editorial orttert jpg) j
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Midnight study oil
flickers at UNL
Nancy Stohs if a freshman majoring in
journalism and history. She is a staff
writlr for the Daily Nebraskan.
by Nancy Stohs
As an ardent perfectionist,
constantly imposing "above-average
goals upon myself, it was only natural
I should grow to expect the same
standards in return from the outside
world. That this naivety made for
frequent let-downs was natural, too,
and a price I was usually prepared to
pay. I wasn't prepared, however, for ,
how high that price could sometimes
go!
The idea of college, for instance,
had evoked certain associations since
childhood. Associations like studying,
intense competition, books, grades,
intellectual and cultural developement,
self-sacrifice and other stereotyped
conjurings. In fact, the idea of
Abraham Lincoln walking 20 miles,
daily to class, or the 19th century
Harvard law student "burning the
midnight oil" was not nostalgia to
me-but after all, what every college
student was like!
So with unspoiled visions of an
academic paradise awaiting me, I
arrived a a UNL freshman. And the
great earthquake airived soon
afterward. "Study? Who
studies?"
I'd met the girl in the elevator that
first day. She looked nice enough. "All
I wanted was advice on where to
study, not a smart remark," I glared.
Little did I know that her remark was
only mijdly indicative of a general
negative attitude on campus toward
studying, an attitude, that was - also
subtly contagious.
I couldn't even make a new
acquaintance, for example, without
such concepts creeping deviously into
my mind. Take, for instance, the
classic greeting "Hi-I'm-so-and-s
o-What's-you r-name-Wh a t-cl ass
are -you -in-Where-are-you-f rom-and-What's-your-major?".
Always
believing that honesty is the best
policy, I answer, "Journalism and
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history, with a triple minor in
psychology, English and philosophy."
A cold, blank stare. My honesty that
day was the worst possible policy.
"Wow you're kidding," my
inquirer remarked. 'That's really hard
sti ff. I mean, won't you hate all that
studying?"
At first, of course, I politely
protested: "Oh, no, I chose those
fields on my own. I mean, I've always
loved to write, and" Another blank
stare-l hadn't reached hpr
Next time I found I had inserted a
light tone of embarrassment into my
answer. And soon enough . . . "Oh,
but that's just what it is now. I may
end up changing it yet . . ." Well,
considering I'd only had 12 years of
schooling to decide what I wanted
from life and that my present schedule
included freshman requirements only,
that does seem a rather hasty
conclusion for one's academic future.
From then on, my original
expectations crumbled quickly. And
looking back, I can see how ironic the
whole situation was. Here I was.
; staff
opinion
attending a state university where
20,000 students who dished out
millions of hard-earned dollars in
tuition for a good education, wouldn't
even utter the word "studying,"
except in contempt, dismay, or
sympathy. I give three illustrations.
The first: "Dont study too hard!"
is the most frequent campus
counterpart for "good-bye." Generally
it comes after those rare moments
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when someone asks: "What are you
doing tonight?" and one has the
courage to admit the raw
truth -STUDYING. The implication,
of course, is that there is something
inherently dangerous about the act of
studying. Perhaps it's like swallowing
aspirin, that after so much dosage, the
subject will drop over dead at his desk.
The second: "Bookin' again
tonight?" (this one a greeting) and its
obvious implication, "Gosh, you study
a lot. Is there something wrong with
you?" As if to see a person one night
with a book in his hand is enough, but
two night, and in a row is outrageous!
One instantly feels as if he should
apologize. He replies: "Well, only a
little," or "Yeah, I've got to look
impressive, anyway."
On the surface, I concede, it is just
another silly game of small talk or
meaningless conditioned responses.
But its effects are large.
When a person finally does sit down
to study, what does he invariably feel?
Relief? Intellectual stimulation?
Self-satisfaction? No. Guilt is what he
feels. An overwhelming sense of guilt
that he is "studying too hard" and
denying himself the good times in life
that everyone needs. So, he closes his
book and calls up his friends who,
incidentally, are beginning to feel
guilty themselves. And the weaker
person, to avoid such a feeling, soon
finds himself making up excuses not to
study, somewhat similar to the
Kentucky Fried Chicken lady who
refuses to cook because of an ingrown
toenail. Like I say, it's subtly,
contagious.
Finally, the pre-test remarks. One
of the biggest mistakes one can make
is to mention to everyone else when he
has a test. For immediately he is
flooded with condolences like: "Oh,
you poor girl" or "Oh, you do?
Goooood luck" or "You're
kidding-calculus? I'd be terrified!"
(After, of course, the usual series of
instructions the night before on how
not to study too hard.)
The student remembers vaguely the
10 hours he stayed up to study, that
he had memorized the test material
frontwards and backwards, and that he
loves to take tests but conformity says
he should be terrified. And by test
time, that's all he can remember.
Sometimes I get a faint urge to
scream at the top of my lungs: "But I
like to study I I love school!" But to
do so would be social suicide. For if
one likes to study, he is obviously a
non-conformist, and therefore
anti-social. So, I continue to play
dummy to the status quo and secretly
hoping that someday my shining white
knight will ride by and say: "I hope
you get a lot done tonight!" or "I
hope you find your studying
worthwhile and interesting!"
But the prevalent anti-academic
attitude can be seen in the typical
student's actions, as well as his words.
Again to be blunt, it's as if every
one of the 20,000 students on campus
forces himself to suffer through the
entire week, just so he can make up
for it on the weekends with parties,
booze and sleep. In fact, there is even
the curious ritual at the end of each
week known as the "FAC," translated
by the natives as "Friday Afternoon
Club." An "FAC" is a party typically
accompanied by several kegs of beer
and designed to help one recover from
the dreadful, unbearable events of the
week, such as tests and papers. Of
course, no one mentions the
alcoholism from which one may have
to recover someday. But, no matter,
everyone does it (as seems to be the
code of the college student) and so
one might as well go along.
But as if some can't even wait for
the weekends, Thursday night has
been unofficially set aside as "bar
night," and young men and women
rush to their favorite campus tavern
for a little song-singing, a little
laughing and much guzzling. Even
those with tests the next morning
manage to make it out for a short, two
or three-hour "study break" with the
gang.
I tried them all. Exactly once. So
what did I finally do?
Well, as they say: "live and learn."
Figuring I'd lived more than my share
already that semester, I decided it was
time I tried a little learning. Yes, I
committed the cardinal sin, I
non-conformed.
And that's why I am here now,
staying home to study, on a Saturday
night, no less, proudly admitting it. I
politely ask my screaming neighbors to
hold it down, to look busy when a
friend drops by and above all, enjoying
every minute of it.
And in confessing my
excommunication from the human
race to various acquaintances, I've
found that I am by no means the only
one on campus who does such
harebrained things. Even the
golden-voiced conspirators in the dorm
halls apparently pull off fairly good
grades when no one else is looking. An
academic paradise it may not be I
finally concluded, but "burning the
midnight oil" still exists in its own
right at UNL. It's just a bit harder to
get ii.
page 4
daily nebraskan
monday, february 5, 1973
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