It was in the summer of 1984 that I visited Princeton, New Jersey for the first time.

I took an Amtrak train from Washington D.C. and on my way to New York, I got off the train at Princeton Junction and took a taxi and went to the university. 1984 was the presidential election year between Reagan and Mondale. Everywhere I heard "Born in the USA" by Bruce Springsteen, and Michael Jackson was wearing the silver glove due to getting burned on the hand. (That sounds like just a few years ago. Maybe because Im getting older)

The reason I came to Princeton was simple; Princeton University was the school F. Scott Fitzgerald graduated from and I wanted to see its campus myself. I had no special purpose for my visiting except that. My train stopped at Princeton and probably, I thought, I would have no business coming here again in my future, which made me to decide to drop in the university. After rambling on campus, looking at his own hand written manuscript in a special room at the library, walking around the town, and staying one night at a shabby motel "Princeton Motor Lodge," I jumped on the Amtrak again and went to New York. I still remember that the town gave me a peaceful and pastoral impression. It was during the summer vacation and few people were seen on spacious campus and the town looked drowsy. When jogging in the morning, I stumbled upon many rabbits and squirrels around the area. (The next time I visited, the fields were replaced by a big shopping mall.)

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