Going to the “Boro”
My career journey looked nothing like the path that was pursued by businesspeople (predominately men) of previous generations. For starters, I had no plan. I had no idea what my career would look like, or if I would even have a professional career. As a teenager, I loved music and baseball and thought that one of those might be my calling, but that was more of a desire than a serious consideration. I entered college as an undeclared matriculated student. Even the college I attended did not foretell a career in business, never mind Wall Street.

How I ended up attending Glassboro State College, (now known as Rowan University), is a tale of an ambiguous and non-committal mindset. Going to college was not my idea. It was a foregone conclusion made by my parents. I was going to college because that is what I was supposed to do, at least according to my father. It did not occur to me that not going to college was even an option. I did know, however, that my parents could only afford a New Jersey state college therefore private colleges were definitely out of the question.

I applied to almost all of the state colleges that did not have a “party” reputation as defined by my dad, (the original Papa Kerns). This eliminated Trenton State and Stockton State Colleges. Ironically, Trenton State is now “The College of New Jersey” and, ironically, is considered one of the better undergraduate programs in the state. My only criterion was that I wanted to live on campus and not commute to college. Beyond that I offered no opinion, nor was it solicited. Papa Kerns Sr. was intimately involved in the college admission process, or to be more accurate he took care of the entire college admission process. His influence did not stop there for which I am, in hindsight, extremely grateful.

James Milton Kerns quit high school at the age of 16 and at 17 went to Utah to work with the Civilian Conservation Corps. The CCC was a major part of President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal program following the Great Depression in the early 20th century that provided manual labor jobs related to the conservation and development of natural resources in rural government-owned lands. His father, Edward F. Kerns, died when James was 5 years old, so the purpose of working in the CCC was to send money back to his mom and family back in Jersey City, NJ. After a few years in Utah, he returned home and enlisted in the Army Air Corps as the United States entered the Pacific theater of World War II. After VJ (Victory over Japan) day on August 15, 1945, Technical Sergeant James Kerns returned to Jersey City where he dated and then married my mom, Mildred Veronica McGuire. Using the experience he obtained as a radio operator/technician he got a job at the Bendix Corporation. He stayed working at Bendix until he retired 40 years later.

In his last years at Bendix, one of Papa Kerns Sr’s responsibilities was to liaise with the company’s outside auditors; an accounting firm called Deloitte Haskins & Sells, (now known as Deloitte and Touche). Dad enjoyed this part of his job immensely and even began taking night courses to understand the basics of accounting. This always impressed me. He was in his early fifties but still invested time, energy, and money to better himself for the purpose of being more valuable to his employer. This behavior aligned perfectly with the work ethic that he preached and instilled in me and my brothers.

As a result of his introduction to the world of accounting, he thought I would be good at it as well. I was not a great student in High School, but I always did well in my math classes. While I entered Glassboro with no major declared I began taking accounting classes at the behest of my dad. He wasn’t wrong. Accounting concepts came very easily to me. In hindsight, I always found accounting as very logical, very black and white. By definition, a set of accounting books MUST balance, and if they do not then it is clear there was an error somewhere. It is a self-correcting system. Selecting accounting as my career choice was an easy decision.

That was not the only influence my dad had over my academic life. As I stated earlier, Papa Kerns Sr. handled the entire college acceptance process. I only applied to Ramapo State College, Glassboro State College, William Paterson, and Rutgers University. My preference was to go to Rutgers for a few reasons; it was the best school of the bunch, I would live on campus, and it was my brother’s, (Jim), alma mater. Alas, it was not to be. My high school grades were not good enough for Rutgers, but I was accepted at Ramapo and William Paterson, both colleges were located in North Jersey so therefore I would be commuting if I attended either one. Up to this point, we had not heard from Glassboro, which was my second choice behind Rutgers.

