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Page 31 text:
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hurry, they say, registration starts next week, and things will really be a mess. So Sandy calls Dean Collins. This is prime-time long distance to Washington, and although she ' s having a dandy conversation concerning Big Bird with the secretary ' s seven-year-old daughter, she really wants to talk to the Dean. Finally, Dean Collins Is on the line assuring Sandy that everything will be fine. Just come down a bit early and the whole thing will be straightened out. Sandy Schwartz, after 3 years of life at American is wise with experience. She comes down three days early with Fred. And to her surprise everything works out just fine. Here it is, September 1976, Sandy thinks, holding a note from Dean Collins tightly in her hand, And I ' m finally headed down the right road. Hey, Fred, Sandy says as they walk out of Ward Circle into the hot sunshine, Remember when we met in line downstairs back in the beginning? Sure thing . . Sharon. They both laugh because Fred managed to remember Sandy ' s name just about the same time the computer did. And Fred likes Sandy a lot more than the computer does. Registration is one of the necessary evils of college life. The larger the school, the bigger the madhouse at the beginning of the semester. But for those who withstand the baptism-of-fire right at the beginning, the maze of red tape and the intricate machinery of organization gradually reveal themselves. And then you have something to fight with when trouble comes. Fall semester went uneventfully for Sandy. By now everything was old hat for her as she sailed through the semester. But Spring semester, beginning cold and getting colder by the day, brought a final trauma. Or, rather, it didn ' t bring a graduate clearance to Sandy. Sandy knew that this could mean a final confrontation. She had visions of the climatic battle between.the forces of Good and Evil, with her on one side and the computer on the other side. But then, perhaps her thinking was influenced by The Lord of the Rings which she just happened to be reading. At any rate, on a cold Sunday night as the wind whistled outside and rattled the louvered windows in the dorm room, Sandy snuggled up with Fred and did a little homework. Then the phone rang abruptly. Actually, it rang the way it always did, circumstances just made it seem abrupt at that moment . . . Hello? Sandy said tersely. Sandy, dear. It ' s Mother. Oh. Said Sandy, quickly putting on some clothes; half-realizing how silly that was. Sandy. I ' ve got your graduate clearance here. They sent it home. Shall 1 mail it to you? Oh, Mom! I ' ve been waiting and waiting for it! Thank goodness! Yes! Send it down. Special Delivery! On a muggy day in May, 1977 Sandy Schwartz stood in the sunshine outside Constitution Hall in her cap and gown. Fred was on her right, dressed similarly in his graduation duds. Each held a diploma in their hands, a certificate attesting to the fact that despite everything somewhere and somehow they had taken thirty-two courses and finished them all. Okay, now just one more, Sandy ' s Dad urged as he adjusted the SX-70, and pressed the shutter. The little motor whizzed and a white card popped out. Sandy took it, and she and Fred watched their images slowly appear on the paper. must ve been my fault ' ys Sandy, After all, the computer can ' t make mistakes. The bill came home Just fine.
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Page 30 text:
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BBC ■■■ Well, Sandy realizes she has a tough battle ahead of her and spiritually girds her denim-clad loins for combat. She squares off and faces a secretary. Okay, next. Yes. What can I do for you? the secretary asks without looking up. My MIRF. I didn ' t get it. I want it. Have you paid your bill? A nod, Have you still got the same address? Another nod. Have you had any trouble before? A very vigorous nod. Well, we ' ll see what we can do. You should have gotten it, you know. the secretary apologizes. Sandy thinks to herself, What do you think, I ate it? but holds her tongue, because the secretary is so sweet and apologetic about the whole thing. So Sandy fills out a form and is able to pre-register with the masses. Up in her dorm room, fluffy-slippered feet I haven ' t eve if I ' m matriculating yet, i wiiat ' Fred says at last. ,:YoulookOi,toine,: propped on her desk, Sandy pours over the course guide. She soon realizes what a choice of courses she has. I laybe a Liberal Studies course? They ' re new, but they sound interesting. Sandy can work it so she only has classes on Tuesdays and Fridays, but does she want to do that? She finally chooses her courses and carefully, very carefully, writes it all on her MIRF. In January, at home in Stoneybrook, Sandy receives a shock. Her confirmation of classes is in her hand, carbon over-leaf ripped off. She is incredulous. Mom! Sandy cries, I got what I wanted! Pinch me and see if I ' m dreaming! It ' s funny how it all slips away. Sandy ' s first roommate graduated in 1976, and as Sandy watched on at Constitution Hall she realized that next year it would be her turn. It was awful hard to think of yourself out of college, out in the world where you couldn ' t control your life for four months at a time by registering for certain courses. Sandy walked up the familiar steps of Anderson with her roommate for the last time, up to the room they shared for a year and a half since Sandy ' s first roommate threw her out of her room in McDowell when a certain guy started showing up regularly. The room was empty now, stark and simple. The dressers were back in the closets, the air-conditioning still wasn ' t working. But it had been home. Sandy and her roommate hug each other, teary-eyed, and promise to write. And they do. Finally, finally, the big year is here for Sandy. Not just an upperclassman, but a Senior. The year of Fun, of Taking It Easy. Sandy has figured her schedule out to the last detail, to the last class, and she is ready to go. But after two years of relative ease in procurring her classes, the Registrar ' s office has a whole slew of new forms. Gone are the green and white add-drop, replaced with a single all-purpose form. And the computer is programmed to be more accurate then ever. For everyone but Sandy Schwartz, that is. The computer swears up and down on a stack of punch-cards that Sandy only signed for three courses. Sandy knows that its not true, and calls long-distance from Long Island to complain. No problem, they say, just call Dean Collins and have him sign something. But
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