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Chapter Three

Quilibet University was now into the second week of its fall semester. It was, on the whole, a good institution, not world renowned, but domestically respected, and generally considered to be a good place to go. Many successful careers would be fashioned here - careers that would do much good in a sometimes erratic world. Such a world seemed to be symbolized in the routine activity of students as they poured out over the campus on their way to classes, criss-crossing this way and that, to one building or another, many hundreds of them all at once. Most of them are exuberant and lively, some smiling, others serious looking, many chatting, others deep in thought; altogether giving the campus the sensation of being fully alive. As students enter the lecture rooms and classes begin, then for an hour or so on the grounds outside, all is quiet, except for only an occasional person criss-crossing here and there. There is a quiet, a lull, until it is time to go to another class in another building. Then, on the outside, in outward appearance, all is alive again.

Of course, the meaningful activity takes place in the quiet of the lecture rooms. This is where the work is done that eventually makes the whole world blossom out into vivid aliveness. For graduates it is as though the world becomes a huge campus with people going happily, meaningfully hither and yon, after work well done in the classrooms. The world will be a better place because of Quilibet. Many careers indeed will be fashioned here to help make a better world. Some careers will be lost here too -lost because of irresponsibility or incompetence, in one way or another, on the part of the loser.

But there are some good students who will lose their careers through no reasonable fault of their own. These will be victims of an underestimated evil, sinister and subtle, at work all around them. They will fall by the way unnoticed by most people. They will receive token gestures of friendship and encouragement from those who did understand to a degree. Rarely however, would anyone be willing to step in and take up their cause, because to do so would be very difficult and dangerous. It would be dealing with intangibles. The facts, although not altogether elusive would be difficult to pin down in concrete terms. In the clearest cases of injustice it is often difficult to find someone willing to champion a cause. More so, in cases like these, it is virtually impossible to find anyone willing to ripple the waters or churn up the waves on such intangible issues. So the victims fall largely unnoticed by the wayside, and the culprits continue on in their own domains, their brutal deeds also largely unnoticed, or if noticed, brushed aside.

This problem is relevant not only to educational institutions. It is an affliction in every walk of life. Yet it is in educational institutions that it can probably best be noticed and brought into the open. Collin Seldon was fully aware of this, and he hoped and prayed that this support group which he was attending, could somehow come up with some answers.

As for the psychology class he was attending, Collin was playing very low profile there. Except for routinely attending classes and doing the prescribed work, he would lay low and refrain from activity in question periods and class discussion. He also avoided personal contact with the professor. Professor Yates seemed satisfied with this. Except for drawing his eyes and his face to himself and pulling his lips together all in a snobbish manner whenever he accidently met Collin at close range, there was no further problem. Both Collin and Professor Yates were avoiding close confrontation of any sort. Maybe they could get through the whole course this way. Collin Seldon would aim in that direction. The course wasn’t crucial to his career in any way, as it would be for some, but his continuation with it would qualify him to stay in the support group.

So Collin had attended his class on Tuesday evening. Now on Wednesday evening he was heading again for Room 405 and the support group. He was very anxious to learn how Gilda Emerson was finding her way successfully through university, when for all intents and purposes she should have been among those who fall by the wayside, unnoticed, and through no fault of her own.

The members were all present in good time that evening, including Brett Culver. Dr. Eldren remarked that he thought that was indicative of the interest building up in the group. He himself was enthusiastic about it. Although still looking pale in appearance, he was not lacking in vitality. Success seemed to be the order of things concerning this particular assignment of his. That was a welcome and inspiring situation in the world of psychiatry, where so often measurable progress is so slow in coming, or is utterly elusive. It was evident this evening, that Dr. Eldren was pleased.

The group members stood around chatting for a while, moving about, exchanging greetings and information as to the week’s activities. Albin Anders, although still plenty shy, was doing much better. He seemed to relax more with Owen Winslow than with anyone else. Owen paid him friendly attention, and carried on a conversation with him. Collin joined the two of them in their small talk.

“Things going well so far this year, Albin?” asked Collin, as he boxed Albin on the shoulder in a friendly gesture.

“Not too bad,” said Albin in reply. “I somehow think I’ll have a better year this year than last.”

“Great,” remarked Collin, “keep up the good work, and remember, you have friends behind you!”

“Right,” added Owen assuringly.

Leo Aidan was well dressed as he had been the previous week. Apparently he and Donna Coyne had been heading towards a close relationship ever since they had met at the University. Now he was taking her out evenings following the group sessions as well as at other times. This explained Donna’s well dressed appearance also, although she was a person who would look lovely in almost any clothing.

Donna Coyne, a young lady of average height and build, had about her an air of gracious modesty which was reflected in her general being. Her light black hair was as though a shingle cut had grown too long, yet it was intentionally kept that way, with the front, unparted, over an average size forehead, swept upwards some before it swept back over her head, slightly and irregularly waved on the way and trimmed neatly at the bottom. Her complexion was tinted only slightly dark and helped to highlight the slight natural rosiness of her high cheek bones. Her face, a little long, was pleasant and soft looking, beset with a little larger than petite, slightly upturned nose, moderately thick lips and average width mouth. She wore a deep red lipstick in a modest proportion. Her clothes were in good taste. This evening she wore a charcoal dress, with subdued floral patterns throughout the top, covering her moderate busts. Stylishly it tapered in to show a well proportioned waistline, then flared out again in the same stylish manner to complement her well figured lower body. Her jewelry was a small silver necklace and matching earrings. Her shoes were black patent leather.

Donna Coyne, at age twenty eight or so was an unassuming lady who unintentionally stood out among others under any circumstances. The way she kept herself, her choice of clothes, her jewelry - and more especially so, her character and general manner of behavior showed her to be a truly fine person. Yet Donna was always just herself; likable, by many at least, pleasant to know and eager to be friends with friendly people.

There was a sharp contrast between Donna Coyne and Gilda Emerson. If ever anyone thought that to be two fine ladies was to be two alike, they would have to think again when in the company of both Donna and Gilda together.

