Week One, Part 1 - My Chance To Fly

On a rainy Saturday in mid-August, 1995, the University of Notre Dame shakes down the thunder.

It’s late afternoon and I’m settled on the couch, watching the movie "Hook." Nestled beside me are Stephanie and Lauren, my new daughters by marriage. We laugh as Peter Pan, now a hapless lawyer, tries to fly. Tinkerbell does her best to help: “Think happy thoughts.”

I should be downstairs at my desk, finalizing course outlines. This fall I’m scheduled to adjunct in English composition at three local colleges.

But I’ve earned a day off, I think. For the last ten weeks I’ve been commuting from South Bend to Kalamazoo where I’m a grad student at Western Michigan University. Summer session ended Friday with a 14-pager on W.B. Yeats.

The phone rings, loud and shrill. I’m quick to answer because my wife, Terri, is sleeping.

The caller says she’s from the admissions office at Notre Dame Law School. “Is this Mark Peter Tell...” She quits halfway through.

“Tuh-LOY-uhn,” I say.

The in-coming class has an opening. “Are you available?”

Like a cartoon character, I open my mouth, yet no sound comes out. It feels as if I’m trying to say both “yes” and “no.” I had applied to Notre Dame last April and made the wait list. When nothing came of it, though, I matriculated at Western and committed to other activities.

"Sir, are you still there?"

I manage a grunt.

Orientation was today, she says. Classes begin Monday.

"This Monday?!"

She asks me to give Notre Dame an answer by tomorrow.

I hang up and wander back to the couch. By now Peter Pan is gliding through the air of Neverland.

Terri walks into the family room, still a bit groggy. She asks who called, and I give her the good news.

"Kill the lawyers!" Lauren shouts, mimicking the Lost Boys.

“Two days to change our lives around," Terri says, hands on her hips. "It makes me so irritated!”

“Think happy thoughts,” I say, and imagine myself as one of Notre Dame’s chosen few.

Terri suggests that we go for a “walk-and-talk.” We discuss the issues. The pile of money for tuition. Three years of lost income. Will it strain our marriage? What about job prospects? Am I too old?

I call my employers and get their input.

At Western Michigan I’m a grad assistant to Lowell Rinker, the vice-president for finance. “Sounds like the brass ring,” he says. “Grab it."

The head of the writing program at Indiana University South Bend agrees. "Universities treat part-timers so poorly that anything you do to better your situation is justified."

My department chair at Purdue North Central says it’s up to me. "Don't worry about us. “We've scrambled before."

In the evening, friends of Terri’s from AT&T stop by. Both are “Domers” – Notre Dame grads.

“Great," they say. "Now you can get football tickets."

That clinches it!

I leave a voice mail with Associate Dean Walter Pratt. “Count me in,” I say.

Terri has followed me to the phone. “What are you thinking?!” she asks.

“Law school is my chance to fly.”

Terri gives me a hug. “Okay,” she says, “but don’t be expecting some kind of fairy tale.”

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