More about Stan

                                    The Pontifical College Josephinum

They had signs in our school that asked this question. I said I didn't know. Our priest said the best way to find out is to go to the seminary. He was a graduate of the Pontifical College Josephinum. Somehow he arranged a scholarship, and both Steve and I headed down to Worthington, Ohio in the fall of 1959 to begin studying for the priesthood. I stuck it out for 4 years of high school and 2 years of college. It was quite an adventure. Steve figured out that it wasn't his calling after 3 years. And while it turned out not to be mine either, let me tell you we had an excellent education. One of the courses, from Msgr. Fick on writing, resulted in me never getting less than maximum credit on any other college paper I wrote.

One story: I visited Msgr. Fick to talk to him about my not coming up with a term paper topic. He digressed to inform me that my dad's job was boring, that I was the second laziest guy in the class (my friend Tom was the other one, and the two of us got the highest grades in that class), and generally didn't help me much. I was angry as I walked back to the college building. Another classmate came running out of the rec room exclaiming, "They shot Kennedy!" I just ignored him, but a few steps later I was pondering who I knew name Kennedy. Then it hit me. He was talking about President Kennedy. Yep, you don't forget a moment like that.

                                           Two of three in uniform

After leaving the seminary, I lost my 4D draft classification (divinity student, women and children first). Now as 1A I learned that the draft board had me on the list to be called up in January. They needed bullet catchers in Viet Nam. I was afraid I might be too good at that. So, after Steve and some friends had taken another route, I checked it out, joining a special program in the Navy called summer accelerated training. One problem I had was that I scored too high on a test they gave before enlistment. They told me that I qualified only for an officer training program. But it was closed. I asked if I could take the test again, and, oddly, they said yes. So I took it again and made sure I got a few questions wrong. Bingo, I was in.

I served my active duty at NAS Oceana near Virginia Beach, VA,  after receiving my orders at Naval Station Treasure Island in San Francisco (I was on shore patrol duty at the on base enlisted men's club the night Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated; that was a tense evening and there was a big fight on the shift after me). 

One story: My skipper came to me one day and tried to talk me into going into NESEP, the Navy Enlisted Scientific Education Program, after which I would become a commissioned officer and serve at least 6 years as such. At one point he was frustrated that I wasn't interested and shouted that there were only two kinds of people who would refuse it, a commie or a hippie. I'm not sure what possessed me, but I replied, "Take your pick, Sir." He stormed out of the room!

          Professor Wayne Hershberger and Joyce, his wonderful love

After a brief period back at Charles Bruning as a forklift driver and shipping expeditor, I headed back to college.

I enrolled at Northern Illinois University in DeKalb, Illinois as a junior, using the GI bill. I finished up all my undergraduate major work and went on to the doctoral graduate program in experimental psychology, where I concentrated on human perception, learning, and thinking, now called cognitive psychology.

I  connected with Dr. Wayne Hershberger, who became my graduate advisor and dissertation advisor. He had a compelling intellect that stimulated me and helped me to engage in understanding the phenomenal way that we come to know what is real in the world. He was incredible.

I left after finishing up my doctoral research, but before completing my dissertation, completing it later. I got a job after desperately looking for an opportunity.

One story: I  remember when I arrived in Wayne Pennsylvania, I waited in a hotel lobby to meet Art Siegel, of Applied Psychological Services. I saw this frumpy old man walk in, and I remember saying "Oh god, please don't let that be him." Well, it was. Art was a nice man, but he defined being eccentric. Believe me.

                                      From two hippies to one!

Nothing quite changes one's life like finding a life-mate. While pursuing my graduate degree, I met the woman with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life, Holly. We married in April, 1973. 

With Holly I also got a daughter whom I later adopted, Michele. And while still in DeKalb we were blessed with another daughter, Denise. 

One story: Denise came in to the world at 10 lb 3 oz. We had taken Lamaze, so I was able to be there when she arrived. But one night as I was leaving, I went to see her at the nursery window. They had put her right in front. Another father was there, saw the weight, and said to me, "Can you imagine the woman who could deliver a baby that big?" I just said, "Yeah, I'm married to her." End of that awkward conversation.

We got our family going in DeKalb, enjoyed the snow, the campus, William the Goose, and being able to frequently visit our folks in Arlington Heights and Mt. Prospect. 

Having a family was challenging. Holly was and is a master of holding things together through stressful times, like the time I was preparing for my doctoral comprehensive exams. 

The adventure was just starting.

                                 Tom and Holly in San Francisco

At NIU I met the man who was to be my best best friend, BBFF. Tom Litney and I met from our mutual interest in seeing the Vietnam war end. What started out with that mutual interest was a friendship that I still find to be the deepest between me and a friend.

We spent a lot of time together. Protesting the horrid war, having a beer at our place, golfing, serving as co-chairs of Vietnam Veterans Against the War - Northern Illinois Iowa Region, and helping each other through it all. Tom once was the lone survivor in Viet Nam of his platoon. He lay wounded as the Viet Cong shot each of his platoon mates to make sure they were dead. They forgot him. I helped him as best I could deal with survivor's guilt.

One story: Tom and I were golfing once in DeKalb. A foursome ahead of us thought we had teed off on a par 3 before they got to their next tee. We didn't, but they told the owner of the course about it. The owner sent out his son, who said he knew we were OK, but just wanted to let us know about the complaint. Many years later after Tom had moved to California, met his bride Ann, and moved to Cotati, a moving van pulls up on his cut-de-sac. Guess who's moving in? The son of the golf course owner. Small world!

Tom moved out to California first, in a VW bug that died on the way there. But he, and my colleague Al Williams from Applied Psychological Services, kept tempting me to explore California. I remembered it from my excursions from Treasure Island in the Navy. I knew I wanted to be there some day.

After we all ended up in California, it came to be that Tom lost his battle with Agent Orange induced cancer. I still miss Tom and think about this wonderful man very frequently.

                                                  T-shirt says it all

Applied Psychological Services was not what I wanted to be doing. So I decided to look into being a professor. I applied and was hired by Marquette University in Milwaukee. 

One story: When I went for my interview, I sat in the hotel the night before and watched the news. There was a story about the pope dying. It seemed to me that the news traveled slowly to Milwaukee, as Pope Paul VI had died over a month before. As it turned out, it was Pope John Paul I. I remember thinking since Marquette is a Jesuit university, would I still be having an interview the next day. Well, I did.

I loved teaching, and I had the opportunity not only to teach introductory psychology (the science, not the self-help stuff, something the business school said I was inflicting on their students), but upper division courses in human factors and organizational psychology. I even had some master's students whom I directed. And, I was able to complete my dissertation and receive my PhD. The photo above says it all.

Second story: At my first intro-psych class, a large lecture hall with over 200 students, a "waist" walked up to me after class. As I slowly looked up to see a face way above me, the student introduced himself as Dean Marquardt, the center of Marquette's formidable basketball team. I saw a hand descending from the heavens, holding a letter introducing him from the athletic department. OK, I'm teaching at a reputable university.

It came to pass that I realized I could not afford to raise a family on the faculty pay I was getting. So I sent my resume to IBM Rochster Minnesota. I got the usual sorry, the position is filled, but we'll keep your resume on file. Boy was I surprised when Alan Neal of IBM San Jose called me to see if I would be interested in coming out for an interview. Whoo boy, yes! That lead to a generous offer that I was asked to bring to Marquette's president's office. He took one look and said, "Thank you for your service!" Off we go.