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Feature Fall 2008 Winter 2015
It’s good to be back at BYU. There’s not another campus in the world that I have visited half as often as BYU. For many years, EY has been the number one employer of BYU students, and most years BYU has been the number one source of candidates for EY. It’s a wonderful two-way relationship.
It seems like only a few years ago that I sat where you are sitting. I was an English major, and that meant that I liked reading and writing. It also meant that I had no idea what I was going to do with my career.
The Sound of Music swept the box office, Martin Luther King Jr. led thousands to Alabama’s capital, and the first commercial satellite launched into orbit. The year was 1965, and the BYU MPA students of the inaugural class were collecting their diplomas and preparing to embody the credo “Enter to learn; go forth to serve.”
With the costs of college increasing faster than other goods and services in the economy, it isn’t any wonder that studies show parents are more concerned about saving for their children’s college expenses than for their own retirements. But armed with information and good planning, there’s no need for parents to panic.
When three women picked up their lunch bill of about $44 at a local Houston restaurant, they had no idea it would end up costing them more than $2,500. These women have since accused a waitress of stealing their credit card numbers and going on a spending spree—buying a computer desk, a forty-two-inch LCD TV, and video games with the stolen numbers.
As BYU students returned to campus on 2 September, they had the chance to catch up on one another’s adventures, compare summer jobs, and explore the classrooms and corridors of the newly completed Tanner Building Addition.
Every member of the working world seems to have a horror story about an interview gone wrong, where the interviewer performed in a less-than-sterling manner. Maybe it was a clueless interviewer who didn’t bother to read your résumé or an overbearing windbag who didn’t let you get a word in edgewise. Then there’s the oblivious interviewer who doesn’t remember your name or the baggy-eyed boss who can’t stifle a yawn while asking about you. In more serious cases, perhaps the interviewer strays off into either unethical or illegal territory.
In 1988 I was with my brothers and sisters when the conversation drifted to our father, who had passed away many years earlier. We shared our memories of Dad: his ways of doing things, his favorite sayings, our fishing trips where all he did was bait hooks, and so forth.