That was the summer I read Lynn Emanuel's poem "What Ely Was," in which she insists, "somewhere/Some green coast exported all I wanted of all I wanted/A kingdom where my hunger fit, both mind and body, all of it."
I knew what she meant, because that was the summer I went to study poetry at Governor's School.
I'm telling you with utter confidence that if I hadn't gone there, to St. Andrew's College in Laurinburg, I wouldn't be here, in North Carolina, 18 years later. Maybe not even writing for an editorial page, trying to slam pop culture and public policy together at top speed.
I was a Marine Corps kid, born in Georgia, raised in Japan and northern Virginia and North Carolina, with families that come from Maine and Nebraska. I had an excellent education, thanks to the Department of Defense and the huge budgets of the 1980s and 1990s that meant the Camp Lejeune schools had master teachers in every classroom, sparkling science labs, new computers, money to pay for the Advanced Placement tests that any kid could take. I had scholarship offers everywhere I applied to college (Governor's School didn't hurt there, either) and I was freaked out by the size of UNC system's campuses.
There was no reason for me to stay in North Carolina, except that I love this state. This is the state that put me onto a campus with 399 other kids who competed to get there, who wanted to think and talk and seriously geek out.
I don't know how to describe the importance of that experience except this: I spent three weeks after I got home from Governor's School in shuddering tears. I was young, and leaving Governor's School was the first thing that ever broke my heart. My parents were horrified.
Thomas Wolfe, a North Carolinian whose novels I came to dislike during the summer I was 17, had it right: You can't go home again. I knew I would never go back to Governor's School -- but the fact that I had been there once drove me through my last year of high school and sent me to Huffman House, the scholarship dorm at Wake Forest University, where I found other Governor's School kids and started stringing the bridge that brought me from Laurinburg to ... here.
I thought I was done breaking my heart over Governor's School, but it seems that I'm not.
It costs the state about $1,700 to send a student to the six-week summer program for gifted high school juniors and seniors. The General Assembly believes it's a luxury. It isn't.
This week, State Superintendent June Atkinson said she'd rather put the program on hold than charge students tuition to attend. In fact, students were asked for $500 to attend this year, which many local school boards, including Durham's, have covered.
If every alumnus of Governor's School from 1963 (when it was founded) to 2011 (when the state stops paying the freight) kicked in $45 per year, it would more than cover the $1.2 million annual cost of sending 600 kids to the summer program. I sent in $75 on July 8, and I will send more. The Governor's School has always needed an endowment. For allegedly smart people, we've been slow to figure that out.
There's not much time. Atkinson said the alumni would have to raise about $1 million by mid-August in order to keep the Governor's School open in 2012. To do that, we need serious money.
As of Friday, the Governor's School Foundation, a 501(c)3 nonprofit, had raised $20,612.64 in donations. I'd appreciate it if you would go to the www.ncgsfoundation.org and make a donation.
I know who these kids are. I know the world will change for them once they realize that somewhere, their hunger fits.
And, if you've read the column this far, I suspect you do, too.
Herald-Sun editorial page editor Betsy O'Donovan can be reached at eodonovan@heraldsun.
