I majored in Fine Arts in high school. My teacher, Mr. Jackson, recommended a full-ride scholarship to art school, but I hated being a student, and had an over-inflated estimation of my talent.

“I’m a natural,” I insisted. “When I decide to be an artist, I won’t need a degree. When I’m 50-years-old I’ll still be able to draw, but will I be able to climb mountains, sail the sea, jump from airplanes, and brave the elements? I need to chase those dreams now!” Mr. Jackson concurred, “Diverse experience enhances art.”

I graduated in 1981 without a job or academic path, at the onset of a recession. Though I’d enlisted before graduating, my girlfriend decided we couldn’t bear the 3-month separation for basic training, so I persuaded the Army to void my contract. Before long her mom convinced her I was a bum and she dumped me.

To vindicate myself, I packed a bag, my portfolio, my life’s savings ($15), and hitchhiked to Chicago to become an illustrator. Most big publishers have offices on Michigan Ave., and the Grey Hound depot is a block away, so I called it home (it was Novem-brrrr). Cook County Sheriff’s Deputies roust vagrants out, so I bought an $8 ticket to Valparaiso for squatting privileges.

I spent the days surveying the phonebook, and hitting the bricks to dazzle publishers with my drawings. Within a week I was approached by countless drug dealers, perverts and hobos, but no editors (or females). Out of money, food, and down to my last pack of cigarettes, I used the ticket to Valpo, then hitchhiked back home.

“Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall” (Pr. 16:18). 50-years-old is less than 5 years away, and I’ve been a student the whole time. Diverse experience, no regrets.

Mike VanOuse

Lafayette