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T he first day you ' re a freshman, and you don ' t know to be careful after it rains. As you follow what looks to be a worn path to Hope dining hall, you lose yourself in a vast sea of mud. That first day you sink up to your knees, and lose your white sneakers — the things you ' ve worn since high school — to the hidden undertow that has swallowed the shoes of every class since the early years of this century. The suction was too great, and you waddle back to your dorm in black socks. Things could be worse, you tell yourself as you hurry back. Upperclassmen stare and laugh. But things could be worse. The second day you ' re still a freshman, and you park your car — daddy ' s high school graduation present. You would have parked it at Keaney, but you ' ve heard horror stories about stolen autos. Instead you park it next to the building in which you have class. You enjoy your class — you ' re still a freshman — and you walk out an hour later smiling in the sunshine. You ' re young, you ' re handsome, you ' re educated, and you ' re happy. But you parked your car in the wrong place, and it ' s being towed. Without thinking, you panic and call the police about your stolen Oldsmobile. The police console you and tell you where you can pick up your car after you ' ve paid certain fees above and beyond the tuition mom and dad forked over in the summer. But you ' re a freshman and you learn. You cry to your parents long distance that fall. But things could be worse, they tell you. And you agree. The next year you ' re a sophomore and your GPA slips. Dad threatens you and mom cries. Your relatives shake their heads sadly when they see you, and you can ' t look your peers in the eye. Certain professors stop listening to what you say during class; others laugh after you finish speaking. You consider dropping out but your girlfriend convinces you not to. Things could be worse, she says. Things could be much worse. And then you ' re a junior and things get better. Your GPA improves, you know how and where to park your oft towed car, and you don ' t lose nearly as many sneakers in the mud. The love of your life has quit school to marry a man she admires because he can wiggle his ears without effort. You ' re confused and eventually find another girl with more sense. You finally move out of the dorms and now live down- the-line. Your housemates threaten to drown you in Narragansett Bay if you don ' t keep the parts of the house you occupy clean. You don ' t get along with them at all. The handgun one of your housemates carries bothers you. You see a priest and he hears your confession. Things could be worse, he warns you. You pray. And finally you ' re a senior and you smile like you ' re a freshman again. The days grow longer as graduation nears. You like to miss those early classes, but you ' re always up by noon and you feel good about that. You laugh at the freshman who sink in the mud until you park your aging car too close to one particularly messy patch of earth and it drops to its bumpers. Then you attend your last lecture and complete your final exams and relax as you lay on the warm sands of a near by beach. As you stare out to the horizon while cool water washes upon you and encircles the con- tours of your body, a cold shiver suddenly runs down your spine. Damn, you mumble to yourself. Things could be much worse. You will graduate. Do I have to leave? Is it really a jungle out there? Do they tow cars in other places? Not if you park in the mud, you reassure yourself. Everythings okay. Things never really got much worse. As a matter of fact, URI was pretty damn good. Somehow it all came together and even as you say a final goodbye to many close friends, one thought stands out in your mind. Throughout the past four years, through all the trials, the tailgates, the tests, and the towings, you were always reaching for a dream. And now, as you receive your diploma and prepare to leave and start your career, your dream is realized in a vision of excellence. — Bill Levesque PROLOGUE 5
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