In a great university that rightly prizes diversity and that purportedly has its pick over a broad and crowded spectrum of qualified students, shouldn't there be a decent showing at events such as the Bach concert?
It was in the gloaming at Duke University in late fall of 1966. There was a wet chill in the air, most of the trees were leafless, and a low cloud cover added to the gloom. I was trudging across West Campus from my freshman dorm to the library, overburdened with a load of books and overwhelmed by the pressures of a demanding university. My small-town school had not prepared me for the academic rigor at Duke, nor had my home life hardened me for living on a few hours of sleep a night. I was struggling, scared, worn down, and mindful that flunking out of school could result in a trip at government expense to the exotic landscape of Southeast Asia.