Gilda Emerson could best be described as a lady in her naturalness - sophisticated, yet totally unpretentious. She stood out in tasteful decorum at all times; lovely to look at with the bright light complexion of an overall rounded average size face. This was complemented by hair, deep golden through and through, and which set her facial features in an air of dignity. Her facial expression was one of determination - a slightly protruding chin below the somewhat thin lips of an only moderately wide mouth. Her straight bridged and little larger than usual nose added poise to her profile. There were lovely average size blue eyes under trim eyebrows of a little lighter color than her hair. She wore only a modest hair style of medium length an inch or two of permanent around the ends. The curl feathered out as it extended up the sides of her face. Her golden hair, parted on the right side, showed on the crown of her head its true color, sheen and beauty. Her only visible make-up, just a trace of light red lipstick contrasted remarkably with her complexion and her very unpretentious hairdo.

Her clothes were equally plain and simple, though it was evident she had an eye for quality. An all beige sweater with a pattern of raised same color flower petal stripes lengthwise, although worn loosely revealed a little more than moderate bust size. Her adequate slimming at the waist line was revealed by a patent leather belt worn with a plain brown felt skirt with sweater tucked inside. The below knee skirt flared over her nylon covered legs. Plain beige small heeled shoes of medium height daintily covered her feet. Her extra height had an overall slimming effect on her well built, well proportioned solid looking body. She wore a minimum of jewelry - a small golden cross hanging from her neck by a fine chain, and small plain circular earrings of matching metal. Yes, Gilda Emerson, unpretentious hairdo and all, would stand out in any crowd- because of her fine appearance. She would stand out also because of her fine character. It wasn’t difficult to observe that her behavior also was unpretentious. She too was just herself. She had that much, and more, in common with Donna Coyne, regardless of the contrast.

As the group members stood around the room exchanging greetings and chatting on this their second night of meeting for the season, Dr. Eldren seemed to be enjoying the social activity as well as did the others. But time was passing by. He looked at his watch, motioned towards the chairs, already placed in a circle by the early comers.

“It’s time to get started folks; a few minutes of socializing warm up is a good way to begin, but there will be a long day again tomorrow for each of you,” he said caringly.

After all the group members were seated, Dr. Eldren set the stage for the evening’s discussion.

“Leo told us last week of how he came to be here in this group,” remarked Dr. Eldren, “but I also take note that Gilda pried deeply and brought to the forefront some very significant details of Leo’s experience. Gilda has said she would relate to us this evening some of her own experiences so that we may be able to compare and contrast the experiences of each of them.”

Gilda replied positively, but with qualifications. “I think,” she said, “that in my case I had better start earlier in life, and then in the light of that, my university experiences may have more meaning for you.”

“Good, Gilda,” responded Dr. Eldren, “begin where you think would be most appropriate.”

“Well, first I’ll mention my home life,” Gilda began. “It was satisfactory for the most part. I was close to my parents and well thought of by both of them, in my younger years at least. As time went on my father and I drifted further apart than we had been, but I’ll leave that matter till later. As I grew up I had a good circle of friends, drawn from various walks of life, both boys and girls, with whom I feel I socialized well in the usual ways that young people do - sports events, parties, outings, visiting in one another’s homes, and congregating at nice teen age meeting places. I feel I was well thought of by most people.”

Gilda then paused for a moment as if reflecting more deeply, “Of course, not everyone thought well of me, I had enemies too,” she remarked more slowly, as though it pained her to say so.

Dr. Eldren interjected, “perhaps Gilda, as you tell your story it will reveal to us some reasons why you had these enemies.

“Oh yes, yes,” replied Gilda, now becoming fully alert to the present again. “No doubt about it, Dr. Eldren.”

“You see I have always done well in school,” Gilda proceeded. “Right from my early grades I was usually the leader of my class academically. Although I wasn’t intentionally competitive at all, I received a great satisfaction from it. I was simply doing my best and was well pleased with myself. It wasn’t till grade five I ran into problems. There I had a teacher who disliked me, and was determined to put me down. She resented me because I came from a well-to-do family, and she favored several other children over me - one in particular who did well and who usually came second in class. I had come up through the earlier grades with this girl. We were not close friends, but there was no animosity between us either. In fact we often helped each other by discussing the more difficult math problems together.

But this grade five teacher drove a wedge between us by her discriminatory attitude. For example, once when I made an error in answering a question verbally, this teacher said to me in a seemingly polite yet cutting tone of voice, ‘see Gilda, just because you come from a rich family doesn’t mean you have all the answers.’ At times when I didn’t give a satisfactory answer, which wasn’t very often, she would turn to the other girl and of course often receive the right answer. Then she would remind me that other people can come up with good answers too. Such open abuses as this were not frequent, but often enough to confirm in a tangible manner her general attitude towards me.

As young as I was I could not help but sense the teacher’s dislike for me. This dislike was shown almost daily in more subtle ways. For example again, when a question was asked and several of us put up our hand to answer, I would always be the last one chosen to answer. Again when the teacher singled out one student to answer a question it was seldom me she asked, and then only when it was a very difficult or tricky question to answer; one in which it seemed she wished to stick me, which she occasionally did in such a manner as would embarrass and discourage me greatly.”

Gilda paused, as if reliving the experience for a moment.

Collin Seldon broke the silence. “How did this affect your school year Gilda?” he asked.

The question alerted Gilda again. “I gave up trying” she said. “I was discouraged and no longer had the desire to do well. I slipped to seventh place in my class that year; still not too badly, but I just sort of got by on what I already knew. I didn’t work hard like I used to.”

Collin asked another question, “How did it affect the girl who had been coming second?”

“It turned her into a rival,” replied Gilda, “and naturally she came first that year. She and some others held me in disdain because I was no longer out front. I’m sure though that they at that age were innocent victims as I was, and were led without being aware of what was happening to them.

Collin probed with still a further question. “Was your family wealthy Gilda?”

“At the time my father was in an upper middle income bracket, Collin. We were well-to-do but not wealthy. My father was moving up in a very well known corporation. Some people therefore assumed he was wealthy. Presently my father is Vice President and General Manager of this medium size corporation. He has worked hard and done well. I still wouldn’t say we are wealthy even now, but definitely not when I was in grade five,” was Gilda’s reply.

Dr. Eldren came in with a question. “Were your parents aware of this difficulty you were having in grade five, Gilda?”

“No,” she replied, “at that age I didn’t fully comprehend what was going on. It is only as I look back on it now that I can see clearly what was happening. I did complain to my parents at times that the teacher didn’t like me, but they took the position that if I kept up my work and did it well the teacher would be pleased with me again. They tried to encourage me in various ways but that only added to my frustration.”

