Going Back to College

Every summer, a hundred Brazilian adolescents descend on UCLA’s dormitories to study English. When one gets sick, a counselor phones April Travel Insurance which phones me.

I graduated UCLA fifty years ago, and returning is a strange experience. Crowds outside the dormitories shriek, laugh, and chatter. It sounds like a kindergarten. Were we that noisy? Women’s fashions don’t seem to have changed, but the males look dorky. My generation had long hair and tight clothes. Nowadays it’s short hair and baggy clothes. Men wear shorts. Don’t they realize how silly they look? We kept books in lockers. Now everyone has a backpack. Especially odd is the number of Asians who make up a third of the enrollment. Most speak perfect English, so they’re clearly American. Where were they when I was a student?

In my day, when you entered a university building, you found a door and entered. Today all except the main entrance are locked. Students manning the front desk consider names and room numbers privileged information. Using the elevator requires a key which all students carry. This is identical to hotel security and probably no more effective.

On arriving, I phone a counselor from the lobby who comes down to escort me. The dorm rooms are tinier than I remember, and I suspect little studying occurs because desks are piled with personal items. Delivering medical care is no problem, but it’s summer, and foreigners consider air conditioning unhealthy, so the rooms are hot.

Middle-class teenagers suffer respiratory infections, upset stomachs, and minor injuries almost exclusively, so, once I learned to deal with UCLA’s draconian parking policy, I found these easy visits.