Essay Test as Ethics Test

The following essay was submitted to highly selective universities.

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She sat there, shivering.  As I walked by, I fingered the lining of my jacket.  I was cold, too, but I had several sweaters back in my hotel room.  It had been snowing all day.  A cardboard sign was propped up next to her, soggy almost to the point of illegibility.
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I hadn’t had a good day.  I was in Cleveland, Ohio to fence in the Junior Olympic Fencing Championships, but in the first event of the competition had performed poorly.  My coach disappeared after I was eliminated.  Both of my hotel roommates were still fencing, and probably would be for a while, so I had decided to take a walk around Cleveland.  Snowflakes had started falling early in the morning, and the cold sun cast a pale shadow over the city.  It was freezing.
        
I had never been on my own in such a big city.  Coming from a quiet suburban area, I had also never encountered so many homeless people.  It almost sounds haughty, but that was the first thing that struck me about the streets of Cleveland.
            

Cleveland

She was a Caucasian lady whose worn face had aged far faster than it should have.  Her eyes were closed, and curly dirty-blonde hair fell shaggily over her shoulders.  Her black jacket was ripped and caked with mud, as were her jeans, but what surprised me were her mittens.  They looked brand new, navy blue and spotless.  I wondered how the contrast came to be.  She’d looked into my face as I walked by, but I had dropped my gaze.
        
I wish I hadn’t.  She remains for me a vivid memory, except that I don’t remember her eyes.  I can’t remember the shape or hue or lashes of her eyes.
        
I sat down on a bench a few blocks away, and glanced at my cell phone; I still didn’t have any service, but I wanted to call a friend back in Palo Alto.  My mind wandered back to the lady I’d seen, and I flipped through my wallet as if for instructions to how I might brighten just one day of a lady’s life.  All I had was four bucks – how much is four dollars in happiness?
        
I like to think that it doesn’t take much to make me happy – a joke, a compliment, a hug, a smile.  If something small like that could change my world, even for a day, could I change hers just the same?  I leaned back so the snow hit my face.  I wondered how some people got dealt such bad hands in life.  I guess it depends on perspective as well; the dispossessed might be cold… do they think that they could be colder? When they’re hungry, do they think that they could be starving? 

I thought about the worst feelings I’d ever experienced: broken friendships, girl trouble, arguments with family members.  I heaved a sigh.  What could I do for that lady on the corner?  Did she know that her apparent sadness made me sad?
        
I doubled back to that corner and handed her four one-dollar bills.  She took it without looking at me and whispered, “God bless you.”  I headed back to my room.
        
It was February 14th.  Valentine’s Day.

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Questions

Is this an effective essay? Why or why not?

What personal traits have you learned about this student?

Is this student smart?

Does his act move you or does the way he writes the story move you or both? Can form and content be separated?

Does the fact that this student is Asian have any bearing on the essay on your interpretation of it? Why or why not?

Have you ever given money to a woman like this? Why or why not? If so, how did it make you feel?


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I would like to thank Calvin Liu for permission to post his essay here. It was originally posted on Quora.com. In our subsequent correspondence he has indicated that his approach to this essay might be different since the time when he composed it. As someone who has read untold numbers of college essays, I can say this essay stands out for all kinds of reasons. It does what all great writing should do: show us the world through concrete detail. The narrative flow is smooth, controlled, rhythmic. It is musical and benefits from being read aloud.  And it leads us on a literal and metaphorical journey: a strange place, a strange situation, and a ‘strange’ person. As always is the case, the encounter with the ‘Other’ changes us in some way. He does not need to tell us this. The details speak and the sounds inscribe, oxymoronic yet true. The timing tunes the words. The spaces between the words and the sentences show thought unfolding, changing.  The ending: succinct, poignant, virtually perfect.

Calvin went on to Cornell. This essay helped him get there. He took the time to share a moment and let that moment speak of much larger issues in life. As poets have often said, the universal is in the particular.

If after first reading this essay you were not all that impressed, have the words I have written changed your mind? If so, why?