The other day, the Pianist handed me a library book she thought I would like. The book is “How to Know a Person” by the columnist David Brooks. Near the beginning, Brooks writes, “When I was eighteen, the admissions officers at Columbia, Wesleyan, and Brown decided I should go to the University of Chicago.” I was struck by this because my own experience was similar.

When I was a senior at Stevens High School, I applied to Yale, Harvard and Brown. Yale was my first choice; Harvard was my mother’s first choice, and Brown was no one’s choice.

On April 22, 1957, Brown’s dean of admissions wrote the first of his three letters, informing me that “your credentials did not meet the high standards necessary for acceptance.” The letter asked me to understand that “the competition is extremely keen” and “the Board regrets that it cannot grant you admission.”

The No. 1 song in the country at the time was Elvis Presley’s “All Shook Up,” which is how that letter made me feel.

I took the letter to Edgar “Doc” Lord, my high school principal. He told me not to worry since I would likely get into Yale. Still, he offered to call the Brown admissions office, which I thought was a good idea.

Brown’s second letter, dated April 27, 1957, told me that after the call from Lord, the board “has voted to change your rejection to one of waiting list status.” The letter said nothing about my credentials.

Next came letters from Yale and Harvard putting me on the waiting list at both places.

So, there I was, theoretically a few months before starting college, with nowhere to go. Meanwhile, Lynda Hird (off to Smith), Mike Weiner (Columbia), Louis Riviezzo (Bates), Ronnie Agel (Brown!), Dolina Millar (Carleton College) and no doubt others had their admission letters in hand.

Brown’s third letter, dated May 24, 1957, told me that “an opening has occurred” and the spot was mine if I wanted it. I don’t know whether their high standards had come down a notch or whether my credentials had suddenly improved, but all it would take was a “commitment deposit” of $50, which would apply against the first-semester bill.

A month later, on the very day that my older sister and I were about to leave for summer camp jobs on Lake George, rejection letters arrived from Yale and Harvard. Luckily, my father had sent in the $50, and that fall my parents drove me from Claremont to Providence.

So, you can understand why Brooks’s “college by elimination” experience reminded me of how I ended up where I did.

In October 1957, my mother and father came to Providence for Parents Weekend. A few days later my father, whose formal education ended in eighth grade, wrote that he thought I had landed in a good place. He was right.

As the holidays draw near, I think back to my 1957 Christmas vacation. Brown held first-semester exams in January, meaning that I wouldn’t be getting much time off from studying.

Around midnight on Christmas Eve, my father, age 66 with a history of heart disease, wasn’t feeling well. Doctor Bourdon came to the house and suggested that he spend the night at the hospital, just as a precautionary measure,

The next morning, Christmas Day, the hospital called at 6:15, and I heard my sister scream.

Ever since, this year it will be 67 years, my sister and I wake up on Dec. 25 at 6:15. She now lives in assisted living, where I plan to visit her on Christmas Day. I will ask her what time she woke up, but I think I already know the answer.

Joseph D. Steinfield lives in Keene and Jaffrey. He can be reached at joe@joesteinfield.com.