Peter R. Jacoby, '67

I was just 17. I waved goodbye to my parents at the Geneva railroad station and got on a train headed south. I got off the train in Genoa and got on a ship. I got off the ship at New York and got on a plane. I got off the plane in Chicago and got on another plane. I got off that plane in Oshkosh and got on a bus. I got off the bus in Appleton, collected my two large suitcases, and set off down College Avenue.

When I reached Main Hall Green, I stopped. I was seeing Lawrence University for the first time in my life. The air was fresh, almost crisp. The sturdy stone walls of Main Hall looked warm. The smell was of grass and trees. Bright white clipper ships of clouds moved above me from left to right. Looking around silently, I sat on one of my suitcases, breathed deeply, and smiled.

I had traveled eight thousand miles to somewhere I had never been before‹something not uncommon for me, even at such a tender age-yet was comforted by knowing all was well, for I was home. No wonder I was smiling.

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