Category: Penn

education, history, military, Penn, writer

My Year of Hopefulness: Martha Putney

Christa Avampato

I don’t make a habit of reading the New York Times obituary column though I came across one for Martha Putney in December that bears repeating. She is a model for all of us on how to stand-up to adversity, find our passion, and pursue new avenues to improve out lot in life. Featured very prominently by Tom Brokaw in his book, The Greatest Generation, Putney defined her own life and potential on her own terms.

A black woman who came of age in the Roaring 20’s, she heard the phrases “you’re not allowed” and “you can’t do that” all the time. She won a scholarship to Howard University where she earned a BA in 1939 and a Masters in 1940. She joined the Women’s Army Corps upon the outbreak of World War II. She earned her doctorate from UPenn (which makes me very proud as I am an alum of UPenn, making it all the more remarkable that I never heard of Putney, especially since we both studied history there.) From Philadelphia, she went on to a long teaching careeer – her dream job from the time she at Howard – at Bowie State College (she was the Chair of the Histry Department) and at her alma mater, Howard University. She also published several well-respected books on the history of Blacks in the US military.

Education was the cornerstone of her success and her happiness. This is remarkable considering the years when she went to school, her gender, and her race. She refused to let anyone or anything stand in the way of her education. She did what she had to do to survive, and even though she faced extraordinary opposition, she refused to give up her dream of teaching. 15 long and frustrating years after graduating from Howard, she got her wish. Her persistence and steadfast belief if herself is an inspiration for all of us.

career, corporation, education, job, magazine, Obama, Penn, work

A victory for generalists

Christa Avampato

Change at a fast pace can be disconcerting. 2 years ago, I was in the middle of my second (and last) year of graduate school. I knew I’d be doing an off-grounds job search, and my only criteria for my next employer was that I be treated with respect and be in New York City. Beyond that, the options were endless. I was grateful for a (seemingly) strong economy that allowed me to take my time to find the right match.


I was exploring a myriad of options, networking with alum in all stages of their careers and in different industries. I was explaining to one of my career counselors that I really enjoyed having a job where I wore a number of different hats. He looked at me quizzically. He is one of those people who really prefers to file people into neat little boxes. Needless-to-say, I cannot be confined to a neat little box of any kind when it comes to my career. (Mind you, this career counselor convinced the majority of my classmates to become investment bankers and management consultants and we see how that story’s gone in the last few months…) After I explained my varied work experience to him and employment possibilities I was considering he said to me, “Well, Christa, eventually we all have to decide what we want to be when we grow up. We can’t stay generalists forever.” Little did he, or I, know that being a generalist is just about the best thing I could be in the job market that would exist 2 years later. 

I walked away feeling a little badly about myself and my life. Maybe I was aimless; maybe I was like one of those little kids raiding her mother’s closet and wearing grown-up clothes that are 5 sizes too big. I was masquerading as a grown-up, with no intention of actually ever growing up. I am happy with my own special brand of optimistic realism. Fittingly, I went to work for a toy company right after graduation whose motto is, “I don’t want a grow up. I’m a ….” You get the idea. I found my place in the world being exactly who I am.

Surprisingly to that career counselor of mine, though no to me, being a generalist is what is savings me (furiously knocking on wood) right now in this economy. My broad-based experience is allowing me to play many different roles on one stage – I can do whatever task needs to be done at the time it needs to be done. And that’s true of many people I work with. It also happens to be true of President-elect Obama – his broad-based experience allowed him to speak genuinely to people from many different walks of life. His honesty, humility, and ability to emotionally connect with so many people and bring them together played a large part in his victory. It also helps that he’s brilliant, confident, and capable. He is a generalist at heart. 

This week, my Penn alumni magazine ran an article by President Amy Guttman entitled “A Pitch for the Uncharted Path” that described her speech at this year’s convocation. Like me, she meandered across a whole host of disciplines as an undergraduate, stopping to inspect anything and everything that interested her. And now she is Penn’s President, a job that could only be filled by a infinitely-curious generalist. She encouraged the newly matriculated class to be open to the possibilities that will be set before them in the coming four years. Being a person who has wanted to be everything from a champion dog breeder to an astronaut, I whole-heartedly agree. 

