6 GPA
Part 3
Enoch Peter Gamoian
“Hi, I was in here a few hours ago. You recommended I attend City College. I spoke with Dr. Cotton, and he asked me to give these to you.”
The cranky movie cliche took my papers rather reluctantly and read the note from Dr. Cotton. Without a word, she motioned me to follow her to another person’s desk. This persn was very nice, and she got caught up in my excitement, too. She could tell how excited I was, and she seemed to share it.
We must have talked for an hour. I must have asked the same questions five times. She didn’t mind a bit.
I stopped by the bookstore to get a university catalog on my way back to my car.
I stopped at the local drugstore on the way home and made ten copies of every page of every form. I was going to fill out each form to absolute perfection on my 30-year-old Smith-Corona, and I needed practice. Once completed, the university pencil pushers were going to look at these forms in awe.
That night, I read the college catalog cover to cover. I must have spent 30 or 40 hours writing my three-to-five-page paper. I don’t think the Bill of Rights was penned with greater loving care.
With my forms and my paper (handsomely bound in the most expensive report folder money could buy), I went back to the nice lady who had gotten so caught up in my excitement a few days earlier. She instantly recognized me. We talked for another hour, and she was nice enough to look over my forms and read my paper. She said she thought I’d made a fine effort.
She then handed me my schedule of tests. There were six in all, two of which I could take home with me. All the tests had to be completed in less than a week.
When I completed my final test, I was told that notification of my acceptance or rejection would arrive in the mail in two to four weeks.
Oh, what a long two to four weeks that was. I hovered over the mailbox center at my apartment complex like a vulture. Eventually, the mailman got to know me by name.
He began looking out for something from Fresno State as he sorted his daily deliveries and would let me know as soon as he reached the apartment mailbox center.
Eventually, the mailman showed up at my door one morning. He wasn’t due to deliver mail to my complex yet, but he had found something from Fresno State and wanted to bring it to me right away. Not only did he do that, but he actually waited for me to open the envelope to see if I’d been accepted.
It was a letter of acceptance.
He shook my hand, congratulated me, and went on his way. What a guy!
There has been heartache, a lot of stress, some illness, some tragedy, and some profound loss, but I can’t imagine how my life would have turned out if I had given up after my first crack at the administration building. I’m certain I wouldn’t be writing to you right now.
On my very last day on campus as an undergraduate, a bright, clear, warm, magical day in June 1987, I made one last stop before leaving: the office of Dr. Carol Cotton, Dean of Admissions, California State University, Fresno.
Unfortunately, Dr. Cotton was away on business. But I left a message with his secretary.
“Please tell Dr. Cotton that I am participating in commencement exercises this Saturday. I completed a BA in English, and he played a defining role. I was nowhere near qualified to be admitted to the university, but Dr. Cotton took a chance on me. I just wanted him to know that his gamble paid off. I’m starting grad school in the fall.”
I don’t know if Dr. Cotton got my message. I don’t know where Dr. Cotton is these days.
And it was one hell of a career arc.
So many crossroads and defining moments, beautifully intertwined, seemingly random.
I just released an album of instrumental music composed for film and TV. I’m reaching out to every music supervisor I can find.
It’s a long shot. An epic long shot.
But I’m not stopping until I find somebody who will tell me what I want to hear.