Ramapo was my “safety school” so it was decided that I would attend William Paterson College. Again, since I would have to commute, my parents bought me a car for that purpose. For some unknown reason, my dad thought it was a good idea to buy me a “muscle car.” A 1967 Pontiac LeMans with a V8 engine and 350 horsepower. Any other teenage boy would have been ecstatic to have his parents buy him such a car, but since I knew absolutely nothing about cars it was lost on me. It was just going to be a means to get me to and from classes.

It always bothered my dad that we never heard from Glassboro, so during the summer of 1976, while preparing to attend William Paterson, my dad contacted the Glassboro admissions office. It was only a few days from the deadline for acceptances and the admissions officer told him that I had, in fact, been accepted months earlier. For some reason, the acceptance letter never got to us. Thanks to my dad’s perseverance I was preparing to enter my freshman year at Glassboro State College.

While I decided to focus on the business/accounting track, getting a job after graduation was not a foregone conclusion. As recently as 1974, 2 years before my freshman year, Glassboro was called “Glassboro State Teachers College”, a well-respected college for teaching candidates. It was not until the fall semester of 1974 that it became a liberal arts college with majors not related to teaching. Hence, there was no track record for business majors. However, for some reason, (possibly due to its proximity to Philadelphia), two major accounting firms began recruiting on-campus during my senior year in 1979/1980. Those firms were Price Waterhouse and Deloitte Haskins & Sells. The same Deloitte Haskins & Sells that so impressed my dad.

The Interview
The string of fortunate events, truly unbelievable circumstances, and just pure dumb luck combined with determination, an ingrained work ethic, and a willingness to take risks that lasted longer than 30 years began on a cold Monday morning in November of 1979. As is the case with almost every college senior, I was stressing about getting a job after graduation. I had great grades in school, (an overall GPA of 3.4 and a GPA in my major over 3.6), but I was still graduating from a college that was still known for creating great teachers, not successful business people. As a result, I was willing to accept any job that was offered to get my career started. There was someone that would not allow, or accept, that mindset.

I met Jeanmarie Hargrave in the summer of 1979. It was a momentous occasion that would change my life forever and for the better. While the details of that summer will be detailed in other writings, it is enough to say that the romance was intense and passionate from the very beginning. Still, I thought it prudent to end it at the end of the summer as I was going back to live at school. However, Jeanmarie was having none of that. This may have been the first time, but it was definitely not the last, that her passion and instincts would steer me, and us, along the path to success and happiness.

Now, getting back to scheduling those on-campus interviews with DH&S and Price Waterhouse. The first interview was with DH&S and was to take place on that Monday morning in November. The weekend before the interview I went back to North Jersey to stay with Jeanmarie. Since she had her own apartment, I could visit and not check in with my parents. As a 21-year-old “goody-two-shoes” this was an exciting time for me. The plan was for me to wake up early enough on Monday morning and make the 2-hour trip back down to Glassboro arriving in plenty of time for my interview. Of course, I got a late start and as a result, received a speeding ticket on the NJ Turnpike in my haste to make it on time. When I arrived at my apartment, I realized I left my one-and-only suit back in North Jersey. Panicked, I borrowed my roommate’s (Steve’s) sports jacket, (which was too big for me), and his tie that he would wear while student teaching. I put on a pair of khakis, grabbed the folder that held my resume and other notes that I prepared for the interview, and ran across the freezing campus to the registrar’s office where the interview was to take place. It was really cold outside, but by the time I got there, I was sweating and panting.

These interviews were scheduled for only 30 minutes as they were meant to be “first” interviews or introductory interviews, the results of which would determine if you were to be invited to the firm’s actual offices for a follow-up interview. As a result of my “bad luck” arriving back to campus, I arrived 20 minutes late for the interview. Technically I only had 10 minutes for the interview, but as luck would have it, it was the last interview of the day and the interviewer realized I was in an agitated state. He politely suggested that I go to the bathroom, splash water on my face, and otherwise calm myself down. He asked me to leave my resume with him to review in the meantime. Thinking that I was toast and had nothing to lose, and honestly, I was quite relieved by his kind demeanor, I did just as he suggested.

