There Was a Little Girl: The Real Story of My Mother and Me (26 page)

I had always assumed I would find a college not too far from home. Despite the fact that my mother’s drinking was getting worse and worse, the idea of escape never entered my mind. I wanted to be near my home and near my mom, and I wanted to find a school that did not require a plane to get me back to visit. I was so attached to my mother that I did not want to leave her. I was also attached to saving her. Subconsciously I also wanted to remain near enough to rescue her if need be.

I thought I had as good a chance as anybody to go to a good school. I had brought my grade point average up rather steadily over my four difficult years at Dwight-Englewood, I was a cheerleader, and I had an impressive extracurricular résumé. My life experience was rather eclectic by this point and I was committed to various charitable organizations. I approached the admissions adviser at my school and informed him that I was thinking of going to a school like Princeton but was also looking at Vassar, Trinity, and Brown.

Right off the bat, he insinuated that I should probably just forget about Princeton, because although I was finishing with strong grades, I had not taken enough AP courses, my SATs were not high enough (I just broke 1000), and I didn’t play sports. He reiterated how hard it was to get accepted to a school like Princeton and that I should concentrate on schools that were less selective. He was the college adviser, so I accepted and heeded his advice. I figured he must have known what he was talking about.

I began collecting applications and making arrangements to visit and interview at various schools. I put the Princeton application aside and kept the others to fill out once I had visited their campuses. I visited Trinity with a friend who was an undergrad, and John Kennedy Jr. gave me a tour of Brown. We spent the day together on campus, and I told him the sugar-cube story, carefully omitting the part about my marrying him. I had a huge crush on John and remembered nothing about the school.

Each university was special in different ways, but they all felt a bit far from home for my comfort. I decided I could be happy anywhere as long as I was getting a college degree and rashly decided that I would just apply to Vassar early-decision and be done with the trauma of it all. I went to see the campus and didn’t feel at all as if it was the place for me. It neither had the old-school, ivy-covered charm nor fit the image I had in my mind, but by then my choices felt limited. I submitted the early-decision application and got word back almost immediately. Of course they would love to have me attend their university. The admissions team was lovely and I could tell they would help make me feel at home there. But the fact that they were so eager to have me at their school made me wary. I was put off a bit because it felt as if they needed me more than I needed them.

I didn’t have to commit for a while, so I decided take some time to decide. In the meantime, I had forgotten that I had said yes to going to a Princeton football game with a friend of a friend who was a junior there. It was too late to cancel because he had tickets to the game and plans to show me the fun part of the school. We were going to hear the a capella singing group the Tigertones sing under one of Princeton’s echoing arches in what was called an “arch sing.” This was just a few days before applications were due, and I hadn’t even looked at my Princeton application since my college adviser’s discouraging words.

Well, I got onto the beautiful campus and I was awestruck. The architecture was stunning and the gargoyles atop the massive library seemed alive. There was actually ivy growing up the walls that had witnessed the education of Woodrow Wilson, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Jimmy Stewart, just to name a few. The atmosphere made me giddy. The campus was exactly what I’d dreamt about all these years. Surrounded by academia, I could feel an excitement for knowledge. I met up with my friend, who introduced me around and gave me some insider’s information on what it was really like to go to Princeton.

I thought about my adviser’s advice, but I was slowly getting a different picture from these students. Maybe he was wrong about what Princeton wanted? Maybe he had just wanted to protect me from what he thought would be rejection based on my fame?

It was time for the game, and as I sat in the bleachers, my heart started to pound. I was so comfortable with these people, who were unassuming and seemingly unfazed by my professional persona. They were extraordinarily genuine and smart, but not affected. I felt at ease and accepted. I absolutely had to be a student at this university. The only way to ensure that I would not get in was to not apply. That was no longer an option.

Halftime arrived and I practically took off running. I explained that I hadn’t yet even applied to Princeton and that the application was due in the mail by Monday. I needed to go home and get it done.

I went home and fished around on my rolltop desk for the folder with the orange and black shield and began feverishly filling out the pages. My mom was concerned that I hadn’t had a good time, but when she realized what I was doing, she just let me complete my task. I was so focused on my mission that I did not notice whether she had been drinking.

I worked throughout the rest of the weekend and had the application completed and postmarked on Monday. I went into high school that day and told nobody except my adviser. I told him I loved the school and wanted to take my chances before saying yes to Vassar. I don’t remember his reaction, but it must have involved one or two raised eyebrows.

I guess it was my mother who called the Princeton admissions board to set up an interview for me. Mom had never pushed me to go to college, but it was always presumed I would. She supported my decision to apply to Princeton and wanted me to be happy. We also never discussed purposely taking time off from my career. It was just
assumed that I would attend college as I had attended high school and continue to work on my breaks.

Mom got me an interview and drove me out to the university on her own. I think she was more nervous than I was, but shockingly she did not drink that day. She sat in the waiting area while I went in for my interview, and she whispered, “Just be yourself, darling.”

During the interview the dean of admissions asked me why I wanted to go to college and why Princeton. It was not a trick question but rather an attempt to address a curiosity shared by the press and the public. Why bother going to university when I already had a full-blown career?

I explained I had worked my whole life and needed to expand my mind and my personal experiences. I was very realistic about how unique my life had been but how much I craved education as well as a conventional scholastic experience. I don’t think I was as articulate as this sounds, but he claimed I was disarmingly “down to earth, and surprisingly unaffected.”

