Dad decided we needed a vacation during the summer of 1963. I was 9 years old and Betty was 15. With Mom’s approval, Dad mapped a route that would take us from our home in Peekskill, New York, north to Montreal via Lake Champlain, the large lake that forms the border between New York and Vermont. We would also spend two days at Arnprior, Ontario, where Dad was stationed with the Canadian Air Force during World War II. Mom and Dad were married on 5 August 1944, and lived briefly in Arnprior, leaving shortly after the end of the war in September 1945. After Arnprior, we traveled to Sudbury, Ontario, to visit Dad’s older brother, Frank, and his wife, Dee.

I don’t recall too much of the 1500-mile trip, especially the many long, not-so-interesting miles. I do remember that we stayed overnight on Grand Island, Vermont, in the heart of Lake Champlain. Uncharacteristic for Dad, rather than his typical hit-the-road, drive, and no stops, we spent some time taking pictures of the lake and mountain views and seeing historical sites, like the old Hyde Cabin, built in 1783.

I am certain that we stayed at the Laurentian Hotel while in Montreal. The 1000-room, Art Deco style hotel was built in 1948 and, remarkably, demolished in 1978. I remember little about the hotel stay, suggesting that I did not care too much about it, but Betty and I certainly found the French pastry desserts at the hotel and nearby restaurants to our great liking! One day we spent touring the city on the “Tallyho Mount-Royal” horse-drawn trolley. The high point and end of the tour was a stop on Mount Royal, affording a beautiful view of downtown Montreal and the shipping docks along the Saint Lawrence River. Notably, the route of the trolley took us through the campus of the prestigious McGill University. Betty was enthralled by our visit to Montreal.

Less than three years later, Betty was investigating colleges and applying for admission. In those days, living in our caste meant high school graduates attended state schools, most often the teacher colleges, especially for the young women. Betty’s New York State regents test scores were excellent, and she was quickly admitted to the State University of New York (SUNY) at New Paltz, about 50 miles from our home in Peekskill. We visited the school in 1965. I recall the school had a strong “institutional” character to it: buildings with a drab, Soviet-block style and a campus fully torn-up and undergoing expedient, low-cost construction. At the time, New York State was trying mitigate the burgeoning number of baby-boomers who were entering college. It was definitely neither my sister’s style nor her choice—she had no desire to become a school teacher.

Instead, Betty’s interests were in the creative arts—fashion and painting, especially—and to a lesser extent history, psychology, and natural sciences. It’s not hard to imagine, therefore, that there was very great excitement around the house when Betty received a letter informing her that she had been accepted with a scholarship to McGill University, which vied at that time with University of Toronto as the top university in Canada! Plans were made to accept and have Betty attend, starting in fall 1965.

Unfortunately, not only SUNY–New Paltz was experiencing baby-boomer woes. We later received word that all the dormitories at McGill were full and unable to accept new in-coming students. Betty, who would not quite reach 18 years old by the fall when she started, would have to find a place off-campus to live—an apartment—in a large city where French is mostly spoken. Clearly, a 17-year-old attempting to live alone would not work. Mom very strongly considered giving up her job and finding an apartment in Montreal where she could live with Betty, at least until Betty could land a spot in the dorms. I am uncertain concerning our family’s finances at that time, but I believe it would have been exceedingly difficult to afford—Mom in Montreal without a job, at least initially, and paying for an apartment in Montreal, in addition to our home mortgage and the cost of running two households. Mom and Dad could not see a clear path to make it happen.

In the end, Betty went to SUNY–New Paltz for a just year or two with a major in education. She simply did not thrive in that environment. (From my experience, students need to flourish in college in order to succeed).

I believe it was Mom who felt the greatest regret in not somehow making McGill University work; I recall her mentioning it numerous times through the years. Betty was surely disappointed, too, but life went on and she followed other paths. Again, perhaps more for expedience than genuine interest, Betty ultimately received a bachelor’s degree in accounting through the University of Alaska.

Our lives swing wide on small hinges. We cannot grasp the challenge in knowing how far the door will swing and in what direction it will go. Would a great family sacrifice for a year have made a significant difference in Betty’s life? Or would the outcome have led to a disruption in our family that would take us all in a very different direction, perhaps one that would be much more favorable, or perhaps much less favorable? We will never know.

-Phil Gerla