Upon returning from the restroom, I noticed that the interviewer wore a wry smile. He handed me back the folder that was supposed to include my resume and asked me to open it. In my haste to leave my apartment, I grabbed the wrong folder off the table. I had given him a folder that contained the unmarked tests of my roommate’s students. That was the final humiliation. I wrote off any chance that I would ever work for Deloitte Haskins & Sells. However, I must have been a pathetic sight, and he must have felt sorry for me because he said something to the effect that these interviews only serve to ascertain if the candidate would be a good fit for a follow-up interview. With all the unfortunate events he did not have the heart to deny me the opportunity for a second interview and then asked if I had a preference of working in Philadelphia or Manhattan.

Here is where Jeanmarie’s influence was felt again. I had taken a career guidance/jobs search course the previous semester where we were taught that under no circumstance were we to dictate any aspect of the interview process including, and especially, potential work locations. Two days before this interview Jeanmarie said that, if the interview was going well, I should request a second interview in Manhattan as she did not want to live in South Jersey or Philadelphia. Since the interviewer opened that door, I decided to walk through it. After all, given everything else that happened what did I have to lose? Surprisingly, he agreed to send my resume, (once I got it to him), with his recommendation to the Manhattan offices of Deloitte Haskins & Sells. I was surprised and overjoyed. The euphoria would be short-lived.

A Tragic Turn
1980 was the beginning of a new decade. Life was exciting and full of promise for the future. Even my beloved Yankees were a powerhouse team appearing in 3 of the previous 4 World Series and winning two of them. I was a senior in college, I was in a passionate love affair, and had just taken my first steps to ensure a job post-graduation. However, as I would learn time-and-time again life is full of pendulum swings. During that time in my life when I was filling my heart and soul with all the exciting experiences of becoming an adult my father, dad, Papa Kerns Sr., unbeknownst to me was fighting the battle for his life.

Papa Kerns Sr. was an avid smoker. At its peak, his addiction would have him smoking 4 packs of cigarettes per day. That’s 80 cigarettes each day, and while he had recently switched to filtered cigarettes, he smoked unfiltered Chesterfields for years. He wasn’t quite a chain smoker lighting up one cigarette from the butt of another, but close enough. During the summer of 1979, while Jeanmarie and I were in the beginning stages of our relationship that would last the rest of our lives my parents decided to do the vacation that they had been talking about for years; drive across the United States. Dad had recently retired after 30 years, and they finally decided to take the trip they thought would never happen. The plan was to take a southern route bringing them to Southern California where my oldest brother, Jim, lived with his family. Coming home they planned a northern route. It was an ambitious plan for anyone.

Unfortunately, the second leg of the trip had to be abandoned as Dad became too ill to travel. Upon returning to NJ, he was diagnosed with angina and scheduled a quadruple bypass surgery for November, about the same time as my bumbling on-campus interview. Papa Kerns Sr. was a proud man, sometimes too proud. Such was the case when it came time for him to go to the hospital for his surgery. His illness made it extremely difficult to walk any distance without being in pain or running out of breath. Even a walk in the yard was too much. However, since my mother didn’t drive and he was concerned about how the car would get back home after he was admitted to the hospital, he decided to take the bus from Riverdale, NJ to St. Michael’s Medical Center in Newark, NJ. The bus let him off a few blocks from the hospital and he had to walk the remaining distance which was a bit uphill. That walk almost killed him. With Jim in California and my other brother, (Bob), battling his own demons at that time I was the most logical person to bring him for his surgery, but I didn’t even know it was scheduled. Afterward, he said he didn’t want to take me away from school during the important senior year. After the surgery, my mom called Jeanmarie to ask her to drive her to the hospital, and I came home immediately.

