The Class That Was Never Meant To Be

In the end, there was not really a way to explain how it happened.  A 'collection of unrelated small errors, conspiring in the space of moments to create a disaster' was the only conclusion that could be reached by the emergency faculty commission enlisted to affix blame and exact retribution for the event. 

But there was no mistaking the magnitude of the error.  Somehow, letters of acceptance were sent on April 1 to 536 high school seniors whose records had been reviewed and with all respect to due process, rejected.  The 432 high school seniors in the other pile, those intended for acceptance, received instead a thin envelope with a rejection notice.

The error was not caught in time.  by April 12, nearly all of the erroneous acceptees, perhaps recognizing the hairtrigger frailty of their good fortune, had responded by return mail with deposits and signed letters of intent. These were processed with mindless efficiency, and so the full import of what had happened did not occur until days later, when a shock wave of realization swept through the university.  A plan for immediate reversal was concocted and debated in high circles, but in the end cooler heads, English common law, and the hotelier's rule of the bed prevailed: as in any reservation conflict at a busy overbooked hotel, the person lying in the bed gets to keep it.

In early Autumn the new class matriculated in a whirlwind of conspiracy and derision, for by that time the cat was out of the bag, lawsuits had merged into a class action, and the University, or at least the Admissions department, had become the laughingstock of the national press.  The new freshmen were received correctly but with extreme coldness, and shame will not prevent me from relating that certain powerful faculty vowed to flunk the interlopers outright in the first month.

A cross-sectional analysis of the incoming class may help us understand the controversy within which the interlopers arrived, but will not explain what happened later, for the ranks were populated with the worst sort of dreamers and slackers,  unformed minds whose drifting and discarded interests added up to such a sparse summation of accomplishment that nothing good could be said about them.  Indeed, the measure of this class was so meager that it was publicly speculated that the problem would 'take care of itself in due time', meaning that natural selection would eventually take its toll favorably for the university. 

Truthfully, the customary accumulation of accomplishments, awards, and honors to be seen in other arriving classes was noticeably missing: no H. Birnbaum Keffler Achievement in Chemistry prizes, not one Wall Street Journal Young Businessperson award, no Freidhaarten scholarships.  Instead, only the most minute and exacting examination of the archived application forms, a task undertaken with some distaste by the investigating committee,  would reveal that within the new class were 74 jugglers, 82 mimes, 93 musicians, and 79 poets.

The evening of the first day, uncomfortable changes swept the campus.  The musicians came together before dinner in a raucous, booming festival on the quad.  The distinguished chair of the English department was publicly humiliated by a boisterous mime from Minnesota.  The jugglers took over the broad sidewalk in front of the dining hall.  Poets declaimed at every high spot that would afford a makeshift stage.

Other, more far-reaching changes were in store. Bolstered by a sense of unity not seen before the junior year in other classes,  a coalition of jugglers and musicians swept the ruling student government away in the first elections.  The poets invaded the first meetings of the yearbook, literary guild, and drama clubs and took them over.  The mimes peppered every public gathering with artistic statement, and in the second year totally replaced the cheerleaders and drill team.

Unexpected things were happening in the classroom as well.  A plot to overwhelm the usurpers with heavy academic workloads early on,  was inexplicably defeated when, as it was discovered in the trials of the first semester:  most jugglers are quite good at organic chemistry; mimes tend to be natural masters of philosophy and English literature; musicians can be excellent mathematicians; and many poets show uncanny abilities in the foreign languages.

The ease with which this group fielded just about everything the University could throw at it became an amazing source of frustration.  But eventually the laws of human relationships expressed themselves, and wary, exploratory friendships began between professors and these strangely challenging students. Even the distinguished Chair of the English department found himself actually looking forward to class sessions that had become, through the influence of this freshman class, newly live and challenging.  Another unexpected benefit was seen on revenue sheets at the end of that first year, for the rate of dropouts and transfers was the lowest seen in decades.

By the junior year the class was exhibiting numerous crossover talents.  Rappers evolved into poets.  Musicians, being easy masters of mathematics, wandered into physics and chemistry just to keep from being bored. The jugglers satiated their interests in the chemical arts and began to work within the disciplines leading to the study of law.  Mimes began to write.  Poets dove into the natural sciences.

Senior year led to a graduation day that was every bit as raucous and chaotic as matriculation day four years earlier.  Indeed, I can say that the campus veritably trembled in celebration, for the rafters of the ancient halls shook and rang with sound and sense all day long.  From the faculty and deans came public superlatives and congratulations, but privately some tears were sincerely shed, for the members of this class had influenced the life of the university in ways that would not be clearly understood until decades later.

And the members did not fail to distinguish themselves in later life:  the jugglers continued their preoccupation with the rights of others, counting from their ranks many social activists, attorneys, and judges, including one Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States.  From the mimes came famous clowns, satirists, and two Pulitzer laureates.  The poets exercised their command of things spoken in ways that brought distinct credit to themselves and their alma mater, and one became the most beloved President since Lincoln.  The musicians leveraged their mastery of the inner languages of the brain for high achievement in all the categories of industry, and from their number evolved the leading technologists and executives of their generation.

And the University changed at once and forever.  For the message of this class, the class that was never meant to be, was taken to heart: that achievement springs from the soul as well as the mind, that the virtue of diversity is a concept that encompasses far more than race or color of the skin,  and that an open heart, or better still, an open door, can often bring an unexpected and rewarding surprise.