JULY 17, 2019 – Last week while walking the neighborhood, I encountered a new neighbor. I stopped to chat. We soon discovered many common interests. In the course of talking, the neighbor told a “small world” story. Then I told two, sufficiently linked to count as one. They (it) went like this:
For high school, I attended tiny (100 students) Sterling School freshman year and the larger but still small (450 students) Interlochen Arts Academy sophomore through senior years.
Sterling was an all-boys boarding school in Craftsbury Common, Vermont, a village (population 150) tucked away in the Green Mountains in the northeast corner of the state. The village was perched atop a broad ridge and was surrounded by small farms and forests.
How I wound up at the tiny school is another whole story best saved for another post.
On the first day of classes, the most memorable exchange happened in English class. About 10 students were in the room. The teacher, Mr. Longfellow (a descendant of the poet), told us to take turns telling our names and hometowns. When my turn came, I gave my name and added, “Anoka, Minnesota.”
The up-to-that-point inscrutable Mr. Longfellow let go of his staid bearing. His lower jaw went suddenly unhinged. He snapped it back up and said, “Anoka, Minnesota! I’m from Anoka, Minnesota!”
(If Anoka wasn’t exactly tiny, back in those days, it wasn’t much above “small.” It was self-contained and surrounded by farmland. You had to ride in your parents’ car for half an hour down West or East River Road in order to get to the “big smoke”—Minneapolis.)
The next year I transferred to the small arts academy, a co-ed boarding school located in the boonies of northwest lower Michigan, 30 miles south of Traverse City.
How I got to that school is yet another story best saved for a future post.
Again, on the first day of classes, the most memorable encounter was in English class. About 10 kids were in the room. The teacher had us introduce ourselves and tell where home was. When it was the turn of the girl next to me, she said, “Patti Pattison. Craftsbury Common, Vermont.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Craftsbury Common, Vermont?!” I exclaimed. “Last year I was a freshman at Sterling School.” Patti couldn’t believe her ears.
Now back to last week. A few minutes after my two-for-one “small world story,” my new neighbor and I found ourselves talking hockey. He said he’d played for a small college in Maine—one I’d “probably never heard of; the student body was only about twelve-fifty.” When I asked the name, he said, “Bowdoin College.”
“Bowdoin?!” I said, throwing my cap on the ground. “I went to Bowdoin too!”
“You’re kidding!” he said, slapping his hand against his forehead.
Our times there hadn’t overlapped, but they were close enough for us to know many of the same people—students and faculty.
Anoka, Minnesota; Craftsbury Common, Vermont; Interlochen, Michigan; Brunswick, Maine; Falcon Heights, Minnesota—small worlds.
© 2019 Eric Nilsson
