I never had any intention of going to college. I grew up in the 1930s and '40s in the rural communities of Woodridge and Monticello in the Catskill Mountains of New York, where the population contained a mix of farmers, small business people, and those engaged in renting kokhaleyns (rooming houses), bungalows, and hotel rooms for the summer. These were, by and large, unsophisticated communities and college was not a word I heard often.

Upon entering high school, I had the option of enrolling in the College Entrance or Introduction to Business program. I chose the latter and prepared to become a secretary. Then, three persons intervened to change the direction of my life--one of my teachers and two classmates. The first was Miss Gallagher, whose Introduction to Business class I attended during my freshman year of high school. At the end of that year, she told me my abilities were more suited to the College Entrance program and recommended that I switch. I decided to do that, not only because of her recommendation. The Introduction to Business course was largely filled with the less intellectual members of my class, and I missed being with my friends, all of whom were in the College Entrance program. But I still had no intention of going to college.

Then came the second influence on my life, my classmate Elaine Robbins*, whose father was a prosperous businessman in Monticello. When Elaine and I met in the ladies' room one day during our junior year, she said, "What are you going to do when you graduate?"

"Do?" I asked, surprised at the question. What was there to do after high school? Graduation alone was enough of a pinnacle, and then I'd become a secretary.

"Well," said Elaine, "I'm going to college. Aren't you?"

"No," I answered. "I'd be too old. If I went to college, I'd be twenty-two when I graduated." Most of my classmates would be seventeen on graduation from high school. Because of my arriving in this country when I was almost six and starting kindergarten then, I'd be eighteen. Too old for further education.

But my conversation with Elaine stayed in my mind. She was so sure of herself.

The third influence on my decision to go to college involved another classmate, Jake Nemerson. Jake, whose father was an optometrist, asked me one day whether I wanted to go with him to Middletown, a city about thirty miles from Monticello, to take a test for the George LeFevre Scholarship. The winner of the scholarship would get $400. I told him I'd have to ask my father.

I didn't know how Father would react to my question about the test for the scholarship since there was a $7 fee for taking the exam, and Father did not favor higher education for young women. But he was unpredictable where money was concerned. At one moment, he might refuse me $15 to buy a new dress ("The cellar is full of shmattes (rags) already."), and at the next, he might urge me to get a new fur coat for $1,000. It depended on his mood.

When I explained things to Father this time, he had no trouble making a decision. "Seven dollars, and you win four hundred?" he asked. "What's the question? Of course, take the test." I tried to explain to him that not everyone won the $400, but he was uninterested. He even went to Mother and laughingly told her how ridiculous I was to even ask him such a question. Who wouldn't pay $7 to get $400?

So I accompanied Jake to Middletown and took the test. Some time later, I learned that I had indeed won the George LeFevre Scholarship. As soon as I learned this, I excitedly told my father. He couldn't figure out what all the excitement was about--that's how he had understood it in the first place. You paid $7 and you got back $400.

I applied to only two colleges, both in New York State: Hartwick, a small college in Oneonta, and Cornell in Ithaca. I was accepted at Hartwick and accepted their offer to attend. Then I received an acceptance from Cornell and chose that more prestigious school over Hartwick.

When I went to Cornell, I found that most of my classmates had scholarships. I have no doubt that winning the George LeFevre Scholarship and later being awarded a New York State Scholarship were responsible for my acceptance.

Even though my father had agreed to my taking the test for the scholarship, both my parents were totally opposed to my going to college. They felt that what a young woman needed to know was how to cook and sew so she could attract and keep a husband. Too much book knowledge would only frighten away eligible males. Nonetheless, since this is what I wanted to do, my parents drove me up to Cornell. We knew how to get to the general area, but when we got there, we didn't know where the university was. None of us had ever seen a college or university. My only familiarity with college came from movie musicals. So I pictured Cornell as a large white mansion with pillars and a front porch. On the edge of the porch would sit students who looked like Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland dangling their legs and singing a song.

But when we arrived in Ithaca, we saw no such building. We did see a number of small buildings nestled in the woods, which I later learned were fraternity houses.

We stopped at one; I went over to the house and knocked on the door. A young man came to the door, and I asked him where Cornell was. Spreading his arms wide, he said, "This is Cornell." It took me a while to understand what he meant. The entire area was Cornell. How very odd.

After we found Balch Hall, my freshman dormitory, and my father had brought my bags to my room, he made ready to leave. The housemother, Miss Helen Armor, noticing this, came over to me. Father was short and unprepossessing, and Miss Armor took him for a driver. "Aren't you going to tip that man?" she asked.

"No," I answered, "I don't have to tip him. He's my father."
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*Fictional names are asterisked on first use.

Copyright 1999 by Sonia Pressman Fuentes

"Far Above Cayuga's Waters" is an excerpt from the author's memoir, Eat First--You Don't Know What They'll Give You, The Adventures of an Immigrant Family and Their Feminist Daughter.