@@CHAP@@ Prologue by Jeffrey Kottler, Ph.D.
It was autumn in the desert, but not like the kind of autumn you’d ordinarily envision for that time of year. It was still hot, blazing hot. The only refuge from the sun was inside the refrigerated buildings.
With its stately palm trees and expanses of grass, the campus resembled one of the many resorts on the Las Vegas Strip. The difference was that, instead of neon and slot machines, there was a hotel college that taught would-be entrepreneurs how to operate casinos, as well as the usual academic buildings that catered mostly to local students and a few Southern California refugees. The most prominent structure by far was the Thomas and Mack Building, the basketball arena that played host to the Runnin’ Rebels. This was a university, after all, known primarily for its basketball program.
The best and the brightest of the students, a few hundred ambitious, sometimes compulsive scholars, enrolled in the honors program to get the best shot they could for entrance into medical school, law school, or the corporate fast track. The requirements included several exploratory seminars designed to expand students’ education beyond their narrow areas of specialty.
I had volunteered to teach one of these honors seminars, called “Things That Matter.” I’d billed it as an opportunity for advanced students to explore a series of topics, including relationships, love, friendship, and, most vitally, the future. And on the first day of class, I encountered an ambitious group of young people: future lawyers, doctors, politicians, CEOs, and scientists.
One student caught my attention immediately because of the way he was dressed. While his peers, aged twenty to twenty-five, wore the uniforms of their generation—jeans, T-shirts, sandals, shorts, even a skateboard or two—this particular student looked as if he’d lost his way en route to a job interview. Beyond his crisp white shirt, striped tie, and polished loafers, I noted a resemblance to one of the Baldwin brothers, William maybe or Alec. He displayed the chiseled good looks that immediately attract the attention of the opposite sex. His eyes were serious, intent, and I noticed he was watching me carefully.
As the semester progressed, this young man stood out for a number of other reasons. He was predictably bright and precocious, even by the standards of an honors program. Yet he was also exceedingly confident and poised. In the jargon of my profession, “he appeared older than his stated age.” This was not just because of the way he looked but the way he acted.
“Dr. Kottler,” he said one day, addressing me formally even though I preferred the use of my first name, “what exactly is the reason for requiring that our papers describe interviews the way you suggest?”
“Excuse me?” I wasn’t sure what he was driving at.
“I mean, if your intent is to get us to reflect on what we learned during this field study, wouldn’t it make sense for us to use direct quotes rather than just descriptions of what people said?”
I heard a few classmates snicker. Was he challenging me? “Your point is well taken,” I said finally. “I’m looking for a balance between what you observed and the sense you make of those experiences.”
As he nodded, I saw looks of admiration from his classmates. Everyone else had been so timid about speaking up, but Jason just jumped in, treating me as a colleague.
My first impression was that he might be a difficult student. Indeed, his eager-to-please attitude toward me—and combative, competitive tone with peers—did create a certain degree of turbulence. Yet in spite of these challenges, I found Jason to be unusually smart, inquisitive, ambitious, and outspoken—and not afraid to advance opinions that might be unusual or unpopular. His style, though provocative and at times trying, actually proved a catalyst for drawing out other students who were quite timid.
The semester-long seminar progressed nicely, perhaps one of my favorites in terms of depth and breadth of issues explored. The only thing that bothered me was the extent to which this group of students was concerned—make that obsessed —with achievement. So many of their questions revolved around how various actions would affect their final grades.