Mom was not in a good mental state and the fear of losing her husband and being alone was palpable. Her agitation was extremely obvious. When I got home and went to visit my dad, the surgeon who performed the surgery happened to be with him and pulled me aside. Given that my mom’s agitated state was so obvious the surgeon was reluctant to give her the bad news he had to share. Since I was 21 years old and a member of my dad’s immediate family, he told me the news instead. While the bypass surgery went well and was considered successful, they discovered that my dad’s body was riddled with cancer. In essence, my dad was dying of stage 4 lung cancer. The surgeon said he only had months, and maybe only weeks, to live. He also instructed me not to say anything to either my mom or dad as she was too fragile mentally and he was too fragile physically.

I held on to this news and only told Jeanmarie who insisted I tell Jim. As Thanksgiving approached, I still had not told either of my parents the distressing news. I was unaware that the doctor had since told my dad of his prognosis (which I assume he was obligated to do). It wasn’t until he called Jim to tell him did my dad find out that I knew as well. Ironically, he looked and felt amazing that Thanksgiving Day. He said it was the best he felt in over 20 years. The bypass surgery did its job. Sadly, so did the cancer. This was a case of the “operation was a success, but the patient died.” The cancer worked quickly, and James M. Kerns died on December 21, 1979, at the age of 59.

Bittersweetness
On February 2, 1980, I went for my second interview at Deloitte Haskins & Sells, the firm that introduced my dad to the world of accounting which led him to steer me down the road that would lead to an amazingly successful career. A career he did not witness. Something I regret to this day. I arrived at 2 Broadway in the financial district in downtown Manhattan. As a complete neophyte, I had no idea how the day would, or even should, unfold. I received a letter from the kind recruiter who took pity on me during the Glassboro interview fiasco that stated I should report to this address at 9:00 am on this day. Other than that, I was clueless.

At this point in my life, I was not a city person by any stretch of the imagination. I was in anxious awe of traveling to New York City by myself. Up to this point I had been in the city only for the occasional play, concert, or Yankee game, or an elementary school class trip to a museum or zoo, but never on my own. I was so ignorant about transportation that I asked Jeanmarie’s brother-in-law, Owen, if he could help me as he had recently started a job working for IBM in the city. To say that I was nervous is an understatement of the greatest magnitude. To quote the Great Wizard in the Wizard of Oz, “I was petrified!” I had no idea what questions to ask, how to behave, or even what to expect. To underscore my pathetic naivete I wore a light beige suit (that was dangerously close to being white, it was the same suit that is in this picture from our nephew’s (Mickey’s) Christening). Also, with a stubborn, independent attitude that would underscore many of my career decisions in the years to come, I refuse to shave off my full red-tinged beard (which you can also see in the picture). What a sight I must have been in my “beige” suit, red beard, and an awe-struck expression.

Two incidents from that day stuck with me, and over 40 years later I still recall them vividly. One of them took place and was a precursor to the intimidating behavior I would witness many times during my career, and the other was just another example of the good fortune that seemed to accompany me throughout my 30-year career.

In hindsight, my fear and anxiety, while appropriate and understandable, turned out to be overblown. The day would include interviews with several individuals, starting with young professionals who were only a year or two out of school, and then progressing up the management chain to culminate with a sit-down with one of the senior partners of the firm. The morning was uneventful and was more of an introduction to the firm than actual interviews. If the structure was set up to put you at ease, it was successful. My confidence began to grow. However, the intense part of the day was about to begin at lunch.

I was invited to lunch with a partner, another senior member of the firm called a “manager” and another job candidate (many candidates were interviewing that day). Once again, I thought back to that career guidance/jobs search class I took junior year and I recalled that if you were invited to eat lunch or dinner during a job interview you should not order the most expensive item on the menu nor the least expensive. My independent nature reared up again and I ordered the NY Strip Steak. While it was not the most expensive item on the menu it was on the high side. I was bolstered to make this decision because as if he could read my mind the partner, (whose name I never forgot, Dick Meyerwich), said, “I know you’re told not to order the expensive items, but believe me when I say that you can order whatever you want. I really don’t care.” So, I ordered the steak.

