Over 30 years ago, I started my first faculty job at State University of New York College at Oneonta, mercifully known as SUNY Oneonta. I had moved out east from the midwest and had noted some of the changes in scenery from the flatness of central Illinois to the hills surrounding Oneonta, but I didn’t really feel the culture shock until I met my students.
After I learned how to use a mimeograph machine (complete with its blue-purple master stencil), I stepped into my first classroom and stood in front of the class. One woman asked me what sounded like: “Aw yew a stew-DENT?” (If you have heard someone from Long Island, this is the best I could render the voice.)
“Is this Consumer 257?” I asked.
“Yeaah.”
“I’m the professor teaching this class.”
“I thought yew were a STEW-dent!” In her defense, I was 29 but looked really young for my age.
I discovered that day that about one-third of my students were from New York City and its suburbs, and one-third were from rural counties surrounding Oneonta, and the remainder locals. Downstate students are very different than rural New York students. The downstate students are livelier, while the rural students are a bit more reserved.
Some of my favorite stories come from that period of my life, the five years I spent as a new teacher in upstate New York. But it started that first day, when I was mistaken for a student.
Words Like Me 