Gilda’s face was flushed. The telling of this old story that had long been pushed out of memory brought painful feelings to her now. “My parents didn’t understand,” she repeated, “and I was too young to explain!”

Owen Winslow picked up the matter sympathetically so as to share Gilda’s burden. “Your parents had no way of knowing Gilda, so they took the effect to be the cause and the cause to be the effect.”

“Yes,” she said, “that’s just it Owen.”

“Gilda, I would like to ask more questions if I may,” said Collin as he leaned forward in his chair in eager anticipation.

“Yes, certainly, go ahead Collin,” she replied.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters,” asked Collin. The question seemed irrelevant, but Gilda answered it questioningly, “Yes I have a brother, two years older than I.”

“Did he attend the same school?” Collin came on again.

“Yes, he did,” was the reply.

“Did he have similar troubles as he went up through that school Gilda.”

“Well, nothing much,” replied Gilda thoughtfully. Then as she puzzled she added slowly, “He being a boy I suppose must have made a difference.”

Collin questioned again, “Were there other well-to-do children in your grade five class?”

“Yes-s,” responded Gilda, now puzzled even more, “there were three or four who were at least as well to do as my family. In fact,” she retorted more quickly, “there was one whom I would say was from a much more wealthy family that I.”

“Did she do well in her school work, Gilda?” Collin kept probing.

“Oh-h she did average; not really a student you know,” came the reply.

“Was she a nice girl?”

“She was all right - friendly, but didn’t keep herself well in appearance. She wasn’t a pretty girl if that’s what you mean, but she could have looked all right if she bothered to look after herself.”

“One more question, Gilda. Did the teacher put her down too that year?”

At that question Gilda became perturbed. Her voice quivered and strengthened alternately as she responded to Collin’s probing. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at Collin. Are you suggesting that it was somehow my fault because that teacher was discriminating against me?”

Collin shook his head slowly but emphatically, as Leo came ahead of him with a verbal response, while visibly fuming.

“No way was it Gilda’s own fault that she was picked on that year,” he shouted angrily. “That dirty slink of a teacher should never have been allowed to teach young children. She should have been whipped and put to work in Antarctica somewhere where she couldn’t do anyone any harm.”

There was silence for a moment as some of the group struggled between apprehension and smiles at this vigorous but well meaning remark.

Owen finally broke in with soothing words. “I don’t think Collin meant by his questioning to place blame, Gilda. In fact I’m sure he didn’t. You were heading for something else weren’t you Collin?” he asked as he turned from Gilda to Collin.

Collin nodded. Then looking at her in a prying manner, “Gilda, Gilda, don’t you consciously by now, recognize the problem after hearing Leo’s story. You were discriminated against by that teacher, not because she thought your father was rich. That was only her alibi. It was because you, yourself were a fine, well kept, well cultured person.

“People like that teacher cannot allow themselves to admit that a person like you is too good for them to tolerate. They tell themselves that if they were rich they or perhaps their children would be just as good as you. The fact is, whether they were rich or not, they don’t have what it takes to develop it within them as you do. So they turn on you to destroy you, knowing that they can get away with it because so many people hate the rich ones. The fact of envy never comes to the surface. That teacher was envious of you, and used your father’s riches as an alibi motive for treating you badly. The other girl in your class who was from a well-to-do family apparently was not a fine person and had no desire to be so. The teacher didn’t treat her badly. But she continuously put you down, fine all around person that you were.”

Gilda was astounded as this idea dawned on her consciousness after being tucked away in the background of her mind since childhood. “Yes, Collin, yes,” she said, “that’s it. I should have known. I guess I really did, but somehow couldn’t face up to it.”

“Couldn’t face up to it,” questioned Collin, “because of your fear of being labeled conceited about yourself?”

After pausing for the longest time, Gilda replied softly, “Yes, that’s it, that’s it again, Collin. It’s a fear all right - a fear that can lurk there and affect your whole life. I’ll have to think about that some more - a whole lot more as time goes by.”

Collin said sympathetically, “It is a warranted fear, Gilda. It is another ploy-a mind-game used by our adversaries. In their self-centeredness, and sometimes with projection involved they like to make us and others believe that if we become anything or do anything they cannot, then we are thinking too much of ourselves, conceited and over ambitious. In their warped minds this justifies their putting us down.

“Another ploy closely related to this is that some of them make believe - yes, they just pretend - that they think we think too much of ourselves, and that they are treating us as they do, abusively that is, in order to knock the conceitedness and haughtiness out of us. Of course they know the difference full well. Collin then added emphatically, “Please take note of that, friends, because it is one of the deadliest and frequently used mind-games that our adversaries resort to. Try openly to defend yourself against it and they will point the finger at you and say in effect, ‘see what I mean. He thinks we are picking on him because he is smart, or good looking, or a better person than the rest of us.’ In their warped minds this justifies to themselves, and they hope to others, their putting you down in every way possible that they can get away with, because you think too much of yourself and therefore deserve what they are doing to you.”

Gilda pulled herself together, even smiled. “That bit of knowledge will help me in future for sure.”

Dr. Eldren tipped his head towards Collin, “I think you have something there all right, Collin.”

“Sorry I blew my stack,” said Leo remorsefully. “This incident is a big help to me as well as to Gilda.”

Dr. Eldred turned to Leo. “You really feel strongly about these matters don’t you Leo. It’s upsetting to you in a very measurable manner.”

“Well, yes sir, it is very upsetting, but you’ll have to excuse my flipping my lid. It’s a part of me at times.”

“No harm done,” replied the doctor, “you’re entitled to let out your feelings.” Then turning his attention to Gilda, he asked, “Gilda, did you have any similar troubles through the remainder of your school days, or was this just an isolated incident?”

She continued with her story, “It wasn’t an isolated incident, but I did have a good year the following year in grade six. Although I began grade six with lots of apprehension and not much ambition, I was blessed with a friendly, unbiased teacher who really thought well of me and whom I eventually began to trust. Over a period of two or three months I became an interested and hard working student again, doing well but intentionally using restraint so as not to come first in my class for fear of being turned on again. The main rival of my grade five class was in another grade six room now, so that was a great help, but I really worked at it, or didn’t work at it would be more accurate I suppose, to intentionally stay behind another girl who had not been in my grade five room. I purposely let her hold first place. However, it was a great healing year for me, but it wasn’t the end of my troubles, for beyond grade six came grade seven.”

Gilda paused in reflection again.

“More troubles there?” Dr. Eldren queried, gently and sympathetically.

