Scott Williams – 50th Reunion Essay

Scott Williams

170 Indian Tree Drive

Highland Park, Illinois 60035

spwill170@gmail.com

(224) 622-0709

Spouse(s): Sheri Riggan Williams (1972)

Child(ren): Matthew Lawrence Williams (1979), Andrew Riggan Williams (1981)

Grandchild(ren): Luke H. Williams (2010), Ryan S. Williams (2011)

Education: University of Texas, MA, 1971, University of California, MBA, 1976

Career: Citibank, Managing Director, Senior Credit Risk Manager Global Autos/Heavy Industries, Global Forest Products, Nordic Region, 23 Years

Avocations: Volunteer work providing a variety of services to the blind

College: Berkeley

Looking back, Yale’s greatest impact on me occurred during the earliest days of freshman year. Moving into Welch Hall on a rainy September weekend, meeting my roommate and everyone else in our entryway is now a blur. Once the logistics of settling-in were accomplished, things went pear-shaped swiftly as Yale harshly proceeded to take my measure.

I did not take any AP classes in high school. (Did such things exist back then?) Consequently, I saddled myself with five introductory courses, which resulted in the worst schedule imaginable. Lectures, sections, and labs were strewn inconveniently throughout the week. Introductory French was excruciating not only because it met every morning at 8:00 a.m., but also because I somehow missed (but more likely I simply ignored) the vital fact that it would all be conducted in French from day one. An Introduction to Macroeconomics section, led by a foreign TA for whom English was definitely a very distant second language, met twice a week. The coup de grâce was an English Literature section that was scheduled at the dispiriting hour of 3:00 p.m. every Wednesday (acceptable) and Friday (wholly unacceptable). All of this misery was compounded by classes that were inevitably located at the opposite ends of the campus.

Run ragged by the end of the first month, two thoughts began creeping into my mind. First, if I was going to accomplish anything, I would have to cease the nightly temptation to study in the extremely comfortable green leather chairs and somnolent silence of Linonia and Brothers and second, but more ominously, perhaps Yale was a big mistake.

I suspect now that my doubts were hardly unique, although I am absolutely certain that my ghastly schedule was. However, who among Yale’s high achievers, valedictorians, all-state athletes, and type A personalities would admit to such vulnerability? After all, one month in we were still relative strangers. I probably was not anywhere near calling it quits on Yale so quickly, but wallowing in wretched self-pity over my discomfiting daily academic difficulties steadily undermined my confidence.

I was not a quitter, but my predicament made it imperative that I fix this mess, and fast. I thought long and hard about how I had arrived at this point. It struck me that I had eagerly replied “YES” to Yale’s acceptance, but I had barely given a thought about what attending Yale would truly entail. Why would I during those blissful final months of high school and the summer months to follow?

Everything before had come so easily, and I naively assumed this would continue. I did not expect to confront a watershed moment so soon, if ever. Yale mercilessly exposed my foolishness. I had come to New Haven with a head full of mush. What I had before me was the priceless opportunity to learn how to think with clarity if I seized it, and I did.