Grinnell Intersections: Recent Episodes
The Path After Graduation
In the summer of 2014, Daniel Kisslinger '14 traveled through the western United States to conduct interviews with Grinnell College alumni about their experiences beyond graduation.
Many of the alumni with whom I talked shared experiences that rang true to my own process of transition, and I couldn't help but look for these parallels as the trip went on. Yet, as I conducted the final interview of the trip, I was astounded at the similarities between Eric's point of view and my own. We sit in his office and talk for so long that he ends up being late for dinner at home.
I had always heard about the mythical Lake Okoboji, a freshwater oasis in the monotonous landlocked Iowa. When Cory asked if I'd like to visit him there, I jumped at the opportunity. We go out on the lake in his boat with the family. His children scream with delight, and there's a dry smile is on his lips as he races across the water.
Darcie first read four of the books that she teaches at Augustana–the stories she deems worthy of representing American literature–in one course at Grinnell. As a professor, she shares these texts, coupled with an understanding that not everything can be understood the same way. She tells me that she hopes this helps her students as they wrestle with both the books and their own baggage.
Ty gives me a tour of the property in terms of projects: "We're going to take out that wall, and rebuild the structural support of that staircase beams, and redo the floors and ceilings of that floor." I can't help but feel overwhelmed on his behalf. He and Tera just bought two dilapidated houses in the center of town and are beginning to rebuild, step by step, with their two young boys in tow.
The Dougherty family comes in all sizes, from pint-sized toddlers all the way on up. The seven kids fly through the house as Troy and his wife calmly smile. They have another one on the way. As the painting above the mantle says, "Family is first."
Rebecca's directions say to turn at Rattlesnake Butte. I have no idea what a butte is as I make my way down her dirt road in Homedale, but a quick Google search tells me that it is "an isolated hill with steep, often vertical sides and a small, relatively flat top." Good to know...
Monique Gaido tells me that I have to talk with fellow Grinnellian Beverly Houser, who lives on the other side of town. They had met briefly a few years before, and Monique remembers Beverly's yellow VW Bug with red flames on the sides. "She has stories," Monique says. After a conversation with Beverly, I certainly agree.
The temperature is 71 degrees when I pull out of the Mendocino Redwoods and make my first move back east in three weeks. As I go over the hills and descend into the valley on the other side, I watch the thermometer climb, a degree per minute. It's a scorching 114 when I pull into Monique's driveway. After dinner she takes me down to the Sacramento River to escape the heat.
After the microphones are turned off, Steve shows me around his workshop. He has become devoted to woodworking, a passion he had for a long time but never had the chance to pursue until he retired. He never even tries to sell his pieces–the process of finding the right fragments and fitting them together is enough for him.
Musings about the transition out of college just seem to flow better when sitting by the pool. Laura has her feet up as she works through her thoughts, trying to get over the fact that the pesky deer ate all of the plums off of the tree. There is a more pressing issue at hand: sushi or Mexican food for dinner?
Rob decided earlier in the day that if we were going to do the interview, we would do it in style. We don suits and sit at the bar in the San Francisco St. Regis Hotel, feeling particularly fancy as we sip martinis. Rob's spontaneity continues to come through as he shares his thoughts on moving on from Grinnell.
Rishi is wearing a fleece with the name of his latest company embossed across the chest. I'm still acclimating to the world of San Francisco startups, and I ask him to give me an idea of how it all works. He laughs as the boats pull in and out of the port outside the historic Ferry Building.
Meg's voice wavers two or three times as she tells her story. Grinnell was frustrating for her–not all bad, not a waste of time, just frustrating. She describes the reality of being a female student in the early '60s with candor and care, filling in some of the less-illuminated corners of Grinnell's recent past.
We can see whales at the bottom of the windy road. Mike, Tobi, their son Josh, and I stand at the edge of the beach and watch the spouts from their blowholes as the sun sets over the Pacific Ocean. I realize that, as an East Coaster, I've actually never seen the sun set over the ocean before. For the first time all trip, I feel a pang of homesickness and realize how much I miss my own family.
I flash back on a semester abroad in Siena, Italy as I wind my way to Lucia's home in San Luis Obispo. The house sits between amber hills on California's coast. Lucia tells me that the view never gets old–the Tuscan-like scenery does not ever fade into the periphery.
SAG–AFTRA negotiations rage on behind closed doors as David White dives headfirst into his own personal Aristotle. His domain is arguably the most contentious side of the silver screen, but the Kansas City native sits calmly as he remembers his path through Grinnell, Oxford, and Hollywood.
