After living in a tent on the shore of Sheridan Lake for about three months, Linda and I began dismantling our camp. The timing was fortuitous. I had assembled a pole fence around the tent to prevent curious free range cattle from trampling on us at night while we were sleeping. A couple of days prior to our departure, a black bear leapt over the corral into our supposedly safe enclosure. We were away at the time and were surprised to find our tent in tatters. For a few nights we slept on the floor of an abandoned cabin. After tidying our campsite and loading the chevy van, we bumped along a rock strewn trail to a road back to civilization.

I had applied to UBC and SFU, and was accepted by both. The latter was new and smaller and would present fewer challenges navigating my way to classes. Also, UBC required math classes. I had barely passed grade 10 math. For me SFU was a logical and easy choice.

When I arrived at the university parking lot for registration, I was greeted by a graffiti message declaring, “Registration is Hell.” Entering the gym, where registration was already in full swing, I was immediately conscious of frenzied, anxious voices. Hundreds of students were scrambling to sign up for courses. When a course was full it was no longer available. I was a small town boy and having had virtually no contact with people while at Sheridan Lake, I found this scene intimidating. In spite of the seemingly chaotic atmosphere though, I was able to acquire most of the courses I needed for a history major.

Linda and I had rented a small basement suite in Burnaby from 80 year old Mrs Johnson. This arrangement would provide us with a brief education in human psychology. We quickly learned that our landlady possessed a suspicious streak. When we were away she entered our suite and snooped, even opening the fridge door to see what we were eating. When my parents visited, she just happened to select this day to tend a window flower box, which provided an unimpeded view of the livingroom where we were visiting.

Mrs. Johnson had turned off the heat downstairs and we dressed warmly at all times. When another tenant moved into the basement, she instructed me to turn on the heat. I frequently stayed up late working on assignments and I later wondered if she considered this a profligate use of hydro. Among her various disconcerting misdemeanors, she demanded we submit to an interrogation by her son. We complied willingly and discovered that he seemed as mystified by his mother’s complaints and accusations as we were. Except that she left clues, at a younger age her suspicious nature might have made her an ideal candidate for CSIS.

Maybe her vigilant surveillance was to keep us on a short leash. After three months we decided this would likely not end well and we gave notice. “Good,” she said with evident satisfaction, “then I won’t have to evict you.” For her it seemed a sweet victory.

We rented a two room suite in the former B.C. Tel office in Abbotsford, directly across the street from busy railway tracks. Our landlords, who lived in the other part of the building were surprisingly congenial. I carpooled to SFU with several fellow students.

My interest in history had been sparked while I was an early teen. My father had a volume of world history in his basement study. It predated the Babylonian Empire and traced events to the end of World War 1. I was mesmerized and returned to the book many times.

Part way through the first semester, I began questioning the value of a history major. I decided that the PSA department (political science, sociology and anthropology) offered a better preparation and foundation for whatever I hoped to accomplish after university. I switched majors and found that several radical left leaning profs wielded considerable influence in the department. Students dissatisfied with what they considered shortcomings in our society flocked to their courses. I had grown up in a fairly conservative Mennonite culture which actively emphasized service to those in need. The left leaning profs sought to indoctrinate us with a belief that our society had been corrupted by greedy political and corporate leaders. They were skilled at pointing out the ills, but other than collapsing the system, they offered few practical answers.

Some profs shunned the teaching of the lefties and I managed to acquire a pretty balanced education. After graduation there would be plenty to figure out on my own, but SFU still provided some basic understandings that would open doors for me later.