Brian Doyle '78 | January 12, 2016
It was my dad who brought me to college for my admissions interview. The college was 700 miles from our house. We drove through the night. I was 17. My father was younger than I am now. It was autumn.
The college campus was the most collegiate campus you could ever imagine. It was exactly what you thought a college campus would be. It was obviously a set for a film about college. There were boys wearing letterman jackets. There were girls sprawled on the grass reading philosophy.
There were maples with flaming red leaves and oaks with flaming gold leaves and elms looking down superciliously on the showy lesser trees. I saw a priest wearing a flowing cassock that went down to his ankles. I pointed this out to my dad, who said quietly ah, vestis talaris, and on we went. It had never occurred to me then that there were dads who did not casually lapse into Latin.