My college daze

 Oddly enough, I quite remember my college days.

This will come as a surprise to those cohorts who assumed I’d flame out soon.

I was at Outhouse College, which was an appendage of that institute of higher learning now more commonly known as Western University.

Only spent a year there, but it was an eventful year. I was simultaneously the captain AND the quarterback of the college drinking team. That’s a tall order, and you can imagine the stress that involved. Nevertheless, we won a few championships that year.

I remember a few of my profs… Jeffries, McLarty, McPeck…

And this guy named Hansen, who for some reason, maybe because of his cliched good looks, was known as “Hollywood Hansen” back in the day.

Al Jeffries was a salt of the earth kinda guy. Never had any trouble with him. I learned in the fullness of time that he was on the team that vetted new admissions to Outhouse, and he’d cast the deciding vote on this candidate who was at best 50/50. Fifty percent chance of being a choice recruit; fifty percent chance this asshole would cause you no end of embarrassment.

And it’s been fifty-fifty for a long time now.

McPeck was quite a guy. I think he was in philosophy. He made the headlines of the local paper because when he was out for his morning constitutional one day he spotted a couple of youngsters who had fallen into the River Thames.

He was only able to save one of them. You can imagine how that would haunt a philosophy prof for the rest of his life.

And it did.

But the real deal on McPeck was that he was a bit of an outlier at the time. Teaching “critical thinking” was a big fad in those days. McPeck had the unmitigated temerity to suggest that you’d actually have to know something before you could think critically about it.

I remember a few of my fellow students as well. There was Tanja, who came back from spring break to find her dad had been charged with attempted murder. I liked Tanja a lot, and it wasn’t all about her very impressive rack. No, she was on the editorial committee for something called the “Outhouse College Arts and Literary Review,” where I actually had a couple of short stories published.

And there was this Dolson guy, who I remember telling me; if the path of excess leads to the palace of wisdom, I should back up a bit and find the right exit ramp…

Not sure exactly what he was trying to tell me.

But I’m still here, Mr. Dolson!

And still kicking against the pricks!…

Then there was the colleague who, on being informed that I’d invested my student loans in a place called the “Oar House,” surmised that said establishment was right next door to the “air cutting place.”

Sounds a bit sketchy…

We even had field trips at Outhouse! I recall a trip to the (then) new CBC HQ in downtown Toronto.

A gang of us were waiting for the elevator in the lobby. When the elevator finally arrived it could only accommodate half our crew.

As we were waiting for the next elevator, I looked around and suggested to the left-behinds that perhaps we should find a bar somewhere instead of touring that stupid CBC building. I was taken aback by the enthusiasm of my classmates for this suggestion!

Long story short, about half the class of ’94 got shitfaced in downtown Toronto instead of touring the new CBC digs.

Which ultimately led to a slip of the tongue I regret to this day. Somewhere along the route back to Outhouse, I felt compelled to announce, to all aboard the bus, “hey Hansen, eat shit and die.”

Needless to say, I never got a reference letter from “Hollywood Hansen.”

But I’ve done OK.