The conversation began with the usual small talk; where we were from, the schools we attended, etc. The intimidation incident that I mentioned earlier actually happened to the other candidate for which I was selfishly thankful. When our lunches arrived and I was arranging my napkin the other candidate asked for the salt and while he was sprinkling it on his meal the Manager, (whose name I also remember, Bob Giordano), nonchalantly stated, “I once worked for a partner who would never hire a candidate if he or she would season their meal before tasting it. He thought that type of person was impetuous.” He finished by saying, “I think that’s a bit excessive, but that partner swore by it.”  The other candidate immediately ceased salting his meal, and of course, I tasted my steak first. I felt badly for the other candidate and while it seemed like a relatively mild passive-aggressive intimidation technique it foretold what behavior I was to expect in a financial services career, at least to an extent. The “real” interview took place after lunch.

When we got back to the offices after lunch, I was instructed to meet the aforementioned Bob Giordano in his office. My anxiety returned. I had done some research on DH&S, so I at least had some questions to ask that I hoped sounded somewhat knowledgeable and intelligent. Since there was no Google and no internet to use as research tools, before traveling to NY I went to Glassboro’s library and looked up news articles and trade publications using something called microfiche, which are pieces of film containing miniature pictures of pages from old publications. To read these pages required the use of a microfiche reader (sort of like a specialized microscope) that all libraries had at that time (and maybe still do). This was 1980 and the introduction of the personal computer was still 5 years in the future and the internet was not widely available until the mid-1990s. Libraries were our only source of historical information.

But there was a problem. I still did not know what a “public accounting firm” was or what “certified public accountants” do, other than prepare tax returns. I did take an auditing class that introduced me to the concept of “auditing,” but what that meant outside of the classroom was still a mystery. As I entered Mr. Giordano’s office, I felt that I had no business being interviewed by a senior member of a firm in an industry about which I knew nothing.

In my research I discovered an article published in the late 1970s that described a new computer program that was created by programmers at DH&S. While it was proprietary to them, the program was predicted to change the auditing profession. They coined this program S.T.A.R.S., which was an acronym for “Statistical Technique for Auditing Random Samples”. The program included an algorithm that would randomly select financial transactions to be reviewed. These were just words on a page to me, but the fact that they would “change the auditing profession” sounded like I should mention it during the interview.

When Mr. Giordano began the interview by asking if I had any questions, I took the opening and asked if he could explain the S.T.A.R.S. system. He was one of the senior managers responsible for the implementation of the new program (which I did not know), and without realizing I did something that would bode well for my future success; I tapped into his pride and ego. While I did not plan it, my innocent question which I asked simply out of desperation of not knowing anything else to say earned me high praise from Mr. Giordano. I was then scheduled to meet with Dick Meyerwich, the partner who hosted our lunch.

Mr. Meyerwich seemed genuinely nice, or at least very cordial. His office was overgrown with indoor plants, and he began our discussion by asking if I knew anything about plants and gardening. I had to admit that I did not. “What a pity” is how he responded. My heart sank. After feeling very confident after the session with Mr. Giordano it felt like my chances of being hired were being affected by my ignorance about horticulture. He then asked me where Riverdale, NJ was located and explained that he currently resided in Staten Island and was thinking of moving his family to NJ. The conversation went on like this for another 30 minutes or so with no mention of accounting, auditing, the firm, my qualifications, or if I even had any questions. As the conversation continued my confidence continued to wane. He finished the “interview” with the following very surprising statement, “I am prepared to offer you the position of junior accountant with an annual salary of $15,000. You don’t have to answer right now, and an official offer letter is waiting for you with my secretary.” I was stunned!

