Radcliffe Yard
The most interesting part of my college interview story is not the interview itself, but the journey to get there. And by that I do not mean some metaphorical journey. I mean the literal journey from my home in New Jersey to Radcliffe Yard.
The most interesting part of my college interview story is not the interview itself, but the journey to get there.
I don’t know why I had my interview on campus. I don’t recall ever being offered an alumna interview, and indeed, I did not even realize that was a thing until many years later, long after the Harvard and Radcliffe Admissions Offices were combined. But apparently most of my Radcliffe classmates had their interviews with alumnae who lived near them, rather than traveling to Cambridge.
The first step of the journey was with the drive from my house to Newark Airport, a quick and effortless twenty minutes. The next step was the flight. It was easy to fly from Newark to Boston in those days. There was an Eastern shuttle leaving every hour on the half-hour all day. You didn’t even buy a ticket in advance, you paid in cash after you were seated on the plane. The fare was eight dollars with a youth fare card, sixteen dollars for adults. Here’s what Newark Airport looked like at that time.
No security, no lines, you just hopped out at the curb, or crossed the street from the parking lot, walked to your gate, and boarded the plane. If the plane filled up, they promised to roll out another one for the overflow, no need to wait an hour for the next scheduled flight. The actual flying time was less than an hour.
As I recall, this was my first time flying alone. I wasn’t worried though. I was sixteen years old, and getting on these flights was no more complicated than getting on a bus. I was going to spend the night with Martha, a Radcliffe senior who had graduated from my high school, and then fly home the next day.
It should have been a piece of cake. But after we were all settled on the plane, and the stewardess (as they were called then) had collected everyone’s money, they discovered some problem with the plane and announced that there would be a short delay while they fixed it. I was a little concerned, as I had picked this particular flight to get me there in time for my interview. As the time stretched on, I became more concerned. I don’t know why they didn’t just roll out another plane for us. Maybe there wasn’t one available at that moment, or maybe once they had collected our money it would have been too complicated to move us all, since there were no actual tickets. I think we sat there on the tarmac for more than an hour, which means the next hour’s shuttle took off before ours did.
At some point I was able to call the Admissions Office to tell them I would be late. I assume I called them from the terminal in Boston when we finally arrived, unless they let us deplane and I called them from the terminal in Newark. It’s getting so hard to remember how we coped when we didn’t have phones with us at all times.
After finally getting to Logan Airport, I made the decision to take the MTA to Cambridge instead of a taxi. That had been the original plan, but given how late I was, it seems absurd. Martha had given me detailed instructions about the subway trip, which was fairly complicated and required changing trains twice, and I was determined to go that way rather than spend the exorbitant amount for cab fare. (Of course my parents had given me plenty of money for the trip, and the fare probably wasn’t even that exorbitant. But I was not one to spend money if I didn’t have to.)
By the time I got to Radcliffe Yard for my interview, I was several hours late, sweaty from the subway, carrying my suitcase (no rolling bags yet), and generally frazzled. The interviewer could not have been nicer, and quickly set me at ease. She was sympathetic about the flight delay, and praised me for dealing with the situation by myself. She was a young woman, probably in her mid to late twenties, not so long out of college herself. She was wearing a blouse or dress with embroidery that was very clearly Mexican. I commented on it, and we had a long discussion about Mexico, since I had lived there for a summer between 10th and 11th grades. We might have covered other subjects too, but all I remember was swapping tales about Mexico. We might have even conversed in Spanish a little bit. Apparently I made a good impression on her. Still, you can never be sure.
At the beginning of April, when the college letters came, the envelopes from the four other colleges I had applied to were fat, bulging with forms to fill out. The Radcliffe envelope was thin, which, according to conventional wisdom, meant it was a rejection. I was afraid to open it. When I finally did, and saw that the letter started out “We are pleased. . .” I was ecstatic. Unlike every other college in the country, Radcliffe waited to send forms until after you told them you were coming.
Suzy
Quite the journey, Suzy. And, as you noted, of the literal, not metaphorical variety. So glad you made it — in both senses of the word. But you nicely convey all the logistics issues and attendant agita, especially for a teenager. And, yes, I also recall a very thin envelope postmarked from Cambridge and had the same dread as you did.
As an aside, my interview was done locally, as was usually the case. but someone in Cambridge thought I wanted an in-person one too, and I didn’t want to say no and suggest disinterest. I will spare details until an appropriate prompt, but I will mention that my car broke down just before getting on the Mass Turnpike, and I was temporarily stranded with three female pals (all juniors) who wanted to stroll around Harvard Square while I had my interview. All four of us eded up taking that stroll as I missed my interview (but thank goodness for phone booths back then) and it all turned out OK. But, as a result, I can really identify with your “late for the interview” frazzlement.
Thanks, John, glad to know you Harvard guys got the scary thin envelope too. I’d love to hear your story about your trip to Cambridge, we’ll have to discuss what an appropriate prompt would be.
Will be glad to fill you in on the story. Maybe a good prompt would be; “First the good news; then the bad news.” Here, the good news was being stranded on a Friday afternoon in high school with three attractive young women. (Meatloaf could probably write a song about this.) And, of course, the bad news was missing my Harvard interview.
