Marks of a freshman

When I enrolled in UP Diliman in 1964, the travel time from Quiapo to the campus was 20 to 30 minutes. It was a smooth ride all the way, except at the Welcome (now Mabuhay) rotunda in Quezon City that straddles six intersecting roads.

The bus fare was 25 centavos. There were no air-conditioned buses then. So what? The air was clean and there were hardly any smoke-belching vehicles on the road.

Inside the campus, the “Ikot” jeepney drivers charged five centavos for a trip that covered the buildings that lined the main road. If several students were going to a place outside of the usual route, a nice request could convince the driver to make a detour without extra cost.

At that time, P1.50 could buy, at Vinzon’s Hall cafeteria, a cup of rice, one viand and a banana. Those on a shoestring budget went to a mini-canteen in the housing area that served, for P1, all the rice you could eat, a greasy viand, free soup with a sprinkling of overcooked vegetables, and a piece of candy that was given after you’d paid the bill.

It was easy to spot the freshmen on campus. They carried the brown, one-and-a-half-inch-thick book Complete Course in Freshman English by Harry Shaw. It was the textbook for first-time enrollees who were required to take two years of “University College” subjects before they moved on to their chosen areas of education.

The UC, as it was fondly called, required the students to immerse themselves in the world’s classic books, re-learn the fundamentals of mathematics (Math 11), take a closer look at our national history, and acquire good skills in oral English.

We carried Shaw’s book with pride. Because of its high cost and limited copies, we handled it with care and kept it under guard. Aside from this book, the telltale sign of a freshman was the UP stickers on his notebooks, bags, and anything on which that identification mark can be pasted on.

For Shaw’s book, the sticker was often placed on the front cover. The more enthusiastic freshmen put it, in addition, on the back cover and spine. Some even went to the extent of writing the letters “UP” on the book’s edges. So whichever way a freshman carried the book, the onlooker could see that he or she was enrolled in the State University. Talk about pride in one’s school!

The enrollment process in Diliman Republic in the middle ‘60s was a sort of rite of passage. Early enrollees in the UC’s first and second years (read: those who could pay the matriculation in full) were able to get into “block” sections.

In this arrangement, some 40 or so students were enrolled in a set of classes that had a fixed time schedule. The downside of this arrangement was, if there were “terror” professors in any of the classes, the student had no choice but to bear with them and pray that they would be less strict.

The block section system helped create lasting friendships among the students who attended classes together that often lingered through their entire college years, unless they got kicked out for academic deficiencies or disciplinary infractions.

The students who were unable to get into block sections had to make the most of “broken” sections, i.e., extra classes created to accommodate those who failed to make it to block sections, or enroll in classes in block sections that, for one reason or another, did not have a full complement of students.

Because of the nature of broken sections, their class hours were either very early in the morning or late in the afternoon, and the classes were held in colleges other than Palma Hall or College of Arts and Sciences.

It was bad enough that the affected student had to be in school in time for a 7 a.m. class and leave for home past 6 p.m. He also had to run from one building to another to be able to get to class on time. The upside of this arrangement was, he could avoid terror professors and choose classes that were handled by “generous” professors.

Getting the class cards was a real pain in the neck. Students had to fall in line as early as 5 a.m. to make sure they are able get into their preferred classes. A two-hour wait for those precious class cards was considered normal. There was occasional jostling for positions but generally the students were disciplined and quietly endured the wait.

After getting the class cards, the students had to rush to the gymnasium, which was almost half a kilometer away from the college buildings, for the assessment and payment of tuition fees. Since the gym was not air-conditioned and packed with students from all the colleges, the heat was terrible. As expected, students grumbled about the lack of ventilation and cumbersome enrollment process. But after going through the hardship of getting the enrollment forms and class cards, what was another hour of tired legs and perspiration against the assurance of becoming officially a student of the country’s premier university?

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