Swindler

As can be seen, procrastination was one of my finer attributes and it nearly became my downfall as that last semester drew to a close.

Many classes in the senior year do not meet regularly but simply require a paper to be written on the course subject. History of Journalism and Law of the Press were two such courses. As usual, I waited until late in the semester to begin work on these two projects. In fact, I had finished all my final exams in the other courses and needed only these two papers to be completed before I could graduate and go home.

I made it through the History of Journalism but I just couldn’t bring myself to start on the other. Several days passed and I finally hit on a devious plan that I would not recommend to others but feel compelled to reveal at this point in my life.

The director of the School of Journalism taught both these courses. His name was Dr. William Swindler (an apt name for what I am about to tell you ). Journalism fraternity pins (Sigma Delta Chi) for seniors were to be ordered at his office.

I took my completed History of Journalism paper to the office and gave it to his secretary. (I knew Dr. Swindler would be in class and out of the office at that time). I then went to my room and wrote a post card.

“Dear Dr. Swindler,” it said. “I left my fraternity pin order with your secretary and also handed in BOTH (my emphasis here, not on the original card) my term papers. Please send my pin to et cetera, et cetera.”

My plan, of course, was for the secretary to be blamed for misplacing my second paper (which I never wrote).

Since it was a January graduation, no formal ceremonies were held and seniors simply went to the administration office to pick up their diplomas. Not knowing whether my ruse had worked, I obviously was apprehensive when I walked in to get my “sheepskin.” It was there and I sighed a big sigh of relief, packed my bags and went home, a full fledged graduate of the University of Nebraska.

Several weeks later, the grades came out and on the line where the mark for Law of the Press was supposed to be, was a big fat “incomplete.” Dr. Swindler did not buy the scam but he allowed it to pass and my diploma was saved. I never inquired how I was able to graduate three hours short of the required 125. Maybe I was expected to make up that course but I never looked back. As most graduates know, no one ever asks to see your diploma anyway, unless you claim to have matriculated at Yale or Harvard. Perhaps if I had run for public office someone might have checked it out.

In following years at press conventions or alumni affairs when I happened to run into Dr. Swindler, he never mentioned the episode and I surely didn’t either. This was not one of my finest moments.