Homecoming

One last ball game on the old black and gold gridiron.

I was in my office in the college’s administration building at 8 a.m. on Homecoming Saturday.

That wasn’t out of the ordinary, I guess.

But I was in a different office than usual, one I’d been squatting in for a few weeks as my replacement (upgrade, hopefully) got settled in. And I wasn’t there to check emails or print out the day’s itinerary. I was packing up the last of my stuff to leave campus, maybe for good.

I’d been awake since before 5 a.m. This was unthinkable eight months ago, but circumstances dictated—and fortunately for me, other circumstances allowed for—an adjustment. I spent the morning tossing more bags in the rented dumpster at home, packing up my Jeep, and strapping down the soft-sided travel topper that was about to depart on its second 2,000-mile roadtrip to Pictou.

All week, I’d joked with colleagues that if I made it to the Homecoming football game it would mean that the morning had gone smoothly at the house. By 12:15 p.m., things were looking good. I hopped in the shower, pulled on a college polo, put on my name tag and lanyard, and headed to campus. It was a strange feeling to know everything I did—exactly the same as so many other fall Saturdays over the years—was now happening for the last time.

Hollingsworth Field sits on the west side of the Gustavus campus, across the street from the president’s home, the baseball field, and the northern tip of the college arboretum. The current stadium opened in 2007, just in time for my freshman season on the football team. Between practices and games as a student-athlete, pickup soccer as an employee, and supporting big events like the annual commencement ceremony, I spent a lot of time on that turf over the last 18 years.

I wasn’t meeting anyone specific at the game, so I floated through the crowd. I ran into former co-workers who’d moved on, old college teammates, and current colleagues and friends. I got a big hug from the senior associate dean of admission who first hired me as a student tour guide back in 2010. Neither of us knew it at the time, but that summer job set me on the path to life as an administrator at a residential liberal arts college.

And what is a liberal arts education? Most people couldn’t tell you, but they know there’s a word in there that feels political.

It’s not, but that’s just a good example of how our collective dialogue has become dumbed down at best and intentionally misleading at worst.

The “liberal” in “liberal arts” derives from the Latin “liberalis,” meaning “free.” “Arts” comes from Latin “ars,” for “knowledge” or “skill.” The word “artifact” has the same root: something made by human skill or knowledge. “Liberal arts,” in this sense, is education that equips a person for life as a free citizen.

- Blaine Greteman, PhD

Now, before you go thinking that quoting a university professor about the meaning of the liberal arts is an exercise in circular rhetoric that only reinforces the walls of the Ivory Tower, you should know that Blaine grew up in Hydro, Oklahoma. A speck on the map an hour west of Oklahoma City on Route 66, the most distinctive feature of the town of 927 residents is that it has good well water (hence the name). And Blaine didn’t go to an “elite” institution until he was named a Rhodes Scholar. He did his undergraduate studies at Oklahoma State and has spent his career teaching at the University of Iowa and the University of Tulsa.

My point, I guess, is that higher education—and especially liberal arts education—isn’t about indoctrination. It’s about opportunity. It’s about learning to use a variety of tools to solve problems in our organizations, businesses, communities, and the world.

A liberal arts education offers an expansive intellectual grounding in all kinds of humanistic inquiry.

By exploring issues, ideas and methods across the humanities and the arts, and the natural and social sciences, you will learn to read critically, write cogently and think broadly. These skills will elevate your conversations in the classroom and strengthen your social and cultural analysis; they will cultivate the tools necessary to allow you to navigate the world’s most complex issues.

- Princeton University

As a teenager, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life. I had serious conversations with recruiters from the U.S. Marines and was leaning toward that path. Would the military have prepared me for life? Absolutely. Would a community or technical college or big university? Sure thing.

But then I started to get a little bit of attention from some local NCAA Division III football programs, including Gustavus.

My parents recognized the opportunity before I did. Neither of them have a four-year degree. They encouraged me to get serious about the small private colleges in Minnesota. Looking back now, I’m sure glad they did.

I was a decent high school student, played multiple sports, and was involved in some leadership groups. I had okay grades and good test scores, but I hadn’t really applied myself in the classroom.

The same admission staffer who gave me a hug on Homecoming told me years ago that students like that were the hardest for her to evaluate when reviewing applications.

“Smart, but haven’t done the things that prove they’ll be successful in college,” she said.

Fair enough.

I hope I’ve proved it since.

I checked out a few other colleges, but Gustavus felt like home from that first visit with the football coach. More than anywhere else, it felt like they wanted me.

Community is a big part of the fabric at Gustavus. After experiencing it for four years as a student, I’ve spent most of the time since trying to create that feeling for others. Whether it was meeting with prospective students, writing about current students and professors, hosting visiting speakers, or providing strategy and logistics support for the senior administration and Board of Trustees, hospitality has always been part of the “other duties as assigned.”

Even at my last Homecoming, I found myself answering questions, giving directions, and straightening things up in the grandstand.

In the third quarter, I said my goodbyes and got a big hug from the new president. I walked across the sunny autumn campus as cheers from the stadium faded into the distance.

When I drove down College Avenue, I didn’t know how to feel.

I’d expected to cry, but didn’t. Too tired, I guess. Too much to think about. Too many next steps to consider.

It’ll all happen in good time.

The next day, my brother and I left for our road trip to Nova Scotia.

We arrived on Wednesday afternoon. I’m writing from Bayview now.

It was a different kind of homecoming.

Both of them felt right.

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