An excerpt from “Chunks of my life”.
The beginning
I entered in 1954, ranked fourth; I would have been the first if it hadn’t been for the Portuguese tests: I didn’t get almost any of those “intermediate suffix present” things right and the like. The essay saved me: I got a 5 on the exam average, the limit to pass.
Pedro Cuyumjian (I only learned later that it was him) was the one who gave me my freshman baptism; I already had my face and bald spot painted. The task was to catch a skunk that appeared and lived in the Machinery and Equipment building, where the “Méqueléc” classes (those in the Mechanic-Electrician course) took classes; I was given a hammock, I tried in every way, I couldn’t, the bug disappeared.
My body and clothes stank; someone let me into his room at the Student House, a building right behind the test room. I took off my clothes, put them in a bag he gave me, took a long shower, put on a pair of pants and a loose shirt he lent me, went downstairs, put the clothes in the washing machine and went to the cafeteria; in the “tray” I ate something; I came back, put on my still damp clothes, thanked him a lot and went home.
I joined Poli and, at the same time, joined student politics, already getting into the fight for the election of the President of the Grêmio Politécnico in favour of Mario Covas and against Paulo Maluf. But damn! Paulo helped a lot: his arrogance, his antipathy, helped a lot to elect Mario. It was the beginning of a friendship that lasts, grew and continues to this day.
Of Maluf as a friend, one can say “if you have friends like this, why do need an enemy?”, a proverb that would be demonstrated by the problems in the future, as you will see.
Then I was a candidate and elected as a class representative, member of the Grêmio. I don’t remember whether this was pride or just a burden and fate for me; but I worked the best I could, sending questions and requests to teachers, the Board of Directors, the Dean’s Office, and the UNE — National Students Union.
Learning to live and learn
It took me a few days to get used to the total reversal of what college classes are like: before, I used to stay in “my” room and the professors would come to it; now the professors had their rooms, or they chose one, and I had to pay attention to, in the five minutes between the end of one, figuring out where the next one would be, rotating around the floor, going up or downstairs, changing buildings. Upon arrival, look at the schedule of classes for the day, memorize (at first I wrote it down in my notebook), expecting to wait for how this or that person behaved, what their teaching style was like.
There were those of didactics and clarity in speeches and expositions, highlighting Luiz Cintra do Prado, Professor of Physics; classes were always full of students, which he immediately conquered for the order of his expositions, clear voice, attention to the students, innate sympathy. His story is on the Poli link: https://www.poli.usp.br/institucional/diretoria/galeria-de-diretores/prof-dr-luiz-cintra-do-prado (change language at “language” on the top right).
And there were those who thought that the best method of making students learn was to give them general guidelines, forcing them to look for literature on the subject, sweat a lot and understand in depth. In Analytical Geometry, Gerhard and I took an Italian author’s treatise from the library, ended up understanding a little of the language, and deciphered the Sphinx.
The most iconic of didactics was “Camargão”, Professor José Otávio Camargo; what Cintra do Prado’s drawings and graphics had of clarity were quick scribbles on the blackboard, succinct explanations, full of pauses and gaps from Camargão. One day, Flavio Angerami Marques and I, with the page of a booklet (similar to others that I would correct and type in the DLP (Books and Publications Department) of the Polytechnic Guild, we had to run after him (he left the room quickly, and walked faster), we managed to catch him on the stairs; my namesake showed the page, pointed to a phrase or equation, and asked: “Professor, we don’t understand this passage well, can you help us?”. To which Camargão replied: “My son, the good musician plays even a mosquito shit on the sheet”.
Angerami was disconcerted, I was indignant; then we understand the stain on the page, and we end up deciphering the thing.
Perhaps out of spite, I missed some of his classes: I stayed in recovery, the only one in my entire course. I studied much, I passed; in the second year I was already acquainted with his way; I learned the basics of mathematics that served me in other subjects, and even for a few years in my professional life.
