The Rita Louie Story (Ch. 3): Obstacles, Honesty, and Some Help Along the Way
My last week in the leasing department was filled with emotion and anticipation.
But it was more than that. It was also my last week in college. I had finished all finals, completed my Community Service independent study for Urban Law class (I’ll talk about THAT in a future post) and finished my paintings for that one last credit I needed to get my degree. It was surreal to think that after almost 7 years I was finally going to graduate.
Yes, 7 years.
I was never supposed to go to college. I was the youngest of 4 children and neither my parents or any of my siblings went to college. My parents never even finished High School. So, it wasn’t something anyone even thought about. A series of events and dedicated teachers brought me there.
In 8th grade, as I finished Catholic School, a very caring Nun saw that I liked art and had some artistic talent so she got the applications and encouraged me to apply to the High School of Art & Design. I went for the test and was accepted. At the delicate age of 13, I took the bus to the subway, the subway to Lexington Ave. and walked to my High School on 53rd St. and 3rd Avenue in Manhattan. Traveling by myself on mass transit was not the most shocking part of my High School experience. Coming from a small Catholic school in Queens to a diverse, multi-cultural 6-story building in Manhattan was quite a culture shock. The 1st time I saw 2 boys kissing in the escalator staircase I thought I was imagining it. I was so naive, I seriously didn’t even know there was such a thing as homosexuality. I had so much to learn about life!
High School in the 1970’s was some of the best times of my life. Art, music, friends, marijuana, protests, museums, Central Park. It was a fantastic awakening to the world. But the best part was that I chose Architecture as my major and for 2 years I had two of the greatest, most dedicated architecture teachers a young person could ever have, Mr. Gupta and Mr. Krisel.
Written by Harold Krisel
From Rita’s High School year book.
Harold Krisel was an established artist, sculptor and architect. He had graduated from the Illinois institute of Technology in the days of Phillip Johnson. When he heard I was not going to college, he called a meeting with my father. I did not hear the entire conversation, but I remember him shaking my dad’s hand at the end and saying,
“Can you think of any better way to spend your money then investing in your child’s future?”
My Dad nodded in agreement and said I could go ahead and apply for college. I was over the moon!
My 1st 2 years in architecture college were awesome and grueling. When my sister’s husband, Eddie, found out that I was taking a city bus, the Long Island Railroad and a campus shuttle to get to school every day, he said I could use his car since he carpooled to work. He made arrangements with the neighborhood bar to keep the keys for me. Every morning I’d walk down the street to Cappy’s Bar and pick up the car keys and every evening I’d drop them off on the bar for Eddie to pick up when he got home from work. It made a huge difference in my life and saved me time and money so I could concentrate on school.
I was one of only 3 women in the architecture program at the time and always felt I had to work harder than my male counterparts. I also had to get a job because we had no extra money, so I worked at the local movie theater behind the candy counter at night and on weekends. I ran myself into the ground, becoming anemic and sickly, but I managed to have a 3.7gpa and saved up $300 to buy a beat up old 1965 Ford Mustang, complete with a driver’s side door that didn’t stay shut and a gaping, rusted out hole in the floor on the front passenger side. It was the greatest car I ever owned.
One night after work, I was in my room finishing up a model for an early morning presentation. Anyone who has gone through Architecture School knows what this looks like. Plans spread out, foam board, rulers, T-Squares, Exacto knife, glue… I was working on the floor because I had no other space in the apartment work. I grew up sharing this room with my 2 sisters but my oldest sister was now married and the second one had gotten her own basement apartment down near the highway, so I had the room to myself. Around 3am my Mom opened the door and said
“What’s going on here? What are doing up so late?”
I said I was finishing a project for school. She looked around at what must have seemed like just a big mess to her, shrugged and asked
“Are they teaching you how to diaper babies in that school of yours?”
I didn’t answer. She turned away, closed the door and went back to bed.
After 2 years in Architecture School, my parents could no longer afford the tuition so I transferred to the City University and got accepted to the Landscape Architecture Program. Towards the end of my 2nd semester there, my Mom was diagnosed with cirrhosis of the liver and was hospitalized several times. She had major surgery and I was torn between school and being home to help my Dad. I had a final project due and asked the adjunct professor if I could have an extension. He said “No. When you enter the real world, nobody is going to give you extensions on proposals when they are due.”
He failed to mention that “in the real world” you often have colleagues that cover for you when a family tragedy or emergency life event happens.
I was crushed and confused.
I never went back to school that year. I had already applied for and been accepted to the Study Abroad program in Italy, so I made time to be home more often and when my Mom started to recover I got two jobs, at a dress shop in the afternoon and at a Times Square restaurant at night, to save up for my trip. My brother and his wife came through and co-signed a loan for me to go to the program in Italy, but it was only for the amount of airfare and tuition. I needed money for clothes, art supplies, books and a suitcase.
If High School had been a cultural awakening for me, working the 10pm – 3am shift at the Brew Burger in Times Square several nights a week, in 1979, was, shall I say, a real kick in the teeth! Street workers, pimps, homeless men, drunks, junkies and tourists, we had it all. I saw a fight one night where chairs were flying and one guy broke a ketchup bottle to use as a weapon, like you’d see them do with beer or whiskey bottles in the movies. I worked the cash register so I’d have to lock the door to the bulletproof glass box I was in, take the money drawer out and hide under the counter whenever things got rough
That was how my college experience ended until I got back from Europe when I changed schools again and worked toward my BA in Urban Studies…which I was finally about to get!
Graduation was on a Thursday morning. There was no way I could get out of work without having to lie about it, so I would not be able to walk with the rest of my class. On Tuesday night, however, there was an awards ceremony for those graduating with Honors, which I was. I picked up my cap and gown on Monday night and brought the box with me, concealed in my briefcase to work the next day. At the end of the day, I rushed out and made my way on the subway and bus to the Queens College Auditorium, clutching my precious box under my arm (I had stashed my briefcase in my desk). I met up with my husband and parents after the ceremony. They were very proud to watch me walk across the stage and accept my Honor’s Certificate. I was just relieved to no longer have to worry about sneaking around from my job to finish my college degree! My diploma came in the mail several weeks later.
College Graduation
Rita and her parents at her college graduation Awards Ceremony.
The following week I finally began my career in the construction industry and I could concentrate 100% on my job, having finally graduated. I had a cubicle desk but did not miss having a private office at all because I was so happy to be there learning about estimating, construction coordination, MEP systems and construction drawing reviews. The company had several floors in the building and I often had to attend meetings in other departments, which just enriched my experiences and education.
One day, I was looking at some drawings and noticed the Landscape Architect on the project was the very same professor I had had a couple of years back at City College. It did not faze me until one day when I got on the elevator and there he was. The doors closed and we were the only 2 in the fancy, dark, elevator cab. I said nothing and did not look up but felt a pang in my stomach as I remembered our last encounter. Just as we reached my floor and the doors were opening, he looked at me and said
“So why did you leave school? Was it because I was too hard on you?”
I think he was looking for absolution and that I would say something nice. Instead, as the doors opened, I looked back at him, straight in the eye, nodded my head with great conviction and said,
“Yea, it was.”
I stepped off the elevator and the doors closed behind me. The pang in my stomach magically disappeared and I got on with my career with a renewed sense of self confidence and well-being.
Honesty, it turns out, is very empowering.
Contributor: Rita Louie