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.
