REFLECTIONS OF A LIFE, Chapter 9: Early Years in Cleveland

Chapter 9

Early Years at Cleveland

            Cleveland was a place to grow roots.  Washington was not a place to grow roots, though it was exciting, rapidly growing, and you felt in the center of world affairs.  We have never before or since had the number of visitors as we did in our seven years in Washington.  They came to see the sights of our nation's capital and we were a place to stay.  Maybe we missed this the most, no longer feeling in the main stream but rather in some backwater.  But it was a comfortable backwater, and before long we would not willingly give it up.

            We sold our house in Chaddsford for a nice $20,000 profit in only three years.  Our real estate agent could hardly believe how rapidly homes were appreciating in the Washington area.  If we had held on for another ten years, we could have gotten $250,000 for it.

            Well, we weren't able to cash in on the extreme appreciation, but we left with a nice down-payment for a house in Shaker Heights.  We marveled at how much less  houses were selling for in Cleveland, how you could get so much more for your money.  We bought our first house for $62,000 and thought this was far superior to what we had at Chaddsford.  It was in an old established neighborhood, with mature trees in a nice yard, and had a dynamite family room that had been added by the previous owners.  I had recently taken up running in Maryland on streets with no sidewalks and no berm, and here it was sheer joy to be on sidewalks and parks and quiet neighborhood streets, and even along a small lake.  But more about running in a later section.  Still, I can say here that running was to become a big and enduring part of all of our lives, including children and grandchildren.  We were destined to grow deep roots in this old established community that was stable and not frenetically growing as many other areas were.

            While Cleveland had an undeserved reputation as being a smokestack city and a depressed and dirty industrial town, it was really a gem.  The reputation, however, had been a deterrent to attracting faculty, executives and other high-level people.  Once newcomers learned the measure of the city, many became as enthusiastic as we were long ago.  Now as we exceed our thirty-fifth year in Cleveland, retired and able to move anywhere, still we will not pull up stakes.  While winters are the worst feature of Cleveland, they are far better than the winters we had in Minneapolis, and the summers, with the coolness of Lake Erie, surpass those of almost any other part of the country.

            The eastern suburbs are some of the nicest residential neighborhoods to be found anywhere, with miles of fine homes and gentle hills, and even one deep and scenic valley, well-treed and green.  To be only 15-20 minutes from CSU downtown over city streets and not freeways, and to be in a beautiful residential area, was an almost unbelievable perk in a large city.  I sometimes still contrast this with the hour and longer commutes on busy freeways that Californians face along with residents of many other major cities.

            Cleveland State University (CSU). --I came in September 1972 to Cleveland State as a senior professor at a salary that would put me near the top of my profession at that time.  (I would occasionally marvel how I had somehow achieved this, after all my years of futility and frustration.)  I became a close friend with the man who hired me, the Chairman of the Marketing Department, who at that time was the only other full professor.  Don Scotton was about fifteen years older, but I became his confidant and buddy away from work.  He was a short man, and as short men are wont to be, was aggressive and dictatorial perhaps as a defense mechanism for being short.  He was inclined to act decisively and impulsively, and at times seemed almost as the proverbial bull in a china shop.  Some of the faculty did not like him, and those he didn't like were quickly gotten rid of if they did not have the tenure that would ensure their position. 

            With my newfound prestige as one of the highest paid senior professors in the College of Business Administration and even in the University, I was involved with the more important college committees.  I probably served on the promotion and tenure committee as a member and chairman more than anyone else on the faculty, and even for some years was on the prestigious University promotion and tenure review committee.  The dean in those early years at CSU was Ephraim Smith, and Dorothy and I were often invited to his home along with other senior faculty and administrators.  Even the president of the University occasionally entertained us and other senior professors from other parts of the university.   I was still busy writing books and my productivity led to nice salary increases every year in those golden days.  Unfortunately in years to come, budget problems came to CSU and other universities in the state, and the golden days were over, with salary increases minimal and travel money to academic conferences even eliminated.  CSU was no longer the attractive place it had once been, and I occasionally thought about looking elsewhere, but we were so comfortable in Cleveland that it was difficult to seriously consider moving, especially as years went by and curbed our eagerness to embrace change.

            Don Scotton. -- I was as close to Don as any person could be with his boss.  Worth noting though is that in academia the boss/subordinate relationship is more muted than in most other occupations or professions, especially once tenure has been obtained, and my relationship with Don was one more of equals.  He was an ardent fisherman and introduced me again to the sport, something I had not done for over forty years.  He had a small boat with an outboard motor and we would explore lakes and reservoirs around Cleveland, and even went on Lake Erie a few times, although the boat was hardly big enough to handle sizable waves.  I was not as enamored with fishing as he was, but tried to resurrect my childhood ardor with only modest success.  Still, we had some memorable outings, although I don't remember that we ever caught many fish.  One trip with Don was particularly noteworthy, and was instrumental in swaying our family to an East Coast mecca that was to play an important role in our lives to come.

           

            San Antonio and Padre Island. -- Scotton and I went to a 3-day conference the end of February at San Antonio.  We flew out of Cleveland in a snowstorm, and thought the warm weather of Texas would be a welcome change, but San Antonio proved to be cool and blustery all the time we were there. 

            After several days of rather boring presentations, Don suggested we drive farther south to find more summer-like weather.  In particular he wanted to check out South Padre Island, a barrier island on the Gulf that had become a major tourist destination for mid-westerners.     

            I drove our rented car through the flat lands of this part of Texas, skirting the huge King Ranch as we nosed ever southward to the Rio Grande and Brownsville, reaching there late afternoon. Because of irrigation upstream, the mighty Rio Grande was a thin stream of water with Mexico barely a stone's throw beyond.  We drove on to Padre Island, about 50 miles east, where we expected to stay for one or two nights.  It was dark when we crossed the bridge from the mainland, but we had no difficulty finding something to eat and two rooms along the main road that bifurcated the island.  This was the quiet before the storm, for the whole community was frenetically preparing for spring break the next week that would bring the first batch of college students eager to carouse, with peak business continuing all through March.  Banners and welcoming signs were going up all over town. 

            "I don't think we'd like this with the spring breakers," I said.

            "We probably couldn't even get a room."

            The accommodations were not luxurious, but at that time there were no luxury hotels on the island.  Everything was geared to the college crowd and, in the summer, to families. 

            I was not impressed with South Padre even though it was a vacation destination for many different visitors.  Despite white sand beaches and the blue water of the Gulf, it was just a sand spit with scarcely any trees or vegetation and no zoning to check wild commercialization.  Even now at the end of February the sun was a force to be reckoned with as it reflected off the sand and buildings.

             A lasting legacy came out of this sojourn to Padre Island. The sandy barrier island, with little to offer beyond a beach and a warm and then harsh sun, was a stark contrast with Hilton Head, another barrier island off the South Carolina coast.  I came to believe that Hilton Head was the penultimate vacation destination in the United States.  And maybe even the world, for I never found a place that offered so much in such a pleasant environment.