Panel text reads:
Black Mountain College saved my life. I returned from World War II in early 1946 devastated. I had grown up in a small Midwestern town in a conservative environment. I returned from service in the infantry disillusioned with every precept I had been taught. Among other horrors I had die in my arms the nicest and most religious young man I had ever known. And I had killed in close combat a German soldier, a photo of whose young children had fallen from his pocket in the encounter. No argument respecting the righteousness of the Allies' cause could shake the anguish of having robbed a man of his life and those kids of their father.
I knew I would be unable to return to the Big Ten university where I had studied for a year prior to my military service or, indeed, to any educational factory. I needed a small, informal environment where I could ponder about myself and the nature of existence in a world unpredictable, cruel, and full of hate. With my army savings, I bought a 1936 Dodge coupe and began to drive about the country seeking. I don't know what lead me to Black Mt., but I remember vividly driving onto the campus, seeing the kids, on the steps of the dining hall-boys, girls, Blacks, Asians-and saying to myself, I don't care what they teach nor how they teach it, if they accept me, I'm coming. I spent the afternoon with Dr. Miller and Bill Levy, both of whom assured me that I would be accepted, and I enrolled that fall.
I got what I came for. I had long, informal, meandering conversations with Levy, Miller, Rondthaler, Wallen and other members of the faculty, with my cabin roommates and fellow students -- and with girls! I had never had any girls as friends, a few girl friends, but not girls as friends. That was special. And the opportunity to read and ponder, to hike and camp was restorative.
I can't pretend that, after two years, I came out whole, but the process of healing had begun.
With the financial assistance of the GI Bill I earned a BA in economics from another school, and then two Master's degrees in public administration and city planning. I then embarked on a career as a consultant to international aid agencies, the United Nations, World Bank, and others, in the general fields of regional and urban development. The journey has lead [sic] me to twenty-three countries and currently, via a research grant, to the opportunity to appraise the results of my work.
I realize that there were others – several of whom I knew – who suffered rather than prospered from the introspection and often hurtful comments deriving from a situation of enforced intimacy. I know that I was especially fortunate. I have appreciated the moment all of the years since.
Charles P. Boyce
Cambridge, Massachusetts
Black Mountain College saved my life. I returned from World War II in early 1946 devastated. I had grown up in a small Midwestern town in a conservative environment. I returned from service in the infantry disillusioned with every precept I had been taught. Among other horrors I had die in my arms the nicest and most religious young man I had ever known. And I had killed in close combat a German soldier, a photo of whose young children had fallen from his pocket in the encounter. No argument respecting the righteousness of the Allies' cause could shake the anguish of having robbed a man of his life and those kids of their father.
I knew I would be unable to return to the Big Ten university where I had studied for a year prior to my military service or, indeed, to any educational factory. I needed a small, informal environment where I could ponder about myself and the nature of existence in a world unpredictable, cruel, and full of hate. With my army savings, I bought a 1936 Dodge coupe and began to drive about the country seeking. I don't know what lead me to Black Mt., but I remember vividly driving onto the campus, seeing the kids, on the steps of the dining hall-boys, girls, Blacks, Asians-and saying to myself, I don't care what they teach nor how they teach it, if they accept me, I'm coming. I spent the afternoon with Dr. Miller and Bill Levy, both of whom assured me that I would be accepted, and I enrolled that fall.
I got what I came for. I had long, informal, meandering conversations with Levy, Miller, Rondthaler, Wallen and other members of the faculty, with my cabin roommates and fellow students -- and with girls! I had never had any girls as friends, a few girl friends, but not girls as friends. That was special. And the opportunity to read and ponder, to hike and camp was restorative.
I can't pretend that, after two years, I came out whole, but the process of healing had begun.
With the financial assistance of the GI Bill I earned a BA in economics from another school, and then two Master's degrees in public administration and city planning. I then embarked on a career as a consultant to international aid agencies, the United Nations, World Bank, and others, in the general fields of regional and urban development. The journey has lead [sic] me to twenty-three countries and currently, via a research grant, to the opportunity to appraise the results of my work.
I realize that there were others – several of whom I knew – who suffered rather than prospered from the introspection and often hurtful comments deriving from a situation of enforced intimacy. I know that I was especially fortunate. I have appreciated the moment all of the years since.
Charles P. Boyce
Cambridge, Massachusetts
Artwork: 1995.50.1
"Black Mountain College saved my life..."
This work was created for the 1995 exhibition Remembering Black Mountain College curated by Mary Emma Harris in conjunction with Black Mountain College Museum + Arts Center and the BMC alumni reunion organized by Mary Holden Thompson, founding director of BMCM+AC.
24 x 18 inches
In copyright
Gift of Charles P. Boyce
Charles P. Boyce, "Black Mountain College saved my life..." , 1995. Printed paper on foam board. Collection of Black Mountain College Museum + Arts Center. Gift of the artist.
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