I explained that I realized my SATs were not stellar but that I had worked hard to improve my GPA and that I was very serious about attending university. Even though this Princeton admissions officer had alluded to the fact that their school really was looking at students as whole entities, rather than just walking SAT scores, I worried that he was just being kind. It was really a very informal interview that stressed the diversity of the university and the commitment to excellence. This last part sounded a gong in my head and I said a prayer in my brain. I made a quiet promise that if I was allowed into this school, I, too, would commit myself fully to the same “excellence.” I went back home and to school to wait for the verdict.

The next few weeks I felt as if I was waiting for a crush to call. Mom and I kept passing the phone, which hung on the sidewall of the kitchen pantry, a tiny room that was under the stairs, where you had
to sit on a small chair so as not to hit your head. We both would randomly lift up the receiver to see if we still had a dial tone.

These weeks were some of the most excruciating ones of my life. Vassar was getting anxious for a response and I had heard nothing from my real first choice. What made it even worse was that a friend—who had better SATs and was also a legacy—didn’t get accepted. I felt terrible for her and believed that if she had gotten rejected then I obviously had no chance. By this time it was known around high school that I had decided to apply to Princeton.

Well, the days kept going by and everybody in the high school had heard about colleges except for me. Everyone who had applied to Princeton from my school had gotten rejected and I still had heard nothing. Something had to be wrong.

I moped, I cried, and I fretted. I still don’t remember if Mom was drinking or not. She seemed pretty present for this drama. It always amazed me the moments she chose to show up and those when she could not. In this case she seemed shockingly cognizant of the importance of this situation. This was my future and consequently hers as well.

Finally, Mom secretly called the head of admissions and apologized, but said that every single child applying to colleges had heard about their fate except her daughter. Could he shed some light on what was happening?

She stopped him before he gave her the news and said that she did not want to be the first to know. To this day this remains one of the most important moments in my life. Mom was standing up for me in an important and unselfish way. She was being a mom. She took the determination she had had her whole life to help me, even though it meant that she would eventually have to let me go. She physically and emotionally stepped aside and let me have the big moment for myself. It impressed me that she was willing to sacrifice like this.
And it’s interesting that I interpreted it as a sacrifice. Wasn’t that a mom’s job? Mom motioned me over to the phone and said the call was for me.

The admissions director explained what had happened. This was the last class he was to admit to Princeton because he was retiring, so he was taking everything very seriously. Somebody had leaked to the press that I had applied, and there had been an onslaught of press inquiries and controversy about my application. The school was faced with a complicated situation.

I was crushed and thought,
Oh God . . . they don’t want to deal with me because I’m famous. Why did I apply to only one other school? I don’t want to go to Vassar. But wait. . . . Hang on. . . . He’s still talking. . . .

He continued to say that he was currently on vacation and had left Princeton with two letters in his hands. (The admissions office had called him on his vacation because my mother had been polite but quite insistent.) To ensure that another leak did not occur, the director had had his secretary print up both a letter of acceptance and a letter of rejection and seal them tight. His plan was to take both on vacation and personally post the one he intended to send by himself. Only he would know which one he sent. This was the reason for the delay, and I would be getting my letter of acceptance in the mail in the next few days. I had just heard the word
letter
—then he started sounding like the adults in
Peanuts
cartoons. I struggled to ask, “Oh, so in a few days I’ll find out whether I got in or not?”

He must have wanted to run to the mailbox and switch the letters. This student didn’t even know what the word
acceptance
meant!

“Oh no, you got in, Miss Shields; it’s just that the letter is on its way. I am sorry for the delay, but it was necessary for all of us.”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you very much.”

I hung up the phone and screamed. I hugged Mom, whose eyes were welling with tears, not because I had gotten into an Ivy League
school, but because I was so happy about it. I phoned my dad to tell him the good news and I could hear the pride in his voice.

The next day at school I didn’t want to tell anybody. I eventually had to, but I played it down. I knew people would think I had just gotten in because I was famous, but I knew that this fact was actually a deterrent for universities for a myriad of reasons. I also knew that I was the right fit for Princeton. I loved every aspect of what the university stood for. They believed in hard work, excellence, and joy. These were things I sought after daily. Princeton did want well-rounded students who showed consistent improvements over the four years of high school and who had many extracurricular activities and varied tastes. Turns out the interview also had a big impact on their decision. One thing I was extremely comfortable doing was being interviewed and being honest.

I had been accepted to Princeton University, the academic institution of my dreams. I glowed instead of gloated, and for the rest of the year, I had an overwhelming sensation that I was really going to be OK in the world.

I had no idea of the feelings I would have when I actually went away. But more on that in a minute. On graduation day from Dwight-Englewood my mother and father beamed with pride. I had done it. I had graduated from high school during one of the busiest times of my career. Alex Hayley was the class speaker, thanks to my mother. Mom and I had befriended Alex Haley after he’d expressed his interest in charting my genealogy. He had invited my mother and me to a festival in Tennessee. And we had all truly bonded. I think my mother was actually a bit in love with him. He was a kind and gentle soul who really warmed to my mom. She made him laugh. Mom suggested that I ask him to speak at my graduation and he lovingly obliged.

Mom was able to stay sober during the ceremony but quickly began drinking at lunch. I remember being relieved that my father left before she got sloppy. I hated the thought of him ever thinking any
less of my mom. The idea of Mom embarrassing herself in front of my father killed me, but for the most part, she kept it together, and at least for a moment we were a happy family.

•   •   •

Mom and I had taken a vacation every summer to one new place that I usually chose. In the past we had always had a lot of fun. My inspirations usually came out of a movie I had seen, and it was true that the reality often didn’t match up with my fantasy. I once wanted to go to the isle in Scotland that had a magical red telephone booth. We went to the spot and realized the booth had been a prop, only placed there for the film.