Kids these days. When faced with the option of making $50,000 a year fresh out of high school or going to college, many high school grads in Colorado head for the oil and gas fields on the Western Slope.
Who can blame them? Many of our youths are strong, eager to work all day and night in the worst weather, and willing to take dangerous jobs. Getting maimed or killed on drilling rigs is a reality in Colorado. At 19 years old, you feel bulletproof.
But college students in my classroom see things differently. While some of their former high school classmates now earn up to $1,000 a week, my students are paying thousands for tuition, room and board, books and incidentals.
Are they crazy?
They believe in pursuing their dreams, and exploring their opportunities before committing to a career. They talk about choosing a future instead of letting it choose them. One of them stocks shelves at Albertsons. Another works the register at Target on weekends. A third supervises UPS drivers. One of my sharpest students, a standout college football player, serves customers at a local tavern many nights a week.
I wondered: Are you guys crazy?
In class one day, a couple of students debated whether higher ed is worth the high price. They had friends or brothers working the rigs, earning what sounded like truly outrageous sums.
I asked them to put their thoughts down on paper. “For every boom, there’s been a bust,” one PR major wrote. “I’d like job security.”
“I could be making big bucks right now,” a future radio broadcaster noted. “But what if I get hurt? What if my company leaves Colorado tomorrow? Then what do I do?”
Their message was simple: Making financial sacrifices today is what it takes for a challenging career down the road. No guarantees, of course. They believe in serendipity.
In 1973, I crawled out of a small Midwestern school with a BA in English. I wanted to be a journalist, but no newspaper editor would hire me without some reporting experience.
It was demoralizing until I lucked out at The Brown Palace. Denver’s oldest, classiest hotel hired me to work in its print shop. My mission: produce hundreds of menus a week on a printing press for the Brown’s three restaurants. At the time — 1974 — the job paid about $2.75 an hour. It felt great to be employed, make car payments on time, and to learn a trade.
After a year, the humdrum routine got to me. I’d gone to college to become a writer, not a printer. The only writing I was doing was late at night. I typed long letters on a portable Underwoood to distant friends. I was desperately seeking a better tomorrow without a clear idea of how to get there.
I spent the next several years on character- building assignments: city parks worker, gas station attendant, construction laborer and office clerk. A little serendipity is a good thing, I kept telling myself.
Everybody else thought I was crazy.
Eventually, a small Nebraska weekly gave me the “big break” I’d been waiting for. My starting salary was $7,000. Truth is, I’d have done it for free. I was the reporter and photographer for the Gering Courier. Crime, fires, car wrecks, city council meetings, high school sports, hospital changes, farm prices, ribbon-cuttings. It was all good news to me. Soon, I moved on to bigger papers for more money. For 20 years, I wrote my heart out for newspapers in several states. None of it would have been possible without that sheepskin from Miami University in Oxford, Ohio.
Would any of my students be surprised by this story? It’s doubtful. They’ve already decided to follow their hearts, not their wallets. They aren’t crazy. They’re on the right path, though they may not know precisely where it leads.
A little serendipity is a good thing.
Eric Sandstrom (esandstr@mesastate.edu) teaches at Mesa State College in the mass communication program.