Our world is complex, and to get into the thick of it and make a positive impact, we have to appreciate every shred of that complexity. The best way to gain that appreciation is to live our lives in many different directions, on many different planes. Yes, this is a time that “a genius wants to live.” And it wouldn’t hurt if that genius also moonlighted as a generalist. 
education, Penn

Philadelphia

Christa Avampato

“I quit being afraid when my first venture failed and the sky didn’t fall down.” ~Allen H. Nehart


On my way to DC yesterday, my train rolled past Penn, my undergrad alma mater. We had a little engine trouble so we were stuck at 30th Street Station for about 15 minutes. Penn is right there, just over the bridge. I began to tear up as I looked at those buildings that were so familiar to me, or at least used to be. I was surprised by this response. It stirred up some emotions that I hadn’t thought about in a very long time.

I learned some hard lessons at Penn. I had my heart broken, really broken, for the first time. I began to get over the loss of my dad and all of the fallout that affected my family thereafter. I learned about failing. My first quarter I got 2 A’s – Ancient Rome and a German Studies call titled “The Third Reich”, and I got 2 C’s – Calculus and Physics. Problem was I was in the engineering school, not a liberal arts major. (That changed after year one and I graduated with a double major in economics and history and a minor in psychology.)

At my first orientation meeting the very first cute college guy I ever met asked me, “Are you a Ben Franklin scholar?” And I replied, “I’m not sure. How would I know?” He walked away. I learned about hierarchy and for the first time was exposed to a type of class system. Among a lot of “haves”, I was a “have not”.

And for the first time I had people all around me of different races, ethnicities, religions, and socioeconomic levels. These people around me had traveled all over the world while I’d never left the area of the eastern seaboard between Connecticut and Washington D.C. They spoke multiple languages, fluently. They had the best of everything, always. I was a fish out of water. 

I grew up in a very small town that was about 95% white, Italian Catholics who mostly got by paycheck to paycheck, and a few with a bit more than that. Most of the town was covered with farms and grassy areas. I could count the number of stretches of sidewalk on one hand, and the number of traffic lights on the other hand. We often left our front door unlocked. I spent the majority of my childhood, save for school and my after-school jobs, outside. I was an athlete, a musician, and graduated top of my class. I was a star and I knew it.

At Penn, for the first time in my life I learned to live in a place that has more cement and blacktop than grass. My freshman dorm had bars on the windows. I lived in a community that had homelessness and where some sort of violence was a daily occurrence. I had food that was Indian and Ethiopian. I was not the top of my class – actually, I wasn’t even close. I was in the bottom quartile for sure. And I was smart, very smart. It’s just that everyone around me was much smarter, and I learned to study, very hard, all the time. I learned about striving to be the best, and not reaching that goal. So I learned to live with disappointment. I learned about failing, and getting up, and trying again, and failing again, and so on. In truth, I spent most of my college years lost. 

At Highland High School, there was a lot of coddling. In my entire hometown there was a lot of coddling. At Penn, you had to make your own way. No one was holding your hand. There was no lifeline; there was no hope of finding a lifeline no matter how hard you looked. I always felt like the subtitle of the school should be, “You’re on your own, kid.” I was scared. 

But I also found a lot of strength here. I found that I could get through anything. Even if I didn’t do that well on an exam or a paper, no matter how tired I was, the sun came up the next day. The world soldiered on, and would continue to do so with or without me. The parade was going to keep going, and if I wanted to play a part in it, I needed to get out there and keep up. Or else go home. And I couldn’t go home; I wouldn’t go home, so I joined the parade.

I discovered theatre and the true art of collective creativity while at Penn. I learned about being open to the world and what it, and everyone in it, had to teach me. I learned about getting new dreams when the ones I held to for so long weren’t coming true. I learned how to improvise and began to learn how to express who I was and what I was about in a sincere, articulate way, sans whining. I learned that while the world may be tough, I could be tougher, without losing my sense of empathy and sensitivity. And I learned that community is not thrust upon you or gifted to you; you have to create it everyday. I learned to question everything regardless of the source and the supporting chorus behind it. I learned to care for and search for the truth in everything. 

Most importantly I began to learn how to curate and build narrative. The seeds of my writing life were planted at Penn, even though it would take a decade before they truly began to grow. I got a hefty dose of tough love there, and though I didn’t know it at the time, it was exactly what I needed. At Penn, I grew up.

On my graduation day, my friend, Derek, gave me a quote in a frame that perfectly summed up Penn for me. “Years from now, you’ll come back and hang a plaque. This is where Christa began being what she can.” When Sondheim wrote that in Merrily We Roll Along he of course didn’t have me in mind. Derek added my name in there. But the sentiment holds true. There’s no plaque Penn yet, but in those halls and on those grounds I did begin to be what I have become, and will continue to become. I learned about how a life evolves and changes and grows, and for these hard won lessons, I am eternally grateful.