“Yes,” in grade seven we had a different set up. We were no longer under the one teacher only, but now had subject teachers, which as you know meant several teachers to get to know and cope with. Most of my teachers I found to be good and helpful and fair in their attitudes. There were two, however, whose attitude towards me was similar to that of my grade five teacher, except that they were less open in their discrimination. One just showed a continuous dislike for me but made no attempt to discriminate concerning my school work. The other made every attempt to keep my grades low, but I was two years older now than when I began grade five, so it was here I began to get wise and do battle for myself.”

“You began to cope?” asked Dr. Eldren.

“Yes, that’s it, I guess. I began to cope as best I could at that age.”

“To cope with such things at all at that age is quite notable, I would say,” replied Dr. Eldren. “Perhaps in this instance it would be in order to take exception to our planned format about coping and as you tell of your junior high school experiences, you could at the same time tell us how you coped with these experiences.”

All present agreed to that innovation and beckoned Gilda to proceed with her story.

“It isn’t really so much an intriguing story from here on, as much as it is simply a continuous struggle, sometimes a battle to keep moving ahead.”

“Keep moving ahead or go under,” interjected Collin, as though he knew her story already.

Leo became excited. “Hey,” he said to Collin, “you’re able to foretell her story too.”

Owen, with a smile on his face, raised his eyebrows towards Collin, “hardly that, I think, but I’m sure glad I persuaded you to come to our group, Collin.” Then turning to Leo, “Collin isn’t psychic, Leo, just experienced.”

Gilda picked up the conversation again, “I expect it is experience that has taught Collin such things. Experience has taught me that if you don’t forge ahead, one way or another, you will go down. When people are trying to put you down, that’s just where they want you to go - down. The only effective defense against this is to go forward regardless. There are various ways to forge ahead. I chose and learned to handle well the method that has worked for me. However, I can see where it would not work for some others.”

Gilda, now visibly exuberant, perked up in her chair. She continued speaking: “There were two things that spurred me on to do well regardless of what may come. First, I did not want ever again to feel that I had lost the respect of my parents, as I felt I had when in grade five. This thought not only spurred me to do well in high school, but gave me a concrete desire to go on to university as I knew this is what my parents wanted for me. Secondly, I was inspired to go on by the thought that things would be much better in university than in high school. If only I could win the struggle in high school, there would, so I thought, be smooth sailing in university.”

Gilda settled back in her chair now. “Of course, she continued, “I’ll explain later what finally happened to that bit of philosophy when I tell you about my first year in university. Nevertheless, it did give me incentive to try hard in high school, and continuing with my high school experience, I did have one or two things in my favor there. One was that I was good at mathematics, and unlike as in Leo’s case, I was not dependent on ‘my ability to discern,’ as Leo was told. Rather it was a case usually of working out a mathematical problem by the method prescribed by the teacher or the text book. At that I was able to do well. Secondly, I was a quick thinker, and developed well the ability to argue my point thoroughly, continuously and forcefully, without losing my patience.

“Work in my science courses could also be defended in the same manner, since they did not have about them the ‘ambiguity’ that Leo was reminded of in his English course last year. Many times though, before certain teachers, I had to defend my method of working out a math or science problem. Some times I lost; most times I won, thereby building a reputation for myself as being a keen student whom my adversaries held in dread and disdain. I did well in some of the ‘ambiguous’ subjects too,” she said with a smile, as she emphasized the word ambiguous, to the amusement of the group. “This gave me protection to a point, although all through my high school years, there was always the discriminatory teachers to do battle with, or to cope with if you wish. It was a continuous, most strenuous struggle but I did get through high school with honors.”

Gilda then turned thoughtfully to Albin Anders. “Albin, throughout my school years, I did have several obnoxious teachers, and I do not to any degree minimize the misery they caused me, but, I want to emphasize also that I had some very wonderful, helpful and friendly teachers as well. Without them I wouldn’t have gotten through. I want to be sure you see both sides of my story.”

Albin blushed, but only a little. His self esteem was improving already. The broad smile into which he broke, was the predominant feature. “Thank you Gilda,” he said somewhat confidently, “I do see both sides of your story, as you tell it now. I also see similarities to my own experiences through the years, of which I was not aware, or of which I had only a semi-awareness at the time, but of which I am becoming fully conscious as time goes by.”

Then looking around at the whole group, Albin continued, “In the midst of all the discrimination and hostility, it is difficult to feel the friendships. One can see them there, and that is alright as far as it goes, but it is so difficult to really feel that you are in a sphere of friendship. The friendliness is so often subdued and implied. The hostility is so predominant and upsetting that when it is in sufficient quantities it easily dominates the mind.”

“Exactly,” said Owen, as he placed his long arm protectively around the shoulders of Albin who was sitting next to him. The friendship is there Albin, usually in larger quantities than the hostility, but it is often so silent, even dormant, that all we can see is hostility. I’m happy to see the awakening of your awareness to a higher degree.

“I think,” Owen continued, “that the saving grace for Gilda is that she had a friendly teacher in grade six. That brought healing for her. Had she been unfortunate enough to have had a disagreeable teacher in grade six also, it would have spelled disaster for Gilda. Furthermore, I think that this rather unique experience of her having vivid exposure to the two extremes of hostility and friendship in two consecutive years was a very valuable awareness experience for her. The pleasant sixth grade not only renewed her perspective, but opened the way for her to learn to cope so well at so young an age.”

“Yes,” replied Gilda, “in those two years I learned both sides of life. As I proceeded on through school, there were to be more bad experiences similar to those of grade five, but, there also were many in the category of my good grade six experience. This better side was a great encouragement to me.”

There was a brief silence. Dr. Eldren showed no visible expression of wanting to pick up the conversation at that point. Owen looked to Collin.

Collin had no desire to continue with the analytical aspect just now but he broke the silence with another probing question. “Gilda, if we require you to go through the ordeal of relating to us your whole high school experience, which you have already described as a continuous struggle it might be repetitious. Could you tell us of any outstanding incidents that might reveal something more of the nature of our problems?”