After all the blunders and missteps, with my relative lack of knowledge about the profession plus my “beige/white” suit and full red beard, I was being offered a position at the exact firm that was my father’s dream for me. I didn’t need to wait or even read the offer letter. I accepted the offer on the spot. I couldn’t wait to get home and tell my mother and Jeanmarie and I am sure I cried on the bus ride home. When I got home my mom said the words every child wants/needs to hear, “I am so proud of you and I’m sorry your father isn’t here to see this as he would be, too.”

With graduation looming and the beginning of my career all set you might think this was the end of the first chapter of my career journey. Ah…but you would be wrong. There was one more self-imposed hurdle to overcome.

Cheating Never Pays
Back in my sophomore year when I still had not declared a major but knowing that it would be in one of the business disciplines, I signed up for a Marketing class. I asked my advisor at the time if I could use this class as one of my required electives if I did not choose Marketing as my concentration. She said yes……Fast forward to senior year.

Over the years I became known as someone who was highly organized and has often been accused of being “anal retentive.” In truth, I believe I have a mild case of obsessive, compulsive disorder, or OCD. Throughout my life, I was always making lists and making plans. I can recall categorizing my baseball card collection as a child and keeping a detailed list of my record collection. These efforts were all done using pen and paper as the advent of the personal computer was still decades in the future. I assume this early conditioning is one of the reasons I still prefer to complete drafts of writings in long hand before typing them on the computer….but I digress….

My OCD was in full force during my college years. Once I declared accounting as my business specialization, I reviewed the course catalog and mapped out my course selection for all of the remaining semesters. From sophomore year until it was time to register for my final semester senior year I relied on that list. Prudently, as it turns out, as I was preparing to register for that final semester, I checked with a class advisor to ensure I had all of the requisite classes to graduate. This advisor was not the same advisor whose counsel I sought about using Marketing as an elective. He told me that I was missing 3 credits of electives. I informed him that the Marketing class was approved as an elective, and he asked if I had that in writing. I did not. I needed to take another non-business class as an elective.

There is always at least one class at every college, I suspect, that is considered an easy “A”. That class at Glassboro at that time was called “The Growth and Development of Jazz.” The course was so popular, and the classes were so large, that the lectures were broadcast via the campus radio station, WGLS. The course requirements were to write a term paper on anything to do with Jazz, attend two jazz concerts that were performed by the school’s jazz band each semester, and write a critique reviewing each one. Regardless of your writing skills and the quality of the content, if you handed in all three assignments you were guaranteed at least a “B”.

Showing an ethical ethos that would influence my decisions for my entire adult life, (thanks to my parents’ influence), I had, up to this point, refused to enroll in this waste of a class. It would be a waste of my parents’ money. They scraped and saved for years to send their sons to college. I wasn’t going to insult their efforts by throwing it away for an “easy A.” However, as a result of my naivete and not getting that approval in writing the only elective class that fit into my schedule that semester was, you guessed it, Growth and Development of Jazz.

As I began my last semester in college, and after receiving the job offer from DH&S, the scourge of complacency, otherwise known as senioritis, crept into my psyche. I struggled to maintain my previous levels of academic success but I did manage to be successful, with one exception. Those ethical standards I proudly espoused waned a bit here. I missed going to one of the two jazz concerts, and as the school newspaper published a review of each on-campus event, out of desperation I plagiarized the published review to write that second critique.

As an aside, as I was writing about this episode, I recalled a particular night in 1969 when I was about 12 years old and in sixth grade. I had a book report due the following day but did not read the book. I thought I was being clever by taking the book’s synopsis written on the inside flaps of the book’s cover and rewriting it in my own words. While I sat at the kitchen table performing this blatant act of plagiarism, I did not know that my dad was standing right behind me looking over my shoulder. I believe that was the angriest I had ever seen my father, and I don’t believe he ever reached that level of anger again. As angry as he was, it was the disappointment in his voice that hit home. He lectured me on honesty and ethics and that no one, other than ourselves, could ever take away our ethics and our good word. (40 years later I would read “The Four Agreements” and being “Impeccable with your word.) So began my ethical education that continued until the day he died 10 years later. It appears that my second attempt at employing the unethical practice of plagiarism would once again teach me a lesson.

