The 250 Square Foot View

Note: This post was originally published in October 2012.

Twice a year I receive the State University of New York (SUNY) New Paltz alumni newsletter, the New Paltz Observer, via snail mail. Typically I spend a few minutes leafing through it to see if I recognize any of the names from the years I attended. I usually check out the pictures of the new additions to the campus. Sometimes I read up on what’s new in the tennis program, since I played on the team when I was there. But counter space is a premium in my tiny New York City studio apartment, so after I’ve read it I toss it in the trash and I don’t think of it again until six months later when the new issue arrives. Only this time a tiny paragraph in the sidebar caught my eye:

“Corrections: David Samuel, ‘82, was mistakenly listed in the Memoriam section of the Spring 2010 issue of the Observer. We apologize for the error and are happy to report that he is alive and well.”

Mr. Samuel, who graduated the year I was born, had apparently been pronounced dead in one issue only to be resurrected a year later in another! That’s when it dawned on me: My alma mater literally doesn’t know whether its alumni are dead or alive.

I suppose it’s an honest mistake and as a journalism graduate I’m just being nitpicky. And in the Observer’s defense, they did print a correction, albeit a year later. But then I thought, what if the same thing happened to me? What if I found my own name mistakenly printed in the Memoriam section? The truth is that I probably wouldn’t really care.

The best part about being crossed off of my alma mater’s “living alumni list” would be that they’d stop asking me for money (probably). I haven’t ever actually donated a monetary gift back to New Paltz, and I have no plans to do so in the future. I no longer feel a connection to this place where I spent four seminal years of my life. Some people stay loyal to their schools because it looks great on a resume. Others because their men’s basketball team always makes an appearance during March Madness. Or maybe they just look really good in the hoodie they bought from the school bookstore freshman year.

This post has taken me a while to write because I couldn’t really decide how I felt about New Paltz, and why I was so indignant at the idea of giving back. As a strapped for cash ex-student I might say, “Donation? I donated for four years and I’m still making donations. It was called tuition then and now it’s called student loans!” As a righteous do-gooder, I might say, “Of all the causes that need my money, I’m going to write a check to a college? I’d rather give it to people who actually need it.” But that’s not it. For me it comes down to one thing: did my four years at New Paltz put me in position to succeed upon my departure? Well, not really.

Let me qualify the above: the professors in my journalism program were outstanding. They were thought-provoking and experienced and eloquent and approachable. I could probably email most of them right now and they’d remember who I was. After four years of instruction classes about AP Style and nut graphs and the inverted pyramid, I came out of that program prepared do the job of being a journalist. But what I didn’t learn was how to find that job. And as a result, I didn’t.

I can’t recall a single occasion when career development training was offered to me while I was still in school beyond a couple of generic job fairs, so I really had no idea how to approach my job search after graduation. I bought the latest version of The Writers Market and mailed literally 20 resumes and cover letters per day inquiring about assistant jobs, with no response save for one rejection letter. I attacked Monster.com and CareerBuilder.com and JournalismJobs.com with ferocity. I spent a few months temping at my second cousin’s financial planning office at a generous $10 an hour; I managed to make $150 for a freelance article in a local Long Island newspaper which later folded; I worked as a substitute teacher during the week for about $100 a day in the middle school where my mom taught; I took some part-time shifts at The Sports Authority for under $8 an hour before they cut hours after the holidays; and finally I scored my first full-time office job in Manhattan nine months after graduation, where I made a mid-20s salary minus $267 each month for my Long Island Railroad ticket. I eventually moved to my current company, where I’ve been promoted twice.

I’ll have graduated seven years ago in May. I’m able to pay my rent, my utility bills, and of course, my student loans. I’ve been able to save a couple of bucks for a rainy day, and I can pay for a nice dinner with my girlfriend without wincing when the check arrives (or asking her to go Dutch). And I really like my life. I’m not wealthy, but I’m very happy. But does any of this mean I should write a check to SUNY New Paltz, just because my hoodie still fits?