My old school

One Sunday morning about fifty years back, I woke up in my dorm room sick to my stomach, with a bad case of the runs besides. Luckily, the student health service at the University of Michigan was only a few blocks away. The doctor was middle-aged, with a grey brush of a mustache and an easygoing bedside manner. He admitted me to the infirmary and made sure I drank plenty of fluids, and by the next day whatever afflicted me had passed. I saw him again when I caught mono during my junior year.

“The Harvard of the Midwest” has always been riddled with institutional arrogance and hypocrisy, and now it’s destroying lives. I still have great memories of my time on campus. But if I had children, especially daughters, my school is the very last place on earth I would ever send them.

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New short story: “Come Sing It Plain”

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