I only have 45 minutes to explore the new French and German Expressionism exhibit at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art before closing time. The array of masterpieces flowed through the sparse gallery and I pause in the middle of the hall, spinning in a full circle. I'm surrounded by timeless artistic virtuosity. Curator and Grinnellian Tim Benson is the reason why.
There is no road to Sarah Cornwell's front door. I park at the foot of the hill and begin my trek up the steep slope. I pause to catch my breath at her gate and ring the bell, initiating a charge from a large, boisterous dog. Writers like Sarah keep their ideas protected.
Liane Binowitz's diploma hangs on one wall, and her St. Louis Cardinals banner hangs on the other. The Missouri native delves into the realities and surprises of practicing law, especially in the town of Las Vegas.
The Peppermill Restaurant and Fireside Lounge on the north end of the Las Vegas Strip contains four fake trees, wraparound neon lights, and an exclusive closed-door cocktail lounge where the bartender wears a bowtie and the suede swivel chairs sit on a sunken floor. Jake wants me to understand what this city has been, not just what it has become. Halfway through our conversation, he excuses himself for a second and checks his phone–a business proposition involving 400 pairs of women's slippers has been completed as we eat. On to the next hustle.
It may be summer vacation at Grinnell, but the Student Union at UNLV is teeming with students. Professor David Tanenhaus watches as they hurry to their next responsibility and compares these young scholars to the Grinnellians he knows. The sun glares of the concrete and glimmering metal facade and he squints a little as he remembers.
It takes something truly special to get me out of the house at 5:30 AM. The promise of a conversation with Neil Weintraub '86 is all the motivation I needed. Neil sits down with me in a coffee shop before heading to his "office," the Kaibab National Forest surrounding the Grand Canyon.
"There was a life sequence that was pretty standard in those days." Joe and Ann Walka left Grinnell together, and have been by each other's side ever since. Joe sits in his dining room after a long day and reflects on his path's twists and turns. He sits proud and straight as he talks about how he and Ann have supported each other over the course of their professional and personal lives.
The view from Don's garden on top of the highest hill in Gallup is astounding. Over the fifteen years since he moved off the Navajo reservation that surrounds the town, he has cultivated a zen garden, of sorts–his asparagus pokes its head out of the ground next to the shady alcove where he likes to sit, staring at the peaks in the distance. As we talk, his eyes follow my thoughts with attentive interest, pushing me to new ideas. A day with the doctor leaves me refreshed and ready to grow.
Francesca's two cats dart between her feet as she reminisces about teaching in Barcelona. Her husband Ben, who went to Spain with her, is sitting in the back room of their pueblo-style blue and white house. They're moving soon, to a house big enough for a family. Their roots are beginning to sink down into the red soil of Albuquerque.
Native Iowan Sam Raife sits comfortably in his transplanted home of Albuquerque, a locally made IPA in his hand and a wry smile on his face. The beer is more than just a beverage for the young alum–he hopes to someday open his own brewery. In the meantime, he shares his thoughts about his transition to the Burque as Happy Hour rages around us.
This pair of Grinnellians has run up some frequent flyer miles over the years since their graduation. Their respective scholarly foci, primatology and religious studies, have determined their location, and the two have followed each other across the country and around the world. From their couch in Oklahoma City, Laurie and Rick share their perspectives.
Appetizer: Chilled Cucumber and Avocado Soup. Entree: Steak Frites. Dessert: Basil Ice Cream with Fresh Blackberries. Grinnellian restaurateur Chris Lower sits with me as the early dinner guests come into his wine bar and bistro. He talks about why he caught restaurant bug: "People come to me to be happy, to celebrate. I get to share those happy moments with them."
The sun has set by the time the last round of the Tulsa Tough bicycle race has begun. The sidewalks of the city are lined with Oklahomans, straining to see the cyclists whir around the corner and down the block in a blur. Grinnellians Laura and Scott Shepherd seem to be personal friends with every single passerby. "I swear, we don't know everyone in the city," Scott promises. After a day with them, I find that hard to believe. "When it comes to Grinnell, we like to pay it forward," Laura says. "Someday, some kid will email you and you'll take care of him."
The Kauffman Gardens are in full bloom this time of year. Recent grad and former KDIC Station Manager Jordan Bell-Masterson took a few minutes away from his desk at the Kauffman Foundation to talk. However, he neglected to mention that on his way to KC from Grinnell, he was mugged at gunpoint, leaving him in a strange city with no credit card, ID, or phone. Experiential learning, indeed...