<p>Back in the 1920s my dad’s auntie who was doing well in stocks promised him that when he graduated from high school in San Francisco, she would pay for him to attend UCBerk. She took him across the bay and showed him the campus. He was athletic in school and a player on the Lowell basketball team. By the time of his graduation year his auntie no longer had the money to afford sending him off to school and by the end of his second semester he was called to the office to see the principal. Dad was failing Reading. The principal took down a poetry book from his office book shelves. “Here,” he said,“Read this.” My dad being a wonderful orator even at that age read it well. “Hump,” the principal said, “you pass.” His friends told him to go to Cal anyway, money or no. Remember he could play basketball. The day he registered at Cal, he still doesn’t know who paid the tuition. He’s 95 now, and still laughs that he never paid for his education at UC Berkeley. He doesn’t know who did. He joined a fraternity, and waited on his “brothers,” helped with the laundry and kitchen stuff for room and board. That was 1930. He graduated in 1934.</p>