Gilda paused for a moment as she intentionally put a wide eyed expression of wonderment on her face. “Outstanding incidents?” she drawled, “yes-s-s”, then quickly, “yes, sure. The one that comes most quickly to mind is an incident in my final year of high school. We had a new science teacher that year. One day, early in the year, in science class we were discussing the capabilities and limitations of aircraft when I brought into the discussion information I had heard of when on a trip abroad about a new, yet unpublicized invention. The science teacher had never heard of it, since news of it had not yet been released to the media. Immediately the teacher’s nose was out of joint. He ridiculed me and trivialized my information before the whole class as if I was fantasizing. ‘Who ever heard of such a thing,’ he scoffed, “except Gilda Emerson.’

“He put me down, and put me down hard in a very hostile manner, denying the accuracy of my statement most emphatically, in order to save face which he felt he had lost. Most of the class could see through him I’m sure, but the damage between him and me was done.

“After outshining the teacher in this manner in a discussion before the whole class, I was to be on his bad books for the remainder of the year. From that time on he was cold and distant towards me. It was another burden to carry that year, and I must say it affected my overall performance. Nevertheless, I had what can be described as a good year, passing with honors. The thought that this was my final year of high school and just months away was my freedom from pettiness helped me to struggle on to do well. In university things will be better than this, I told myself; and then there was my parents - they so wanted me to go to university, and I wanted to please them. Of course I did want to go on to university myself also,” she hastened to add at the end of her statement.

Owen gave his head a quick twist of admiration. Then he asked, “Gilda, how did your parents figure in your high school years? You mentioned earlier how they misinterpreted events in your grade five experience, but in high school, being much older, you were probably better able to explain.”

“Yes, I was better able to explain, and I talked to my mother a great deal about it. She developed a sense of sympathetic understanding about the matter. I talked to my father about it some too. My mother suggested to my father that perhaps I should go to a private school. He didn’t agree. He is a self made man who came up the hard way. He felt it would be good for his children to do the same. My brother had done all right. I should harden myself to the knocks and keep pressing on. That was his philosophy on the matter. I didn’t push the idea of private school with him, because I knew it would be a financial burden for the family. We had a good standard of living all right, but I wouldn’t say we were wealthy. My father had not always received the salary he was getting at the time of my high school years, so he was really just then getting financially established at this point in life.”

“Thank you Gilda,” said Owen.

Collin asked, “And you really did think, Gilda, that there would be none of this pettiness, as you called it, in university?”

“Oh boy! was I mistaken on that one,” replied Gilda. “Should I tell about that phase of my life now?” she asked Dr. Eldren.

“Yes,” replied Dr. Eldren. “It’s all very interesting, go right ahead.”

“Well,” said Gilda, “I went into university like a butterfly that had just been freed from the cocoon. Little did I know that butterflies have their problems of survival too!”

“Same problems, just in a different setting?” queried Collin.

“Yes,” answered Gilda, “the cocoon even with the protection of camouflage often gets trampled under foot and crushed into the ground. But the butterfly with all its openness can just as easily be attacked in flight, brought to the ground again and crushed mercilessly into it.”

“With all its openness - and color,” added Collin, emphasizing the word ‘color’.”

“A butterfly is colorful all right, and easily spotted,” responded Gilda as though she could now find meaning in Collin’s statement.

Gilda proceeded with her story. “The big disappointment of my life came when I was only a very short time into my first semester at university. Where I thought I would be free, I soon learned I was in for more of the same, in some ways even worse. As the semester proceeded, this butterfly was attacked more and more by a hostile hawk who knew every sly trick in the book, and many that weren’t. He tried to down me at every turn.

Then there was the second one. She wasn’t bright enough to be tricky. She knew her subject well, but not much else. She just brooded and snooted in my presence, pushed up her lip in rejection, sneered in scorn, ignored me passively trying always to make herself feel superior to me. Here was a person whom I would say had spent her years specializing in her subject, the professional student type, earning her degrees, but with little contact with the active world. She was a characterless, socially inexperienced scholar, whom as I said, knew her subject but not the world in which it had its setting. And she had a chip on her shoulder because she wasn’t always the center of attention.”

“What was her overall appearance like, Gilda?” asked Collin.

Gilda blinked and puzzled a little as though once again, she was struggling to grasp the full significance of Collin’s question. “Oh, she wasn’t too bad that way,” remarked Gilda casually again. “If she would buy some sensible clothes and care for herself a little more, she’d look quite okay, but you know, she never got out of grade school as far as choice of clothes is concerned. Anyway, I pity her more than anything else, but she and the other guy, the hawk, each in their own separate ways, sent my spirits down so much that towards the middle of the first semester it happened. I felt I couldn’t take any more of this. The disappointment of having to take more of the same in university sent me into despair, and I had a nervous breakdown, if that’s what you can call it; I was totally exhausted from working so hard and under so much stress, a combination of the two,” she added.

A momentary silence followed. It was broken by an emotional remark by Leo. “Oh-h Gilda, you didn’t let them do that to you, did you? he asked as tears became noticeable in his eyes.

“I’m afraid so Leo. The butterfly was attacked in mid-air and brought low, but,” continued Gilda in a firm tone of voice, “not for long, not for long.”

Leo’s face brightened. The other group members perked up.

“Not for long?” repeated Owen.

“No, just for three weeks. That’s all I was out - just three weeks,” said Gilda confidently, “and that brief period was the big turning point in my life.”

“You briefly mentioned this to me before, now tell us more,” urged Owen.

Gilda pursued her story, “Our family doctor recommended me to a psychiatrist, who in turn recommended that I be admitted to the psychiatric ward of a general hospital. I followed this recommendation, and while there was on moderately heavy medication and started psychotherapy sessions with the same psychiatrist.”

“It did you good?” asked Owen.

“Ugh” retorted Gilda with such an emphatic rejection of Owen’s statement that it seemed to be almost out of character for her. “It got my back up,” she said firmly.

“Oh-h-h,” said Owen.

“Yes,” affirmed Gilda.

“Why? asked Owen.

“It was the whole tone of the therapy that did it,” replied Gilda, now more calmly. “The whole approach of the therapy was to the effect that I wasn’t approaching these people properly; I wasn’t diplomatic enough with them; I was letting this and that disturb me; I was allowing myself to be too easily upset; I wasn’t very effective at coping; I was making mountains out of mole hills; these people weren’t all that bad.”

“He told you that?” asked Owen.

“Much of it he inferred. Some he told me outright,” replied Gilda, “but in the course of the therapy, that was the kind of thinking he was steering me into. There I was, after a young lifetime of rather successfully doing battle with these warped characters that always appeared on my horizon, being told now it was all my fault.”

