Supernatural Provisiont (Grad School)

             This was 1967, before email, the internet, and cheap phone calls. I had poured over brochures to choose a graduate school for my Master’s degree. I had sent my application to the University of Illinois by mail without the guarantee that it would get there on time. After all, I was across the Pacific Ocean in Hawaii and the university was in the Midwest of the USA. A campus visit was out of the question. As far as I was concerned, Illinois was another country. I had completed my Bachelor of Education in Music, but I had not left the state of Hawaii throughout my 23 years of growing up. The University of Hawaii was conveniently within walking distance of my parent’s home while I worked two part-time jobs to help pay for the college tuition and books.

             I had a vision of studying at the University of Illinois because the instructors were the authors of the music education books used in public schools. The practical part of attending graduate school so far away from home included living in a dorm, flying more than 6,000 miles, making new friends, and learning to live on my own.

             I opened the letter with great anticipation. “You are admitted to the Masters of Science program in the graduate school at the University of Illinois.” Wow! I was the first in my family to go to graduate school. This adventure would be my first trip to the mainland. My parents were very supportive and were willing to take out a student loan to cover the out-of-state fee, tuition, room and board, air travel, and basic living expenses. Teamed up with another music student going to the U of I as an undergraduate, we set off together.

             Fortunately, the “coconut wireless,” or the Hawaii college student network, went into action. (This was the pre-social media era.) Wesley, a law school student from Hawaii agreed to pick us up at the airport and deliver us to our respective dorms. As travel neophytes, Patty and I took the one-hour LAX layover to be “Hawaiian time,”—we wait for you. She and I went to breakfast at the airport restaurant and returned to the gate in one hour, only to watch our plane going down the runway. The gate personnel were gracious in assuring us we could get on the next flight to Chicago and make our connection to Midway Airport. Patty worried that her violin would be stolen as she had it as carry-on luggage. As promised, we caught the next flight, and all our belongings were waiting for us at the gate except for our flower leis. The violin was safe and sound.

             As expected Wesley was waiting for us when we arrived at Midway Airport. He drove us to our respective dorms. Tired from the travel, I didn’t unpack but just slept. The next day, Tina, another music graduate student from the University of Hawaii, contacted me.

 “Go apply for the Resident Assistant job!” Tina urged.

“What is that?” I asked.

“You live in an undergrad dorm as a floor counselor. The dean is looking for one Resident Assistant from each state in the union. There is no Hawaii RA yet. She’ll like you and give you the position. I have one, but I’m from Vietnam,” she said excitedly.

 At the Housing Office, I was ushered into the Dean’s office. After she asked me about my life in Hawaii, she proceeded to describe the job. It seemed acceptance as a graduate student was a good enough reference.

 “The position open is in Allen Hall on the Rehab floor. These women are physically disabled but capable of attending college. Each one has an AB (Able-Bodied) roommate.  Your job would be to be the floor counselor as the “go-to person” should there be any difficulty. Do you think you can do that?”

 “Doesn’t sound too difficult. I’m up for it.”

 “We can take a tour before you decide. One woman is a polio victim and sleeps in an iron lung, another has cerebral palsy and types with a pencil in her teeth. Ten wheelchairs are whizzing around. Does that make you uncomfortable? ”

 “No, I’m not afraid of wheelchairs.”

 “If you take this position, you will have a private room on the first floor that is wheelchair accessible. We will waive the out-of-state fee and tuition, and cover your room and board. You will have a pass to eat in any dining room on campus and receive a stipend of $85 a month for incidentals.”

             I could barely take this all in. The loan my parents took would not be needed. I’ll have a private room just to be around. The women were mostly freshmen, nice as ever. The iron-lung gal only slept in it and had a responsible caregiver roommate. The others were whizzing around freely in their wheelchairs. I was shown my room with a private bath with a bathtub. All the mirrors, counters, and bed were low, set for wheelchairs. Perfect for shorty me. The Dean said she was hoping she would have a wheelchair counselor, but none applied. The school was starting in 2 days, and she needed to fill the position. Here I was! After touring the dorm, I didn’t see anything that would stop me from doing this.

             Wesley helped me move in, and I was set up for school with new friends. The Resident Assistant staff was a diverse group of women with many majors. Most were in psychology to be counselors, one artist, and one a scientist, and I was the only musician. One was from Egypt, an African American from Chicago, and variations of Caucasian. I was the only Chinese.

             I was welcomed warmly at the first evening meeting. We all had assigned evening office duties in the counseling office. The main duty was to “be present and lock the doors at night.” Most students who sought us out were freshmen who just wanted to talk about adjusting to college life and maybe their boyfriends, nothing life-threatening.

             Remember, this was before email or free phone calls. I sent my parents a “telegram,” of a message in twenty-five words or less. That was the cheapest, fast communication. “Got job as RA (stop). Do not need money for tuition (stop). Everything is fine. (stop) Will write. (stop).” Then I wrote them a long letter hoping it would get there within the week.

             The young women on my floor welcomed me with open arms and hearts. They introduced me to the world of Gizz Kids. Gizz Kids are those who depend on gizmos such as waste bags, artificial legs or arms, wheelchairs of all kinds, and other aids for the disabled. They introduced me to wheelchair basketball. I rode the bus for the handicapped with them and went to their outings. This was a world I had no idea existed. They were just real people who had physical handicaps and persevered to overcome them. Some took more than an hour just to get ready for class. A few even invited me to their homes for the holidays.

             I was paid to work on my “free” Master’s Degree. God not only relieved me of the college financial burden, but He enriched my life beyond my wildest imagination.