That is quite a tale, Suzy! I would have been beside myself if my flight had been that late. And then you still took that complicated MBTA ride. WOW! You get an “A” for perseverance, navigational skills and not falling apart completely. I’m sure those qualities impressed the interviewer as well. Interesting that Radcliffe didn’t send a “fat” envelope, so characteristic of the acceptance letter. It must have frightened many a high school senior in its day!
Thanks, Betsy. I was about to say that it was still the MTA, not MBTA, in 1968, until I looked it up and learned the name was changed in 1964. But everyone still called it the MTA in 1968, both because it takes time to get people to accept a name change in general, and because of the song “Charlie on the MTA.”
Some trip, Suzy, in all senses, but you persisted and made it. I’m glad that your interviewer had empathy and that you found something in common to share. That is always so helpful. I do remember those fat and thin envelopes as well.
Thanks, Marian. Yes, I was fortunate in getting the interviewer I did. Oddly, I don’t remember anything about the rest of that trip, and neither does my friend Martha.
Great story Suzy, and I well remember shuttle flights from NY to DC and Boston, and boy, was air travel simpler then!
I don’t remember much about my own college admissions process except that my father wrote my essay, as I wrote in my story for the Retro prompt Rites of Passage. But I remember my son’s wait for those thick or thin envelopes!
How cool of Radcliffe to send their acceptance letters in thin ones!
Thanks, Dana. I do miss the simpler air travel. My kids can’t believe we used to get to the airport 15 minutes before departure time and still make it on the plane.
Very evocative of the times, with the details about the air shuttles. And you. captured the mentality and excitement (as well as some of the cluelessness) of being a young and successful and unworried aspiring college student. The detail of talking about Mexico because you commented on an article of clothing was a particular highlight in giving the story its full body. Good work.
Thanks for this perceptive comment, Dale. Conversations based on an article of clothing are probably more common among women than men.
p.s. Knowing you almost always choose your titles from rock songs, I looked up this one. Even though I am a Neil Young fan, I don’t think I ever knew this one! So thanks for introducing me.
I love that Buffalo Springfield song, and it was actually popular at about the time of this story, which isn’t always the case with my song titles. Surprised you didn’t recognize it when you listened to it.
Wow, Suzy, you had amazing resilience and independence for a 16-year-old. I loved reading about how simple and different things were back then. Sigh.
Thanks, Laurie, it was certainly a simpler time. Thinking about it now, I’m surprised that I was so resilient and independent then.
Ohhh, I LOVE that song, Suzy…and Buffalo Springfield! (And not because, well, actually, despite the fact that I dated someone in the band.) Anyway, what I most love about your story is how you just dealt with whatever came your way that day and kept on keeping on. My sense is that your resilience and independence are just part of who you are, as is your ability to make people feel as comfortable as friends. As you have done with all of us here on Retrospect.
Thanks for commenting on the song, I love it too! (Gotta hear THAT story, does it relate to your mermaid friend Susie?) And thank you so much for your sweet comment about me, it made me so happy!
Your story brings back many memories about flights to Boston. In my case, it was flights from Columbus, Ohio, which was an hour drive from my home outside a small town in the hills of southeastern Ohio. There were no direct flights to Boston, but the fare was always the same, $21 one-way for a student stand-by ticket. I would get to the airport and only then work out whether I was going to go through New York, Newark, or Philadelphia. I always flew TWA to Boston, but picked whatever airline had the best time for the flight back to Columbus. (I always thought American had the prettiest “stewardesses”.)
I got bumped off a standby flight only once. I already had my ticket and was getting ready to go to the gate when I heard the ticket agent call for “Mr. Sales”. I looked around, and sure enough, Soupy Sales walked up and took the last seat available on that flight.
I did not interview in Cambridge. In fact, I never visited any of the three colleges to which I applied, but somehow managed to gain acceptance at all three, as I detailed in my own “Interview” posting. My flight in September of 1967 to enroll at Harvard was the first plane trip I had ever taken.
Thanks for sharing your story of flying to Boston, Jeff – a little more complicated than mine! Amazing that your first plane trip was the one you took to begin college.
A sweaty day in Boston after a delayed flight! Okay, not easy, but the idea of boarding a plane at a humane-sized terminal that you showed us, and forking over cash for a quick flight? Heaven! So determined at 16, to do it right, too. I loved traveling at that age. So grown up and romantic.
And you really struck me with that “We are pleased…” opening to your acceptance letter! I remember that moment very clearly. Great recollection, Suzy.
Thanks, Charlie. It was fun to remember that trip, although as I said to Marian, I don’t remember anything after the interview. Also fun to remember getting that letter in April.
I take it the return back to New Jersey had a little less pressure involved. And regardless of your memory loss, you must have made a good impression on your interviewer.
Loved the story. It reminds me of the old Pacific Southwest Airlines (PSA) flights. Too bad it will never return.
Thanks, Joe. I flew on PSA in the ’70s and ’80s (see my story Big Old Jet Airliner). It was not quite the same feeling as the Eastern shuttle where there were no tickets and you just got on the plane like getting on a bus.