The horror in the midst of so much good

At another time I might have been on that bus.
The thought came to me as I read in horror the accounts of the crash this week on Interstate 5 in
Glenn County, about 100 miles north of Sacramento.
Ten people died when a northbound tour bus was struck head-on by a southbound FedEx tractor-trailer rig that inexplicably crossed the median into the northbound lanes. Officials say it could be months, if ever, before the cause can be determined.


The aftermath of the I-5 crash

The bus had left the Los Angeles area headed for a place so completely different comparisons are hard. It was taking a bunch of eager kids to Arcata, a small, coastal town nestled in the redwoods, trees so tall you can fall over backwards trying to stare up at their tops. Arcata is home to Humboldt State University, among the smallest of the CSU campuses and certainly the most isolated.
It takes time to get there and it can take time to get used to the place. But once you do Arcata and Humboldt become part of your DNA.
Many of the young people on the bus were considering attending the university. Many also will be or would have been the first in their families to attend any university. Like me, they were poor kids from educationally-challenged backgrounds. Humboldt reached out to them, actively recruited them. All had been accepted at Humboldt. The trip, a preview weekend, was part of the university's attempt to close the deal.

Founders Hall on the HSU campus

Last fall, my wife and I met about a dozen friends in Arcata on homecoming weekend, which coincided with the university's 100th anniversary. Old friends and old memories. Most of us met our future spouses on that campus more than 40 years ago.
When I arrived in the mid-60s I was a scared kid so stupid I landed on campus without even money to register for classes, and barely enough money to feed myself until the dorm cafeteria opened. Only a phone call from my girlfriend's mom back home to the college president won me a fee waiver until my first grant and loan money was disbursed. Yes, it is possible to be that naïve.
Humboldt was, is, that kind of place. It's a small, personal school that takes youngsters and arms them with tools to make it through. All 12 of the people we met at homecoming last fall can attribute part of their future success to that school (although you might get an argument from Frau Doktor Richter who despite her best efforts could never drive the vagaries of German verbs into my brain).
A lot of people feel this way about their college. They are places that stress you and stretch you at a time when you're undergoing a lot of mental and emotional growth.
My feelings about my Humboldt years are not particularly unique. The place itself is. That's why I was at once saddened and proud of my school's connection to the I-5 tragedy. I was saddened about those killed and injured and the hole that leaves in the hearts of their family and friends. I was proud that my school reached out to a bunch of first-in-their-family kids with an invitation to grow and learn.
I was that kid years ago. I could have been on that bus.