As I write this, the 2024 college football season is about to begin. I know a lot of people have a lot of things to say about college football. I’m one of them. But I’m not going to talk about football here. I’m going to talk about something else, something deeper, and something more important. Bear with me. This is something that needs to be shared.
I went to college from 1983 to 1987 at Florida State University in Tallahassee. What a time it was. People my age glorify the 80s and proclaim the decade the best that ever was. Truthfully, it wasn’t. Truthfully, it presented America and the rest of the world with unprecedented challenges. The Cold War was raging. There was the worry of nuclear annihilation, a real concern fictionalized and amplified by countless television shows, movies, and even songs that attempted to deal with the anxiety associated with such an existential threat. In the middle of all this, I left the safety of a loving home and a tight group of high school friends and toddled off into the world. Dad packed up the old Ford Ranchero and off we went to Tallahassee.
College life, for me, was a double-edged sword. I had a new girlfriend who was staying behind in my high school town halfway down Florida’s peninsula. Separation from a new love is never easy, but we’re approaching our sixties now and we are still together, so that part worked out.
The other edge of the sword was the sanctuary college life provided. Upon arrival at FSU, I moved into a huge co-ed dorm called Kellum Hall. It was a dump. Seriously. Ten floors of veal pens, community restrooms, filthy kitchens, and non-stop parties engineered to somehow make it all more bearable. It was terrible in so many ways, but it was beautiful in one, very important way. It was a place where young people banded together in the most incredible display of humanity I have ever witnessed. I didn’t come close to appreciating, or even realizing, that at the time. I was just existing, playing my role in the drama that was mid-80s Florida State student life.
I know, I started this piece talking about football. I’m getting there. Bear with me.
Bobby Bowden was the head football coach while I was at FSU. He had an almost mythical presence. He had built the school’s football program from the shambles it was when he got there to a perennial contender in a relatively short time. He was universally loved. He could have run for mayor of Tallahassee and gotten every vote. Bobby Bowden was that popular. But he was only part of the picture.
FSU had an energy I have felt nowhere else. The football program was part of it, but then there were other things. Things like the Marching Chiefs, the school’s marching band, who seemed to always sound bigger than they actually were. There were over three hundred of them. The energy was that of a million. Yes, the Marching Chiefs were (and remain to this day) unarguably great. The combination of their pumping sound and the adrenaline infused by a night game at Doak Campbell Stadium was enough to induce a state of delirious ecstasy. When Chief Osceola’s spear tip made contact with the ground, the rest of the world, with all its cares, fears, and uncertainty, spun away into nothingness. It was magic.
And yet, even with all that, the real story isn’t being told. The real story is rooted in something I mentioned a few paragraphs above. The real story is about how life in that environment taught me so much about just how amazing human beings are, or at least how capable they are of being amazing. I look back now in absolute wonder. I was so blind. The pageantry, the glory, and the magnificence of nights at Doak and the soaring musical spirit of the Chiefs were products of a mass of people all rooting for each other in a world of uncertainty and fear. We were all freshly out of the nest. We had no idea what we were doing. Most of us didn’t even know how to fold our own laundry. But we had each other. We had a spirit of camaraderie. We had something in common. We were Seminoles of Florida State.
Those years shaped me, even though I was unaware of their influence at the time. I look back on the precious friends I made living in Kellum Hall and I am thankful. I owe them all a huge debt of gratitude. They were the essence of Florida State. They were what made it personal and accessible for me. Along with my ever-faithful, ever-encouraging future wife, they carried me from an insecure, clueless doofus into adulthood, where I could make my way in life. I am forever grateful.
Yes. I’m biased. It’s all I know. I dove into life at FSU. I can’t go back and have that experience anywhere else, so I don’t have any other perspective. But I can tell you this. Even if I could, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I bleed garnet and gold. Cue the Chiefs. Bring in Renegade and Osceola. Let’s play some football. Go Noles!