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Utica, New York

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Our second home in Utica, New York

Why did I never feel comfortable in Utica? Even while I was being interviewed for my eventual job at the Mohawk Valley Community College, I had a nagging subliminal kind of antipathy towards that upstate New York area. I never could put my finger on why this feeling lingered the entire time that I lived there. The climate was just a bit colder and snowier than what I was accustomed to, but not objectionably so. The summers were relatively comfortable and one could almost always be assured of a white Christmas. Cultural and recreational amenities were not great, but adequate. My sister, Mary Ann, an easy to get along with sibling, lived nearby. The people in the area were friendly and hard working. Nothing, however, could make me appreciate the many positive aspects of the region.

I probably should never have taken the job at the college. Our financial situation, however, while not perilous, did compel me to want to begin filling the Hook coffers again as soon as possible. Prior to, and during my interview, I was supremely confident that I would be accepted for the job. But, I felt a bit of disquiet about my boss to be. He was an attorney. I thought it strange for an attorney to be working in an administrative job at a college. Were there not far more lucrative jobs for lawyers? Not only that, he also struck me as being somewhat pretentious, assuming a level of importance beyond that ascribed to his position. I thought, though, that we all try to puff ourselves up in many situations and that he too can try to impress me just vas I was trying to impress him. Still, I left the interview thinking that this was not going to be an above average boss.

We moved into a rented home on Tilden Avenue near Eagle Street, just a few blocks from the college. It was great being able to walk to work. The home was said to be on the edge of the Italian ghetto. In Utica there was a large population of folks who were of Italian descent. Supermarkets were understandably stocked with enormous selections of ethnic foods. I was particularly pleased to also have available a small specialty shop that sold a large range of cheeses, exclusively. Although our home was comfortable, we were not happy with it. It was just a bit too gloomy inside because its design could have provided for more windows to brighten up the interior. Consequently, we stayed there for just a number of months.

A rental home on Van Rensselear Avenue in north Utica was more to our liking. Although I now had about a 10-15 minute drive to get to work, the home had none of the negatives of our previous residence. Jean took a job in the cafeteria of a nearby grade school when we lived there. It was our home for the remainder of time that I spent at the community college.

The Griffiss Air Force Base was nearby. B52 bombers and their crews were housed there. Our home was nearly under the landing flight path of those behemoths. It was a noise level to which we were never previously exposed. We all adapted to it rather easily though, even me with my low tolerance for noise. Why was I easily able to accept that racket and not the equally offensive sounds from other sources?

It was in Utica where I first began jogging. The impetus for beginning an exercise program was due to a professor at the college, with whom I was acquainted, who at 42, suddenly died of a heart attack. That unfortunate event shocked me into the realization that maybe my level of physical fitness should be improved beyond what I thought was already fairly good. Almost immediately, I resolved to do something about it. A modest amount of research indicated that aerobic exercises offer the best protection against the possibility of cardiovascular problems. So, I bought a pair of sneakers but I was too embarrassed to take to the streets in a pair of running shorts. Oddly, I began jogging in our basement. This consisted of ridiculously running in small circles in those cramped quarters. Amazingly, I maintained this nutty daily routine for about a month. Gradually, I thought my fitness was improving and I developed sufficient courage to want to go outdoors with my exercise program. One Saturday, Jean and I headed for the track at the community college. I told Jean that it would be best if I just alternated running and walking laps. I lost my internal constraints when I saw other joggers on the track that, to my unknowledgeable eyes, seemed to me to be agonizingly slow plodders. With heightened confidence I took off on my first lap.

My respect for other joggers soon soared exponentially in contrast with the dismal realization of my own jogging incompetence. By the time I covered about 100 yards I was completely out of breath and my lungs burned with ferocity that I had not experienced since I was 16 years old. I slowed my already slow pace dramatically to ease my considerable distress. After another hundred yards my legs protested with enough resolve to overcome my dwindling willpower and reduce my pace to walk. In my humiliation I tried desperately not to let others see my distress. So, while my inclination was to stop and bend at the waist in order to more quickly recover, I strode as briskly as I could back to where I began my devastating seminal lap.

