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The University of Chicago, known for its wacky essay questions,
this year let members of the freshman class dream up four
topics to torture applicants. Christopher Wand of Newark
Academy in Livingston, N.J., chose this question: ''In a
pivotal scene of a recent American film, a videographer
-- a dark and mysterious teenage character -- records a
plastic bag blowing in the wind. He ruminates on the elusive
nature of truth and beauty, and suggests that beauty is
everywhere -- often in the most unlikely places and in the
quirky details of things. What is something that you love,
because it reflects a kind of idiosyncratic beauty -- the
uneven features of a mutt you adopted at the pound, a drinking
glass with an interesting flaw, the feather boa you found
in the Wal-Mart parking lot? These things can reveal (or
conceal) our identity; so describe something that tells
us who you are (or aren't).'' Mr. Wand responded with the
following:
I have, for the past several years, worn a subway token
around my neck on a thin black cord. This coin has no great
story attached, no humorous anecdote, no hair-raising tale
of danger averted by a simple coin. It has stopped no bullets,
derailed no trains, it hasn't even gotten me back to Grand
Central from the Met when I was out of cash. So a question
I am asked quite often (mostly by myself though by a fair
share of other people too) is, ''Why wear it?'' or perhaps:
''What does it mean?''
My first impulse is to declare, as so many abstract artists
have in recent years, ''It means what it is.'' This is,
of course, a cop-out. If that is the sole reason I wear
this subway token, why not wear just anything around my
neck? Certainly there must be some reason I wear a subway
token. With all due respect to abstract artists, this response,
brilliant when first uttered, quickly grows weary with repetition.
I suppose I must admit that one reason I wear it is as
part of an elaborate gag. Whenever someone asks about it
and I'm in a joking mood I begin to tell them that it is
an ancient Tibetan coin inscribed with the ancient inscription
''Good for One Fare'' (pronounced goud for oh-nay fahr-ay).
Their faces always light up with fascination as I invite
them to take a closer look. The look on their faces as they
declare in surprise, ''It's just a subway token!'' is absolutely
priceless. The moment as they realize the humor of the situation,
just before they begin to laugh along with you, is positively
sublime. When you pull it off just right it's a beautiful
thing -- you really should try it some time. The occasional
laugh, however, is more a happy side benefit of wearing
a subway token than a real reason to wear one 24/7.
One reason I wear it is because it's something familiar.
It's nice to know that I can always press my hand to my
chest and feel the knot that holds it in place digging into
my sternum. I have only two pieces of jewelry that I wear
all the time, my subway token and my watch, and as I have
something of a facility for losing watches, the subway token
is the only article of clothing or jewelry that I've had
for more than a year or two. I feel more comfortable with
the familiar weight around my neck, the same way I feel
more comfortable in my own clothes than in someone else's.
Of course I inevitably get philosophical about my subway
token, and when I do I always come up with two contradictory
explanations. The first is a rehashing of the ''it means
what it is'' argument. This argument actually becomes quite
viable if one is willing to do some reading in aesthetic
theory. In Heideggerian terms, I'm rendering the subway
token nonfunctional, and hence bringing it into the realm
of consciousness. By taking it out of context I'm forcing
people to look at it, changing it into something strange
and beautiful, rather than commonplace and functional. Perhaps
I am motivated by the same impulse that made Duchamp put
a urinal on the wall of an art gallery.
The opposite explanation is that the subway token means
something by meaning nothing; it is a small monument to
meaninglessness. I am as paranoid as the next person, and
like most of us I see patterns everywhere in the world,
patterns which may or may not actually be there. Perhaps
my subway token is a reminder not to ascribe the same amount
of importance to the pattern that every time I drop a ball
it falls to the ground as to the pattern that I do well
on a test whenever I rub my lucky rabbit's foot. Perhaps
it's a reminder that life is only so organized as to make
us uncertain even of uncertainty.
Or maybe I just like the way it looks.
When Williams College in Williamstown, Mass., asked
applicants for the fall semester to ''Comment on an experience
that helped you discern or define a value that you hold,''
Geofre Schoradt of Mount Vision, N.Y., modeled his essay
on the college's promotional fact sheet, far right. He also
found common ground with Williams's bovine mascot:
I know you're busy, as much as I wish you weren't this
particular year. But, I'm probably not the only one to have
figured out that Williams would be a great place to get
an education and spend the next four years. With so many
factors to consider, so many applications to read, and so
many people to evaluate, it must get incredibly hectic for
you. I know that my application is just one of a multitude
that must get processed before the final decisions are reached.
I appreciate all that you're going through, so I won't burden
you with hundreds of words trying to convince you that I
am right for Williams. I'm hoping the facts will speak for
themselves.
Number of beef cows on my grandparents' and parents' adjoining
farms.
43
Average number of times per week the cows decided to switch
between my parents' and grandparents' farms.
3.5
Approximate number of cows that actually reach their intended
destination.
29
Estimate of the number of miles per summer logged tracking
errant cows.
47
Approximate number of tons of manure shoveled in my lifetime.
I'm sure a college with a cow, purple or otherwise, for
a mascot will appreciate the value of such a skill.
2
Year I will be entering college and my brother, Schuyler,
will be entering kindergarten.
2002
Number of TV film crews at Professor Edward's anthro 101
class that I attended during my overnight visit. He discussed
ancient Afghan cultures, which I would find interesting
at any time, but it was particularly fascinating at this
point in our history.
1
Miles from my house to my high school, driving time to
school. (I'm an out-of-district tuition student at Cooperstown
Central School.)
14, 23
Number of historical artifacts in my room, including Trench
Art lamps, helmets, swords, a shield and a morning star.
17
Number of books in my room, number of history books in
my room, number of atlases in my room.
438, 114, 11
My ranking of the military history section in the Williams
Library.
1
Number of World War II helmets cleaned and cataloged at
New York State Historical Association, number of hours per
week I volunteered there, number of weeks worked.
25, 3, 8
Value of living in the country when the leaves turn, the
snow falls, the rains come and the cows wander.
Priceless
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