Ruy Aguiar da Silva Leme (later President of the Central Bank) was Professor, then Chair of Urban Planning and Operational Research. I loved the subject and his simple and direct way of teaching. At the end of the fifth year, I looked for urban planning vacancies: there were those in inner cities, with salaries that were barely enough to rent a house and live; then how could I get married?
The search for CSN engineers won me over. And, there at CSN, the theories and practice of operational research were very useful to me.
José Carlos de Figueiredo Ferraz, was the headteacher of the classes on Strength of Materials and Stability of Constructions; great teacher, engineering didactics, practical, straight to the point. In classes and conversations outside of them, we ended up becoming friends. We had conversations when I was on the São Paulo Metro that helped me a lot; he appointed me president of Comgás when he took over the City Hall. I can add nothing to what São Paulo and Brazil have already written and thanked him for.
I participated in the revision of the Polytechnic Guild Statutes, in April 1956.
I entered the JUC (Catholic Youth Union), invited people and participated in pilgrimages on foot to visit the then Church of Our Lady Aparecida, now Basilica of Our Lady Aparecida.
I also led groups of colleagues to visit the then Itanhaém Holiday Camp,
wonderful stays of conviviality and pure joy, lots of sport, fun until the end of the night, when we asked the “freshmen” to pay attention and hunt the “brown peep”, with candles in protectors, a bird we invented that existed there…
I met Father Benedito Ulhôa Vieira (who played an important role in my marrying Darilma, I’ll tell you later; I don’t know if I’ve already told you…) and became Archbishop Emeritus of Uberaba, who died on August 3, 2014; but I really had contact and friendship was with Friar Michel Pervis, who would soon become Provincial of Brazil for the French Dominicans.
But the important thing is that I will never forget the time we went, Fr. Michel and I, alone, to the Colony; I believe it was the best way he could test my vocation.
We spent three days or so talking, swimming, walking a lot, meditating, praying, he celebrating Mass and I as the only acolyte and assistant…. We left there certain that I would enter the novitiate.
“Man proposes, God disposes”; I ended up marrying Darilma….
Facts of life outside of studies and classes
The food in the restaurant was good, healthy, and plentiful, but when we had some money left over, Gerhard and I would have lunch at Ivo’s Restaurant, owned by two brothers, Tzvi, the eldest, and his brother whose name I don’t remember, on Rua Três Rios on the corner of Rua Prates. Tzvi (whom everyone called Ivo) big and fat, good-natured, cheerful, running from the counter to supervise the kitchen, his brother, of average height, serious but friendly, ran from the kitchen to the tables serving dishes and drinks. Of the “Dishes of the day” (all well-served), we loved the Chopped liver with onions, which they pronounced “Fêgato pecatino tchebolato”, something near “Chippy liaver onionlate”, which we ate with a beer (At the Poli tray restaurant only juices and water…).
On Três Rios, opposite the restaurant, there was a pharmacy; I don’t remember if it was after lunch, or because I had heartburn (or was it a hangover?), I ordered an Alka Seltzer and a glass of water; flustered and distracted, I swallowed the tablet without waiting for it to boil. God of heavens! I was choking and unable to breathe, I thought I was going to die. I made signs for Gerhard to help me, he, not understanding, laughed! My breath was good, after the tablet dissolved in the rest of the water and saliva, what a relief! The throat was sore and burning for a few days.
At Três Rios, there was also a bar or snooker pool area, where I also used to go, I don’t remember which colleague, who was a fan, led me first there; I liked it, I trained and I ended up being good at the sport. In the future, this gave me a funny experience when I took my cousin to one of these in Rio de Janeiro; I tell this in the chapter “My stays in Rio”.
Carlos Lacerda, by June or July 1954, came to Poli to give a lecture; I joined the large number of students and staff who booed and cursed him on entry and exit.
On August 24, 1954, Getúlio Vargas[3] committed suicide. I was desperate, I cried, I went to the snooker pool, and got really drunk; I don’t know who took me to the DLP, where I woke up with a hangover at dawn.