Osler's Razor

An anonymous commenter yesterday asked for me to explain how it is that I ended up at William and Mary for college. It's a great question, and the answer might surprise you.

I applied to a surprisingly small number of schools; in the end I was choosing between Duke, William and Mary, and Michigan. I was wait-listed at Harvard, and turned down by a few others. I applied to Duke because, through what must have been some kind of clerical error, I was recruited as an athlete (in cross country). William & Mary, well... I applied there because of Bill and Jane Smith.

They lived a few doors down from me on Colonial Road in Grosse Pointe Shores, Michigan (Christine lived the same distance away, in the other direction). Every day, I walked past their house on the way home from school, and sometimes would stop there for a lemon drop-- they kept a dish by the front door. Sometimes, the stop would be longer... legend has it that I would knock on their door, and demand a book. Then I would sit on their porch, read the book, finish it, then ask for another. Sometimes, as I read, Mrs. Smith would bring out an apple. What a mooch I was! They were always glad to see me. They are that kind of people.

Over time, the older Smith kids, one by one, headed off to go to the College of William and Mary, the alma mater of Bill and Jane. When my time came, they encouraged me to apply there, wrote a recommendation, and helped me at every step.

Still... many of my friends were going to Michigan, and Duke was a higher-rated school. I was torn. On the day I had to decide, I remember walking down Colonial Rd., back home after school. It was a dead end street with little traffic, so I liked to walk right in the middle of the road, where there was a slight ridge.

As I walked past the Smith's house, Mrs. Smith skipped out to see me. I looked at her, thought about the two of them, and how they were-- their warmth, their smarts, the songs they sang-- and realized I hoped to be like that someday. I told her I was going to go to William and Mary, and that is how I decided. I haven't regretted it.

They now live in Richmond, in a beautiful row house in the Fan, and I saw them there not long ago. Their daughter, Laurie Smith Dowdeswell, was visiting, so I got to talk to her, as well.

Last month, there was heartbreaking news. Laurie's daughter, the Smith's grand-daughter, Shana, had died at age 23. Shana was a talented actress and much beloved in her hometown of New York.

When I heard of her death, I was profoundly sad. The Smiths had already lost a son, Sandy, who taught me how to play tennis. Now they had lost a grandchild, Laurie had lost her daughter... I wondered if there was anything more difficult.

Life is built of all this, I suppose, but I long for the part where I sit on their porch, munch an apple, and wait for another book.