SWEATSHIRT STORY

JANUARY 2, 2020 – Years ago my spouse gave me a nice sweatshirt with “BOWDOIN” printed on the front. To prevent it from looking like many of my other sweatshirts, which my wife threatens to toss, I rarely wear my college sweatshirt.  On Tuesday, however, I had to go to my office briefly, then over to the local branch of Wells Fargo, where I frequently transact business. I’d dressed casually—jeans, running shoes, shirt, and . . . sweatshirt.  To avoid being confused with a bank robber, I’d eschewed my grimy sweatshirts in favor of my presentable one.

Back in my day, “Bowdoin” was unknown here in Minnesota.  At first, I myself struggled with its pronunciation—“Bow-DOIN” as in, rhymes with “Bough-GROIN,” and later, “Bo-DIN,” which was still wrong. Today my alma mater enjoys widespread recognition in Minnesota. The old school (founded in 1794), I’m told, is one of the most selective in the country, as measured by the ratio of admittees to applicants. (In 1972, the year of my admission, I myself slipped in under the radar (a certain talent by itself), but I can attest to the towering intellects of many classmates.)

Bowdoin was then largely a white school.  Make that, “almost entirely so.”  And let’s not shy away from the fact that a good many students came from untold privilege. (I’d managed to fly under that radar, as well.) Judging by its alumni magazine, the place isn’t nearly as exclusively white as it was.

Now let’s walk over to Wells Fargo to see how the story unfolds . . . 

Because it’s primarily a retail bank, Wells Fargo puts employees of color on the customer line—employees who look more like a growing percentage of their customers.  (The C-suite is still reserved for white guys of privilege.) In “my” branch, every single employee except one is a person of color.  The exception is an immigrant white (East European) woman.

Over a series of transactions, I’ve become acquainted with one “Sho Hussein,” a Somali immigrant. We have a friendly rapport, and even when we’re not dealing directly with each other, we exchange cheerful greetings. Tuesday was no different, except, as I’ve mentioned, I happened to be wearing my Bowdoin sweatshirt.

“You went to Bowdoin?” Sho asked, pronouncing the name correctly.

“Yes,” I said.  “You’ve heard of it?”

“I applied there and was accepted,” he said. “Got a full scholarship.”  This revelation knocked my socks off. “I stayed on campus for two weeks too, during a soccer clinic.”

As it turns out, Sho’s family had originally located in Maine after fleeing Somalia. He applied to and was accepted by Colby, Bates, and UMaine-Orono. He wound up attending/graduating from “New England College,” of all places, in Biddeford, Maine, because “That’s where my hero Martin Luther King, Jr. had visited.”  For the next 20 minutes, Sho and I talked about American higher education. I got an earful from this soft-spoken, articulate young banker.

What a sweatshirt, what a story . . . what a country!

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© 2020 Eric Nilsson