Knobby Knees

Knobby Knees

At the age of 17 I was tall, gangly, and loud—and to compensate for these socially-inhibiting attributes I poured myself into the hardest classes in high school: Advanced Placement History and English, Calculus, Latin, and Physics. My one “fun” class was Band (which I describe in the September 15, 2012, blog article) but it too required extreme effort.

My operating philosophy during adolescence was, If I can’t be popular I’ll be smart. If boys weren’t going to like me—they not only called me “Biddle” but used it as a four-letter word—then they could lump it in the classroom, and I took great pleasure in outscoring them and wrecking the grading curve (see the February 28, 2013, blog article).

Which is all to say, I suffered poor self-esteem as a teenager and thus put my hope into going to Davidson College where I trusted my brains, if not my body, would be appreciated. After all the motto of Davidson is Alenda lux ubi ortas libertas: “Let learning be cherished where liberty has arisen.”

Both my grandfather and my father had gone to Davidson, and I had grown up visiting the campus whenever my family vacationed in North Carolina. In the spring of my junior year in high school I visited the college as a prospective student and had my interview with the admissions office.

In the summer before my final high school year I was invited to a social event for prospective students in the Nashville, Tennessee, area. It was hosted by a Davidson student at the home of another Davidson student, and the college president, Sam Spencer, was there to greet us.

My dad and I happened to be the first ones to arrive and we joined Dr. Spencer in the living room. I sat on one sofa facing Dr. Spencer and my father on the opposite sofa. I was wearing a pleated skirt, made from the Lindsay-clan tartan, which came down to just below my knobby knees, per the style in those days. When I sat down the skirt’s hem touched the tops of my knees that—being knobby—did not touch one another.

I will always remember Dad saying to me in Dr. Spencer’s presence, “Put your knees together.” As though I was flashing the president of my future alma mater!

But I also remember Dr. Spencer giving me a knowing look that said, “Don’t worry; you’re fine. This is just your father being a father.”

Sam Spencer led Davidson College to admit female students in the early 1970’s, over and against patriarchal myths (such as, female students would bring down Davidson’s academic reputation), sexist opinions (like, the college’s electricity costs would increase from the use of hairdryers and other feminine appliances), and downright misogyny, including anti-women attitudes held by at least one female professor. A member of the Class of 1940 and an honorary member of my class, the Class of 1983—the last graduating class he presided over before retiring and the tenth graduating class with women in it—he died Wednesday, October 16, 2013, aged 94.

Living on campus as President and Mrs. Spencer did, I imagine Dr. Spencer saw a lot of skirts and shorts shorter than mine. Whatever we students wore—or didn’t wear—Sam Spencer gave each one of us the message, “Don’t worry; you’re fine—just the way you are.”