“What did you do about it?” asked Owen, now with hushed tones of astonishment.

“One day, after nearly two weeks of therapy, and when I could take no more of his inferences, I screamed at him. I screamed good and loud, with tearful anger saying, ‘Don’t you see what you’re doing to me, you madman! Leave me alone and let me go home.”

Owen glanced at Dr. Eldren, but then quickly back to Gilda, and in tones even more hushed asked, “What happened then?”

“He put me on heavier medication,” Gilda replied coolly, “so heavy I couldn’t even think. I did nothing much but sleep for two days.”

“And?” Owen questioned further.

“My parents came to see me. I begged them to take me home, and after another two days they did so. It took that long for me to become fully coherent after being taken off the heavy medication.”

Gilda then turned to Dr. Eldren. “I’m very sorry sir for being so harsh on your colleague in psychiatric practice, but that’s how I felt about him and the whole approach.”

Dr. Eldren smiled. “You’re entitled to your opinion,” he said. It seemed he wanted to make no more comment on that particular experience, at least for now. He was interested though in hearing the remainder of her experience. “It seems you have somehow survived your ordeal very well. You are here with us now and still going to university. It would be most encouraging, I’m sure, for everyone present to know how you did it, if you will share it with us?”

“Glad to,” Gilda proceeded again. “Before my parents took me home they talked with the psychiatrist at the hospital. He told them that if they wished, I could go home. He suggested that a period of rest at home might do something for me. Also, unknown to me at the time, he had suggested to them that perhaps university was too much for me and that I should consider a career in some other direction. My parents were good about taking me home. They showed genuine care and affection, and I was so glad to be out of hospital, I felt so free now and relaxed at being home, that my original despair lifted.

“The next day after arriving home, my mother and father and I were having the evening meal together and we discussed my situation at length. Both parents assured me that I need not continue with university; that they would not be disappointed if I were to look for a career in sales or office work or whatever I chose. My father said he could get me a promising job in his corporation, or, I could be more independent and seek employment elsewhere.”

Gilda paused in her story telling for a moment of reflection, then spoke again, “you know, you could never imagine the burden that was lifted from me in that discussion with my parents. I didn’t have to go to university in order to retain their respect. I told them I’d sleep on it and think about it. Actually, it was late before I slept that night, because I did much thinking beforehand. I lay there, with my light on. I was looking at the ceiling as though it was the sky. I felt so light and free again. My parents loved me no matter what! No obnoxious teacher would ever again make me feel they didn’t. I felt like a butterfly again - for whom the sky was the limit.”

“Indeed the sky is the limit I thought to myself again and again, until abruptly another thought penetrated deeply into my mind. The sky is not really the limit if I can’t go to university. I didn’t only go to university to please my parents. I wanted to myself. And if I can’t do what I want to, then I’m back in a cocoon of sorts again. No way, I thought. I mulled it over in my mind some more. For the first time since my grade five days, I was fully conscious now that I didn’t have to do well at studies to retain the respect of my parents, but, and it was a big but - I wanted to go on to university myself.

It seems at that point I became fully aware that I had always wanted to study and do well academically because that is the life I liked for myself and now wanted to continue. The fact that it pleased my parents was just an added bonus, and would be in the future as well, no doubt. That’s what I wanted for myself, regardless, to continue my education. If I can’t go on to do what I really want for myself, then the sky isn’t the limit. I’d be letting those hawks drive me right out of the sky, and I can’t do that. But then, there are obstacles. Oh Gilda it’s late and you are tired now, I told myself, go to sleep and think about it tomorrow.”

“I slept late next morning, and all that day I just sat and lay around the house resting my body and letting my mind go through the process of restoration. When evening came, my father was home in plenty of time for dinner at seven. This wasn’t always so with him, but he was making a special effort now to be with mother and I in this time of difficulty.

“It was mostly small talk at dinner and around the house that evening; talk about how nice it would be if my brother was near home to join us, incidentally he is doing post-graduate study at a university far from home; how when my father was just another accountant in his firm he had more time at home, carefree time; how hard work and promotion had brought prosperity to the family, but also brought its responsibilities, and these were not left behind at the office at five o’clock but tagged along with him. We discussed the pros and cons of this life of responsibility and decided it was very worthwhile overall, because it was fulfilling.

“Because of the spontaneous way that conversation evolved that evening, I feel sure there was no intention on my parent’s part to spur me on to higher goals, yet it did set me thinking about fulfillment. As we watched television together that evening it kept popping into my mind. However, mostly I wanted rest and relaxation, so I kept it to myself. I slept well that night and well into mid-morning. I awakened feeling refreshed and restored, almost fully restored. My mind was active again now, and thinking about the problems of life. The thought foremost in my mind all day long was the dreadful thought of defeat that would come over my life if I did not return to university. I became more fully conscious that day that I had had two incentives spurring me on to university. One incentive was the example and desire of my parents all right, but, a second was that I really and truly wanted to for myself. I pondered and came to the conclusion that the second reason was indeed the more important to me. Whatever influence the first incentive had over me was gone. It didn’t matter whether my parents wanted me to or not, I wanted to go to university for myself, and not to go would be a dreadful and shattering defeat. As I look back now, I see it would have been a very traumatic defeat.

“I surveyed my high school performance in dealing with problem teachers - and students - and felt that, contrary to what the psychiatrist at the hospital thought, I had done well. My downfall had been that I had let down my guard because I had led myself to believe there would be no need for such guard at university as there had been in high school. Now I was becoming reconciled to the fact that it may be the same all the way through-through university, perhaps through life. I was now prepared to dig in my heels and press on through university as I had through high school. Not to do so was to let those obnoxious ones rob me of life as I wanted it for myself. The thought of allowing that to happen was devastating to say the least. I thought over these things again and again all day long, and the more I thought of them the stronger my desire became to return to the fray at university.

“That evening at dinner the conversation was light for awhile, as it had been the previous evening. It was mostly my father talking about some of the interesting things happening in his business nowadays. I did wonder, at the time, if he had a hidden motive in this, trying to arouse my interest in a business career. He told me later it was not so, it was just sociable conversation. Nevertheless at a convenient time I interrupted that conversation with a rather abrupt and excited statement. ‘Mom and Dad, I’ve decided what I am going to do from here on! I want you to know.’

“My father was always the first to take me up on anything I came out with in the line of ideas and suggestions. “You’ve decided already?” he asked. Have you thought it through carefully, whatever it is?

“‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I’ve thought it through carefully, and I’m going back to university, next week.’

“‘O-h-h-h!’ replied my father in a non committed manner. But then after a brief pause he added in positive tones, ‘You feel that well already?’

“‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I do.’

“‘You don’t have to go back you know,’ my father said affectionately. ‘There are plenty of other roads in life to choose from.’ He paused, then continued, ‘but if you want to....’

“‘But dear,’ my mother interjected, ‘the doctor says that perhaps you shouldn’t go to university, it may be too much for you.’

“I looked at them in wide eyed surprise at that statement. Then I felt determination asserting itself in my mind. ‘Mom,’ I said, very emphatically, ‘I do not intend to listen to that doctor now any more than I listened to him in the hospital. I’m going to university, and in four years time I am going to graduate!’

“My mother was awestruck. My father arose from his chair, walked around to my side of the dining table to the back of my chair, put his hands firmly on the sides of my shoulders, squeezed them together, placed his cheek against mine for a second, then kissed me on the face and said, ‘Gilda, you go right ahead if that’s what you want to do, and any way I can possibly help you I will.’

“‘Thank you Dad,’ I said, ‘but this is something I have to do on my own. Your morale support is welcome. You’re financial support I will need, and I want to live at home and commute as I have been doing. Other than that, the struggle is mine. I have to do it on my own.’

“My father rubbed the palms of his hands together with enthusiasm as he returned to his place at the table and began eating his dinner in hurried excitement. It was not often I had seen him that way. My mother was stuck for words. ‘But your health, Gilda - the doctor -.’

“My father spoke up to reassure her, ‘Mother dear, in this case, I have much more faith in Gilda than I have in the doctor. The doctor meant well, but he doesn’t know Gilda like I know Gilda. I think she can do it.’

“Mother quivered a smile. ‘Okay,’ she said, in rather musical tones that were in complete submission to my father’s persuasion.

“I was on my way in life again - like a butterfly. Only this time I would be wary of the hawks who are ready to peck me out of the sky and send me crashing to the ground.

Gilda paused, took a deep relaxing breath, as though a marathon had just ended. Telling the kind of story that most people, including psychiatrists, are not familiar with is stressful indeed. Gilda had no idea of how Dr. Eldren was taking her story. For all she knew, she could, as often happens, be labeled for life for simply telling it as it was to people who may know little or nothing about such matters.

Finally she asked, “can I tell you the remainder of the story now?”

“If you wish,” replied Dr. Eldren quickly, “but your face is flushed with tension. We can wait until next week or you can tell it now.”

“I prefer to do so now if I may,” said Gilda, “while it is all fresh in my mind.”

“Okay,” said Dr Eldren, “but it isn’t easy on a person recalling an unpleasant past. We can have a five minute break to allow you to simmer down.”

They all stood around chatting until Gilda was much more at ease. Then she continued with her story.

“On the Friday of the third week of my absence from university, which was the day after I had revealed to my parents my plans to return to university, I was up and away from home early and heading toward the university offices. I went directly to the office of the dean of the science faculty and asked to see the dean. After a brief wait I was granted an interview.

“He was a neutral sort of man, a scholar no doubt, not unpleasant but neither did he impress me as one who would be in command in a difficult situation. Nevertheless, I told him I had been absent from classes for three weeks with a mild type of nervous breakdown; that I was ready to return now, and wondered whether this would be satisfactory to the faculty. He asked questions concerning my past scholastic record, and seemed pleased with what I told him.

“I would suggest.” said the dean, “that you see each of your professor’s individually. If they each are of the opinion that you can still benefit by continuing after this absence, then I also will agree to your return. You can ask them to contact me.”

“‘Thank you, sir,’ I said, ‘that’s what I’ll do.”

“First I went to the three professors who had not taken a dislike to me, and with whom I had been getting along quite well. They wholeheartedly agreed to my returning, and we discussed ways and means as to how I could best catch up on the work. They were very helpful. Secondly I went to the professor who hadn’t really tried to put me down as far as my work was concerned, but who, you may remember my telling you, had just by her attitudes and related actions, shown a great dislike for me, and had, as I said, snooted and scorned and that sort of thing.

“She was cold towards my approach. I think she thought I was gone and out of her hair for good. When I explained to her my problem, however, she quite suddenly took on a very pitying attitude towards me, which I soon learned was coupled with a very superior attitude on her part as well. Now she had reason to feel superior to me, so she accepted me back, open arms, so to speak, but with an approach that was to not only belittle me in her eyes, but before the whole class as well throughout the remainder of the year.”

“She could look down on you now!” exclaimed Collin.

“Yes,” replied Gilda, “that’s it. From then on she felt she had reason to look down on me because I had been sick. I received fair treatment scholastically throughout the class, but her attitude was always one of pity towards this poor thing who now needed help so badly. She became the pitying mother of this poor helpless girl. Needless to say, it was very humiliating. However, I learned to take her with a grain of salt.”

“What about the professor you referred to as the hawk?” inquired Owen, “how did you make out with him?”

“Oh that’s quite another story,” responded Gilda as she perked up in her chair. “I purposely went to him last. I told him my story, as I had told the others. His response was cold. ‘Well, that’s too bad I’m sure, about your sickness,’ he said, ‘but this is a very difficult course, and I would strongly advise you to forfeit it and perhaps try again next semester. No, you should not try to catch up on this course at this time.’”

Collin asked, “Was that course really a difficult one, Gilda?”

“Not really,” replied Gilda. “Actually it was one of my better math subjects. I felt sure I could catch up, and there was tutoring available.”

Gilda continued, “I insisted to him that I could, and wanted to continue with the course this semester. He took offense and stated that he didn’t want anyone telling him what could or couldn’t be done in his classes.

“Well,” I said, you are telling me what I can and cannot do. Can I not even express what I feel I myself can do and am willing to do?”

“The professor fumed. ‘You are the student, and I am the professor,’ he said, as he stretched his shoulders upward. ‘I have made my decision,’ he snapped, ‘and it is final.’”

“‘We’ll see about that,’ I snapped back, and I turned and headed straight for the dean’s office again.

“I told the dean how four professors had accepted my return and one had not. I told him how the fifth professor had been cold and snappy.

“‘I am sorry about that,’ replied the dean, ‘but he has made his decision, and you will have to abide by it.’

