Could I handle the checkroom job seven nights a week, Afremow’s on Saturdays, and a full college schedule?
I would see.
Northwestern University is located in Evanston, Illinois, twelve miles north of Chicago. The university, a two-hundred-forty-acre campus on the shore of Lake Michigan, was spectacular. At nine o’clock on a Monday morning, I walked into the office of the registrar.
“I’m here to enter the university.”
“Your name?”
“Sidney Schechtel.”
The registrar picked up a heavy volume and looked through it. “Here we are. What courses would you like to take?”
“All of them.”
She looked up at me. “What?”
“I mean as many as I’m allowed. While I’m here, I want to learn all I can.”
“What are you mostly interested in?”
“Literature.”
I watched her go through some pamphlets. She picked one up and handed it to me. “Here’s a list of our courses.”
I scanned the list. “This is great.” I checked off the courses I wanted and then handed the list back to her.
She looked at it and said, “You’re taking the maximum amount of courses?”
“That’s right.” I frowned. “But Latin isn’t there. I really do want to take Latin.”
She was looking at me. “Do you really think you can handle all this?”
I smiled. “No problem.”
She wrote down “Latin.”
From the registrar’s office, I went to the cafeteria kitchen. “Can you use a busboy?”
“Always.”
So I had another job, but it was not enough. I felt impelled to do more, as though I were making up for lost time. That afternoon, I went to the offices of the Daily Northwestern, the school newspaper.
“I’m Sidney Schechtel,” I told the man behind the desk with a sign marked “Editor.” “I’d like to work on the paper.”
“Sorry,” he said, “we’re full up. Try us next year.”
“Next year will be too late.” I stood there thinking. “Do you have a show business section?”
“A show business section?”
“Yes. Celebrities are always coming to Chicago to do shows here. Don’t you have someone to interview them for the paper?”
“No. We—”
“Do you know who’s in town right now, dying to be interviewed? Katharine Hepburn!”
“We’re not set up to—”
“And Clifton Webb.”
“We’ve never had a—”
“Walter Pidgeon.”
“I can talk to someone, but I’m afraid—”
“George M. Cohan.”
He was getting interested. “Do you know these people?”
I did not hear the question. “There’s no time to lose. When their shows close, they’re leaving.”
“All right. I’m going to take a chance on you, Schechtel.”
He had no idea how excited I was. “That’s the best decision you’ve ever made.”
“We’ll see. When can you start?”
“I’ve already started. You’ll have the first interview in your next edition.”
He looked at me in amazement. “Already? Who is it?”
“It’s a surprise.”
It was a surprise to me, too.
In what spare time I had, I interviewed many minor celebrities for the newspaper. My first interview was with Guy Kibbee, who was a minor character actor at the time. The major stars were too important to be interviewed for a school newspaper.
I was working in the checkroom and the drugstore, I was taking the maximum number of courses at school, plus Latin, I had a job as a busboy, and I was on staff at the Daily Northwestern. But it still wasn’t enough. It’s as though I were driven. I thought about what else I could do. Northwestern had a great winning football team, and there was no reason I couldn’t be on it. I’m sure the Wildcats could use me.
The following morning, I went out to the football field where the team was practicing. Pug Rentner, who went on to a glorious career in the NFL, was the star of the team that year. I walked up to the coach, who was on the sidelines watching the action. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“What’s on your mind?”
“I’d like to try out for the team.”
He looked me over. “You would, huh? You’ve got a pretty good build. Where did you play?”
I didn’t answer.
“High school? College?”
“No, sir.”
“Grammar school?”
“No, sir.”
He was staring at me. “You’ve never played football?”