The Tar HeelThursday, July 18, 19853
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By VIRGINIA MOORE
My decision to transfer to the
University of North Carolina at
Chapel Hill was not a wholly happy
one at the time I made it in March
1982.
I was sitting in my dorm room in
Evanston, Illinois, watching a beau
tiful white blizzard rage outside. I like
snow and had not tired of the novelty
of the Chicago winters. Nor the Cubs.
Nor the Wildcat football team which
I supported in its attempt to become
the worst overall football team in the
recorded history of the sport.
I wasn't particularly thrilled when
my father called and said that my
transfer application had been
accepted. Oh no, I thought. I really
do have to go.
And here I was, in August of 1982,
signing up for classes, eating in
Chapel Hill restaurants and catching
up with some Wildcat booster bud
dies who had transferred down. That
fall I settled into a pattern of school,
debate and home life, which was
centered around memorizing com
mercials on TV between reruns of
"MASH" and "Quincy."
I had been worried about transfer
ring to a large school where every
class is held in an auditorium with
500 students. And I wanted to take
a language. Hoping for a small class,
I walked over to the Slavic depart
ment. Hmm, I thought. Slav 107. I
asked politely at the desk what
language was being taught, seeing
that a number of exotic ones were
listed under the course heading.
"I think Victor is doing Turkish
this year," said the desk attendant.
Now, wouldn't that be a blast, I
thought. A language, without having
to go through language lab. Meets
at 2 p.m. It sounded ideal.
Little did I realize what I was
getting myself into. There were seven
of us in Turkish class that semester.
The next year, Victor taught Alban
ian instead.
Who would take these kinds of
courses? People who don't want the
boring, run-of-the-mill existence
(and courseload) of the typical
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collegian. People like me. I took that
course with seven people, and my
others had no more than 30.
Where were most of the boys and
girls at Carolina going for their
education? I cant tell you where they
were. I wasn't going out to meet them
and they weren't coming to my
apartment to meet me. I was waiting
for the "action train," but I didn't
realize I was the conductor. Besides,
I never wanted to come here in the
first place. I had a bad case of the
BA blues. Bad Attitude, that is.
My first Christmas home was
rough. I had to face myself and
realize that I was the one who had
to make my life at Carolina work.
And since I wasn't going to transfer
anywhere else, I better get my act
together. I went back in January
resolved to be a better student, to
give people a chance and to get
involved in at least one on-campus
activity.
As I strolled through the Union
one day, I saw a girl sitting at a table
marked "Crew." Half interested, I
asked when they practiced. She said
hey ran at 6 a.m. I had momentary
and fleeting visions of changing my
life into a daylight-oriented schedule,
but had to admit quickly that I would
never be happy. Besides, who could
consider themselves sane when they
chose to get up at 5:30 a.m. to meet
a bunch of other masoschists in the
cold January morning. I don't even
like running.
Turning away, I saw another sign.
Women's Rugby. Another novelty.
Oh, well, 111 see.
I went to their meeting with all my
usual fears and insecurities. They
were already a clique and I was
obviously not a member, at least not
yet. But I wanted to get some exercise
and this seemed worth trying. They
practiced in the afternoon, which was
much more to my taste.
Thus mv transformation began. I
met people in my classes and started
getting to know them. I was still
spending most of my Saturday nights
' watching' 'Love Boat" and I sang
commercials which I knew by heart.
I began my second year down here
by moving to Carrboro with a
German girl I'd met in Turkish class.
I continued to play rugby and meet
more people and we had a rule: no
TV. There wasn't even one in the
house. Occasionally I would sneak
to the Union for "General Hospital",
but that was a minor weakness.
There are a few things I've done
that most people don't. I fell upon
some events and classes seemingly at
random, but there seemed to be some
kind of cosmic order at work.
Unfortunately, not enough people
know about the interesting courses
and they get too confined in thinking
about jobs and money. My wise old
papa says people come to him with
MBA's wanting a job in his business
and they don't know nothing about
the way business works. In fact, says
he, they get uppity because they think
they do know. They've been told this
is right and that's wrong and this is
how you do it. My papa would rather
just see a trainable, likeable person
walk in who doesn't have their head
9
up their ... And I guess that's what
I think as well.
Tp my mind, being a maniacal
student is just as bad as being a sloth.
There is enough time for many things
in the course of a day: studying,
socializing, sleeping, eating, playing.
I went through all the stages of being
a "good" as well as a "bad" student,
happy and sad with my place in
studenthood, in humanity.
University life is no more real or
absurd than any other aspect of
living. Some people say Chapel Hill
is not the real world. You may think
it absurd or wonderful or meaning
ful, but chances are you will take it
seriously. But, like all other things,
college is just one more way to spend
some time on your way to old age.
So sit on the steps of Lenoir or
Alumni Hall. Take Slav 107. Victor
is teaching Georgian this year. (That
doesn't mean our peach and peanut
cousins to the south speak a different
language. Georgian is the language
that Stalin spoke, coming out of the
Georgian province in the Caucasus.)
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For Information
Call Collect
Major Joe Sebes
(919) 684-5895
mo
Can vou oicture vourself
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You'll have a chance
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Adventure training like
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Qualities like self
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the ability to perform
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If you'd like to find out
more, make a date to see
your Army ROTC Professor
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Introductory Class
Each Vednesdayat 3:30 PM
Room 107 Hanes Hall
967-3378