“‘Abide by it!’ I retorted, in a mixture of surprise and anger. ‘Abide by it? You mean you won’t even take the matter up with him?’

“His eyes shifted from side to side, avoiding mine. He was either a fence sitter or a coward. Whichever it was, I wasn’t going to be the same way.

“I would have to learn now to cope in university, as I had learned to do so in high school. Coping here wouldn’t be quite the same. It was on a different level. I would upgrade my coping too, I decided then and there.

“‘You won’t take the matter up with him?’ I asked again forcefully.

“He hesitated as he stumbled for words.

“I couldn’t wait. ‘Look here, sir,’ I said, ‘that professor has been very discriminatory towards me ever since the beginning of the semester. Now four other professors are willing to accept me back. Only one is not willing, and when all is boiled down, cut and dried, the only reason the fifth one has not accepted me is because he is prejudiced against me. I don’t intend to be pushed out of university, and out of my career, by a person like that. Now sir, do I get re-admitted, or do I get a lawyer to take up my case for me and fight this matter right to the very end.’

“There was a pause.

“Then I continued, ‘There are people in that lecture room who know I was discriminated against by the actions and attitudes of that professor.’

“The dean kept his outward composure. ‘Miss Emerson,’ he said, ‘there is no need to go to such extremes. The same course you have been barred from is being taught simultaneously by another professor. She is a very good person. I will speak to her, and I am sure she will be glad to have you in her class.’

“‘Why can’t you speak to the professor who has rejected me?’ I asked, pointedly.

“His eyes shifted from side to side again.

“‘Listen,’ he said, ‘you will get the same instruction in this class I wish to get you into. Why go through all the fuss of trying to get back to your former class?’

“I knew then and there,” continued Gilda, “that I would have no support whatever from the dean in any effort I may make to get into my former class. I thought the matter over briefly. Since there was an opportunity to join another class in the same course, I decided to take that opportunity. But I didn’t let go easily. ‘All right sir,’ I said with a tone of dissatisfaction, ‘I’ll transfer to the other class when you make the arrangements, but I would like you to know I am not very pleased at having to do so. I have made some pleasant acquaintances with students in the former class. That will be a loss to me now. Also, having to change classes is a further disruption to my work and just adds to my problem. Nevertheless, since there is another class open to me, I will take it. But if there was no other class open to me I would fight the matter to the end by all possible means.’

“The dean’s face was expressionless. He was covering up his feelings. I was to learn, as the years went by, that he was not alone in taking such an attitude in matters such as these where there is a real sticky problem involved. Some do not recognize the problem. Others fear the perpetrators of it. Still others avoid involvement in such circumstances, simply because there has never evolved a victorious way of dealing with it. With the dean I suspect it was the latter case. He was afraid to get involved because it is so difficult to deal with all the intangibles of it.

“As for me, I made up my mind then, that I would never be in the first two of these categories. As for the last one, I decided, come victory or defeat, I would never be found avoiding a battle with such people as the hawk, whenever a battle was necessary to fair play.

“And that folks was the experience that gave me the know-how to fly and glide and battle my way through to an undergraduate university honors degree. There would be other hawks in subsequent years, all somewhat different in approach but in actuality motivated in their misbehavior by the same type of faulty character. They were always in the minority, but for various unavoidable reasons they nearly always managed to dominate life’s experiences. However, I battled my way through them, and came out on top.”

Gilda paused, then added lightly with a smile, “A butterfly has survival problems too!”

Owen smiled back at her, and asked, “What was your final grade in that course, Gilda?”

“Oh,” she replied gleefully, “I got an A,” and then added mischievously, “I made sure the hawk knew it too. I purposely encountered him in the corridor and showed it to him on paper.”

“What did he say?” asked Owen curiously.

“He pushed up his lip, half contemptuously, half approvingly so as one couldn’t tell for sure which way he meant it, and remarked, ‘I guess you were lucky,’ and then went on his way. I figure he will keep on going his way - of discrimination against those of whom he is envious, with nobody ever really challenging him.”

Collin spoke next. “Gilda, by flying, gliding and battling your way successfully through university here, no doubt you have ruffled many feathers. Where do you intend to go from here?”

“‘Where’ is the right word,” replied Gilda. “It is true I have ruffled many feathers. In fact I am known in some circles here as a terror, throwing my old man’s weight around, etc. etc., although, I never once called on my father for help. In fact, neither of my parents know of quarter of my battles. So, Collin, from here I will go far away, to another university to do post graduate work. At present I am taking some extra courses here, necessary prerequisites to take care of a minor change in the course of my future studies. But to stay here to either study or to make a career would be a mistake. I was successful in gaining a degree all right, but in the process of fighting my battle and defending my rights two things have happened which must be left behind. First, as I said, I am known as a terror, simply for standing up for myself. Secondly, this prolonged battle has been detrimental to me in that in some very real ways I have become a battle axe of a sort. I hope to go away to new surroundings to do post graduate work, which is a wise move academically anyway, but, also to make a career in a new environment where I can again become the pleasant person I was and really still am.”

“You will have to be careful where you choose to go if you want to accomplish these things,” remarked Collin.

“Yes,” said Gilda, “I have thought about it a great deal. I have reason to believe that in post-graduate work the flying will be smoother for various reasons, although I will never drop my guard again. Usually, not always though, the professors in post graduate work are the higher caliber ones. That will help. In addition, when it comes to choosing a place for further studies, I will have a varied selection to choose from, so I am very encouraged about the prospects.”

“Gilda,” spoke Dr. Eldren, “you have contributed quite substantially to the session this evening. No doubt you have had this matter on your mind all week, keeping you up tight. All the members, I am sure, will find your experiences to be of real value. It isn’t easy I know to recall and relive those things. It is a tiring and burdensome task. Thank you very much. I would suggest we hear from Donna Coyne next week. As you know, in our later sessions we will want to refer to your experiences again, as we will those of the others. For now though we will let you relax and unwind.”

“Thank you, Dr. Eldren, I agree, I need to relax,” said Gilda with a heavy smile.

“I would like to mention,” said Collin, “that one of the predominant things I see in your story is the way your whole life has been altered by people who are down on you simply because you are a nice person and they can’t tolerate it. That illustrates the whole purpose of this support group - to bring such unjust realities out into the open. Even more striking, of course, is that you are succeeding regardless.”

The group as a whole sat momentarily in admiration of Gilda Emerson, complimenting her on her successes before it dispersed for the evening.