Threshing The Wheat From The Chaff


| September/October 1970



Suddenly I'm a 'college boy'. Imagine me, never having attended a college or university before and coming home with a report card marked 'A'!

''A' means 'Excellent',' said the wife, almost as if she was proud of me. 'I've had twelve years of university and I received only 'B' in my course,' she laughed.

It so happens that the wife, being a teacher in the Junior High school and now appointed head of the school library, has been having to take some additional courses in library administration to qualify. I have been just the chauffeur, driving her to and from these courses, thumbing the well-worn pages of Iron Man Albums and Gas Engine Magazines in the school hall-Way while she was matriculating within the ivy towers of higher learning.

'Why not sign up for some kind of class?' she said. 'It would be better than just loafing around while you're waiting on me.' (Reading Iron Man Albums isn't loafing.)

I argued that it would be a waste of time for me to even try to learn anything, let alone futile for the professor who tried to teach me. But the wife argued back that once she had taken her dog to school with her and the dern dog went through the Whole university (in the front door and out the back) in one day. I felt that if a common pooch could pass all the 'entrance examinations', attend all classes and graduate with a soup-bone diploma by licking the professors' feet for a 'cum laude' between sunrise and sunset, I ought to be smart enough to polish the teacher's apple and come off with a 'bum laude' for a single course in nine weeks.

When I told the professor I'd sign up for English-Composition, he replied that the beginning course in that was held on another evening. This, of course, defeated our purpose, and I felt relieved of my university obligation. But the 'prof' suggested that I take the examination on the beginning course and, if I passed it, I'd be eligible for course eleven, which would be held the same evening as my wife's class.