The Registrar's Office of Columbia University twice lost all of my records after I matriculated there.

I began night classes in September, 1948, working by day. But I realized that this would take too long. So I began a full schedule for the Spring Semester, planning to work part-time, nights or whenever.

My first part-time job was for Columbia, assisting in the Spring Registration. During a lull at my table, I sauntered down to file my own registation. Silly me!

"You can't take that class because you don't have the pre-requisite."

"Yes, I have. I took that course this fall."

"Impossible! In fact, there is no record that you matriculated, let alone took any course."

I was stunned. 24 credit hours were missing -- 18 which I had been allowed to transfer from my studies at Texas Technological Institute, while in the Aviation Cadet Program, and 6 credits from the Fall. Useless to protest. The records were missing. I was a Nonstudent.

Back at my work-table, my fellow worker asked about my fallen crest. I explained.

"Welcome to the Club! Maybe you're lucky it happened to you early. I'm a senior, and the Registrar lost all my records during my Third Year. Oh, they found them, or I wouldn't be here -- but --. Look I'll do your work for a while. Get busy. You don't expect them to find your credits, do you?"

I wandered amid the Registration lines and tables in a daze. But my 5 years in the Army Air Force trained me for noise on the breeze. Somewhere, I heard spoken my Army Serial Number!

I raced to a table across the gymnasium. A guy was yelling, "Have you lost my records?" "No. They're right here. But they don't show French I and History I. It's College Algebra and Calculus I. Aren't those you're credits. Isn't this your Army Serial Number --", rattling it off.

"That's my Serial Number", I yelled. "And those are my credits. I took those courses this Fall!"

"Ok. Ok. Take 'em. But where are my credits?"

Back at our table, my fellow worker shook his head. "Took me two weeks to find my credits!"

The second happening occurred at the beginning of my last and eighth Semester at Columbia. Just to feel safe, I checked at the Registar Office to see if I would be ready for Graduation at the end of this present Semester.

Graduation was impossible because the Registrar Office had no record that I had ever atttended Columbia. 114 Credit Hours missing! I was, one more, a Nonstudent.

While I sat with face in hands, sometimes sobbing, a lovely young women clerk scurried around -- AND FOUND SOME OF MY CREDITS -- convincing others that I was no phantom. Before the day was out, all my credits were resurrected. For the time being, I ceased to be a Nonstudent.

I never really relaxed about this matter until I was able to switch the tassel on my mortarboard, signifying that I, along with my fellows, had graduated. "You'll never get me again, Copper!"