Giving up jogging as an exercise option, at that point, would have been easy. Instead I decided to do laps that consisted of slowly jogging until I tired and then walking until I felt ready to jog again. That worked, but I was considerably chagrined about my regrettably appalling physical condition. Following that first day, I got a locker in the gym of the college and began jogging/walking during my lunch hour. Gradually, I learned something about pacing myself, to avoid exhaustion, and within several weeks I completed my first lap without any walking. After several months I was jogging 5 miles and thereafter those 20 laps became my minimum distance standard.

Thereafter, jogging became a ritualistic obsession. If I missed a day, I felt uneasy, if I missed two days in succession my disposition was marked by a difficult to suppress irritability. I was addicted. In contradiction, I disdained, no, I intensely disliked upper body exercising. It took quite a bit to overcome my reluctance to do sit-ups or pushups. Several years later, however, I was able to do 100 sit-ups each day and a significant number of pushup, but my passion always was jogging and my upper body exercising routine gradually diminished to almost nothing.

Achieving a racing jogging speed never interested me. I was always aware of when and where organized competitive distance races were taking place but never entered any of them. I was mostly interested in slow jogging, (I called it slogging), for long distances. Each January I established an objective of reaching 2000 miles by the end of the year. The closest I ever came to that goal was a bit over 1800 miles. I was always deterred from reaching annual targets by injury, illness, or both.

Jogging is often a solitary mode of exercising which suited my personality very well. It was extremely rare for me to jog with someone else. Some people hate being alone. I tend to look forward to solitude. I viewed jogging as an opportunity for reflection and problem solving. After about a mile or so into a run, when a comfortable rhythm is achieved, an aura of good feeling envelops you and, also, negative thoughts are minimized such that your mind stops coming up with inhibiting thoughts that cripple an idea before it can be fully explored without being prematurely preempted with reasons for dismissing it. I think this is a major aspect of creativity, the ability to consider seemingly disparate and conflicting concepts for combination. So, in addition to its physical benefits, jogging also aids in some mental processes and contributes to an overall sense of well being.

My accomplishments at the college during my two years there left much to be desired. Much of what I was trying to do was done in the context of an internal battle between my boss and the faculty. The faculty wanted much more access to the computer, which my boss tenaciously opposed. Although I supported the faculty's desires, my boss, who spoke derisively of the faculty, yielded ground in extremely small increments. Again, although I was on the right side of a dispute, I was on the wrong side relative to my job security. I assumed my boss had the blessings of the president for his actions and I should not actively promote the faculty's position. Because my first love was programming, I took refuge from the combative environment by immersing myself in that kind of work to the detriment my other responsibilities of managing the computer center. I purposefully excluded myself from running the day-to-day operations unless I had no other recourse.

Our computer, typically in those days, did not have available a data base management system, (DBMS). Indeed, if any existed at that time I was not unaware of it nor had I ever encountered any information about the concept. Independently, I conceived of various DBMS components and initiated a programming effort to implement them. I chose who I thought was our best programmer to work on the project. She eventually demonstrated that she was the correct choice. But, her choice as programmer for the project miffed another programmer and an ever-escalating level of tension between them seriously jeopardized the productivity of both. No matter what I tried, ending or reducing this conflict met with failure. I was counseled to get rid of one of them, but my temperament was such that I never gave that option much consideration at all.

With all the office undercurrents swirling in the background, coupled with my lethargic enthusiasm, there was little progress on all fronts. Then, one day, the faculty delivered a "white paper" to the president indicating their displeasure regarding access to computer resources for faculty and students and recommending that a separate computer system be obtained for exclusive instructional purposes. The president bought it. Within days, as part of the fall out from the faculty's actions, my boss demoted me to programmer. A programmer, that I had hired that year, was elevated to my position.

You would think that I would have been pleased with the changes. I retained my salary level and was assigned to do the kind of work that I cherished, programming. But, I soon grew dispirited and dreaded going to work in the morning. My unhappiness was fed by my humiliation from being demoted, which I could not shake off, and the lack of any cutting edge thinking regarding the overall programming effort. Furthermore, the computer staff and equipment was banished to a windowless, forlorn, location in a corner of the basement. It was time to look for a more hospitable and progressive career environment. I found it in Wheeling, West Virginia, as a teacher at the West Virginia Northern Community College. There were no regrets when we packed up and left Utica.

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