I finished that final semester in a strong academic position. All that was left of my college years were the celebratory parties, the graduation ceremony, receiving my final grades, and receiving my diploma….or so I thought. While I did enjoy all the parties and attended my graduation ceremony the other two items became a bit more elusive.

The first day of my career was August 4, 1980. I was scheduled to join Deloitte, Haskins & Sells as a junior accountant. At the time I thought it was a magnanimous gesture for DH&S to allow their new recruits to enjoy one “final summer” before embarking on a long career. I soon came to understand that public accounting firms are notoriously slow during the summer months, or at least that was the case in 1980. It just made sense to have the new recruits start towards the end of the summer. Even though I was about to start my career in public accounting, I was still somewhat clueless as to what my new job would entail. I was aware, though, that if I was going to be successful in public accounting, then I needed to become a certified public accountant. Becoming a CPA requires passing a very difficult exam and acquiring a certain number of years of experience. To help us pass the CPA exam DH&S required all of us to attend a “CPA review” class. On August 4th I commuted to Pace University in downtown Manhattan to begin a very intense and compact four-week course. It was during the first week that the plagiarism Karma would strike again.

I finally received my grades in the mail and for 5 of 6 classes that I took that semester I received 4 “A”s and one “B”. Next to Growth and Development of Jazz were the letters “FR”. I had no idea what that meant.  To help with the final college expenses, I got a job at the registrar’s office on campus during my senior year. I called up the Registrar, my old boss whose name was Rebecca, and asked her what “FR” signified. She said it meant that the professor failed to report a grade for me. She instructed me to contact the professor who was teaching summer school in Maine. In 1980 there were no cell phones, texting, or email so I had to call him on a landline. She gave me his number and using a pay phone in the building of Pace University I tried for two days to reach the professor.

If I had not passed Growth and Development of Jazz, then I would not have completed all of the required courses to graduate. Therefore, I would not graduate and would not get my diploma which would have certainly resulted in losing my job. My career would have ended before it even started. I was in a full-blown panic attack. Of course, my first reaction was to blame everyone and everything else except myself. Why did that first advisor not put a note in my file? Why was that second advisor such a hard ass and not believe me? All of this was because I had to take that waste of a class! Not once during this debacle did I take ownership of my own mistakes and my own actions.

After days of suffering through the anxiety of not knowing, I finally got through to the professor. When I asked him why he did not report a grade for me his response was a bit surprising. He asked me if I was on the football team. I informed him that I was not and asked him what that had to do with my situation. He said all the students who took his class that semester who were on the football team all handed in the exact same term paper. Since that was not the case with me, I pressed him as to why I did not get a grade. “The other reason I did not report grades”, he said, “was that I thought the concert critiques were plagiarized from the school newspaper.”  BUSTED!! With my anxiety level at an all-time high, I called up the most indignant voice I could muster and falsely declared, “I would never do that. You are mistaken!” He then responded that since he was in Maine, he did not have access to his Glassboro files but if I wrote another term paper and sent it to him, then he would record a grade. I quickly went to the library and read a book about the jazz trumpet player, Louis Armstrong. I wrote a terrible 3-page paper but was very careful that nothing was plagiarized. I was beyond caring about a good grade. I just wanted to pass. Apparently, the professor did not even wait to get my paper before submitting a grade, as only a couple of days after mailing the term paper to Maine I received my updated report card along with my diploma. He gave me a “B”. Lesson learned!!

While the on-ramp to my career was filled with obstacles and potholes, it appeared that the Universe wanted me to move forward, and my 30-year career finally began in earnest.

Onward!