The Top of the Hill
I went to Cornell for two degrees. My mother went to Cornell. All three of my kids went to Cornell. I was on the faculty for ten years at Cornell. I have a home just off the Cornell golf course. I have served on countless Cornell committees over the years. My charitable contributions to Cornell rank number one in my gift-giving. Many of my oldest friends are from Cornell. I run into other Cornellians in my business and personal life and it always makes a connection. Cornell sits on top of East Hill in Ithaca, New York. Ithaca was the home of Odysseus, the hero of Homer’s epic poem of man’s quest in life. Getting to the top of the hill is an analogy for the quest we all undertake, so the hill and Cornell are perfect image for the pinnacle of success.
For many years I held Cornell on that pedestal. I am sure my subconscious self still places Cornell on that hill. But things have happened of late that give me pause.
Allow me to digress to 1970. That’s almost 50 years ago. I was in high school in Rome, Italy, thinking about going to college. I was more naïve than my global upbringing would have indicated. In fact, I may have been so naïve because of my global upbringing. I think of my college friend, Bob, who grew up literally right next to the A Train in Flatbush Brooklyn. While I looked out of my high school bedroom window over the Olympic bicycle velodrome in the EUR area of Rome, Bob’s bedroom was about ten feet from the tracks of the A Train. When it ran past it was a whole-body experience. Bob’s father was a locksmith and my mother was a UN diplomat. His father hadn’t gone to college and my mother was a Cornell graduate. I went to Notre Dame International prep school and Bob went to Midwood public high school. I wanted to go to Yale or Stanford for college, and begrudgingly applied to Cornell as my “safe” school. I had no clue.
In the spring of 1975 there was a massive and continuous mail strike in Italy that had boxcar’s worth of mail getting burned every other day. I was awaiting word from my college applications and finally just picked up the phone (remember, in 1975 a long distance phone call required a second mortgage to afford) and called Yale, Stanford and Cornell. The outcome was waitlist, waitlist, accepted. I was going uphill to Cornell and was doing so somewhat begrudgingly.
Bob was a top student at Midwood. He was prone to math and science and took all the Advanced Placement (AP) courses and aced them all. I was prone to math and science and my chemistry work consisted of playing with a toy chemistry kit I had been given several years prior. I had no idea what AP was about because my prep school didn’t tell us and didn’t offer those advanced courses. Bob was proficient at calculus by graduation. I hit calculus like a brick wall during freshman year. I don’t know how Bob scored on his SAT’s or other standardized tests, but I’m sure he did well. I scored a 1400 with math higher than verbal. I was a National Merit Scholar finalist. Bob was a National Merit recipient.
Bob came into Cornell knowing he would major in Biochemistry and he put his head down and worked the discipline diligently. I wanted to be an engineer for unknown reasons. After one semester and my introduction to Mr. Calculus, I applied to transfer to Arts & Sciences to pursue a degree in Economics and Government. I was allowed to transfer on the strength of my standardized test scores, not on the strength of my first semester grades (2.7 or B- thanks to calculus and chemistry). I wandered through my college years in a vocational sense and like to think I used college for its old fashioned purpose of finding myself. Bob applied himself and got accepted to a top graduate chemistry program at Tufts University. I stumbled my way into Cornell’s business school for lack of any other direction.
I am reminded of the old story of the commencement speaker who says, “To the A students, we hope you will come back here to teach someday. To the B students, we welcome you as graduate students. And to the C students, let me thank you in advance on behalf of our endowment.” I made some money on Wall Street and Bob went on to work in biochemical research. I gave back to Cornell and Bob has advanced the scientific ball to help the world.
We both climbed the hill of our choosing even though we started on the same hill in Ithaca. I admire Bob for seeing beyond the A Train tracks and forging a path of prominence in an important field of study. He bootstrapped himself from Midwood high school and a working class family (working class only economically, but spiritually the enlightened class of parents who know to promote the value of education). Bob has reached the top of his hill. He may not have won a Nobel Prize yet, but he has realized his dreams. I have climbed a very different hill, strangely enough ending up running a scientific R&D company. I am content in my accomplishments and have enjoyed the path up the hill.
As I read today about the latest national scandal about parents paying huge sums of money to cheat the college admissions process, specifically trying to get their children unduly seeded into places like Yale and Stanford (no mention of good old earthy Cornell yet in those reports), I am reminded of our walk up the hill. My mother was too busy and probably too poor to pay half a million dollars to get me into Yale or Stanford. Bob’s father would have lacked the means as well. My mother and Bob’s father would have also revolted against such a notion in any case since they were both people of great honor who believed in the value of education and the worthiness of achievement. It would never have occurred to them to improperly advantage their children. It would, indeed it did, occur to them to motivate and inspire their children to set their sights on the hilltop.
This story is one of contrast and similitude. Bob and I grew up very differently in one sense and very much alike in another. It’s almost as though there were a generational offset. My mother was, in her day, where Bob started. I had the advantage of one who went before. Lucky for Bob that he had a father who bridged that gap nicely. Ultimately, Bob and I were and are more alike than different. We both found the hill ourselves and scaled it ourselves. We are better for it. Better to find your own hill and climb it yourself than spy the highest hill and get pushed up it and stand on the shoulders of others to claim your prize. Our prize was granted in the climbing, not in achieving the pinnacle.