 Whenever God gives you a vision for your life he will give the provision to bring it to fruition.  It’s important to know it may come from many sources that you have not imagined so you will have to be open and watch for it.  Don’t turn down something that seems too small. It is a test of your humility and willingness to go after it.  Like me, maybe the first job is not that high-paying position you think you deserve but it may have potential, or it could be a step to future connections or a test for you to prove yourself.  God has hidden ways to provide for you.

Do you know anyone here?

There was a buzz in the hotel conference room of 50 young adults.  This was a meeting for a 3-week summer European trip.  This was my first trip to Europe.  I didn’t know anyone here but leaped into the adventure. 

“Do you know anyone here?” I asked the blond gal next to me.

“No,” she said.

“I’m Marcia Chang.”

“I’m Netta Sommers.”

Through chit-chat, I discovered she was a public school Jr High Home Economics teacher.  I was a public school Jr High Music teacher.  So, we had something in common.

We listened to the instructions about luggage, visas, currency exchange, and flights.  In the end, the guide said,  “Come sign up with your roommate so we can assign rooms.”

It seems everyone else there had made plans to travel with a buddy.  I did not and she did not.

“You want to be my roommate?” Netta said as she turned to me,

“Sure, why not?” I shrugged.

The deal was sealed.  We exchanged phone numbers and signed up as roommates.

After the meeting, I wondered what she was really like.  Would we get along?  Did she have weird habits?  What if we had to share a bed?    We would not meet again until embarking on the trip.

This tour was based on the “buddy system.”  We were a strange pair as she was the blond, Jewish gal and I the short Chinese one.  We not only shared the room, but sat together on the bus, ate together at meals, and walked together on tours.  Each time the group moved, we had to account for our “buddy.”

On the third day of the tour, we put our luggage out the door before going to breakfast and from there went directly to the bus.  The bags would be collected while we ate breakfast.  Netta put her bag out first, minutes before mine was ready.  As we went out to breakfast, I put my bag out but noticed hers was already gone. 

When we arrived at the bus I asked, “May I check the luggage compartment to make sure my bag is there?  Netta’s bag went first and I want to make sure my bag got on.”

“Of course it got on.  We picked up all the bags.  I counted them.  Get on, get on!”

Off we went to the next city.

At the next stop, my luggage was not there.  It was left behind.  The only clothing I had, I was wearing and the essentials in my purse were passport, money, and ID. 

With his French accent, “Oh, I’m so sorry.  We can get it forwarded and you can have it tomorrow.  I will do it right now,” the tour guide assured me

Because this was a “one night stop” tour, the bag was always a day late for each stop.

Netta loaned me sleeping clothes, toiletries, and anything I needed.  Unfortunately, I wore a size 4 dress, and she wore an 8.  I purchased underwear and washed my polyester dress each night.  Others said they were willing to lend me clothing but nothing would fit.  This went on for 3 weeks.  In this plight, Netta and I became very close friends.  My luggage finally caught up with me at the last stop when someone realized it needed to be forwarded 2 stops ahead.

This kind of traveling was 24/7 togetherness.  By the end of the trip, most of the “travel buddies” were not talking to each other. Netta and I were the only ones still friends.

As single ladies, we shared stories of the special men in our lives we left at home.  Netta volunteered Ray to give me a ride home, as I was not sure anyone would meet me.   As we got into the terminal, Ray was waiting for her and I was surprised to see Rich waiting for me.  He came instead of my roommate, with flowers in hand.

That was 1970.  One year later we missed attending each other’s wedding because our weddings were one day apart.  They married in Long Beach, CA.  We married in Honolulu, HI.

That was 49 years ago, and we are life-long friends who celebrate our wedding anniversaries together every  August.

Divine Appointments--Drouin

We were looking for a property management company as the job was too complicated for us for the few rental units we owned.  We didn’t know where to turn as we had heard many horror stories of management companies cheating their clients.  The manager for our Honolulu condo charged us huge fees for repairs when my dad could do it for much less.  We sold the property.

One day I got a call from a young man I didn’t know. 

“I’m calling on behalf of a property management company.  We are offering to manage any property you have."

“Yes,” I said with skepticism.”How will I know your company is ligament and will do a good job?”

“I will have my boss call you so you can discuss the possibilities with him.”

The boss, Wil Drouin, called me a few hours later.  He seemed to offer the services we wanted at a reasonable rate.  Rich and I decided to give him a try for one year then re-evaluate.  That was 30 years ago and Wil still manages property for us and has helped us invest in real estate wisely.  We have come to trust him and his staff completely.

Wil later told me that the young college student who called, wanted a job, so Wil told him to do cold calling to drum up business.  He would be paid by the business he brought in.  He and we hit the jackpot.

          At the nearby mortgage company where I worked, we hired many receptionists on a trial basis. Most candidates were young and inexperienced at managing phones. One morning, as I was the first to arrive, my boss left a note on the front desk for me to “check out” the new receptionist.  The note said, “Hope she isn’t as bad as the last one.  Her name is Susan.” 

Susan Drouin was there early and I think she read the note.  She was a mature person and she would be on a temp-to-hire basis.  After a few successful days at the office, I asked her about her unusual last name.

“Do you know Wil Drouin?” I asked.

“That’s my husband!”  she said laughing.  "How do you know him?"

The world just shrunk.

Susan was hired and we became good friends.  She continued as the receptionist in that office for almost twenty years even, after I retired.  She was the “last-man-standing” when the bank closed all its California offices.  She turned out the lights.

There was such a camaraderie that she has stayed in contact with the “old gang” and still makes plans for us to see each other again over lunch.