Peeling back the onion

Last weekend, as so many of you have, I cleaned out my garage. I'd dazzle you with the pictures of my well manicured shelves and dust-free floor, but it's been intimated to me on Facebook, "No one wants to see that shit anymore."

Of note however, is one thing I found while rummaging through a box of memorabilia. Interesting on two notes, which I will explain.

The first, is the cartoon above.

It was drawn by Jon Medwick, an advertising colleague who I met through social media. Jon works in advertising and is a copywriter by trade. But he also does illustrations. Eerily, in all our years in the same industry, and it turns out the same college alma mater, we had never met. Or collaborated on anything.

However, in this Twilight Zone world we find ourselves living in, it turns out our paths crossed a very, very, very long time ago.

Which brings me to the second point. You see Jon Medwick's cartoon was actually used on a Letter to the Editor that I had written to the Daily Orange, the student newspaper at Syracuse University. I will attach a reprint of the lengthy letter at the end of this post.

This letter was the very first time I had seen my words in print. And the consequences of the letter reinforced my belief (as well as my reluctant father) that I should pursue writing as a career.

It was my senior year in college. And prior to that I had dutifully detached myself financially from my family. I earned the tuition, room and board for my junior year in order to establish independence and thereby gain eligibility for aid in my senior year.

I worked.
And I worked.
And I worked.

Mostly at a local restaurant, PJ's I believe it was, whose speciality was homemade French Onion soup and 10 ounce charbroiled sirloin burgers.

The food was great. The inside of that dirty, hellishly hot kitchen was not.

To make a long, blood boiling story short, I was denied financial aid for my senior year. The auditors and numbers people at SU thought I was still getting money from my parents and said "No Good."

That's when I took pen and fury to paper.

I can barely read it today. It's embarrassing. Overwrought. And sorely in need of an edit and a rewrite.

It was in essence my first Direct Response piece. It also scored a direct hit. Because following its publication in the school newspaper, a full half page, I got a call to visit the Financial Aid office. They re-reviewed my file.

The next week I got a check for $2000. Pretty sure I blew the money on pot and Schmidt's beer.

Enjoy...