Ramen and Rice-a-roni

I went to college at a prestigious Midwestern university when there were fewer than 300 black students. I attended the school in the early ’70s.

Most of us were from the ‘inner city’ and were there on a combination Merit Scholarships, federal student loans, and Work/Study programs.

Suffice it to say, most of us were of limited means. As such, our college experience was very different from the average non-scholarship white student.

The differences were most pronounced during weekends and holidays.

On the weekends student dining halls were closed.

Whites poured into local bars, restaurants, and cafes. Blacks stayed in their dorms huddled around hot plates cooking Ramen and Rice-a-Roni.

During the week, we worked in the dining halls. We were also dormitory lobby monitors.

We learned to stretch our dollars during that period of high inflation.

During the holidays' school was deserted. White students flocked to their homes and blacks stayed behind and basically had the run of the campus.

It was time for a hot plate jamboree. You’d be surprised how important they were.

I eat ramen and Rice-a-Roni by choice nowadays. They taste the same.

But, I eat them with a lot less enthusiasm.